#HIM KISSING HER EYELIDS GODS

[catnip411]

You know the standards for romantic are skewed when you think the relationship between a hs girl and the like 100 y/o dead guy she reanimated have the most romantic relationship you're seen in a movie

[suni-writings]

Stop hating me.

jude bellingham x fem!reader

wc: 2.1k

+18!! mdni

(content warning: smut, fingering, unprotected sex [have safe sex pls])

ps: it's been a while since i wrote smut pls be nice about it

“Bellingham, we shouldn’t-”

“Save your regret for later, princess,” he cut her off, quickly finding her lips into a sloppy kiss.

Pinned against the wall, with his muscular body pressed against hers, she knew salvation wouldn’t come. There was no god, no force of the nature that could stop what was bound to happen. That could stop them.

“We both are going to regret this,” she mumbled between the kiss, her voice hoarse and low, panting. Why was she even trying to deny it?

“Jesus, princess. Can you shut your fucking mouth for a second?” He asked with a small smirk, his breath sparse. “So feisty. Always wanting to have the last word, always wanting to control everything…”

As the taunting words left Jude’s mouth, his right hand started moving slowly. From her neck to her collarbones, to the valley of her breasts, to her lower belly, applying just enough pressure to hear her pant once again. To hear her losing control, losing her morals and everything she had ever believed happened between them.

“Let it go,” he whispered in her ear, his plump lips brushing against her ear and gently biting her earlobe. “Let it go, doll. Let me take care of you.”

Everything was a mess. This wasn’t the moment nor the place for this to happen. She wasn’t even supposed to do as much as look at him. But something about his unbuttoned social shirt and his now wrinkled suit, the intoxicating smell of his expensive cologne and that goddamn smirk of his made her brain stop working, being guided by something so primal that she had yet to understand.

“It’s- a fucking club bathroom. Anyone could come in-”

Jude just groaned, annoyed and frustrated. He knew he had chosen the only woman who wouldn’t want to take him tonight – but he also knew that was merely a façade. If she thought he didn’t notice her lingering stares, the way she’d hold her breath next to him whenever she was slightly caught by surprise and the desire in her eyes, she was so wrong.

“Let them fucking come. They’ll see me and leave in the same instant. I don’t fucking care if there’ll be headlines about my behavior tomorrow.” He said, staring into her eyes, his tone firm. “Let me take care of you. Know you need it. See right through you, princess.”

She opened her mouth to come with a smart retort, but he was quicker. Jude’s hands went to the back of her thighs, suddenly pulling her and lifting her of the ground with ease. Guiding her to the sink countertop and gently placing her there – perhaps the only gentle act he had and would have throughout the night.

“The more you talk, the more I’ll want to shut you up,” he warned her with a husky tone, his finger under her chin to make sure she was looking at him. “And that’ll just make me tease you more and not give you what you want.”

She gulped and gave him a small nod. She’d never say it out loud, she’d never give him the pleasure of agreeing with him. So difficult, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, he was more than pleased with the challenge of making her scream his name to prove otherwise.

“Good,” he said, his thumb tracing her bottom lip as she looked at him. Uncertainty, desire and frustration placed behind her eyelids. He could see all of that. “You’re so pretty. So desirable,” he whispered, his mouth so close to hers that she could feel his breath. “Wouldn’t want you spending the night with anyone else. It’d fucking kill me, princess.”

She barely remembered how they ended up in that bathroom. How they went from barely looking at each other to this closeness in the span of a few hours. She knew she had drunk as much as him – they wouldn’t be there otherwise. Not when they’ve always claimed to hate each other. If they were in their right minds, they wouldn’t even be in the same room.

She remembered having a man hitting on her as she drank. He was attractive, for sure, but nothing that would make her give him any attention. She remembered smoking her strawberry mango vape when Jude abruptly took it out of her hand when he wasn’t even that close a few moments before. His tight grip on her wrist, not enough to hurt her, but enough to keep it there, guiding her away from the man, was something she couldn’t forget.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She asked him with annoyance as he guided them to a more secluded spot. God, she hated admitting it, but he looked so good in formal clothes.

“Taking you away from that fucking douchebag that was eating you with his eyes,” he retorted, the anger clear in his tone as he gave her back her vape. She quickly put it in her purse. “You have to stop smoking that crap, as well.”

“I’m sorry, but since when did you feel entitle to control my life in any way whatsoever?” She asked with a sarcastic smile, annoyed at his attitude.

“If you think, for a second, I’d let you leave the club with that guy, with someone that’s not even close to your level-” he stopped once he realized what had said. He licked his lips and sighed, his hands resting on his waist as she looked at him with confusion.

“Who would be close to my level, then?” She asked with crossed arms, tilting her head.

Jude just gave her a small, cocky grin that he always carried with him. Thank God for his drinks, because only then he’d have the courage to retort her so easily.

“Who do you think, princess?”

After that, it was all blurry. A mix of tongues against each other, the taste of his strong drinks, his cologne, his hands pulling her closer. The anger, the frustration, the desire – until stumbling upon the bathroom because they had no other choice when lust controlled them so easily.

The feeling of the cold tiles of the countertop and Bellingham’s confession brought her back to the moment, looking into his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to leave the club with him,” she said, her eyes falling to his mouth. So, so close that she could reminisce the taste of it. “I wasn’t going to leave the club with anyone.”

Jude seemed rather pleased by her reply, his body finding a way to be even closer to hers. Despite always trying to say they hated each other; it was always the same – like magnets being drawn. All they had been doing, this whole time, was prolongating the inevitable. He was fucking tired of it.

“Good,” he whispered, his hand slowly travelling to the insides of her thighs, dangerously close to her warmth. She held back a whimper and he grinned at the sight. It was almost as if she was already coming undone from a single movement. “Wouldn’t want anyone but me to have the privilege.”

She looked up at Jude, suddenly realizing how big he was, how easily he was towering her and she could barely see past his long shoulders. With a sudden movement, her arms were now resting on his shoulders, caressing them.

“Need you to say it’s mine, darling. Would you do that for me, hm?” He whispered in her ear, expecting a tantrum, some remark to show how bratty she was. But his fingers were too close to her core for her to even come up with something that smart.

“That what is yours?,” was the best she could come up with, acting innocent despite the way her voice cracked.

Jude, in response, only looked deeply into her eyes as he pressed two fingers to her covered warmth, feeling the damp that was formed.

“That this is mine.” He spoke lowly, pressing his fingers even harder, earning a gasp from her as her eyelids shut, as if she was still trying to hold herself back. To gather some self-control.

“It’s yours,” she whispered. Jude thought about demanding her to speak louder, but it was already so much than he ever expected her to say.

His middle finger tossed her underclothing to the side, his index finger already moving over to her clits with enough pressure, in slow, circle motions.

“Already so wet, princess. All that denial and for what?” Bellingham chuckled lowly, almost as if as taunting her, as if his own underwear wasn’t feeling extremely tight. “Tell me what you want.”

She sighed. She had been holding back for so long that she decided that it wasn’t time to play around anymore.

“Want you to fuck me,” she said, looking into his deep brown eyes in a silent plea.

And how could he ever deny her anything when she was looking at him like that?

He inserted two digits into her core, moving them around her walls, trying to know which spot pleasured her the most just from the way she had to shut her eyelids strongly. She felt so warm and looked so desperate that the bulge in his pants became even more apparent, if that was possible.

“I wish I could just slam myself into you right now,” he whispered in her ear as his fingers began to distance from each other inside her, scissoring her slowly as she gasped. “But I need to get you prepped. Don’t want to hurt you that much.”

When Jude said, her eyes fell to the prominent bulge, realizing how big he actually was and whimpering just from imagining. He chuckled against her ear as she clenched around his fingers, knowing exactly what went on inside her head.

After realizing she was almost about to cum on his fingers, Jude took them off her and she whimpered again at the sudden emptiness. He sucked his fingers as the other hand undid his belt in a single, quick motion. She rushed to help to unbutton his pants, and even more eagerly to help him take his underwear off just enough so his cock would jump out.

As it sprung out, she watched it in all its rigidness. It was bigger than she expected, and his tip was already leaking with precum. It hit her, then, that Jude was just as vulnerable and desperate as she was.

Her hand quickly grabbed his cock, moving slowly and spreading his precum around it so her movements came with more ease. To his own surprise, he moaned, not being able to hold back anymore.

Jude gripped around her wrist, taking her hand away from his member and lining his hips with her entrance. His tip teased her once, twice, threatening to finally go inside her. Eager and impatient, she moved her hips, so he was finally inside her.

He moved slowly as she felt like she was burning from inside out, having a hard time adjusting to his size. As he finally bottomed inside her, Jude gave her some time to get used to it. When she gave him a small nod, that’s when he started moving.

“Shit,” he mumbled in her ear, trying his best to not go too hard. She clenched around him, whimpering and moaning, not bothering anymore to hide a single sound. It was driving him insane. “You feel so, so good.”

“Jude,” she called him out, her eyes closed. He thought it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen – her hair all messy, her dress wrinkled, panting and desperate. If he wasn’t in the same state, he would be taunting her. Usually, that was how he was. But, for some reason, it was different with her. He needed to be inside her.

He didn’t even realize when exactly his thrusts became harder and erratically. He only knew that because she was moaning his name more often, louder.

When he accidentally hit her sweet spot, she saw stars behind her eyes, arching her back and rolling her eyes. God, if she had more of this, she would drool. She couldn’t think – not at all, not when he was slamming into her walls like that.

“Jude, I’m-” she clenched tightly around him, and he moaned.

“I know, baby,” he was panting as well. He needed to make her cum, and perhaps, more desperately, to cum. He didn’t know for how long he could handle it. “Cum for me, princess. You’ve been such a good girl, taking my cock so well. Cum.”

It felt more like he was ordering than praising, but, as soon as she came, he spilled inside her walls.

“Fuck,” Jude said, trying his best to grab for air as his head fell to her shoulders. She caressed him softly. Even though they were both a mess and could barely breathe, he chuckled from her act. Smirking, he looked at her and said: “Was that all I needed to do for you to stop hating me?”

[ohsc]

Could you write an older Dean and younger reader? Such as late thirties/early forties Dean and a mid twenties reader. Maybe the reader is inexperienced, and Dean coaches them through it?

help you.

dean winchester x fem!reader, 1.9k, nfsw 18+, grinding, p in v, riding, kinda dirty talk, older!dean, inexperienced!reader, kinda unedited — requests are open

Dean’s been to heaven, but it didn’t compare to the bliss of having her in his lap.

He’s had her beneath him — in bed, in the Impala, in a few motel rooms — had her against the shower wall, and more recently at the result of his own impatience, against the library shelves. But, for some reason, he hadn’t had her in his lap before.

It was bliss.

Her breath was hot as she panted into his open mouth, and she was so warm, bare thighs against his own, hot palms that pressed down atop his own bare chest. The only clothing between them was their underwear, and Dean had struggled with the decision of whether he wanted to keep seeing her pretty bra on her or take it off for far too long.

His fingers dug into her hips and grinded her against his lap, and it was the noise he managed to pull from her throat that made the decision up for him. He wanted to pull as many sounds from her as he could, and that meant needing to get the garment off.

One of his hands stayed curled around the dip of her hip bone, whilst his other flattened against her smooth skin and moved upwards until he reached her shoulder, and he hooked his thumb beneath her bra strap, tugged it back just enough to snap it back against her skin, and a low chuckle escaped him when she jumped and pulled back slightly.

“What was that for?” Her mumbled words were a little too whiny for his cock not to throb.

“Just teasing’ you, baby,” he kissed her pout briefly. “You look so pretty, all worked up for me.”

She was such a sight. The fact that she was in his lap alone would’ve been enough to get him worked up, but she was so fucking gorgeous. Her lips were red and kiss-bitten, cheeks all flushed pink. Her makeup was a little ruined in such a way that drove him fucking crazy; lipgloss smudged — the same lipgloss he could taste in his own mouth — glitter that was supposed to be on her eyelids made her cheeks sparkle, black smudges of mascara beneath her eyes. She looked a little wrecked, and he hadn’t really touched her yet.

He reached behind her to unclasp her bra with practiced expertise before he slid the straps down and pulled it from her, groaned deep in his throat when her breasts were on view.

As Dean kissed her again, a bit wet and a bit lazy as he sucked on her bottom lip, his hand slid up from her hip and he cupped one of her breasts, gently squeezed the warm soft flesh in his palm before he thumbed at her nipple until he felt it harden breath his touch, and the breathy noises that were pushed into his mouth from her throat were gorgeous.

Dean had fucked her enough times to know what would pull certain reactions for her. He wasn’t sure she’d had much experience before him, and… Dean knew how it looked. He was getting on a bit, in his mid-thirties, and he had almost ten years on her.

(He had threatened to hit Sam with his car the moment a joking “sugar daddy” had passed his brothers lips.)

Naturally, she wasn’t as experienced as him, he knew that without having to be told. But the first time they’d fucked, and she questioned why he was spending so much time focused on making her feel good, just told him all he needed to know.

She’d only ever hooked up with shitty guys who just wanted to get off.

Admittedly, Dean had been that guy in the past. But the sight of her cumming was otherworldly. He wanted to see it again, and again, and again.

Dean grinded her against him once more and she moaned, her hot cheek pressed against his when her head tipped forwards as she panted softly.

“God, you sound fucking perfect,” he grunted, and he was so painfully hard and her panties were so fucking soaked that he knew neither of them wanted to wait anymore. “Want you to keep making those pretty noises for me.”

His hands dipped down enough to slide his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, and he shimmied them down just enough to pull his cock out, but just as he reached for her underwear, she leaned back and went to move.

“Hey,” he gripped her hips and tugged her back where she was. “Where’re you goin’?”

She blinked at him, took a heaving breath. “You want me here?”

Dean chuckled and gave her hips another squeeze. “Kinda missing the point of what we’re doing if you think I don't want you here, babe.”

“No, I-” she took a breath. “Here like this,” she gestured down towards his lap, and Dean just blinked at her until she huffed out and clarified, “I’ve never… done it like this before.”

Dean softened just slightly. He remembered the first time they’d had sex, how nervous she’d been about not being enough for him, about not being able to get him off. She’d ended up being the best sex of his fucking life, and there was nothing he wanted more in that moment then to have her in his lap, coming apart on his cock.

“Aw, doll,” he tipped forwards and kissed her softly, squeezed her hips until she properly settled her weight back down into his lap again. “That’s alright, doesn’t matter if you haven’t done it before.”

She huffed a breath against his lips, cheeks flushed pink, and she looked partly embarrassed and partly turned on. “M’not gonna do it right.” The words were mumbled into his mouth, soft and almost whiney.

“Yeah you are, sweetheart,” he kissed her once more before he leaned back to get a good look at her expression, her pretty face. “I’ll help you.”

She was breathing heavy, and still looked a little nervous, but nodded her head, palms flat against his chest. He’d never get over the sight of her when she got like this — flushed, blissed out, turned on. God, he could just drink her up, savour the way she looked right then, keep it bottled up for whenever he wanted it.

Dean reached down to the apex of her thighs, brushed his fingertips along the damp fabric, and he watched as she shuddered, her eyes shut.

“Fuck doll,” he groaned, rubbed her through the fabric just until she made a little noise and then he hooked his fingers underneath the wet fabric and pulled it to the side, too lazy to take them off of her completely. “You’re fuckin’ soaked. Sit up for me, c’mon,” Dean squeezed her hips until she lifted them, and he held her underwear to the side with one hand, his other pumped his cock a few times before he lined his head up with her wet hole, clenched his jaw.

“That’s it- that’s it-” Dean groaned as she sank herself down onto him, squeezed her hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises until he was completely inside of her, and he felt so much deeper at that position.

She was all heavy breaths and sighs, her fingers clung to his shoulders as she sank herself down in his lap. Her head had tipped forwards and her forehead pressed to his cheek, hot skin to hot skin, her breaths fanned out against his throat. “Dean-”

“I know- fuck,” Dean grunted as he shifted her hips and felt her clench around him. “I know, baby, good girl.”

He gripped her hips and helped her move, and with every drag of his cock against her tight walls, it was blissful. She was panting into his open mouth, hands gripped him tightly, and he could tell that despite her earlier concerns, she felt good.

“How’s that, doll?” The words were mumbled into her ear as he sank her back down onto his cock, and her resulting moan was muffled against the skin of his throat, her fingers gripped onto him tighter.

“Good-” She gasped. “It’s- oh-”

Dean smirked into her hair, grunted as she sank back down on him again, felt the cling of her wet heat around his cock. “It’s what, baby?” He kissed the shell of her ear. “Use your words, c’mon.”

She whimpered at the next drag of his cock. “It’s… feels so good-”

“That’s good, sweetheart,” Dean sacrificed one of the hands on her hips to slide up her back and he tangled his fingers in her hair, gave it a playful tug until she tipped her head back to look at him, and fuck the look on her face. Flushed pink, eyes half-lidded, lips parted in little sighs and gasps that threatened to make him cum there and then. “You look so fuckin’ pretty, you know that?” He lifted his hips and thrusted up into her and she groaned as her nails dug into his shoulders. “So gorgeous-” he grunted. “Makin’ a mess all over me- fuck-”

It was her that initiated the kiss, then, her mouth moved messily and desperate against his until the kiss became wet and lazy and fucking heavenly. His fingers tightened only slightly in her hair, only to keep her angled properly for the kiss, and he kept moving her hips and thrusting up into her, felt as her slickened walls squeezed and clenched his cock as it throbbed with a desire he’d only ever felt for her.

Their mouths were still attached when she came without warning, and he felt more than heard the groan that escaped her and into his mouth, felt as she pulsed around him, and it was just enough to drag his orgasm out of him too.

Dean groaned, let go of her hair to grip her hips and pulled her tight down against him until he was buried to the fucking hilt, and he didn’t let go until he was completely fucking drained.

“Oh god, sweetheart,” he was panting when he finally eased his grip on her hips, and dropped a plethora of wet kisses to her hot cheek before he leaned back to look at her face. “Look at you.”

She was a fucking picture as she sat in his lap, still filled up completely, as she panted and blushed and gave him that fucking smile, the shy smile that wasn’t so fucking shy after what they’d done.

Her eyes dipped down and she took a shuddering breath inwards as she leaned forwards and softly kissed his neck. “Was that… did I do okay?”

“Did you do okay?” Dean chuckled and lifted his hand to cup her jaw, and when he tipped her head back up towards him he leaned forwards and kissed her in a much gentler way than he had before. “That was perfect. You’re a fuckin’ gem, y’know that?”

She just giggled, kissed him again, and wrapped her arms around his neck, their bodies hot against each other.

And then, her soft voice mumbled, far from completely satisfied, “…can I try again?”

[heeseungsbm]

・₊✧ Kiss Me Thru The Phone‧₊˚☏♡₊˚

lee heeseung

₊˚⊹❥pairing❥: idol ! heeseung x female reader

₊୧ ‧₊❥summary❥: the hardest part of heeseung's job was being separated from you; it drove him physically insane. he was determined to find a way to satisfy his insatiable cravings—his intense desire for you, one way or the other.

❥ genre: smut with plot, fluffy ending :)

⊹₊ ⋆❥warnings❥: sexting, heeseung is very horny, phone sex, masturbation (male & female), dirty talk, edging, fingering (female), orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, nicknames (baby, good girl).

❥ heeseung’s dialogue is in pink.

:‧₊˚ ⋅❥wc❥: 7k.

thank God, the fate tour and its excessive, completely unnecessary extensions had finally come to an end. there wasn't enough of a word to describe how relieved heeseung felt to be done.

don't get him wrong, heeseung loved being an idol. he loved the rush of adrenaline he got from performing in sold out shows, and having hundreds of thousands of beautiful girls losing their composure over him was quite the ego boost.

but tour? uh uh. not heeseung's thing.

while it was an amazing experience in many ways, it had its dreadful downsides; the lack of sleep, the pounding headaches from jet lag, the body sores and bruises from practicing for hours and hours on end, leaving him with literally no energy for anything else. privacy was practically nonexistent, it'd become a distant memory. heeseung literally had no space to himself. everything was a group activity.

however, not seeing you for months was the worst, most agonizing part of it all. who would want to be away from their girlfriend for nearly half the year, and then the longest time they'd get to be with her was 2 weeks? sure you guys made it work, but that didn't make it any less torturous.

at the end of the day, when the arenas went empty and the stage lights grew dark, heeseung was a male with hormones. a man who got horny, just like any other. nothing could fulfill his desires the way you did, he absolutely hated not being able to have sex for long periods of time.

of course there were quick and easy alternatives he could've ran to, but unlike his members who had numerous one night stands and groups of girls signing NDAs to give them a good time in their hotel rooms, heeseung didn't care to fuck anyone who wasn't you. sex to him was intimate, an expression of his passion and devotion that he only took pleasure sharing with one person.

one person he was deeply in love with, which is you.

it was hell on earth having to bust a painfully quiet nut while his members slept in the same room as him, or having to sneak away and jerk off in the bathrooms. even in heeseung's sleep, his filth lived in his fantasies past his eyelids, it's all he could dream about.

sex, sex, and more sex.

every part of you—your lips, your voice, your scent, your body, your touch. it was like a drug to him, and your absence gave him the most excruciating withdrawal. he couldn't wait for the tour to end so he could finally be with you, even if it was just for a little.

he was sick and tired of cumming in his palm.

backstage, heeseung sat criss-cross applesauce on a chair, fidgeting anxiously and taking deep breaths to try to calm himself down. enhypen had just finished their last show in japan which he was more happy about, but the whole day thoughts of you ate at his brain like acid. his erection would not go down for the life of it, no matter how hard he tried.

he did push ups, played mobile games to try and distract himself, but nothing was working. he was so fucking horny that he couldn't think straight, and his body language spoke louder than words.

the more he fed the thought, the more he realized there was one thing he could do. heeseung kept an entire folder in his phone, loaded with your explicit photos & videos for when he desperately needed to get off. you are the only thing that made him incredibly hard, and the only thing that led him to actually finish. he had no interest in porn, it needed to be to you.

he was helpless and desperate, discreetly covering the unsettling sensitivity in his lap. his heart raced rapidly and he felt like all eyes were on him, focusing on the hardening feeling that he longed to ease. after what felt like hours of contemplation, he decided to surrender to it and text you, knowing you were the only person who could fix this.

maybe he could get something new from you to use, and hopefully find a place to use it.

hello lovebug

he texted you, the ding of your phone striking you confused as you applied soap onto your back. you rinsed off your hand and reached out of the shower curtain for your phone to see who it was.

no other than your boyfriend, of course.

oh hey, you're done for the day?

heeseung sat eagerly waiting for your response, his eyes glued to the screen. when your message came through quickly, he let out a sigh of relief, happy that the wait wasn't long.

thank fucking goodness i am😂

are you busy rn tho baby?

the bubbles indicating typing appeared, and after a few seconds your messages sent.

😂hope it went well

and kind of, in the shower

a sly smile spread across heeseung's face, flashbacks of your naked body gleaming with water running through his mind from when you last showered together.

oh wow

can you do me a favor?

his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he waited in anticipation.

sure what's up

you didn't even have a chance to place your phone back down before you heard another ding, he was replying unusually fast.

can you make me a video while you're in there?

your eyes widened at his text, a mix of surprise and intrigue coming over you at his request.

omg

ok, but what kind? lol

heeseung chewed his inner cheek at your question, thinking of what to say back. he knew exactly what he wanted to see, he just didn't want to come across as... obnoxious.

anything baby

just something to cum to, if that's okay with you?

typical heeseung, always asking for nudes. you didn't mind giving him what he wanted though, it gave you a sense of empowerment and validation to be able to fulfill his need for you with just the simple sight of your body.

you grabbed some more shower gel and squeezed a generous amount of the fruity substance onto your chest, rubbing the suds to create a lather. you posed as you took selfies with your tits in the frame, recording a couple clips for him seductively massaging your bubbly boobs, showing different angles to flaunt your soapy body. after picking the best ones, you pressed send and resumed your shower.

Attatchments: 5 Images, 2 Videos

enjoyyyyy😘😘😘

heeseung felt his phone buzz twice on his thigh as he impatiently shook it on the chair, sending a wave of butterflies straight to his tummy. he scanned his surroundings, and thankfully everyone was busy having their own conversations and doing their own things. but just to surely make sure nobody was looking, he covered the side of his phone screen with his hand as he opened your messages.

damn.

his face lit up at how much you'd spoiled him, gawking at your pretty face complimented by your wet hair, and your plump boobs covered in bubbles. he looked like a dumb dog, his eyes stuck and his lips parted, almost drooling as he watched how your hand fondled your tits.

you're so sexy

i wish i could fuck you right now

he could feel his face getting hot, his palms growing warm and sweaty. his dick pulsed in his pants, he needed to find somewhere to be alone, and soon. otherwise, he was going to cum in his pants.

"hyung, are you okay?" jake asked as he came up from behind, noticing the red flushing of his friend's cheeks and the jittering of his thigh.

heeseung flinched dramatically, nearly dropping his phone on the ground in the process. he quickly shut his phone off and placed it face down on the table, hoping to God that jake hadn't been standing there for long,

"you seem extra tense today," he teased, placing a hand on his elder's shoulder. "your cheeks are as red as a tomato."

"do not fucking touch me," heeseung hissed, removing jake's hand off his shoulder. he released the tension in his body by cracking his neck on both sides, then his knuckles one by one.

"sheesh. somebody needs their dick sucked.." jake joked, bursting into laughter at heeseung's uptight behavior.

well, he wasn't wrong. that's exactly what heeseung needed, actually.

"oh yeah, you wouldn't believe what happened to me earlier," jake exclaimed, his voice full of enthusiasm. "these two girls were hanging out in the lobby, and they would not leave me alone! until i let them give me a 2 for 1 special, if you know what i mean," he elbowed heeseung, a playful grin on his face. "never came so fast in my life. one was twisting with her hand, while the other was sucki—"

"will you shhhhh!" heeseung silenced jake, placing his hand over his mouth. he wanted to gag, he was disgusted by the thought of rotating between multiple girls for pleasure. "im on the phone with my mom, you freak," he quickly came up with a lie, removing his hand from jake's mouth. "do you know somewhere i could take the call, privately?"

jake chuckled, because obviously he wasn't a fucking dumbass. heeseung was the freak here.

"there should be an empty dressing room a few doors down from here. it's down the hall, the third silver door on the left," he said, pointing in the direction of the exit. "hope you and mom have fun," jake shot a wink, before scurrying off to continue flirting with backup dancers.

gosh, what a freak.

heeseung sighed in relief once jake left, thankful that his lie cut the conversation short. it was suffocating having to interact with anyone when thoughts of you would corrupt his mind, especially with someone as oversharing as jake. he got up from his chair and made his way out of the backstage area, squeezing between cameramen and staff, reciting the directions jake gave him in his head.

back at home, you finally finished your shower and skincare, moisturizing your body with butters to seal your routine. you threw on some pink lace panties and a soft silk robe heeseung bought you not too long ago and you entered the room you and heeseung shared, lighting a few vanilla-scented candles, casting a warm glow across the room and adding a gentle fragrance to the air. with the lights dimmed, you yawned in fatigue as you made your way to your queen-sized bed, diving into its cozy embrace. 

even with the room clean and your body refreshed from your shower, you couldn't shake the emptiness you felt without heeseung's presence. you missed the nights he would come to bed and shower your neck with kisses, how he'd hug you tight from behind until you fell asleep. your eyes fixated on his empty side of the bed, a pang of loneliness striking your chest. you moved closer to his pillows and clutched them tightly, as if they could somehow fill the void he left behind.

meanwhile, halfway across the globe, heeseung stood outside what he believed to be the place jake recommended. he frowned as he examined the blank door in front of him, how weird that it had no label, and not even a handle. but it was in fact, the only 'third silver door on the left'. with uncertainty he pushed it open, quietly creeping in and letting it close behind him.

empty dressing room? way to lie to a lie, jake.

heeseung stumbled through the crowded darkness, blindly swatting away at hangers of clothes as they grazed his face. he hugged his body with his sleeveless arms as the AC blasted painfully cold air, and to make his matters worse, there was no light switch. well, at least to his knowledge after feeling around for one. this was clearly not a dressing room, more like an ... abandoned closet.

with the help of his phone's flashlight, heeseung managed to make his way to the very back, the area thankfully warmer behind a rack of performance costumes. he could not believe he'd sunken this low; going all this way to masturbate in such an ominous room like this. but at the same time, anything would be better than walking around with the sexual urge that plagued him all day.

he resigned himself to sitting on the floor, sighing as he sank against the wall. he unlocked his phone and went to your messages, his thumb hovering over the screen as he checked to see if you replied to any of his previous texts. 

he scoffed in a bummer, no text back.

heeseung's mind started to race with possible explanations; maybe you were just asleep. or maybe you were flat out ignoring him, he couldn't help but wonder if he had gone too far with his request for nudes. but his desire for you consumed him, heeseung ached to hear your voice and feel closer to you, even if it meant connecting purely through the phone.

to tell the truth, he'd been fantasizing about having phone sex with you for as long as he could remember. he always craved the idea; how good it would feel to listen to you touch yourself while he did the same, how pretty you'd moan for him, how it wouldn't take long to make each other cum. he thought it was the least you two could do with the distance, he just never knew how to ask.

the need coursing through his body was intense, the only chance he'd have to make his fantasy a reality was now, alone in this closet. who knew how it was ever going to go, but it was worth a try. he began texting you again, in hopes of fast replies like before.

you were lying in bed on twitter, how coincidental that you were searching for a new fancam of heeseung, unaware that you had him on delivered. his flurry of new notifications put an end to your scrolling, literally making you freeze in place.

hey

are you still up baby?

please call me if you are

your heart began to pound out of your chest, your pupils dilating at the words "call me". it'd been roughly a month since you were able to, due to heeseung's hectic schedule and all the time zone differences. at least at the start of his career you two were able to text and facetime throughout the day, he even fell asleep on the phone with you every night. but now that enhypen's popularity was increasing rapidly, you and heeseung barely had any time to talk consistently.

like, ever.

after multiple sets of deep breaths and practicing how cutely you'd speak, you clicked his contact and looked away as you pressed call. you couldn't bear to look at the screen as the phone rang for what felt like eternity, your stomach cartwheeling as you waited for him to answer.

heeseung sat in the dark, his phone serving as his only source of light as he looked through his collection of you, trying to find whatever would help him get off the best. suddenly, his screen flashed and he squinted as it abruptly brightened up his face, following his loud ringtone.

shit, it was you.

with no hesitation, heeseung swiftly swiped the green button to answer, bringing the phone to his ear. he cleared his throat as the call began, with the biggest smile on his face.

"hey, baby," heeseung greeted you.

that sweet word, baby. it was like a warm hug and a loving kiss intertwined into one, it made your insides melt every time. "hello mr. celebrity," you playfully said back into the phone, curled up on his side of the bed. "what are you up to?"

heeseung laughed at your playfulness, your honeyed voice immediately sedating him. he'd missed it terribly. "nothing much, i've just been thinking about you. nothing new, right?"

he sounded so gentle and velvety, making you more shy than usual. to be fair that's how heeseung always made you feel, everything with him gave you first time nerves. "i've been thinking about you too, babe," you confessed.

"how are you feeling?" he asked you, his speech smooth. "it's late over there, isn't it? did you eat dinner yet?"

you sighed. "well i guess i'm okay, you know. just waiting for you to come home." you couldn't help your uncontrollable smile, you felt like a middle school girl on the phone with her crush. "and i had a chicken cesar salad for dinner, with a strawberry-banana smoothie."

"ahh. that's good baby, sounds yummy. we had really good catering today, i thought you would've liked it," heeseung happily shared with a smile. no matter where he was, there was always something that made him think of you, in some way shape or form. "i really wish you could've been here with me, y/n. all i am without you is stressed."

you pouted, also sad that you had to stay home. the plan was for you to come along with him, but the company didn't want to risk heeseung's personal life getting leaked to the public. you spoke back, "well, i'd imagine all the dancing you do helps relieve some of that stress? no?"

heeseung rotated his neck that was sore from performing, placing his hand on the nape of it. "well yes, but no... not enough." you could hear the distress in his voice as it rasped. "honestly, i'm feeling a bit crazy right now." 

dear God above please forgive me, you mentally implored as arousal began coiling within you. and how terrible, heeseung was simply just expressing himself. but damn did he sound good, his voice was deliciously hoarse. something about him sounded so captivatingly different, you just couldn't put your finger on it. whatever it was, you can't lie.. it had you squeezing your thighs together.

you spaced out as he kept talking, staring at the spinning ceiling fan above you. the line soon went silent thanks to your trance, causing heeseung to worry. "um, y/n... h–hello?"

"oh! im sorry," you quickly apologized, coming back to reality. you took your phone off your ear and put him on speaker mode, sitting more upright against the headboard of your bed. "im here, babe. you just... you sound really good."

heeseung smiled to himself, taking great pride in your compliment. "you like how i sound, huh?"

"mhm," you hum in agreement. "i missed your voice."

"i miss you, just.. everything about you." he sounded low and sultry, sending a chill down your spine. "i really wish i could touch you right now."

the corners of your lips curved into a smile at the thought of heeseung's perfect hands, how big they were compared to everything on your body. you missed his touch so badly. "i miss you so much more," you replied, filled with longing. "wish you could touch me too."

those words were just what heeseung wanted to hear, and he was trying so hard to not unzip his jeans and jerk off while you talked. he desperately wanted to tell you how hard you were making him, how bad he wanted to cum, how bad he wanted to listen to you fuck your fingers on the line. but he knew that needed to ease into it gradually, like a gentleman.

heeseung moved his hand underneath his sleeveless top to smooth it over his lower stomach, trying to relax. "you're in bed, right? what are you wearing?" he asked, hoping it was little to nothing.

it caught you off guard, wondering what he could possibly do with that information. "yeah, oh, uhhh... one of the robes you sent me for my birthday," you tell him, your fingers idly playing with the string of your robe.

"oh," he raised a brow, picturing your bare body in the silk. "so, nothing else? just the robe, baby?"

"well, if you're not counting underwear, then i guess.." you nonchalantly replied, looking at your nails.

"mmm, i really like that." heeseung bit his lip, thinking of all the pretty undergarments you'd wear to bed. the lace, cheeky underwear that you'd wear turned him on so much, he always insisted you kept them on while he fucked you. "they're pink, aren't they? your panties, i mean."

"mhmm, they are," you responded with a big smile, as he was surprisingly right. "wow, you know me so well."

"i do, don't i," he smirked. but his cocky smile deliberately faded as he remembered where he was, and how he didn't have much time. he had to get this whole thing over with before someone went looking for him, and found him. "i need to tell you something, baby. it's been on my mind for a while." 

"oh, um..." the suspenseful tone in his words scared you. it felt dramatic, like he was about to break up with you or something. "well go on, please." 

"well, there's really no other way to say this, so." heeseung began, his voice deepening lower than before. "i really miss having sex with you, y/n." he continued, little more confidence in his voice, "since we won't be able to see each other for a while, i was wondering if you'd be interested in trying something."

phew. why the hell was that so hard? he felt like a bulldozer had been lifted off his body.

the way heeseung spoke was rich and penetrating, his voice sending a pulsing feeling to your core, making you clench around nothing. "oh i—i miss it too," you agreed shyly, nearly spacing out again. your mind was flooding with the filthiest flashbacks of those unforgettable, sinful nights of that only the two of you knew about. "what did you want to try?" you asked him with a curious tilt of your head.

heeseung took a deep breath, hoping you'd welcome his proposal. "phone sex," he cleared his throat. "... what do you think of the idea?"

fuck he sounded so hot, goodness gracious. God help you again.

you didn't expect heeseung to ask you something like that, considering the fact that he'd never done anything like that in front of you before. yes, you guys had sex, and he clearly used his hand when he needed to. but you'd never self pleasured together before.

finally, you managed to find your voice after a long pause, your words coming out in a soft, shaky tone. "you... you want to try having it?" you asked, your fingers tracing the contour of your thigh to ease your nerves.

"i do, but what about you, baby? would you like to?" heeseung waited patiently, praying in his mind that you'd say yes. the denim of his jeans brutally outlined the shape of his cock, it was begging to be freed from his boxers.

"to be honest, im not sure how well i can do it," you vulnerably admitted. "it might not be as good as you're hoping for."

but the throbbing between your legs grew stronger as you considered his offer, your mind racing with indecision. heeseung clearly really wanted to try, and it couldn't hurt to experiment a little. you took a deep breath, the thought of pleasuring him outweighing your uncertainty. "since it's for you, we can try."

heeseung was beyond thrilled that you agreed, more than happy. but he knew you more than anyone, and he felt concern at the slight hesitation he could sense. he wanted to make sure you truly felt comfortable, it was important to him for both of you to enjoy it.

"don't feel nervous, i'll be here to guide you through it. you can trust me, okay?" he gently assured you, soft but somehow authoritative. "if at any point you don't like it just tell me, and we can stop."

you smiled at heeseung's reassurance, the nervousness immediately leaving your body at his consideration. "you're so sweet. don't worry, i want to. i trust you," you assured him. "we can start now, if that's what you wanted."

heeseung let out a sigh of relief, feeling calm after hearing your affirmation. "great," he replied, the corners of his lips curling slightly. "give me one second."

he unzipped his tight-fitting jeans, feeling a sense of freedom at finally being able to relax. he reached for his aching cock out of his Calvin Klein boxers, groaning as it sprung straight up and slapped his stomach. his precum spilled from his pink, cut tip, he gulped down a thick swallow of air as he spread the leakage across the head with his thumb. "are you comfortable?"

"mhmm," you hummed, pulling the covers over your lower body, seeking warmth and privacy even though there was no one to hide from.

"close your eyes for me baby, i want you to imagine me there from now on. just trust me, it'll feel better with them closed." heeseung wrestled the impulse to jerk his impressive length that stood proud in his lap, but he wanted to get you going first. "are they closed yet?" he asked you, closing his own.

you closed your eyes, the darkness making his voice seem even more seductive. "mhm, they're closed."

heeseung's breath hitched slightly at the sound of your compliance. "good, baby. i want you to focus on my voice, nothing else matters. okay?"

"okay," you tell him, your heart racing faster now, the intimacy of the moment heightened by your inability to see.

"touch your body for me," heeseung muttered huskily, authority in his voice. "you know where to touch first, right baby?"

"mhm, i think so." you gasped as you slipped your hands inside the silky fabric of your robe, your fingers trailing gently along the sensitive skin of your neck before moving to run along your collarbones, then downwards to gently caress your bare chest.

"where are you touching, love?" he sweetly asked.

"my tits," you responded, massaging your tender breasts and playing with your hardened nipples between your fingers.

"mmm, good girl. spread your legs for me," he lowly instructed, spitting a long glob of saliva onto his cock and smoothing it around the length as he felt it drip down, giving the shaft a firm hold with his fist. "move your hand to where you want me to touch you, baby."

your body responded to his commands like a puppet on a string, unable to resist his allure. you were on your back, slightly propped up by pillows as you opened your legs, wandering your hand down to land between your thighs. "okay, i did," you quietly replied.

"you want to touch it so bad, don't you baby?" heeseung taunted you, his teasing revealing your own longing to touch your sensitive flesh through the fabric. "wanna play with your pussy so bad for me."

"yes please," you begged him. "please let me."

"you can baby, you can touch for me." heeseung granted you permission, and he could already hear a change in your breathing, it became shaky within seconds.

you rubbed your covered pussy, pressing down right where your clit was swelling. your folds left a big puddle on the thin material, your underwear entirely soaked, absorbing all of your arousal. "heeseung," you softly moaned his name as you groped your wetness, "my panties, they're ruined."

heeseung threw his head back against the wall, the thought of your pussy being so wet that it seeped through your panties made his cock grow painfully harder, harder than it already was. it pulsed violently, throbbing as it cried to be stroked up and down. "you wanna be a good girl and touch your pussy for me?" he asked, his voice deep and saturated with his need to touch himself.

your voice cracked as you answered, "yes, want to touch so bad."

heeseung could cum off of how sweet and submissive you sounded right now alone. "go ahead and touch baby, tell me what you feel."

you slid your fingers underneath the damp fabric and massaged the surface of your folds, your stickiness glazing your fingertips. "im wet, i'm really wet."

"that's perfect, baby." his tongue darted out to wet his lips, visualizing running the head of his cock between the wet lips of your pussy. "touch your clit and play with it."

your body twitched as you began to toy at your sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing yourself like heeseung would with his perfect fingers. you took deep, trembling breaths against the mic of your phone, turning heeseung on so much on the other side.

he let out a sharp moan as he finally glided his hand up and down his wet dick, applying immense pressure to his sensitive tip. he didn't need lube, his precum and saliva were just enough. "can you hear it, baby? stroking my cock for you, just for you." he grunted, lowering his phone and bringing the mic near his hands, allowing you to hear every wet, sloppy sound of the friction.

you whined, rubbing delicate circles on your clit as you listened to the slipperiness of his cock. "shhh...it. f-fuck," your teeth sunk down on your bottom lip, in slight shame of cursing.

heeseung's fist rhythmically twisted around his cock, his chest rising and falling heavily with each lubricious stroke. his thigh muscles spasmed at the heavenly, warm sensation from his hand, his toes tingling in his shoes. it felt so fucking good to finally be able to jerk off. but still, nothing compared to how you felt. "put your fingers in your fucking pussy." he demanded it of you, more than ready to hear it.

with your imagination fixated on the thought of heeseung's cock in place of your fingers, you carefully teased your tight entrance, sticky and slick from how bad you wished he was home to fuck you. you hissed as you pushed one in, then another, deeply past your tight walls.

your soft moans let him know that your fingers were inside of you, and heeseung smiled to himself at your obedience. "i need you to talk to me, baby. does it feel good? feel good to finger your pussy for me?"

"feels s-so good," you trembled, spreading your legs further apart as you gradually slid your fingers in and out of your hole. your mouth hung open at the immense pleasure, it was blissful to finally have something penetrating you after so long—you hadn't touched yourself since he left for tour.

heeseung routinely licked his lips as he steadily stroked his cock, your whines and whimpers into the phone bringing him a different type of contentment. he wanted to hear more, he wanted to feel like he was there making you feel good. "moan for me some more, baby."

just the sound of his voice alone guiding you was stimulating, it was hypnotizing. you were completely under his spell, and in your current state, there was nothing you wouldn't do if he asked. you pumped your 2 fingers deeper, moving them in and out of your tightness with care as you let yourself get louder. "miss you, miss the way you fuck me," you whined, trying your best to sound as pornographic for him as possible. "im ... so tight," you squealed, searching and exploring for that sweet spot that he always reached.

"yeah?" heeseung jerked himself off with a more firm grip around his girth, attempting to mimic the tightness of your wet cunt. "tell me, tell me how tight you are for me."

"im so wet, and tight for you," you shakily moaned into the mic as you fingered your pussy, the squelching driving him crazy. "just for you, hee." you switched back and forth between fingering yourself and massaging your tits for more simulation, taking your fingers and spreading the wetness on your nipples, then fucking them back into your pussy.

"such a good girl. keep playing with your pussy for me baby, just like that." heeseung praised you as his adam's apple moved up and down in his throat, breathlessly talking you through your pleasure.

he took his lower lip between his teeth and sucked on it, his breathing growing increasingly heavier. his right hand weakly held his phone against his ear to hear you whilst he thrusted his hips upwards, fueling his desperate grinding into his left hand. he was still a little paranoid about someone coming in and busting him for doing something so immoral, so nasty, but he wanted to vocally please you the best he could. so, he didn't back any sound that came from his throat.

you could hear the ruffling of heeseung fucking up into his hand, it was so intense that you could've sworn you started to feel it. the vulgar profanity that left his lips made your pussy so wet and slick, you completely melted into the mattress at the sound of his filth against your ear.

you couldn't believe how quickly the phone call had changed within a matter of just 7 minutes, here you were playing your pussy on the phone while heeseung moaned like his life depended on it.

you physically couldn't stop, and neither could he on the other side. heeseung relished his salacious fantasy, his mind entirely fogged with lust for you. he never wanted it to end, because you sounded so good. it made his cock so fucking hard, how he was the only one who got to hear you this way; so cute, whiney and breathless, so desperate for him without his touch.

"oh my g—fuck me," you moaned, pumping your fingers faster into yourself. "you're gonna make me cum," you quivered as you pleaded for him, cream dripping from your hole and wetting your sheets.

heeseung let another warm pool of drool fall from his mouth onto his dick, reminiscing how moist and warm you felt in his head, his wet hand picking up the pace. he could feel it in his stomach; he was going to explode if he kept stroking himself at this speed. as torturous as it felt, he slowed down his hand's movements, choking on air as he occasionally let go of his cock to edge it and reserve the buildup.

you tortured your clit with the tips of your creamy fingers, the pleasure becoming so overwhelming that a tear rolled down your cheek. "hee, i-i'm gonna cum," you faintly whimpered, your clit starting to feel too sensitive to touch.

"cumming already, baby?" he let out a stifled moan, his primal desire for you to cum surging. "good girl, cum all over your fingers."

you'd never heard heeseung be this vocal, but you completely submerged in it, loving how careless and expressive he was being. it was a side of him you hadn't known before, and you couldn't get enough.

he mumbled profanity under his jagged breaths and begged you to cum for him, his fist fucking his hand with more force to the thought of being inside you. he could hear the speed of your fingers getting faster and faster, and all that mattered to him was that you were close to cumming—because he damn sure was.

heeseung panted, gripping himself tighter and stroking faster, so fast that his hand began to cramp. he furrowed his brows and his mouth fell wide, his nose scrunching as he felt his sweet release seconds away. "oh fuck... fuck y/n, i'm gonna cum, fuck! im—" his orgasm took over his entire body, spurts of his hot semen oozing out of his tip and dripping down his length, making a thick white mess all over his hand. he moaned in ecstasy as his cock relentlessly leaked, his abs clenching as his seed spilled onto his jeans.

it was disgusting.

you mouth salivated at the obscene sounds of heeseung reaching his peak of ecstasy, and it wasn't long before your own body succumbed to its own waves of pleasure, cumming with him at the same time. you shrieked as you uncontrollably squirted all over the bedsheets, leaving heeseung's side drenched with the liquids from your body. your legs shook violently and you could barely catch your breath, lost in the overtaking overstimulation.

heeseung was far from done, he absentmindedly pumped his cock in a slower, teasing rhythm, milking out his remaining ropes of cum to the sweet sounds of your climax. there was so much, it just kept coming and coming, and coming.

you knees so fell weak that you lost feeling in them. you gasped as you opened your eyes after seeing stars for so long, moaning with heeseung in unison as you both came down from your highs. you slowly removed your fingers out of your pussy, a string of milky wetness following as you brought them into your mouth, tasting the sinful mess you made.

"i j-just changed these sh-sheets," you stuttered as you caught your breath, still shaken from your orgasm. "i made such a mess."

heeseung also was still recovering from his intense release, his breathing heavy and rapid. he let out a long, satisfied sigh, his body relaxing and his cock falling soft as he basked in the afterglow of cumming so much. "let me see the mess you made, baby," he pleaded to see it, desperate for visual proof. "show me."

"you are so freaky," you jokingly snickered, a rasp in your voice from all of the high pitched moans that escaped your mouth. you snapped a picture of the icky mess of cum between your legs and sent it to him, closing and tying your robe back up after.

heeseung's jaw clenched as he opened the photo, his doe eyes round with awe. "woah... that's so hot." he couldn't help but run his tongue over his lips at your downward pov, the sight of the white, creamy essence on your pretty pussy making his cock twitch, despite it falling back tender. his mind raced with thoughts of you and what the two of you had just done together. "i really missed hearing you like that, you're so cute."

"oh stop," you blushed, your heart swelling with affection for him. it was reassuring to hear that he enjoyed how you sounded, you felt a bit better about your performance. "it wouldn't have been possible without you, though."

heeseung chuckled softly, a cocky grin gracing his features. hearing that from you gave him an ego boost. "it felt good, didn't it baby?" he asked, hoping you enjoyed it as much as he did. though he knew you did, there was no way you faked those noises.

"mhm, it felt really good, thanks to you." you nodded with a smile, reminiscing about it already. "i'm glad i tried something new with you."

he grabbed his softened cock that was still hot and sticky, putting it back into his boxers and zipping his jeans back up. "im glad i could help you, thank you for helping me." he mellowly replied, playing with the goopy aftermath of his own release between his fingers. "there's so much i want to do to you, baby. when i get back we'll make up for lost time, yeah?"

"yeah," you softly tell him, getting aroused all over again. you put your finger between your lips, gently nippling on it with your front teeth. a shiver ran down your spine, knowing full well how things tended to get when there was a gap of time in between seeing each other. you didn't know how much longer you could wait. you needed heeseung, you needed the real thing, your fingers could only go so far.

"okay, i have to go now. it's time for you to get some sleep anyways," heeseung said gently as he stood up from the closet floor, shivering from the pins and needles sensation in his legs from his seated climax. "i'll give you a call tomorrow. alright?"

you couldn't help but feel sad that he had to go, you wished he could stay on the phone forever. "okay," you doubtfully sighed, "i hope you know that i don't believe you."

heeseung chuckled into the phone, shaking his head at your insistence. "why? i will call you, you'll see."

you weren't completely reassured, your doubts still lingering. "you promise?"

heeseung's voice softened, his tone earnest. "i promise, baby."

"pinky promise?" you ask him, your voice getting sweeter.

"pinky, pinky, promise." he echoed into the speaker, making you giggle. "double pinky promise. now do you believe me?"

"you pinky promised, so i'll be waiting on it," you smiled, satisfied with his assurance. "goodnight, heeseung."

heeseung's heart wrenched at your words of goodbye. he missed you already, and he too didn't want to go, but he knew had to get back to where he was supposed to be. "goodnight baby, i love you."

"aww. i love you too bubbabear," you say back. "so much."

"but not more than i love you," heeseung's voice turned childish, "never ever."

you got out of bed, still damp between your legs, and the sheets beneath you soaking with your evidence of pleasure. "okay, you can hang up now."

"no, you hang up."

"no you hang up," you spat back.

"no, im not hanging up," heeseung argued with playful defiance, "so you can go ahead, hang up."

"whatever," you rolled your eyes, "just hang up."

"no, you."

"no, you."

heeseung laughed, he knew you'd go back and forth forever if you had the chance. "fine, i'll hang up. but only because i love you."

"oh but that sounds... manipulative?" you replied with sarcasm, "i love you too, by the way."

"sweet dreams," he wished you, before blowing a kiss into the mic. "give me a kiss back, baby," he cutely asked, waiting for you to reciprocate it. "kiss me through the phone."

"gosh, you are so corny," you complained, knowing you'll do it anyway. "wait! let's do it at the same time," you suggest.

"even better," heeseung agreed, full of excitement. "on three."

you counted to three together, both of you bringing your lips to the phone and kissing it, making a long mwah sound.

"aww, i love you," you gush at him one last time.

"you're so cute. i love you more," heeseung sweetly replied, before cutting the line.

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

♡ྀི hello my beautiful followers, its literally been a year since my last post, i'm terrified😅i feel like i lost my writer's spark but if this does well, i have plenty of filth in my drafts waiting to be posted!😟

[rafecameronssl4t]

Lunch with the family || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: been a hot min since I’ve posted dad!rafe and mabel

MASTERLIST (dad!Rafe au masterlist)

"The views are insane," Sarah mutters, her phone raised to capture the breathtaking scenery of Lake Como. The serene lake shimmered under the late afternoon sun, framed by the towering mountains and elegant villas scattered along the shore. "I know, it's so surreal," you respond, adjusting the sunglasses perched on your nose, the warmth of the Italiab sun gently caressing your skin.

The entire Cameron family had gathered here to celebrate Ward and Rose’s wedding anniversary—a grand affair that seemed to fit the lavish surroundings perfectly. Your gaze drifts, inevitably landing on Rafe who was sat on the table in the patio, engrossed in conversation with Ward. His fitted Ralph Lauren shirt accentuated his broad chest and sculpted biceps, clinging perfectly to his figure.

The subtle grown-out buzz cut he now sported framed his face in a way that made him look even more ruggedly handsome, and you couldn’t help but admire the way the soft breeze tousled his hair just so. There was something magnetic about him—something you couldn’t quite shake. He caught you staring, his piercing eyes meeting yours, and a smirk slowly curved onto his lips.

He winked, a playful glint in his gaze, causing your heart to flutter despite yourself. You returned the smile, warmth creeping up your neck, before quickly turning away, focusing instead on Wheezie and Mabel, who were happily playing together in the garden nearby. "Does anyone want any more pizza?" Rose’s voice suddenly cut through the peaceful scene as she stood up from the table, brushing crumbs from her dress.

"We're good, thanks, Rose—" Sarah began to reply, but her words were abruptly cut off by a high-pitched wail. The unmistakable sound of Mabel crying pierced through the air, causing everyone to turn in alarm. Your head whipped around, eyes widening as you saw Mabel sprawled on the grass, tears streaming down her tiny face. Gasps erupted around the table, chairs scraping against the stone patio Rafe, Rose, and Ward stood.

Wheezie stood frozen, her eyes wide with panic. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I looked away for just a second—" she stammered, voice shaky with guilt. You moved quickly, bending down to scoop Mabel into your arms. "It’s okay, Wheezie, don’t worry. It was just an accident," you reassured her, offering a soft smile. Gently bouncing Mabel, you inspected her for any signs of injury, "I know, baby, I know. But it’s okay," you cooed, soothing Mabel as she continued to cry softly in your arms.

Rafe was at your side in seconds, his frustration evident. "Wheezie!" he snapped, his tone sharper than intended as Mabel's cries intensified. "Rafe, it’s fine," you interjected quickly, placing a calming hand on his bicep in an attempt to soothe his agitation. He met your gaze briefly before focusing on Mabel, his expression softening as he took her from your arms, holding her protectively against his chest.

"You’re okay, baby. You’re okay," Rafe whispered, kissing Mabel’s tear-streaked cheeks while he rocked her gently. You rested a hand on her back, helping to calm her. Soon enough, Mabel’s eyelids grew heavy, her tiny body relaxing in Rafe’s arms. He continued to hold her close, his movements tender and sleepiness overtook her.

[lavandiors]

( 📁 making you feel comfortable. by na jaemin ＿ ⭐ O1O1 )

where jaemin shows you that he can eat you differently, changing your opinion about orals.

𓍯 . ݁ ✦ ݁ . ─── pairing. na jaemin x fem!reader. genre. smut (+18, minors dni), fluff, established relationship. warnings. soft sex, oral (f. receiving), clit play, use of nicknames (princess, angel, etc.), handholding in sex, many kisses.

lily notes. well, i'm really not very good at smut and i write this from my imagination, so, i'm sorry if it's not much or it's very soft (?) but i'm doing it from my comfort zone!

it wasn't the first time you felt Jaemin flex, your head lying on his firm chest allowing you to hear his heart. his heartbeat racing and his body seeking comfort.

his arms fluttering around you every time he moves. you thought he was uncomfortable, so you stood up, abandoning your place on his chest and looked at him.

"are you uncomfortable, jaem?" you asked him, showing your dimples. jaemin frowned in confusion, but shook his head. it wasn't you who kept him in that state.

well, yes.

but it was about something else.

you brought your warm hands to his and took them. you smiled, just like jaemin. your smile was mercy for him.

your eyes dug into his soul "so what's bothering you?" one of your hands let go of his, leaving a bit of hair behind his ear. he felt nervousness permeate his body, but you. god, you, you made him feel so comfortable, he couldn't resist.

his cheek twitched against your hand, moving his head to kiss you, he sighed, allowing you to feel what was circulating through his lungs between your palm.

“it’s just” he began, staring into your eyes for trust. and found her "why did you never let me eat you out?" he asked slowly.

the question didn't faze you. you and jaemin were open to each other's tastes, and his warm smile was always the one given when you talked about sex. after this, it was one of his many romantic connections.

your worry subsided slightly and jaemin could tell “ah, yes” you said, moving closer to jaemin so you could rest your head on his chest again. his strong arms wrapped his body around your head, kissing your head.

“i’m not a big fan of oral” you replied “i haven’t had good experiences, that’s just it” you tried to dispel any insecurity jaemin might have had.

you weren't afraid of orals, you weren't afraid of jaemin and you wanted to let him know that all he made you feel was a swarm of butterflies with the slightest sigh in your ear.

jaemin lowered his head and turned yours away, searching your eyes fiercely “can you tell me about your experiences, angel?” his warm smile and his lips against every muscle of your face let you know you were safe with him.

you closed your eyes when he kissed your eyelids. "it was very rough, very forward, it wasn't what i expected. you know i like it when it's slower," you whispered to him.

his lips landed on yours, his forehead against yours. “then let me show you that i can do it better. that i can do it the way you like it.” his voice, comforting, soft, slow. he didn't want to pressure you.

you completely trusted jaemin, your experiences with him were unique, they were what you were looking for. he gave you what you wanted, the way you wanted.

you looked him in the eyes again, wanting to convey to him that his request was not uncomfortable, that it was something you wanted. you nodded.

jaemin smiled, kissing your nose and forehead. “just let me do all the work, doll” he whispered in your ear as he picked you up in his arms to place you on his lap.

his soft kisses found a space between your neck and jaw, making a slow, wet path as he laid you flat on your back on the couch, your legs spread out to his side and him in the middle.

his hands found space between your back and hips, sliding gently, up and down you without abandoning his kisses on your neck. his path advanced, your lips being his destination.

you sighed when his warm hands found your sleeping pants, nodding when you felt him stop for permission. with one hand, he lift your hips, sliding your pants and panties out of the way.

his hands squeezed your bare hips, you felt him stretch his legs and slowly descend, leaving one last kiss on your lips.

"don't worry, princess, you're always safe with me." it was true, you knew it.

when he was level with your bare stomach, his lips slid untouched to your hips, where he nibbled and kissed one, while massaging the other, he repeated this many times until he made you sigh from the mess in your stomach.

your clit slowly rubbed against the fabric of his clothing every time he moved, making you uneasy. his lips reached below your navel, continuing with the kisses and bites. his hands did sweet dances on your hips between squeezes and massages.

“here we go, love” he murmured against your stomach, tracing a path with his tongue until his face was between your legs.

his sudden warm breath hit your cunt, making you shudder. his lips stopped between your inner thighs, kissing every part of them.

jaemin had been waiting for this moment for so long, but he had never tried it for fear of intimidating you. and now, that he had your glistening cunt in front of him and your perfect figure in rapture, he knew he would do it more often.

you felt the cold on your hip when his hand left that space and looked for your hand, giving you comfort. when he found it, he made sure to intertwine their fingers and caress your knuckles with his thumb.

and his lips pressed against your superiors, sending an electric shock from your stomach, down your back, to your ears.

“jaem..” you sighed, squeezing his hand lightly. you were liking it as much as he was, and even though you had him shooting his hips against the couch, your scent felt like the best in the world.

a sweet, vain one entered through his nose when he couldn't let go of his need and pressed his nose against your cunt, making circles on your inner lips.

you moaned shamelessly. his soft, sliding tongue near your center hit every ecstasy of his body, the hot air coming out of his nose hitting your clit hard, desperate to give you more.

it wasn't the same as the bad experiences you had. jaemin always made you feel like you were in heaven, like your body was worshiped by believers to a goddess. you were his goddess, his temple, his belief. you were delicate for him, soft and untouchable.

it didn't take long for his tongue to find your center, plunging it into an exhaustive excavation from top to bottom, side to side. his nose was now causing circles on your clit, finding your pleasure.

your moans became frequent, causing jaemin to grind his hips further and further into the couch. he was crazy. his tongue had increased the pace when you squeezed his hand.

you were looking for more, and he gave it to you.

his face was now buried in your cunt, it was ecstatic. your soft walls accommodated his tongue as he massaged. he dug it out, but before you could complain, he shot from the bottom up, nibbling lightly on your upper lips.

you were a mess of soft moans, his tongue making big and small circles on your clit, preparing you. your legs were already shaking around his head, his nose was buried in your juices, but he still couldn't stop.

you squeezed his hand tightly and moaned when he, as if it were an apple, lingered on your cunt and licked your clitoris like ice cream, burying his face again in his paradise.

your hips moved seeking his tongue, desperate for more. his mouth surrounded your clit, licking and sucking.

“my beautiful, beautiful girl,” he whispered, running his trembling thumb over your hand. he send waves of pleasure, a friction of his vocal cords and his teeth.

you couldn't contain those butterflies any longer, and you let them out on his face when he buried his tongue again at your entrance.

jaemin enjoyed it. every second of your orgasm on his face. he had your taste on his tongue, after loving him so much, giving you what you were looking for, teaching you that no one, ever, would make you feel like him.

he delayed everything you gave him, leaving one last kiss on your cunt and making his way down your stomach again, he pressed his lips against yours, letting you taste your taste.

his agitated and ecstatic breathing hit your face "i will never hesitate to give you a good experience, baby" his wet lips murmured on yours.

and with his kisses and caresses, he seals his sincere pact, that he will never leave or allow you not to enjoy. because he will take care of you and as long as he lives, he will give you what you need until you are satisfied.

because you were his angel. and what his heart needed most was to love you.

© LAVANDIORS | do not copy, translate or steal my works.

[kamaluhkhan]

GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you wanted revenge on luke castellan)

read part one — THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis!reader (afab, she/her pronouns)

summary: you were very angry and possibly still in love with luke castellan. kill him or kiss him — you still weren't sure what he deserved.

warnings/disclaimers: spoilers for season 1 of pjo + lots of book references. reader + luke are around 21 for most of this. rough? smut (p in v, oral f+m receiving, biting, scratching, slight choking, etc...) 18 + MDNI ! injuries + blood + violence. reader and others drink alcohol + smoke. lots of angst!!! luke + reader have matching tattoos. twilight + other pop culture references. reader kinda gives 'hell is a teenage girl in her 20s' vibes. maybe slightly toxic dynamic between reader + luke but we love complicated relationships ♡

author's note: thank u so much for all the love on part one!! i got a bit carried away with this one oops, but i hope y'all enjoy it :)

♪: "get him back" by olivia rodrigo

(i. he had a savior complex) 

if you were less consumed by anger, you might have noticed the sound of his footsteps following closely behind you. 

no one was supposed to go into the forest alone, but you were 17 and reckless and not at all concerned about breaking the rules, especially if it meant proving clarisse larue wrong.  

you ventured into the woods, farther than you'd ever been before, with nothing except your knife and a chest full of determination to prove that you were strong and brave just like any other demigod, regardless of if you had a cabin or not. 

you were younger then, less disillusioned, and more willing to buy into those fantasies of power and glory, spoon-fed to demigods as truth. one that you hoped to cross off that afternoon: being worthy of attention if you could sink your blade into the next monster that dared to cross your path.

everyone would see that you’re not just some little, powerless girl with no reason to be at camp. 

and, sure, there was a small but not insignificant part of you that hoped your mother was watching, that she’d finally notice how much of a hero you could be.

you could have died that afternoon. you put up a decent fight, but soon enough you found yourself fallen to the forest floor: blade down, broken arm, bleeding out. a manticore inches away from sending you to the underworld. 

you weren’t angry anymore, the adrenaline had left your body. you just were a scared child, silently praying to deities you hoped wouldn’t look away like they always do. 

i’m sorry, mom. i couldn’t do it. 

you closed your eyes, waited for your fate, and just when you thought all hope was lost — 

the sound of a sword ripping through flesh, an injured growl, and then nothing but your ragged breathing. 

your eyelids fluttered open.

it wasn't your mother, or any of the other gods, who jumped in to save your life.

standing in the middle of the clearing, gripping his sword, was luke castellan. 

he tucked annabeth’s invisibility cap into his back pocket and brought you to the infirmary.

"she's okay, though?" luke asked. he was watching you carefully, ashes from the manticore dusting his orange camp shirt. his arms were crossed, and it seemed that he managed to defeat the monster relatively unscathed.

lee fletcher, son of apollo, nodded as he set your injury. 

"nothing more than a broken arm and minor concussion. make sure your girl gets lots of rest, okay? no more monster hunting. probably has to sit out capture the flag tomorrow, too.”

you ignored the churning in your stomach when lee assumed you were luke’s girl. luke didn’t bother correcting him. 

lee left to get you some ambrosia to speed the healing process, leaving you and luke alone in the room. 

“you know, i’m not a damsel in distress you have to follow around, waiting to save. i’m not your girl.” 

“seriously?” he raised an eyebrow, but his cheeks became slightly flushed. “you would be dead if it wasn’t for me. i heard what happened with clarisse, but gods — you didn’t have to go and get yourself killed to prove something.” 

he was right, of course. part of you wanted to argue with him for always having to be the hero, but the fight lingering in your throat wasn’t enough to act on. you just sighed and looked away, feeling too impulsive and powerless and exhausted down to your bones. 

you felt the bed dip beside you, and then a hand on your shoulder. it was warmer than usual, but the calloused skin still felt familiar on yours.

“they’re not worth it, okay? that’s what you’re always telling me.”

luke’s voice was lower than before, a touch of bitterness laced through.

“yeah, well you never believe it,” you replied, voice hollow. “so why should i?” 

clarisse entered the infirmary before he could answer. luke was instantly on his feet, blocking you from her view, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“what are you doing here?” he practically growled. 

“i heard what happened,” clarisse explained, looking past luke to catch your eye. you waved at her with your newly applied cast. “i’m sorry about what i said earlier, if that had anything to do with it.”

at that point, you were still trying to figure out where you stood with clarisse. she had arrived at camp just before the new year. you’d been so used to new campers being younger than you, and it was nice to have someone the same age to be friends with. 

it wasn’t until the start of march, around two weeks ago, that ares had claimed her. ever since, there had been a newfound animosity between you, leading up to your explosive argument earlier that day. part of you had a feeling she was just trying to fit in with her siblings. it was a subtle thread woven throughout the camp, especially with the ares kids: this hierarchy of power according to the gods, with you on the lower end because your mother was only a minor goddess. 

needless to say, it wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before; it was just that the words pierced through your thick skin when coming from a friend. 

but the very fact that she came to visit you, that she apologized and seemed to regret that you’d gotten hurt, healed you more than the ambrosia lee was just coming back to give you. 

“thanks, clarisse,” you said after a mouthful of ambrosia. 

even with an established truce, luke didn’t move away from you. in fact, he puffed his chest out a bit more. 

“if you say anything like that to her again, i swear to all the gods —”

“i just said sorry, castellan,” clarisse scoffed. “now get out of the way so i can sign her cast.” 

clarisse attempted to move closer, but luke stayed planted where he was.

“you are not getting anywhere close to her,” luke warned. 

“easy, tiger.” you got up to put your hand on his arm, but luke jerked away from your touch. your fingers brushed against his skin however, and even that brief moment was enough to shock you with its temperature. you tried again, this time bringing a hand to his neck, and he let out a hiss upon contact. his pulse seemed quicker than normal.

“are you feeling okay?”

“i’m just fine,” he huffed, and stormed out of the infirmary.

a few days later, you were training with clarisse, when silena beauregard ran into the arena and interrupted you.

“it’s luke,” she coughed, out of breath. “he’s in the infirmary—”

you sprinted towards the big house before silena could finish her sentence. 

when you reached the infirmary, luke was being held back by lee and a few others, screaming that he needed to go find you or you’d die. he was holding his sword, and campers wrestled to remove it from his grip. the sleeve of his shirt lifted up slightly, and that was when you noticed it: a gash across his bicep, shallow, but turning a sickly green. the rest of his skin was flushed, his eyes frantically searching for someone — you — and he was breathing heavily between sentences.

it turned out that he’d gone the entire week with the wound festering. one of the manticore’s spikes must have grazed luke, and he hadn’t thought much of it because he was so focused on making sure you were okay. 

manticore poison could fuck with someone’s mind if not treated right away. worse: it could be fatal. 

despite your heart beating out of your chest and the chaos you walked into, you kept your voice gentle, but firm.

“luke.”

for a moment, everything stood still. luke froze, and the campers took the opportunity to get a better hold on him.

he blinked at you and shook his head. “no. no. you’re not her. i heard her screaming from the forest and - and she’s in trouble. i need to —”

“it’s me, tiger,” you assured him. 

you approached him carefully and, despite some whispers of warning, you gestured at everyone to let go of him completely. they might have had a point, because as soon as they did, the tip of his sword was dangerously close to your chin. 

“you’re not her,” he insisted. “you’re just some monster trying to trick me.”

you stood in front of him then, and slowly raised your arm to show him your cast. a few people had signed it — beckendorf, chris, clarisse, silena. luke had signed his name too, of course, along with a poor attempt at a cartoon tiger that made you all laugh. 

“see? it’s me. i’m okay.”

there were a few moments when you held your breath, feeling the celestial bronze dig into your skin a bit more. and then:

“it’s…you. you’re….okay?” 

luke’s speech was slightly slurred. he dropped his sword like it suddenly weighed a thousand pounds; it nicked you on its way down. you didn’t care though, because luke almost fell to the ground, too. 

you gripped his wrist to steady him. 

“you’re probably not okay, though,” you explained, well aware of the urgency of the situation. his pulse felt weaker by the second, his skin burning against yours. 

“i’m….i’m fine. i just need to — she’s gonna die if i don’t —”

“i’m right here. i’m here because you already saved me, remember? you saved me, but you got hurt.”

 he shook his head slowly, and his eyes started to flutter close. 

“no, i’m okay,” he breathed, his voice smaller than you’d ever heard it. “i need to make sure y/n is okay. she needs me….” 

you swallowed the lump in your throat, seeing him start to fade away right in front of you. 

you refused to lose hope. 

no — you wouldn’t watch luke castellan die.

“i’m here, luke.” you gripped his wrist even tighter to remind him.

“but —” 

“just rest for a minute, ” you insisted, guiding him towards a bed. “for me, okay?” 

as soon as you managed to get luke onto the bed and, more importantly, calm, everyone else sprung back into action. 

chiron was away for the week, so will solace — one of the younger apollo campers, but probably the best healer at camp — used some healing magic, while lee misted luke with cold water to cool him down and another kid dripped some nectar onto his wound.

luke hissed when the liquid seeped into his skin and reached out for you. you felt like the flesh might melt right off your bones, but you let him squeeze your hand for as long as he needed. somebody came around to put a bandage on your chin, too.

you'd always resented the gods, but that was the first time you'd really lost your faith in them. watching luke fight for his life even after saving yours, other demigods joining the battle, and you thinking: this is the life you cursed us with. you imagined the gods, with power to twist fate in their favor, simply enjoying a feast on mount olympus, hermes sipping nectar and not even aware that another one of his children is dying. you supposed your mother wasn’t any better either. her neglect felt like revenge for something you didn’t even know you had done.

after a while, the skin around luke’s wound lost its greenish hue. you released a deep breath when both lee and will declared that luke seemed to be on the mend — he just needed to get some rest, and, best case scenario, the poison should have run its course by morning.

you didn’t ask about the worst case scenario.

you estimated it was around 2 am when you heard luke’s voice again.

“cold,” was all he said through shivering teeth. 

you wordlessly grabbed as many blankets as you could, and tucked them around luke. you waited a few minutes to see if it helped.

“so - so cold,” he shivered again. you reached out to check luke’s pulse, and all you could find was the faintest heartbeat. his skin looked pale in the moonlight and now felt ice cold despite his high fever earlier. 

no one else was in the infirmary then. you were wracking your brain to remember what you had learned in demigod survival class about hypothermia. something about warm drinks? you ran to the kitchen and made him a cup of hot chocolate — with cinnamon, just how he liked it. 

you whispered his name once you were back at his bedside. his eyelids fluttered open. you tried coaxing him to take the drink, but he wouldn’t even hold the mug. you didn’t think twice about climbing into bed next to him, gently sitting him upright against the headboard so that you could offer him tiny sips. you noticed then that he was still only wearing a tank top, so you took off your sweatshirt — which happened to be one of luke’s — and slid it on him. 

when the hot chocolate was done, luke sighed. some of the color returned to his face, and his teeth stopped chattering. 

“thanks, karma.”

you just hummed in response, setting the mug down on the nightstand beside you and twisting underneath the blankets. luke settled back down next to you. he brushed his thumb over the band-aid on your chin. 

“what happened? did clarisse —”

“easy, tiger. it’s nothing — just a little scratch,” you replied. 

you spared him from the whole truth. sure, there was a moment earlier when you didn’t know whether or not luke would hurt you. it was only a split second, because that wasn’t your luke. he shouldn’t have had to live with the guilt of something he did by accident, as a result of a poisoned mind.

“anyways, i should be thanking you. you’re the one who almost died saving my life. you were hanging by a thread just a few seconds ago. it seems like you’re not completely out of the woods yet.”

“well, i guess the fates are still deciding what to do with me.” he cracked a smile. 

it was a bit morbid, given what you’d been through the past 12 hours, and the fact that the manticore venom clearly hadn’t left his body completely. the possibility of his death had not completely disappeared, though you supposed that, as demigods, the risk always remained higher. 

fuck the gods. they weren’t your protectors. they weren’t your family. 

the campers who put their whole heart into healing you and luke, the boy who risked his life for you — they were your family. 

you took luke’s humor as a good sign. the luke castellan you knew — confident banter, radiant grin, heart of gold — was coming back to you. 

the luke castellan you would not allow die, even if you could still feel the cool bronze of his blade linger on your chin. 

(ii. he had an ego)

according to annabeth chase, it was statistically improbable for a demigod to reach drinking age. something always kills them first - a monster, a blade, a fatal flaw. the likelihood of survival only gets exponentially lower with each passing year.

she repeated that information to luke on the morning of his 21st birthday.

“thanks for the cheerful birthday wishes, sis.” 

annabeth shrugged and hugged him before walking back to the athena table to finish breakfast. 

"you hear that, tiger?” you pointed a syrupy fork at luke. “you are literally saying fuck you to fate, just by being alive." 

"that’s the way i like it," luke quipped, and stole a blueberry from your plate. 

"hey man, happy birthday." chris patted luke’s shoulder on his way to sit across from you and luke. "so, i just talked to chiron and he agreed to let us go out tonight." 

you smiled between bites of your pancakes, reaching over to offer chris a triumphant fist bump.

“nice work, rodriguez.” 

"we're going out tonight?"

you pressed your knee to luke's under the table. 

"of course we are," you hummed. "we have a lot to celebrate." 

so, you, luke, chris, and a few of your friends — beckendorf, silena, and clarisse — went into the city to celebrate. one of luke's favorite bands was playing, and you had managed to snag a few tickets. you'd all entered a bar confidently that night, the fake ids you were at once so giddy and paranoid about no longer needed. 

there were few times when you could all just kick back and have fun, without having to worry about the responsibilities of being senior counselors. that night, you were all itching for a taste of freedom. or, at least, some alcohol. 

"happy birthday to the one and only luke castellan: a hero by any other name!" 

everyone raised their shot glasses, echoed beckendorf's words, and threw back their drinks. 

the night became louder, more vibrant. yet, even as you laughed and drank and danced with your friends, there was a heaviness lingering in your chest.

for most demigods, birthdays were bittersweet. each one served as a reminder of time running out because of exactly what annabeth said that morning. most half-bloods don’t even live past their teens, let alone the age of 20. you had the blood of gods flowing in your veins, and your lives were influenced by sinister, divine forces from ancient times. you were the new generation of heroes, protagonists of those greek tragedies that made mortals weep.

there was no guarantee that this would last forever, but all of your friends —  the people you loved — had beat the odds. 

so, who would blame you for getting a little sentimental? 

beckendorf and chris had wandered off to play pool, in hopes of winning some bets and free drinks. clarisse was flirting with some girl who caught her eye, and silena went to grab some water after having danced for a bit. you and luke were still in the crowd, swaying to the music. for one glorious moment, you were just a group of twenty-one year olds enjoying a carefree night out. 

under the flashing lights, you stole a glimpse at luke. he wore a simple white tank top and ripped jeans, paired with a leather jacket and some rings he borrowed from you so he could, in his words, look more punk-rock. his curls were messy, his skin glittering with a thin sheen of sweat. the chain he layered with his usual camp necklace caught the multicolored light and highlighted the sharp angles of his collarbones. 

whatever aesthetic he was going for, luke looked good. based on various eyes following him throughout the room, you assumed others thought the same as well. it made you just a little bit furious, feeling that he wasn't only yours to admire. 

“you good?” luke’s voice cut through the noise, but he had to lean in close.  

his fingers brushed against the section of waist exposed by your cropped top. you’d gotten so warm that you had to tie your flannel around your waist, but luke’s touch sent a shiver through your body. it made you somewhat dizzy, feeling the cold metal of those rings on your skin. even moreso, when you realized how much you wanted to kiss your best friend, sink your teeth into his smirk and taste the mint chapstick and tequila on his lips. 

to be fair, you and luke had crossed that line before, and you were in the fields of asphodel ever since. 

not quite friendship, not quite romance. something deeper, more volatile and electric. 

you didn’t want to make things blurrier than they already were, though. whatever you acted on that night could have just been dismissed the next morning as a drunken mistake.

so, you just nodded at him and turned back towards the band as though you were never thinking about anything more than the music. 

after a few more songs, luke commanded your attention once more.

“hey, didn’t you once say you wanted to start a band?”

“what do i look like, a child of apollo?” you joked, but luke raised an eyebrow at you, clearly wanting a serious answer.

it was slightly alarming, how well he knew you; through your childhood dreams and down to your core. 

“in another life,” you conceded. “maybe.”

“in another life,” luke echoed. he leaned in close again. “you’d be a pretty hot drummer, and i’d be front row at every show.”

your lips could have touched if you moved your head just an inch, but he pulled away before you did. he was giving you that classic son-of-hermes smirk, the one that made everyone swoon. 

the thing was, you were sure that luke knew the effect he had on people. you had seen him continuously bask in the praise of chiron and other campers, always preening for the crowd's attention, as if he had to do anything more than smile. everyone loved luke — he was handsome, charismatic, strong.

and, yeah, you weren’t immune. your fatal flaw: not loyalty, or anger, or recklessness, but luke castellan’s charm.

you had to keep yourself grounded. it would be a bad idea to cross that line again on his birthday, right? 

luke licked his lips as you kept staring at him. you could tell he was waiting for you to do something. 

maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your veins or the rhythm of the music vibrating through your bones, but you started thinking — fuck it. 

before you could act on that impulse, some person with bright red hair stepped between you and luke. she introduced herself, telling luke she saw him from across the room, and she'd been watching him all night, and would he by any chance want to dance with her?

luke seemed flattered, interested even. he flashed her the very same smile he had just given you, which left a bitter taste in your mouth. you excused yourself before you had to hear them flirt even more. 

you walked over to silena at the bar. she had a half-empty glass of ice water melting in front of her, her attention somewhere else. you sat down beside her and followed her gaze to what — who — she was looking at. 

“if confessing feelings to someone is hard for aphrodite’s daughter, then there’s really no hope for the rest of us,” you tell her.

silena whipped her head towards you. her cheeks were flushed a light pink. 

“i - i don’t have feelings for clarisse.”

“lena, please. we all know. well, except maybe clarisse.”

“what?” she blinked at you, eyeshadow shimmering in the light.

“yeah,” you said with a small laugh. the irony of it all: the head counselor of cabin 10  denying that she was in love with someone. “we talk about it all the time.”

“well,” silena huffed, cheeks now a bright red. “i guess i should tell you that the rest of us talk about you and luke.” 

you reached over to grab her water, your throat suddenly dry. 

“what about us?” you asked after finishing the drink in one long sip. 

“about how you obviously both have feelings for each other. half the camp already thinks you’re dating.”

you started to crunch on whatever ice was still frozen. 

“well, we aren’t.” 

that reality hurt more than the sharp pain piercing your brain from ingesting too much cold, too fast. you couldn’t even spot luke in the crowd — he and the redhead had probably gone off to some private corner. 

“people think love’s a joke,” silena sighed. “but they don’t realize how much power it can have over a person. it can make people —”

“cowards?” you suggested.

silena nodded solemnly. “cowards.”

neither of you said anything for a while, two love-sick half-bloods slumped over a sticky bar counter.

suddenly, silena sat up straight. she tied her black hair up into a ponytail. perfect, of course, along with her makeup. you were sure you had sweat off the glitter she had applied to your cheeks earlier. 

“i am not a coward.” 

without another word, silena got up and glided towards clarisse, and you were left with an empty stool next to you. 

part of you was proud of her for following her heart. the other part couldn’t stop picturing someone else’s tongue down luke’s throat. 

“can i get a ginger-ale, please?” you asked no one in particular, hoping that the bartender heard your request for something to ease your nausea. 

“you sure you don’t want anything stronger?” 

someone slid onto the barstool next to you. he looked around your age, wearing a navy and red rugby shirt. he had what looked like a pretty expensive watch on his wrist, and he was already leaning in way too close for a stranger. 

“i’m fine,” you deadpanned.

“oh, come sweetheart, it’s on me.” 

you scoffed at the nickname and shook your head.

the guy next to you didn’t care. he snapped to get the bartender’s attention. “two vodka tonics, please. that’s your drink, right? i’m usually pretty good at guessing.”

“dude, i said i’m fine,” you repeated through clenched teeth.

the bartender set two drinks in front of you and rugby shirt pointed towards them.

“well, i already got you a drink, so you at least owe me a conversation.” he slid the drink closer to you.

"i don't owe you anything." 

"oh, come on," rugby shirt cooed. "i don't bite." he slipped his hand underneath your skirt, nails scratching along the skin of your upper thigh, through your fishnets.

you growled at the contact and stood up abruptly, more than a little coincidentally knocked the glass over. the liquid splashed onto him. his flirtatious grin melted right off his face.

“jesus christ —you bitch,” he spat. “this is what i get for trying to be nice?”

“that’s what you get for trying to grope me,” you snapped. “but i could do a lot worse if you’re in the mood.”

his face was a pissed-off shade of red, his mouth formulating a response when —

you felt luke’s arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close to him. you side-eyed him, and ignored the hickey blooming at the base of his neck.

“is there a problem here?” luke’s voice was firm, steady. 

it seemed like all the fight left rugby shirt’s body, and he put his hands up in surrender. 

“oh, sorry dude. i didn’t realize she was taken.”

you rolled your eyes. figured that this guy would only back off if there was a jealous boyfriend in the mix. 

“it’s fine, i’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“that’s for sure,” the guy continued. “your girl practically bit my head off for being nice and buying her a drink.”

your fingers tightened into a fist.

“that is not —”

“look, i gotta apologize on her behalf.”

“luke, what are you —”

“let me handle this, baby,” he hummed. “trust me, she’s normally a good girl. she just gets….harder to control after one too many drinks.” 

“i am this close to throwing my next drink at you,” you insisted. 

you weren't naive. you knew luke was putting on an act, but you weren't sure why he felt the need to appease this jerk and put you down in the process. 

you hated the way he was acting now — arrogant, condescending, borderline sexist. you wanted to storm off, you really did, but that would mean having to tear yourself away from luke, and.... you didn't hate the firm hold he had on you. 

he chuckled and raised an eyebrow at the guy knowingly, like they were the closest friends. 

“see what i mean?”

“that’s quite the firecracker you got there,” the guy complimented, as though you were a prize luke had won. “those are the ones you gotta keep on a tight leash, though.”

oh, your patience was wearing thin. if luke didn't take care of this guy soon….

“don’t i know it.” luke laughed when you barred your teeth at him. “look, we all came here to have a good time. why don’t you go join your friends again, and i’ll send over some drinks.”

rugby shirt looked at luke, then nodded. 

“alright. thanks, man. and sorry again for the….confusion.” 

luke extended a hand, and the guy shook it.

"no hard feelings. i'll be sure to keep her on a tighter leash, though."

rugby shirt walked away, laughing. you were just about ready to bite luke's head off.

you shoved luke away from you. your whole body felt like it was on fire. 

“luke castellan, i don’t care if it’s your birthday, if you ever talk to me like that again, i swear to all the gods —” you faltered when luke’s lips curled into a smirk. 

that smug, gorgeous, self-important smirk.

“what?” 

“i’m just waiting until you’re done chewing me out,” he said, clearly a bit amused. “you done?”

you hesitated, narrowing your eyes at him. “for now, i guess.”

“good, because we have about 2 minutes before our misogynistic frat buddy over there notices that something’s missing.”

he lifted his hand to show off the real prize of the night. 

“you did all of that….. to steal the guy’s watch?”

“well, duh. he was being a jerk and i’m the prince of thieves, karma. gotta use my powers for good.” 

luke winked at you as you stared at him in awe. 

“we really should go though. the others are waiting for us outside.” 

you jutted your chin towards the bruise on his neck.

"what about the redhead?"

luke flushed, adjusted his collar to hide the hickey. "i kinda lost interest when she said i was hot for an asian guy."

"oh." you ignored the triumph in your gut. "sounds like a jerk, too." 

"whatever." luke shrugged. "hard to find the good ones, right?" 

luke turned towards the exit.

"wait.” you tugged him back, and luke looked confused for a split second. “you're one of the good ones, luke castellan. did i ever tell you how incredibly happy i am that you were born?" 

luke grinned. "you could stand to say it more often."

his smile was infectious. you liked this side of luke: protective, mischievous, a bit of a trouble-maker. 

it made you want to kiss him all over again.

(iii. he lied without flinching)

you couldn’t find luke anywhere. 

he wasn’t at the climbing wall, or the arena, or the forge. luke seemed to have a knack at vanishing when you needed him most.

when you finally found him, he was outside the big house, in what seemed to be a somewhat heated conversation with chris and a new camper, ethan nakamura. 

ethan nakamura, son of nemesis. you were shocked when your mother’s symbol — swords crossed underneath a set of scales — appeared over his head after two weeks of staying at the hermes cabin. 

you were still getting used to having a younger half-brother. 

“hey,” you greeted the trio, slightly out of breath from running all over camp. as soon as you joined them, a silence fell over the group. “i was looking for you everywhere, tiger. what’s going on here?”

“actually, we were just —”

“nakamura,” luke spoke ethan’s name like a warning. 

“i’m just saying, maybe we should consider —”

luke cut ethan off this time with a sharp glance. 

“i already said no. end of discussion.”

“whatever you say, boss,” ethan grumbled.

the trio was silent again, and you eyed each of them suspiciously.

“okay, seriously. what’s —”

“we’ll talk more about this later, guys,” luke interrupted. his tone was commanding. ethan and chris dispersed. 

once they were gone, you furrowed your brows at luke, not sure what they would be talking about that could make him speak so harshly. 

“what was that about?” you asked for the third time.

“nothing important.” luke gave you a smile that seemed to stretch a bit thin. “you said you were looking for me everywhere. wanna go makeout in the hermes cabin? i’m pretty sure it’ll be empty this time of day.”

you shook your head, no matter how tempting the offer. the scene you walked into made you so uneasy that you completely forgot there was something important you needed to tell luke.

“percy and annabeth just iris-messaged me,” you explained. 

“oh,” he quirked an eyebrow at you. “is their quest going alright?”

you repeated everything the kids had told you: medusa, the chimera, ares. clarisse maybe being the lightning thief. luke had to sit down on the stairs leading to the big house when you spoke that last part. you understood why — clarisse was your friend. 

sitting down next to him, you sighed.

“you don’t think….you don’t think it could be true, do you?” 

clarisse was hot-headed, sure, maybe a bit impulsive, but a war between the gods? that didn’t seem her style. 

you hoped luke would assure you, but instead he said:

luke ran a hand through his hair. “it would make sense.”

“what?”

he leaned in close, voice low.

“clarisse was there with us during our field trip to olympus in december. the gods are arrogant enough to leave their stuff in the throne room, and there’s not really any security. she could have easily snuck in when everyone was sleeping. clarisse….” luke let out a heavy breath. “clarisse is the lightning thief.”

“no. no. she wouldn’t —”

“it makes sense, karma,” luke insisted. he placed a hand on your knee. “clarisse is angry at the gods.”

“we all are,” you pointed out.

“well, sure, but her dad is ares. how else do you get the god of war’s attention if not starting a war?”

you took a second to process luke’s reasoning. maybe he did have a point. it was just that sharp pain in your chest keeping you from believing it. 

“we don’t know anything for sure,” you decided. “and until we do….we don’t tell anyone. especially chiron.”

luke squeezed your knee, gave you a reassuring smile. 

“sounds like a plan.” he moved in closer and whispered: “now, how about we sneak away, and i do that thing with my tongue that makes you squirm?” 

you felt something tighten in your lower abdomen. you and luke were still in the sneaking-around-camp stage of your relationship; you both got a thrill from it.

at the time, you figured luke was just offering you a much needed distraction.

he kissed just below your ear to sweeten the deal — and how were you supposed to resist?

you didn’t even question how luke knew when the bolt was stolen, let alone how he seemed to have the theft already planned out perfectly.

(iv. he hid behind a pretty face and perfect teeth)

 it had been a little over a week since people around camp — including percy, annabeth, and grover, who had gotten back from their quest — found out about you and luke, together. apparently your friends had a bet going, meaning that everyone other than silena was less than thrilled about your announcement. they warmed up to the idea since then.

it still felt a little bit surreal calling luke castellan your boyfriend. 

luke often played the role of the perfect demigod, the one everyone should strive to be. he paid extra attention to new campers and made them feel welcomed. he did his chores on time, stepped in if more hands were needed for kitchen patrol, and spent hours going through reports for chiron. he taught sword-fighting and encouraged younger campers to keep practicing. he did participate in the occasional prank, that mischievous child of hermes streak impossible not to indulge in, but it only made everyone adore him even more. because luke was responsible, but not boring. he was incredibly skilled and driven, but also gracious. he was sensible and charismatic. 

you watched that luke — camp half-blood’s golden boy, the hero everyone either wanted to be, befriend, or date — and you were in awe. mostly, you wondered how he managed to bury the anger and resentment you knew was churning inside him, the same anger and resentment you sometimes let slip through. 

no, you were not as careful as golden boy luke, who showed no malice towards the olympians. to chiron, to everyone else, luke castellan respected the gods, honored them in everything he did, and taught others to do the same. 

that was not the luke who sucked a bruise onto your neck while suggesting something even you might consider blasphemous. 

“we can’t just - uh,” you had to catch your breath when luke slipped his thumb underneath the band of your sports bra. “we’d get in trouble, tiger.”

you felt him chuckle against your skin.

“since when do you care about that?” 

“since the king of the gods would probably strike us with lightning, or turn us into some horrible monsters, or curse us if we were caught fucking in his cabin." 

"that’s only if we get caught." 

luke gave you that flirtatious smile, the one he now reserved only for you.

it was that smile that led to luke settling between your legs, fucking you with his tongue and fingers, his other hand digging into your thigh to keep you from writhing too much. 

zeus’ cabin was, of course, empty, since his only known child was turned into a pine tree. you and luke had tucked yourselves into the one corner where the giant statue of the god couldn’t see you, setting a sleeping bag down on the cold marble floor and your discarded clothes scattered throughout. the dome-shaped ceiling was decorated with an enchanted mosaic sky that seemed to move. the only sounds that echoed throughout the room were moans as your orgasm washed over you.

"you're so, so pretty," he mumbled, wet lips brushing the skin of your inner thigh. he stayed where he was, awfully concerned with lapping up everything.

you whined his name when you found him taking too long, already a bit sensitive and wanting him inside you.

it might have been your conscious, but you swore you could hear a storm brewing, the threat of thunder and lightning looming.  the mosaic sprouted some clouds, growing darker by the second as if a countdown to your doom.

luke, on the other hand, was acting like you had all the time in the world, and then some.

he paused after his name tumbled from your lips again, and you tugged his hair. he propped his chin on your stomach to get a better look of you. luke was gorgeous, with his mess of black curls, deep brown eyes a little more dangerous than usual, smirk shining with your cum.

"yes, sweetheart?"

“get up here and kiss me,” you groaned. 

once again, luke took his sweet time. his mouth left a trail along your thighs and your hips, your stomach and ribs. it felt like he was worshiping every inch of your skin, scarred and uneven and tattooed as it was. luke took extra care in appreciating the sword engraved on your sternum, the tattoo that matched the one he had on his collarbone.

“hi,” luke whispered once he was face to face with you. 

“hey, tiger,” you matched the softness of his voice, contrasting the harshness that followed when luke crashed his lips into yours. you could taste yourself on his tongue, and once he sucked all the air from your lungs, you had to pull away. 

you informed him: “there’s a condom in my back pocket.”

“always prepared,” he noted with a smile, reaching over to get it.

you kissed luke again as he entered you, your nails scraping down his back. when he pulled away to look at you, you couldn’t meet his gaze. instead, you were mesmerized by the sharp contours of his body and the healed wounds that lingered, every scar that you knew by heart like they were your own. you had a favorite, too — the faint cut on his hip from when he, thalia, and annabeth were on the run and they had to jump a fence.

if luke hadn’t been thrusting into you, you would have bent down to kiss it. 

“eyes up here, beautiful.” 

when you complied, luke smiled and ran his thumb along your jaw.

“good girl,” he praised. “you okay if i go harder?”

you settled for kissing the scar on his cheekbone.

“yes,” you finally answered.  "please."

luke brought his hand down to wrap your leg around his hip before he started moving faster. your head fell back against the marble floor, but you didn’t care about the impact. you just focused on how good it felt to have luke inside you, his strong hand on your hip, his warm breath on your skin. 

after feeling you tighten around him, luke let go a bit more. he dropped his head between your neck and shoulder, his curls brushing against you. as he reached his peak, luke bit your shoulder, hard,  to keep himself from groaning too loudly. you could have sworn that you heard thunder at that exact moment. in fact, it seemed to shake the entire cabin.

luke seemed to catch the threat that time, too. 

there was no room for pillow talk as the two of you rushed to get dressed and get out of there before the king of the gods lost his patience and struck you with lightning, turned you into some horrible monsters, or cursed you. maybe all three, maybe something worse.

you slipped on your underwear and pants, but couldn’t find the top half of your outfit. 

“do you see my shirt there?”

luke had just pulled on his boxers when he turned and passed the item to you. you weren’t sure why he paused for a second while doing it. then, he whispered:

“shit.” luke’s eyes were glued to your shoulder, where his teeth had broken skin. his cheeks flushed a bright red. whether it was shame or embarrassment, you didn’t know; but you were slightly taken aback. “i’m, i’m sorry, i — i didn’t mean to hurt you. i never want to —”

you placed your hands on his cheeks. 

“hey.” you whispered at him softly, and it was enough for him to stop rambling. you could tell he felt guilty, though, since he refused to meet your gaze.

“luke, baby, look at me.”

when he finally did, your heart ached. 

it wasn’t like you hadn’t done similar to luke. you’d never broken skin, sure, but luke seemed to enjoy — really enjoy — whenever you used your teeth in the heat of the moment. you just assumed he knew you wouldn’t mind the same.

but, one bite, and luke was almost reduced to tears, all because he was afraid of hurting you. 

“it’s fine, okay? i’m fine.”

luke didn’t seem convinced, his brows furrowed with concern. you kissed the crease on his forehead and reassured him once more that you were fine. 

 “if anything, consider it payback for the hickey i left that took a week to fade away.”

luke smiled softly at that, and you knew he was coming back to you. 

“you know, annabeth suggested that i go to the infirmary because of how it looked. i had to tell her i got it during sparring practice.”

“it wasn’t that bad,” you laughed, and so did luke. 

thunder rumbled throughout the cabin once more, and you swore the clouds were growing darker by the second. 

you were about to finish getting dressed when he grabbed your waist.

“look, if i’m ever too rough whenever we’re —”

“sparring?” 

“sure,” he smiled, thumbs rubbing circles on your bare skin. “whenever we’re sparring, just promise that you’ll let me know.”

“of course,” you hummed. “only if you do the same.”

“of course,” he echoed, and he pecked your lips. “i think it’s hot, you know? when you feel like you can let go. when you mark me. i like everyone knowing that i’m yours.”

you bit back a smile, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

“well, i think it’s hot when you mark me, too. especially when you bite me,” you admitted. 

“don’t tell me you’re still into the whole vampire thing,” he teased.

“oh, please. you were as obsessed with it as the rest of us. don’t you remember?”

as if either of you could forget marathoning entire seasons of buffy the vampire slayer on dvds rented from the nearest video store. you'd watch episode after episode with your friends, the six of you squeezing onto the small couch in the big house, sharing one bowl of popcorn and endless cups of coffee to stay awake.

you shivered out of the memory when he brought his fingers up to trace the bite mark he had left on you.

zeus could have sent more thunder. he could have created a whole godsdamned storm, but you wouldn’t have cared.

luke was so close that you had nothing better to do than to close the distance between you.

luke got bolder as the kiss became more heated — he sank his teeth into your bottom lip, his tongue sweeping over the crimson liquid that emerged, the tang of copper invading your mouth.

“easy there, angel,” you referenced, and felt him smirk against your lips before moving to nip at your neck. 

you trailed your hand down the front of his exposed stomach, outlining the contours and curves. with the moonlight reflecting in, accompanied by the crackle of lightning, it almost looked like luke’s skin was glittering.

“you’re so beautiful," you cooed, nails scraping against the tight muscles of his lower abdomen. "how'd i get so lucky, huh?"

“you won’t.” 

“i'm the lucky one." a shadow passed over luke's face, and you swore you felt his grip tightening on your hips. “i never want to hurt you,” he finished the sentence you had interrupted earlier.

at the time, you didn’t think he was even capable of such a thing. 

for better or for worse, that was the night you realized something.

you liked golden boy luke. or, at the very least, you tolerated him.

the rule-breaking, sin-committing, blood-sucking luke?

he was the one you were irrevocably in love with. 

except your life wasn't some neatly written, scripted coming-of-age story about fictional vampires and slayers. 

it had monsters, too. you just didn't realize who they were until it was too late. 

(v. he made you look so naive)  

there was blood on your hands, but you weren’t sure who it belonged to.

yours or luke’s — it was a toss-up that made you more than a little nauseous. 

luke had stolen the lightning bolt. luke had tried to frame percy and start a war between the gods. luke had begged you to join kronos’ army with him. you almost killed him because of it until you realized that he left percy to die. 

you summarized everything to chiron and mr. d once you had made sure that percy was getting help in the infirmary. the scorpion poison was still putting up a fight, but percy was strong. annabeth was there with him.

dread simmered in the pit of your stomach just thinking about having to tell her everything, too — to see the look in her eyes when she hears just how much her big brother betrayed her.

“and you have no idea where mr. castellan could have gone?” chiron’s voice was stern, moreso than usual. 

you shook your head, not particularly paying attention. you could still feel blood seeping from the blademark luke had left. 

“that’s awfully convenient,” mr.d scoffed.

you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“i’ve heard around camp that you and this luke were quite…. close,” mr. d said, pointing his can of diet coke at you accusingly. 

a wave of anger surged through you. it had been building in your gut ever since luke revealed his betrayal, and you didn’t care if it was a god who was on the receiving end of your wrath. 

“seriously? i saved percy and told you everything, and you’re here suggesting what? that i’m somehow a traitor, too?”  

“seems like the plot of a pretty twisted love story.”

your lips curled into a snarl, and you were about to pounce until chiron dismissed you.

you were in a trance for the rest of the day. chris was gone, too. ethan didn’t seem surprised. silena sobbed, clarisse comforted her, beckendorf cursed luke’s name. other campers kept asking about where their favorite counselor had gone, until they started growing weary of you.

because if golden boy luke was evil, what were the odds that his hot-headed, impertinent girlfriend was, too?

luke left you there, looking like an absolute fool for believing in him, trusting him, loving him.

you couldn’t unsee his blood on your hands. you might as well have been lady macbeth, desperately scrubbing out stains that would never leave.

vi. he was a vice you could never shake

calling all riot grrrls and punk rockers — this show is for YOU!!! come see the SIRENS OF NEW YORK perform THIS friday at joan’s bar ;)

the flyer was an obnoxiously vibrant shade of red and plastered throughout the neighborhood, and it did a good job. one of queens’ best dive bars was packed with people waiting to see the band perform: stella yamada on guitar, mohini banjaree on bass, sally mcknight on vocals — and you on drums. 

it was nice and still a bit new, this relatively normal existence with relatively normal people.

you couldn’t cut off the demigod side of your life completely. there was still a war brewing, and you were in regular enough contact with camp. 

but, you’d been away for a few years, trying to live the life of a non-halfblood in their early 20s. you had an apartment, a cat and a nice enough roommate. you were in school and working as a bartender to pay for rent and tuition. you had friends who, for lack of a better term, were normal. people who worried about paying off student loans and finding their passion in life, whether it be law school or feminist prose or angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion. people who spent their time in classrooms or tattoo parlors or their friends’ bathrooms at 2am while bleaching their hair after a bad breakup. 

sometimes though, usually late at night when you couldn’t sleep, you had to admit to yourself that you missed your old life. 

you missed home. you missed playing capture the flag and training in the arena and having breakfast in the dining pavilion. you missed your friends, the ones you’d grown up with. 

you missed —

no. you tried not to let your mind wander towards him, or the consequences of what he did. you both drew blood the afternoon he confessed his sins to you, but he was the one who twisted the knife. he was the reason you couldn’t stand your life as a half-blood anymore. 

you just tried to focus on the mortal, mundane things that now composed your everyday life, like the stage you would be performing on in 30 seconds. 

before every show, your bandmates went through different degrees of anxiety. you didn’t get stage fright like them. they called you fearless, but the reality was that you had just gone up against much worse. 

and yet, that night, you almost froze mid-set, just as you started a cover of the joan jett’s “you don’t know what you’ve got.”

ironically, luke had gotten you a cd of this album for your 15th birthday. 

i was caught so unaware, when you made other plans.

think of the devil, and he shall appear.

it couldn’t have been him there, though. last time you heard of him, luke was growing kronos' army somewhere on the west coast.  

you pushed through, even though your concentration was shaken. 

i can’t stand to hear your name

you had to shake off the feeling of him watching you. 

it was just that — a bad feeling, right?

 you missed another beat, and mo turned around to give a concerned yet frustrated frown. joan had hinted that there might have been an agent in the audience, and you couldn’t afford to mess up. 

oh baby, you really blew it.

the song ended, and your blood ran cold.

it had to be a trick of the light, seeing luke in the crowd, but just the thought of being in the same space again made it impossible to be up on that stage, so exposed. 

as the band was getting ready for the next song, you slipped away, out the back door and into the alley for some fresh air. with shaky hands, you brought a cigarette between your lips and pulled out your lighter. it was a terrible habit, you knew.

those were always the ones hardest to quit and you needed a vice to keep you grounded. 

so there you found yourself, shivering in your black tank top, just cropped enough that the fishnets you wore underneath red leather pants were slightly visible. the bricks were cool against your back and you exhaled into the soft evening twilight when you realized it hadn’t been a trick of the light. 

“you look like buffy the vampire slayer.”

you rolled your eyes, because of course luke would do that. you were on opposite sides of an impending war between gods and titans, a world-ending conflict that luke directly enabled, and he led with a light-hearted comment like you were still the best of friends. 

as if you hadn’t been on the receiving ends of each other’s blades ever since luke revealed himself to be a traitor. 

“give me one reason why i shouldn’t kill you right now. ”

“because i’m alone.”

“you could still be here to kill me,” you reasoned. “or at least try.”  

after everything, you wouldn’t put it past him. you known him to do a lot worse, all to people he claimed to, in a past life, care about. 

luke tried again. 

“because you always liked a fair fight. i came alone and unarmed.” 

you scoffed, dropped your half-finished cigarette to the ground, and snuffed it out with the toe of your chunky patent boot before walking over to stand in front of luke. he put his hands up in surrender as you approached him. 

“if you’re not here to fight, then why are you here?” you demanded, fingers brushing against the switchblade in your pocket. you always kept a celestial bronze weapon on you in case you came across any monsters in the city. you looked at the one in front of you, and wished you had brought a bigger knife.

“i just….i wanted — needed to see you.”

your eyes grazed luke carefully.

he looked rough. deep shadows under his eyes, hair disheveled and partially matted down, shirt wrinkled like he’d been on the run for days. his hands caked with blood and dirt, his face, too. a nasty bruise on his elbow, and what looked like another one disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. 

you bit down the urge to care. you had to remind yourself that luke was dangerous, cruel, and heartless. you couldn’t stand to look at him for one more second, at least not without biting his head off, or at the very least the cut on his lip. 

“no. you don’t get to just —”

the door slammed open, echoed throughout the alley. stella poked her head out, guitar still strapped to her shoulder. from inside, you could hear the crowd cheering.

“jesus christ, y/n! where have you been?” 

“sorry, stel. i needed a smoke break and then i ran into a — ” your voice caught on the word friend. “luke.”

his name left a poisonous taste in your mouth, and you swallowed its bitterness. 

she saw luke then, who gave her that charming smile of his you hadn’t seen in forever. he extended a hand towards her, but stella just scowled at him and turned back to you.

“are you coming to finish the show?” stella demanded. 

“i need to deal with this,” you told her. “i’m sor—”

stella huffed and slithered back inside before you could finish apologizing. 

 “great,” you laughed cynically. “now one of my best friends is pissed at me, and i might get kicked out of the band. my luck just gets worse every time you force yourself back into my life, castellan.”

you weren’t quite sure how to make of the way he looked at you — maybe apologetic, possibly desperately, definitely some sort of disguise. 

“i know….i fucked up, karma.”

you glared at the use of his old nickname for you, feeling a shudder run down your spine.

“yeah, you fucked up. and now everyone, the whole world, is suffering the consequences. me, annabeth, your mom —”

“please,” luke begged once more, voice shaking now. “if you ever loved me —”

“don’t.” you barked. “if you ever loved me, you’d accept that the next time we see each other, it’ll be fighting on a battlefield. until one of us is on the ground, bleeding out, or never again.”

luke stared at you. you glared back at him. 

“sorry i’m late, lukey. did i miss much?” a sickly sweet voice cut through the tension. 

you turned and saw a cheerleader. she looked relatively normal, but the mismatched legs — one bronze, another furry — along with the red eyes and fangs gave her away. 

“you said you were alone,” you pointed out, tilting your head towards the monster. “looks like you brought company.”

“i didn’t,” luke insisted. “kelli’s been hunting me down.”

kelli pouted. “i thought we were playing hide and seek. but it’s over now — i win. please don’t be mad, baby.”

baby. you could have laughed. 

“i guess you moved on, castellan.” you meant your words to come across as mocking, so you hoped luke couldn’t sense the resentment behind them.

kelli giggled, and you thought your ears might bleed. 

“he sure did,” she cooed and moved closer to luke, running a long red fingernail down his chest. he pushed her away abruptly, and kelli pouted once more. “we miss you, luke. i miss you. please come back home with me.”

“that’s not my home.”

out of everything luke had said, those were the words that got through to you. you glanced at him once more — his hands curled into fists, jaw clenched, and eyes locked on yours, panicking and pleading at the same time. 

you had to give in to those pleading, panicked brown eyes. 

luke didn’t have any weapons on him. all you had was a tiny pocket knife and some combat skills you’d been maintaining through kickboxing classes with your roommate, but you were willing to put them to good use.

you stepped in front of luke. 

“listen — kelli, was it?” the empousa growled at you. “call me sentimental, but i can’t let you take him.”

kelli gave you a snarl, and you whipped out your switchblade. admittedly, it looked a little pathetic compared to her deadly fangs and sharp claws. 

“aw, cute!” she mocked, and then pushed you backwards. 

you expected to tumble into luke, but he had disappeared. seemed like you did make the wrong choice, to trust luke again. 

again — the worst, most sinister habits were the hardest ones to break. 

it briefly crossed your mind to chase him down after this for leading you into a trap. for now, you had a shapeshifting cheerleader to take care of. 

you managed to side-step kelli’s next attack, and sliced across her arm in the process. she shrieked. her hair bursted into flames, as if your day could get any worse. you tried to get another jab in, but kelli managed to be quicker this time. she punched you in the jaw, then kicked you, hard, with a hoofed foot, causing a dull crack to your ribcage upon impact. the kick sent you spinning towards the brick wall; it stopped you from falling, but knocked the air out of your lungs. you spat, your mouth thick with the taste of blood. your ears were ringing, and you couldn’t locate your knife. 

you were definitely out of practice. 

“kelli!” 

you both turned your attention towards luke, standing at the entrance of the alley with his sword in hand.

“luke!” kelli said like he was her long lost lover. she batted her eyelashes at him, the murderous grin she had given you melting away to something more enticing. “you came to help me finish her off.”

luke tilted his head. “not exactly.”

luke threw the sword towards you. despite a split second of surprise, you caught it; made a sharp diagonal cut. before kelli knew it, she was reduced to nothing but dust.

you dropped luke’s sword and fell to the pavement, adrenaline coursed through your veins from the first near-death experience you’d had in months. even with your body bruised and broken, fighting was a thrill like no other. 

luke came to kneel in front of you, sneakers crunching over the ashes of his ex-girlfriend.

“you said you were unarmed.” your voice sounded muffled. you spat out another mouthful of blood.

“half-bloods are walking monster bait. i’d be an idiot if i didn’t have any celestial bronze on me.” 

to emphasize his point, luke tucked your switchblade carefully back into your pocket. he moved his hand to the hem of your shirt. it was your instinct to keep him from lifting it up, and he stopped when he noticed your hesitation.

“i’m just trying to see how bad it is,” he informed. his lips then formed a bemused grin. “besides, i’ve already seen everything.”

“shut up,” but you smiled weakly even if it made your cheek hurt.

the skin where kelli had kicked you was turning an alarming shade of purple. luke tried to touch it, but you let out a sharp breath when pain emanated across your ribcage, and he recoiled. 

“okay, we need to get you —”

“i’m fine,” you groaned. you struggled to stand up, but you urged yourself to walk away. in your mind, the scales were already balanced. 

the moral, logical side of you was in danger of yielding to the wicked desire you always tried to suppress — to be with luke, even once more, just like old times. your quest for vengeance could only be stopped by your hunger for something more, and you needed distance from him before you gave in too much.

“i don’t need your help,” you insisted. “i protected you from kelli, and you gave me the sword that saved my life. we’re even.”

you started to limp away, but luke grabbed your side before you could get too far. you yelped at the contact.

“sorry,” he winced. “just — let me at least get you to a hospital.”

“what do i look like, a rockefeller?” you scoffed, and then grimaced when it felt like a giant was crushing you from the inside out. “i can’t afford that. i have some emergency nectar and ambrosia at my place, anyways.”

“let me at least get you back there, then. please.” he grabbed your hand. “i owe you.”

looking into those deep brown eyes, something in your stomach snapped. 

bad habits were always the hardest to break.

“fine,” you coughed. “but one wrong move, and i swear: i’ll go full vampire slayer and pierce a wooden stake through your heart.”

luke nodded once, lips curling into a smile. “seems fair.”

you groaned as luke wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you steady, his hold terribly familiar as he carried you back home. 

(vii. he loved you — and you weren’t sure if that was a fact or a weapon)

your apartment was only a few blocks away. luke must have gotten stronger, because he was able to carry you up the fire escape to avoid too much attention.

“i’m not sure if my roommate is home,” you whispered as luke set you down on the carpet by your bed. “so we should try and be quiet.”

you told him where you kept the supplies. he snuck away and emerged from the bathroom a minute later with clean hands and a first-aid  kit.

luke knelt down in front of you. 

“can i take your shirt off?” 

you nodded, trying to keep your eyes from fluttering closed. you were so bloodied up, more so than you initially let on, so you let luke do whatever he needed to do. he took off your shirt, assessed your injury and apologized when the pressure from his fingers made you wince. he wiped the blood off your lips and coaxed your mouth open to feed you some ambrosia, offer you a sip of nectar. 

there was no doubt about it: luke was taking care of you.

at first, you imagined your bones stitching themselves back together, and maybe some pieces of your heart, too. 

what were the odds that he was manipulating you, though? certainly not zero.

and then you noticed something when he reached over to place the canteen of nectar back with the kit. he was moving slowly, his breathing shallow and fresh blood seeping through his shirt.

“wait. what happened?”

“nothing,” he winced. luke was always good at hiding his pain.

“luke.”

“it was a few days ago. a hellhound bit me when i was trying to escape from….”

kronos’ army. he didn’t need to say it for either of you to remember. 

wordlessly, you switched your positions, led him to prop himself up on the bed frame while you crouched in front of him. 

“can i take this off?”

luke nodded. 

the first thing you noticed was that his muscles were more defined, yet his body was more beat-up than you'd ever seen it. there was a pretty nasty bruise on his shoulder. your eyes traveled down to the bitemark at his hip, and the haphazard stitching job luke must have done to himself. it looked like it could be infected, and with the activity from today, it was no wonder the wound reopened.

like he had done to you just seconds before, you took care of him.

“so…how are our friends?” he exhaled as you ran a cloth over his skin to clean off some of the blood.

our friends. it didn’t feel right that luke could still call them that. 

“i’m guessing you know what happened to chris….” luke grimaced, and you hoped he felt a little guilty at sending one of his best friends into a madness-inducing labyrinth. “clarisse and lena broke up, and neither of them will tell me why. beck is doing fine, always coming up with stuff in the forges. i guess that’s as good as anyone can be now, inventing new weapons for a war none of us wanted.”

you couldn’t help but add that last part. 

“and the kids?” luke asked as though you were divorce parents and he lost the custody battle. 

you looked up at the gray streak in luke’s own hair, remembering that he had manipulated annabeth and percy to hold the weight of the world, a burden that they couldn’t seem to shake.

it made you more than a little uneasy, luke showing any sense of caring for the people he seemed to leave behind and hurt so easily. you wished he hadn’t been so tender and attentive, like all the fighting and animosity had been a bad dream. 

luke just had to make everything so complicated.

“they’re fine, all things considered.”

you didn’t offer anything more, anything less. 

he was quiet for a moment.

“you seem to be doing alright, though?”

you ignored the question completely that time, focusing on getting the job done. you gave luke some ambrosia and nectar, watched as the infection magically disappeared. the wound didn’t completely heal, and there were many bruises that lingered. you were about to give luke some more when he shook his head. 

"you should save the rest for emergencies," he suggested, chin jutting towards your diminishing supplies. "in case something happens."

"is that a threat, castellan?" you asked, only half-joking. 

"no." luke reached out to touch your face, perhaps a move to reassure you, but then he redirected himself. "besides, i'll be fine. just need to cover it with some gauze." 

"you should take a shower before, then. i'll see what we have to eat." 

you helped him up, and sent luke into the bathroom. you changed into clean clothes before going to look for some food.

the ambrosia and nectar made your body feel more powerful than it had in days, even before getting kicked around by a demon cheerleader. no wonder the gods felt invincible, if that was their diet. meanwhile, all you had in your kitchen was a half-empty box of cinnamon poptarts and packets of instant coffee. 

you could hear your roommate singing from behind her closed door. you were quiet in toasting the breakfast pastries, and then slithered back into your room to look for something that would fit luke.

luke didn't hear you knock, so you just entered and closed the door behind you gently. on the bathroom counter, you set a pair of sweatpants that an ex had left behind, along with an oversized shirt of yours. before you could leave, there was a knock on the door. luke heard this one, and poked his head from behind the shower curtain. you gestured at him that you’d take care of it. he nodded, and closed the curtain again.

"yeah?"

"do you have any tampons in there?" your roommate's voice was muffled through the door.

"yeah," you replied. "i'll be out in a minute."

"do you mind if i just come in now? i'm bleeding out, out here." 

you were about to protest, but the doorknob started to turn, and you panicked. you slipped behind the shower curtain with luke, who looked at you wide-eyed. you placed your hand over his mouth before he could say anything. 

you were lucky earlier, that stella's mind was so preoccupied she didn't notice how beat-up luke was. you didn't want to take another chance. you didn't need your roommate asking questions. 

once the sounds of shuffling through cupboards stopped, and you heard a small thank you followed by the door closing, luke bit your palm.

"ow!" you hissed, pulling away from him.

"she's gone,” luke shrugged. “you don't need to muzzle me anymore.”

you rolled your eyes. “i put some clothes out for you, and a clean towel.”

luke caught your wrist before you could leave. 

“wait. my shoulder is killing me. do you mind…would you maybe help me….” 

his question trailed off, and you furrowed your brow when he pointed the shampoo bottle in your direction.

“you practically carried me down 3 blocks and up 4 flights of stairs, but you’re too hurt to wash your own hair?”

“i guess the pain just caught up with me.” his cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat. “sorry, i shouldn’t have —”

something pinched in your chest, hearing him stumble for forgiveness, even if it was so mundane. you caught yourself saying:

“i’ll do it.” 

before you could decide if it was a bad idea or not. you got rid of your shorts and tied your shirt up around your waist to prevent the clothes from getting too wet. luke blushed even more at your panties and exposed stomach, as if he wasn’t fully naked — which you were, of course, trying to ignore.

neither of you said anything as you focused on the task at hand, massaging shampoo and then conditioner into luke’s curls until they were rid of the grime trapped within. all you heard were luke’s soft sighs as your fingers scraped across his scalp and steady stream of water hitting the bathroom tiles. luke seemed so relaxed that his eyelids fluttered closed, and he almost toppled over. with your own sudsy hands, you brought his hands to sit at your waist, steadying him. 

the space was a little foggy, slightly too warm. you and luke had been intimate before, but never like this. it was almost enough to make you forget.

once all the soap was washed away, you brushed your fingers over the scar on his face, down to the sword tattooed along his collarbone, before you realized what you were doing.

“sorry,” you whispered, pulling your hand away.

“it’s okay,” he hummed, and he moved his hand up to brush against the very same tattoo you had on your sternum, touch burning through a layer of cotton.

you wanted his hands elsewhere — around your neck, between your legs.

the water was running cold by then, and it jolted you back to reality.

you had to keep your desires in check. luke was manipulative and cruel and ruthless — you were enemies, not friends or lovers. you weren’t supposed to want him carnally.

you reached behind him to turn the shower off without another word, and left the bathroom so he could get dressed. 

neither of you were armed, but the situation was dangerous. you were barely healing from the claw marks luke left on your life and yet…. 

part of you wanted him to dig his fingers back into those wounds — to feel him again, even if it bled you dry in the end. 

luke’s sword, backbiter, leaned against your windowsill, a menacing reminder of who he had aligned himself with. luke was essentially kronos’ right hand man. he was your enemy.

what were you doing, bringing him into your home, taking care of him and letting him do the same to you?

leaving yourself vulnerable to him, letting your guard down?

now that you thought of it, if his guard was down, you could probably grab your own knife and just —

you heard luke clear his throat and you turned to see him standing in your doorway, shirtless and sweatpants hanging low. it was embarrassing how much you wanted to lap up the drop of water traveling down his chest.

luke must have noticed, so cleared his throat again. your body felt warm all over when you met his gaze, and he gave you an annoyingly confident smirk.

“so, here’s the thing. i’m pretty sure you’re either thinking about wanting to kill me, or wanting to fuck me.” 

you rolled your eyes at his arrogance, but couldn’t help but play along. 

“sounds like you’ve accepted your fate either way.”

“well, i do have a preference,” he quipped. “i just don’t particularly care as long as it's in your hands.”

it didn’t get past you that luke was checking you out, too, eye trailing over the exposed skin of your legs and lingering on where the t-shirt hugged your chest. 

how bad would it be to, for one night, indulge? no concern about what was right or wrong, about titans or gods; no worries about what a prophecy foretold or which side of a war you’re on. 

just you and luke: giving into your own twisted desires, and dealing with the consequences later.

another droplet trickled down luke’s torso. it disappeared underneath the band of his sweatpants, and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

you strode over to him, about to crash your lips into his when —

luke stopped you with a hand wrapped around your neck.

“no kissing,” he warned. 

“what’s the matter?” you smirked. “i thought you liked it when i bite. worried that you’ll turn away from the dark side if i do?”

luke swallowed thickly.

you were taunting him, relishing in how his breath caught in his throat and gaze seemed fixed on your lips.

it was cute, how luke tried to hold onto some semblance of control, but couldn’t hide the slight tremble in his voice. 

“no kissing. that’s my only condition.”

“okay.” you took off your shirt, positioned yourself on the bed to punctuate your point. “as long as you’re fine sleeping with the enemy, castellan.”

luke stared for a few seconds before accepting his fate. 

he caged you in with his arms, settling his hips between your legs. his lips traveled down your tattooed sternum, nipping and sucking and re-bruising your skin until he reached the waistband of your panties. luke pulled it up with his teeth, the elastic snapping back when he let go. you whined his name and he looked up at you with dark eyes. 

“can i?” his breath fanned over your navel, his nails digging into your hips as he waited for your answer.  

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel luke smirk against your inner thigh before sinking his teeth into it. you whimpered, and luke salved his tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. he positioned your legs over his shoulder for better access to where you needed him most.

luke manipulated his tongue and fingers in all the ways he knew ruined you. in return, you gripped his black curls, tightly, and uttered praise in all the ways you knew ruined him. 

“just like that, pretty boy,” you encouraged, practically melting into the mattress. it felt so good — dangerously good — to be devoured by luke. “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

luke’s moan vibrated throughout your body and he became harsher, bringing you over the edge. he left a few more bites on your body on his way up to meet you and when he did, luke’s lips and chin were still shining with your release.

you leaned forward slightly to lick it up. you ghosted your mouth over his, and luke groaned when you pulled away.

“no kissing,” you mocked and ran your thumb over his tattooed collarbone. 

luke tightened his grip on your hips, surely leaving bruises for later. his eyes feral, his curls a terrible mess, when he grumbled:

“you’re such a —”

you twisted your calf around luke’s leg and you flipped your positions before he could finish his sentence. he grunted as his back hit the mattress. 

“don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll still take care of you,” you drawled, starting to trail your tongue down luke’s body, occasionally incorporating your teeth or sucking brutally, imprinting a constellation of bites and bruises. his skin smelled like your pomegranate mango body wash, and it was more than a little intoxicating.

you weren’t soft or gentle, because you knew how luke liked you — rough, raw, a little ruthless. luke once told you that the wounds you left on his body weren’t the type that left him bitter; they were the type of wounds he wished would never heal.   

in a moment of weakness, you left a kiss — just one — on the semi-healed wound on his hip. luke sighed at the gesture and reached a hand down to gently brush his fingers against your cheek. 

“i missed you so much, karma,” luke almost sobbed. 

slightly shaken out of your lust, you weren’t sure whether to smirk at the hold you had on him, or sob at the reality that you missed him too. 

sensing your hesitation, luke removed his hand and told you to continue.  

you made quick work of luke’s sweatpants. luke, already hard and throbbing, didn’t last long with your lips wrapped around him. you swallowed him whole, and then some. 

“always such a good girl for me,” luke praised when you were face to face with him once more. his thumb swiped over your wet lips to gather what you missed. you granted him access to push into your mouth, and luke groaned when you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked his thumb clean. your teeth scraped the skin on his way out. 

what followed was a brief squabble over who should be on top. you won out. 

there you were, luke sitting up against the headboard, you on his lap with his length nestled in your cunt. you scraped your nails down luke’s chest, and then curled your hands around the base of his neck. he gripped either side of your waist, thumbs pressing circles into your skin encouragingly. luke looked up at you in awe, desperate sighs leaving his mouth as you rutted your hips against his. it felt sinful and wonderful, feeling luke buried deep inside you again, stretching you deliciously. the two of you exchanging animalistic grunts as you used the other's body, chased your high.

when you rolled your hips into his at just the right angle, luke’s moans turned into whines. 

“fuck it. please — kiss me.”

you stilled your hips, and luke whined some more. “are you sure?” you asked, breathing heavily.

luke nodded and gently moved you to lay on your back with him hovering over you. he leaned close, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. 

“please,” luke pleaded once more.

his brown eyes looked down at you with such hunger and passion, something deep within you ached. 

you kissed each other harshly, then. you still tasted him on your tongue and yourself on his. his sharp nose cut into your cheek, mouth attacking yours and vice versa. your nails pierced the skin of his shoulder as he resumed thrusting into you at a vicious pace. luke kept gnawing on your bottom lip until he made you bleed. you groaned, and he slipped his tongue back into your mouth to savor your coppery taste.

yes, luke could also be rough and raw and a little ruthless — which you always loved. but you knew, regardless, you were safe with him in that moment. all he wanted was for you to feel good.

you yanked his curls to force luke to look at you. he whimpered at having to detach himself from your lips.

“i missed you too, tiger,” you finally admitted, calling him that old affectionate nickname you promised yourself you would never use again.  “i missed you so fucking much.” 

luke gave you that troublesome smile of his. you connected your lips once more. you wrapped your legs around his waist to bring him impossibly closer, and luke wrapped an arm around your back to do the same. 

it wasn’t long until you both reached your peak, collapsing back onto the soft mattress, chests heaving. you each lied down on your side, facing each other. you admired luke’s mess of curls, his swollen-kiss-bitten lips, the rose-petal bruises you had left.

you wished the post-sex haze lasted longer, but then luke had to disturb it by saying:

“what you said earlier — i never think of you as my enemy, you know.”

you sighed and covered your face with your hand. “luke —”

“never,” luke insisted. he inched closer, took your hand in his and held it to his chest. 

you were overwhelmed by his heartbeat, strong and fast, so you pulled yourself away.

“we’re fighting on different sides,” you pointed out.

you could’ve said more, but all the things that have been said and done already hung heavy in the air, reoccupying the space between you and bursting your brief moment of peace.

“but we’ve always been fighting for the same thing.”

maybe that was true.

in theory, you weren’t against overthrowing the gods. but you couldn't reconcile with everything luke had done, what he was willing to do. you couldn't let your friends and thousands of innocent people die in the name of divine beings who valued power and control over all else. you couldn't hurt or betray people you loved for the sake of revenge, regardless of who your mother is. you couldn't turn that love against them, the way luke had, in search of justice. 

deep down, you knew it wasn’t right to have him there in bed with you. if it was so wicked, sinful, treacherous — then why did you want him to stay?

“i’m not sure they have a word for what we are,” you concede, returning to the conversation moments ago. 

"i guess not."

you let luke bring you into his arms that time. you rested your head against his chest. his heartbeat still steady, but a little slower. you idly traced your fingers across the marks you left on him, and you avoided the ones you didn't.

"how's your shoulder?" 

"it's okay," luke sighed. he lifted your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "whatever we are: i love you." 

those weren’t the words that were meant to make you sick, but your stomach churned — with nausea or desire, you weren’t sure.

you moved to straddle his hips. your eyes glanced over a scar you didn't register until now. the cut you had sliced across his cheek that afternoon he tried to kill percy, and then ran away from camp. you had a similar one that he had given you during that same struggle. 

matching tattoos, matching scars. there really was no word for what you and luke were to each other. 

"i love you too.”

at some point throughout the night, with luke’s strong arms wrapped around you and your legs intertwined beneath tangled sheets, it occurred to you that luke must have tracked you down for a particular reason.

maybe he was here to convince you to join kronos' army, to help him overthrow the gods and burn the world as you knew it; maybe he was here to break your heart all over again, just for the sick thrill of it; maybe he did just want to have one more night together, enemies or otherwise. maybe, maybe, maybe.

luke’s soft snores lulled you to sleep, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the scales of justice.

you'd figure it out in the morning. then you'd decide whether or not he deserved a blade to the heart.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

← Smutlet masterlist

18+ Thigh Riding

He looked up at you, his head resting against the back of the couch. A teasing smirk flitted across his face as he watched you chasing your release. Bucky loved studying your features, staring intently. The way your mouth hung open, your brows practically knitted together from the effort you were putting in and your eyelids fluttering with your attempts to keep them open. Bucky loved that about you. You were always all in, including the short panting breaths that escaped from your swollen lips. Yes, he derived just as much pleasure seeing you come undone as you did experiencing it.

“You're so damn beautiful, Doll.”

You reveled in the way his large calloused hands felt on your hips, the way he held you, and subtly guided your movements as you pushed your uncovered core against his bare thigh. You loved how he bit down on his lip, struggling to contain his own arousal, so desperate to be inside of you.

“Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

Bucky moaned as his erection strained against his boxers. Oh, how he longed to press his palm against it, just to relieve some of the tension. No, today he was going to watch, watch you use his body to get yourself off. Then maybe, if you were feeling generous, you'd return the favor. He smiled. You were the most generous person he knew.

“Having fun there, Doll?”

You noticed how mesmerized he was by your peaked nipples, your blossomed breasts swaying up and down before his very eyes. A soft laugh slipped past your lips, his struggle of restraint amusing you as you watched his nostrils flare and his heavy breathing whistling through pursed lips.

“Mind if I have a taste?”

Ultimately, it's too much for Bucky, your beautiful bosom right there on display just for him. How could he not partake? How easy it was for him to lean forward and capture one of those perky beauties between his eager lips. His tongue rolled around your hard nipple with ease. You let him suck it as his hands caressed her twin. Cupping her, pinching her nipple between his vibranium fingers and kneading your flesh. Oh, how he loved the moans you saved, just for him.

“That's my girl, God, you feel so good in my mouth.”

Once you've given him a taste, he can't stop, yearning for more. You let him leave a trail of blazing kisses across your chest, teeth grazing your skin, open lips sucking bruises up towards your neck, marking you as his. You knew how much it turned him on, seeing his marks on your body, his possessiveness taking over. In turn, his covetousness drove you crazy, dialling up your desire to dangerous levels.

“You're mine, Doll. Got that? All mine.”

At this point, his hands are all over you, fingers and palm spread across your back, dragging over your silky skin. He skimmed over your waist only to find purchase on the curve of your ass where his fingertips dug in desperately, helping you along the path to nirvana. Encouraging you with lust dripping from his voice.

“Go on, Doll. You're doing so good. Just a little more."

By now, you're so lost in a haze that your movements are less than smooth, and you thank your lucky stars that Bucky has the sense to assist. Your juices are covering his thigh as you shamelessly drag your clit over his bulging quad. Over and over. You have his undivided focus now, he can tell how close you are to falling off the edge into the carnal abyss. He helped you out as pitiful moans left your lips and tired hips faltered slightly. He squeezed his quads, the muscle hardening under you, pushing against your sensitive little nub. Bucky whispered sweet words of praise and encouragement as you let go and cum on his thigh.

“That's right, Doll, you got this. How do you always look pretty, sweet girl? Keep going, just like that, darling. Only a little more, let it go. That's it, baby, well done.”

[boneblushed]

Labyrinth

Uh oh, I’m falling in love / Oh no, I’m falling in love again

synopsis you’re reunited with your ex-boyfriend, Rafe, at an Outer Banks wedding.

tags Rafe Cameron x fem!reader, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slowburn-ish, A LOT of angst, an equal amount of pining, an awful breakup but a wonderful reconciliation 💓

wc ~11k

“You look,” you murmur, squeezing Brooklyn’s shoulder gently, “perfect.”

She’s sitting in front of a round, gold-rimmed mirror, the windows on either side of her painting her skin a warm aureate. You stand in shadow behind her, the sunbeams unable to reach your pretty features. There’s a wistfulness to them that’s almost imperceptible.

Almost. If she weren’t your best friend, someone you’ve known since forever, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the way you were hiding from them. The smile on her face falters as she looks up at you through the mirror.

“Look,” she begins tentatively, frowning, “if this is too hard —”

“Do not,” you interrupt. You try for an encouraging smile; what you hope is an encouraging smile. “I’m totally fine, okay? I’m over it.”

A pause. Brooklyn’s reflection sends you a long, hard look. “No one would blame you if you weren’t.”

You know what that means, the insinuation behind her words: you were supposed to be the first one. It’s all anyone in the Figure Eight was saying when they first found out about your break-up: you’re meant for each other, though, we can’t imagine you not being a couple!

Well, neither could you, not that it really mattered. Six months on with half a heart and pulseless motive, you’ve come to realise that wretched pining comes at a costly price.

You can’t afford it anymore.

“I know,” you reply quietly.

The spaghetti strap of your cowl neck falls as you straighten, the periwinkle fabric shimmering forebodingly. An image of the Rafe you knew flashes in your mind, slipping it down to press a kiss on your skin. Your stomach drops.

“But I am,” you add, louder. As though you’re trying to convince yourself more than you are her. “I promise.”

Brooklyn stares at you for a long time before her gaze falls, acquiescing with a sigh. “I hate that you still don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“That he could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve you.”

You bite back another wince, the fresh sting of forgotten feelings pricking at your eyelids. “I do believe it,” you say quietly. “I do. That’s what makes all of this so fucking hard — that I know we’re never getting a second chance. That he chose to throw all of it away and I’m never going to be able to forgive him for it.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though!”

“We were together for half our lives, Brooke!” You turn away from the mirror, taking in a jagged breath. “We — his mom had promised me her ring before she died, for God’s sake. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to walk away from what we had?”

A long pause. Brooke’s voice is gentle, but her words cut like a knife. “It’s not as though you had a choice, Y/N/N. He didn’t give you one.”

You look around at her, unshed tears making your pretty eyes shine. “What does it say about me that I’m no closer to accepting that than I was six months ago?”

“Babe.” A tear falls. Brooke’s features soften, and she pulls you into a tight hug, enough pressure to wring out the melancholy in your chest. “It says that you’re human.”

She rocks you for a moment before you’re forced to pull apart, a knock on the door breaking your reverie. “God,” you self-reproach, sending Brooklyn a watery smile. “I would find a way to make your day about me, wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe I should ditch Kelce,” Brooklyn replies faux-seriously, catching the stray tears wetting your lower lids. “We can elope or something.”

As though on queue, the Universe intervenes before she can go through with this idea. Perhaps it knows, having watched the pair of grow close throughout college, that there’s a part of her that really would call this all off if you asked her to.

“Sweetheart!” Comes Brooklyn’s father’s voice from behind the door, punctuated by the sharp rap of his knuckles. “It’s nearly time!”

The tension ebbs. Suddenly, everything about this wedding—the same one you’ve been helping her plan forever—becomes entirely too real. Your melancholia is a tide in this way, flowing forth and receding as its surroundings permit. Never fading away; ever-present. Though it may not be as unbearable now as it was when you first broke up, it lingers.

You’re afraid that it always will. You push down this fear like you’ve done every other.

Focus. Your eyes widen in anticipation, mirroring Brooklyn’s as they transform into nervous excitement.

“Come in!” Brooklyn calls anxiously, biting back a squeal. You’re grateful for the fact that you haven’t ruined her mood completely. “Oh my god. Oh my god!”

She stands up and turns around just as her father enters the room, his lined face shining with a wistful sense of happiness. As the atmosphere in the room shifts, she glances back at you, and your insides twist in cruel mocking. More repentant than jealous. I was supposed to be the first one.

You don’t let your expression falter. The first few chords of the processional float into the room through the ajar door, and you spring into action, smoothing out your dress and readjusting your bouquet of flowers.

“That’s my queue,” you say, squeezing her arm once more before slipping past her and her father.

In true Kook fashion, Brooklyn’s wedding ceremony is taking place on the Island Club green. Upon exiting the storage room you’ve transformed into a vanity, you find yourself in the entranceway that leads to the venue, the set-up just visible beyond its oak doors.

Benches of beige driftwood sit on either side of the aisle, twined with buttery white lilies and ivy-like viridescence. They face a brilliant floral wedding arch, where the officiant and Kelce stand talking in hushed whispers. And the sky above you is a vibrant, cloudless blue, golden sunlight fanning down upon the crowd, bathing them aureate.

In the beat that passes, you search for someone you shouldn’t.

The last time that you saw him, he was hunched over his father’s office desk. His eyes were bloodshot and his tired gaze dull; half-finished documents stared up at him in mocking, and a nagging ache was making home in his chest.

The week prior, you hadn’t seen much of each other. And it wasn’t as though he’d requested this space—he rarely did, rarely asked you for anything—you’d just taken it upon yourself to give it to him. Stay in control. If you proposed time apart before he did, maybe it would feel more deliberate; hurt less.

You were dead wrong.

“Look,” he sighs, this cruel, heavy sound that splices right through your chest, “I realise I’ve been neglecting our relationship a lot recently.”

“Yes,” you respond tentatively. “But you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently. I get it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” He glances up at you through red-rimmed irises. “I… I don’t know how long it’ll be like this. With everything that’s happened… my dad dying, and me taking over the firm —”

“I’ve seen you through all of it,” you interrupt quietly, your voice cracking. “I’ve — no questions asked, I’ve done it. I get it, Rafe, you’ve got different priorities at the moment. But we’ve loved each other for so long now that I —”

“But that’s the thing,” he says then, swallowing hard, “I just don’t know if I do anymore. Not as much as I used to.”

The silence that follows feels as though it’s suffocating you. You haven’t said a word, and Rafe’s said plenty, but it’s you with the lungs that heave for loveless oxygen.

“Oh.”

Rafe’s Adam’s apple jumps again, and he breaks eye contact as unshed tears brim to the surface. “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t make any sense.

“Maybe,” you try, grappling hard for a logical explanation, “maybe your grief’s fucking with your ability to feel anything.”

Rafe’s gaze lifts to your face again, teardrop tracks making your pretty cheeks shine. His heart aches, hard, and he finds it difficult to catch his breath. “But… I’ve dealt with it,” he says quietly. “I’ve had to.”

“How can you have?” You throw back, exasperated. “Rafe you — you haven’t had a moment to yourself since his funeral last month, you’ve holed yourself up in his office and acted like everything’s fucking okay!”

“Because it is!” He replies, his face hardening momentarily. “I’m — I’m fucking fine, alright? I just need to be alone right now.”

“Because you don’t love me anymore.”

Rafe winces. Your lower lip trembles. “Yeah. Because something’s missing… the — the fucking spark, or whatever… and right now, I can’t give you the sort of love you deserve.”

He was tired of hurting you through his abjection, he’d said. As if breaking things off wasn’t the most hurtful thing he ever did.

Thankfully, you aren’t able to spot him in the crowd; if you had, walking down the aisle would have been infinitely more difficult. Out of courtesy to you—and Brooke forcing his hand, of course—he hadn’t asked Rafe to be a groomsman either, so you were well safe from an untimely encounter at pre-wedding festivities. And from standing opposite him in front of the altar. You aren’t sure such close proximity in holy matrimony would be healthy for either of you.

It’s unfair on him though, you know it is. He has as much a right being best man as you do maid of honour — the four of you were thick as thieves once upon a time; in fact, it was you that’d introduced Kelce to Brooklyn.

It feels like so long ago when you think back on it now, being nineteen-years-old with a naïve heart and nothing to lose.

You and Rafe had seemed invincible then, high-school sweethearts that were somehow surviving college-borne distance. Forever, that’s the word that ended every drunk call or late night text; forever, and the promise of a proposal and beach-side villa.

“Shi—did you not see the sock on the door, Smith?” Rafe groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder in defeat. He’s spent the past half hour getting you into a compromising position, his rough hands awry and his wet mouth on your soft skin. The amaranthine imprint of his kisses have made home on your neck. You’re straddling him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he really doesn’t want to sacrifice any amount of closeness.

Kelce enters the room tentatively, his hand firmly pressed over his eyes. “Hard to miss. You two decent or what?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You let out a peal of laughter as Rafe glowers at his roommate, his calloused palms dropping from your hips to your thighs. You push the fabric of your dress over his hands, but he kneads the flesh anyway, the skin on skin like spare oxygen.

Kelce peeks at you from between his fingers before pulling them away, an unimpressed look on his face. “C’mon, surely you’re done with her Cameron. I’ve given you guys the entire fucking day together.”

“Half an hour,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes narrowing.

“As if you need more than five minutes,” Kelce snorts, plopping down on the bed opposite Rafe’s.

“Oh fuck—” Rafe’s large hands circle your thighs and tighten, standing up and advancing toward Kelce with you in his arms, “—right off—”

“Rafe!” You gasp, suppressing another surprised laugh. “Put me down, you asshole.”

“No way, Y/N/N,” Kelce says then, raising his arms in preemptive surrender. “Your PDA’s the only reason he hasn’t given me a shiner yet.”

Rafe affirms this sentiment by pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, his eyes still narrowed as he glares at Kelce. “You’re lucky I love my girlfriend more than I do my fucking reputation.”

Kelce makes a face, keeling over and mock-gagging. “Yeah, yeah, you guys have been bethrothed since fucking pre-K, I get it. Now will you stop being so possessive and let me have a conversation with her?”

You look over your shoulder at him, untangling your arms from Rafe’s neck so he can let you down gently. When he does so, it’s with great reluctance, and he doesn’t hesitate to circle your chest so he can pull you back against him. His strong bicep is warm against your neck, solid pressure.

“What’s up, Kelcey?” You ask, surveying him with interest.

“Ghosted,” he says gloomily, falling back against his duvet, “again.”

Rafe glances down at you at the same time you look up at him, a sage, sympathetic emotion passing between you. In the weeks after your break-up, you’ll come to yearn for this emotion more than anything else — that feeling of being immune to inadequacy, of having found the love of your life so effortlessly.

“You’ve gotta stop coming on so hard, bro,” Rafe says, resting his chin on your forehead. “These sorority chicks are probably all looking for something casual.”

“He can’t help the fact that he’s a lover boy, Rafe,” you defend, frowning. “You’ve just gotta find a girl that wants what you want, Kelce.”

Kelce raises his head hopefully. “Know anyone like that, Y/N/N?”

“Well,” you pause, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully, “I am thinking of inviting my roommate Brooklyn to the Bahamas over summer break —”

“To Rafe’s?” This piques Kelce’s interest. He props himself up onto his elbows, a hopeful grin transforming his features. “Sold.”

How times change.

Today, Kelce stands at the other end of the aisle, waiting for the same Brooklyn that was once your roommate, now his almost wife. He’s wearing an elegant black tuxedo with a lily tucked into the breast pocket, its buttery white petals shining in the sun. He looks so, unimaginably, happy. It should’ve been you and Rafe. Your heartstrings twinge.

“You’re not ready,” you murmur as you pass him on the altar, finding your place opposite his best man, Topper.

Kelce smiles at you, a little nervous, a little unshed. “Will I ever be?”

You shake your head, smiling in tandem.

The wedding procession is a brilliant display of love, and you find a way to make it about your lack thereof. Seconds blur, minutes melt into each other, and your poor mind strays to when things were far simpler. The Island Club was your date night spot, once upon a time. It’s where you’d envisioned you’d get proposed to; where you would get married one day, too. Just like this.

You’re happy for them, you swear it. It’s just a difficult emotion to maintain when the opposite comes so naturally.

Rafe doesn’t arrive until the reception itself.

He wants to believe that this is entirely accidental — he’s had a long day at the office, filled with several meetings with prospective clients. He can’t though, his wretched conscience won’t let him. He chose to go to work today, chose to schedule important meetings at the same time as Kelce’s nuptials.

He thinks he knows why this is, and isn’t sure whether he can handle the why in a satin slip and strappy heels. He wants to believe that he meant everything he said to you six months prior, but the dreadful ache in his chest crescendos in mocking every time he tries this.

He’s made a mistake. He won’t admit this if it killed him. But he knows, deep down, that something isn’t right about all of this.

If he really didn’t love you anymore, if that fucking spark was missing, there shouldn’t have been anything to move on from—the ship should have already departed. But he’s struggling, hard, and his thoughts juxtapose his actions. Despite telling you that he needs to be alone for the time being, you remain unmoored in his mind, rocking back and forth but never sinking.

He’s done his fair share of fucking up over the past few months. Got into something else too quickly, tried that no contact thing and failed miserably. There’s no going back after everything that’s happened. And yet…

“Hello?” He greets you like it’s a question; like greeting you isn’t second nature anymore. Your stomach turns.

When you respond, your voice comes out jagged, pained. “Look. I get that you’re doing this ‘no contact’ thing, or whatever, but Sarah told me something pretty fucked up and I think you owe me an explanation.” Your voice is far weaker.

Rafe winces, a familiar ache pulling through his chest. “If this is about Elle —”

“It’s been a month, Rafe. You may as well have cheated.”

…that fucking hug.

After you’d confronted him about shamelessly flirting with Sarah’s friend, Elle—in front of Sarah, no less, who told you the second it happened—he’d asked to meet up in person and explain himself.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of it all, which is probably why you’d foolishly agreed to hear him out. Ward had hired Elle as an intern before his death; she’d been around a while, long enough for an affair.

It shifted bile into your throat.

And when you’d met him, the exact opposite of what you’d hoped had happened. He’d had the gall to tell you that he thinks something’s there, that he feels that bullshit spark that he swore was missing in your relationship.

What were you meant to say?

But then he’d apologised, recognised it was too soon, begged to stay friends. Friends—like a platonic relationship is in any way gift receipt redeemable. And ironically, hearing him out wasn’t even your biggest mistake, it was that wretched hug goodbye that you’d permitted you get.

It was as though that hug held everything unsaid. Your figure had moulded against his quite perfectly, and why wouldn’t it? He’s the only romantic embrace you’d known since you were a teenager.

And when you’d finally pulled away, separated the pieces of your heart that were finally greeting his again, you hadn’t realised that he’d think about that hug for weeks gone by, just like you.

All the way up until Christmas, which occurred two months after your sudden break-up.

It was the last time you saw him under the pretence of amicability, when you came by Tannyhill to drop off presents and see his family. Mostly him. It felt pathetic, even then; for all you knew, Elle was on his mind and you were somewhere insignificant.

Rafe’s pretty sure he’s fucking doomed.

Your laugh reverberates through Tannyhill like a siren song, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never not recognise the sound of it. It’s as though every bone in his body vibrates in tune to it—so unabashed, so freeing. Far more painful now than it used to be.

You’ve become so many Taylor Swift songs and none of them end happy.

He follows your sweet timbre to the hallway before he can help himself. Once upon a time—God, it feels so long ago now—he’d have been the first person you’d have texted before dropping by the house. Instead, as he stands paralysed at the foot of the stairs, it’s Sarah who’s hugging you, who gets to hold you in her arms.

Luckily for him, your eyes are closed in the embrace, and he’s afforded a second to recalibrate after taking you in. He’s known that you’re beautiful like his first memory on Earth, but that doesn’t mean your proximity leaves him any less winded. You’re fresh-faced with limbs that have an untouchable quality to them; you aren’t his to mark anymore, no longer his to ruin.

He can’t remember the last time he kissed you. He wants to remember so fucking bad. You’re slipping through his calloused fingers and fragments of you are all he has.

“You didn’t have to get us anything!” Sarah exclaims, pulling away faux-disprovingly.

“Hey, don’t do that, of course I did.” Your arms fall back to your side, and you open your eyes in tandem. When they flit past Sarah’s face and find Rafe’s instead, it feels as though someone has tipped ice-cold water down your singlet. A pause. “You’re family.”

Sarah notes the change in your tone with a frown, turning to look over her shoulder. “Oh,” she says, her expression hardening. “Sorry, Y/N/N. I didn’t know he was home.”

You swallow. “It’s no big,” you reply, forcing yourself to look back at her. “We’re alright, really. But I should go, I have a few more presents to drop off.”

Sarah frowns harder. “You sure you don’t want to stay a bit? I know Rose’d love to see you, we’ve all really missed having you around —”

“I’m sure,” you interrupt, handing her the bag of presents you’ve wrapped. “I’ll send her a text, okay? And listen,” you pause, your expression softening a little, “I know this holiday season’s going to be hard without your dad, and I want you to know that I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

Sarah’s eyes well with tears. “It’s going to be hard without you too, Y/N,” she murmurs. “You’re my sister.”

Your features sadden in tandem, and you give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And I always will be. You know that.”

“You should come to Christmas, then,” she says hopefully.

“I —” you falter as your voice cracks, grimacing slightly, “— I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.”

When you turn around, something in Rafe’s chest cracks too. He’s still hanging on to that expression-softening catalyst from a moment prior, yearning hard for the feeling of being on the receiving end of your love.

“Why the fuck,” Sarah fumes, rounding on him once you’re out of earshot, “do you have to ruin everything you touch?”

Rafe doesn’t even have it in him to wince. “I don’t know,” he responds quietly, with an honesty that aches. “If I did, maybe I’d have found a way to fix it.”

Sarah takes pause. Slight disbelief transforms her features. “You have to still love her. How can’t you?”

“I don’t know, alright?” Rafe runs his hand through his hair slovenly. “I just — I’m not happy anymore. It’s not fucking there… I don’t know if it’ll ever come back.”

“What isn’t?”

“The… the spark.”

“Bullshit,” Sarah spits out, accusatory. “The ‘spark’ is fucking bullshit, Rafe. You’re telling me you’ve felt it the entire time you’ve known her? You’re telling me this doesn’t have anything to do with dad’s death?”

Rafe swallows thickly, discomfort coating his throat. “I don’t, alright? All I know is I can’t give her what she needs right now; I don’t know if I ever will.”

To this day, he doesn’t know about your detour that evening — how instead of driving home, you took a left to the look-out where you shared your first kiss. He doesn’t know that the waves crashing ashore bore witness to your heartbreak; that sunset orange painted your tear-streaked cheeks a gentler amber. Caressed them, subdued them, where he no longer could. He doesn’t know you agonised over how much his hair had grown in your absence, the subtle stubble on his jaw, the stark outline of his biceps.

The him that’s foreign to you, now; the him that’s Elle’s and not yours.

At twenty-four years old, Rafe Cameron doesn’t know fucking anything.

Of course, once he does eventually recognise that his ‘something there’ with Elle is a rebound, it’s too late to entertain returning to you with his tail between his legs.

He can’t. Not after everything he’s put you through in the past. So he allows regret to caulk his limbs and bitterness to coat his insides, and Rafe Cameron does what he does best — pushes it down and ignores it.

Which brings him here, a non-attendee to his best friend’s wedding and an hour late to his reception.

He sidles into the venue through a pair of double doors, and the first thing he notices is the dimmed sconces and muted fairy lights. It’s the first thing, because perplexingly, the crowd is hard to discern but you glow anyway. A spotlight illuminates the centre of the room where Brooklyn and Kelce share their first dance, but they don’t draw his gaze, your beautiful features do.

Of course you do, in your strappy cowl neck slip. There’s less periwinkle fabric than he’d anticipated, more exposed limbs, and Rafe feels like he’s run a fucking marathon as he takes you in. And your pretty eyes and glossy lips cascade into a bare neck; soft skin that’s forgotten his rough touch, his bruising kisses.

It’s momentary lust that his regret promptly squashes. He can’t think those thoughts about you anymore, even if they’re almost second nature. Even if he’s spent more tangible years of his life as your boyfriend than he has a fucking stranger.

That’s what you guys are meant to be right now: strangers. His stomach coils. His tired eyes search for the open bar on instinct.

Once he’s acquired a whiskey neat and a glass of champagne, he pulls through the crowd and makes toward your figure.

You aren’t as lucky as he is to mentally prepare for a reunion. When he holds out the shimmering flute and prompts your gaze toward him, there’s a split-second of slack-jawed diffidence before you find your common sense.

God, you wish he wasn’t so easy to stare at.

He’s wearing an expression that isn’t yours anymore, with his thick brows furrowed and lips slightly parted. Yearning, but he can’t be. His blue eyes make your heart leap. Your gaze lifts before it falls, taking in his damp hair, his larger than ever frame. Both feel unfamiliar; he’s shed the skin and aureate curls your fingers once traced. Same notes of patchouli on his neck, though you note the absence of the silver chain you once bought him for Christmas.

Does he still have it, somewhere, hidden in a shoebox under his bed? (His hand is so close to your chest, it feels like you’re dying.) Is it as painful for him to see you like this after months and months of no contact?

Can’t be. Shouldn’t be. The ache may linger, agonisingly, but you’re stronger now than you were when he first ended things.

“Oh,” is all you can muster, accepting the flute of champagne. When your fingers brush, you reprimand the jolt of static. Lust may be hard to shake, but you resolve to let logic prevail. “Thanks.”

Rafe feels it too, harder, more unbearable. “Don’t mention it.”

You break eye contact to look out into the crowd, though it’s a struggle finding anything to focus on. “When’d you arrive?”

“Five minutes ago,” he admits, staring at your side profile for a second longer than he probably should. He analyses the glittery stuff on your cheekbones—highlighter?—for traces of a familiar feeling. “Work shit.”

“Ah,” you reply, raising your eyebrows at him. “Some things never change, huh?”

Rafe winces. “Look, Y/N, I —”

“I’m kidding, Rafe, relax,” you interrupt, sending him a small smile. It makes his stomach turn. “It’s all going well, I hope?”

“It is, yeah,” he responds, smiling in tandem. “Ish. Still doing a fuck tonne of late nights and weekends.”

“Bummer.” It feels strange, making small talk in this way. Strange, though not particularly as awful as you’d predicted. “How’re Rose and your sisters?”

“Yeah, they’re good,” they miss you, “Sarah’s going to UCLA in the fall.”

You nod. “She told me.”

Something in Rafe’s chest drops. He turns to you, his piercing gaze making your skin burn. “I didn’t realise you guys kept in touch.”

“We’ve always been really close. You know that.”

Because of me. “Right.” His eyes fall to your throat as you take another pull of champagne, smooth and unblemished and painfully foreign. “I’m glad.”

You turn to him then, an unreadable expression on your face. “Me too.”

A beat. The pair of you stare at each as the surroundings buzz into static.

“Listen, Rafe, I —”

“Y/N, I’ve been —”

You falter first, scrunching up your face abashedly. “Sorry. You go.”

“I…” Rafe pauses, running his calloused palm through his hair, “I guess I just want to apologise. For everything.”

Your eyes widen, and you turn away from him abruptly. “Rafe, I don’t know if now is the best time to have this conversation.”

“Shit, I know. I know I’m about five months too late and don’t deserve to be heard out.”

“Well,” you pause, chewing on your bottom lip apprehensively. Your voice quietens. “Maybe not at a wedding.”

Or ever. You tip back the rest of your champagne just as the slow dance fades out, breaking away from him. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Rafe fucking hopes so. He needs a clean slate if it’ll kill him. He nods reluctantly, watching you disappear into the crowd in front of him. The ache in his chest crescendos as the physical distance swallows you completely.

—

“We love you,” Brooklyn mouthes, blowing you a kiss through the open window. The limousine she’s in stretches forward with jet-black grandiosity, its ignition blaring alive as you catch it in mid-air.

When you blow one back, Kelce peeks over her shoulder and sends you a wink. The pair of them wave to the wedding-goers surrounding you before the vehicle pulls forward, leaving you in its dust. You watch them exit the Island Club gates, and a sense of bittersweet melancholia finds home in your chest.

That should’ve been you. You turn around as the crowd begins to disperse and find yourself face to face with Rafe once again.

“Oh,” you say, looking up at him in surprise. When your expression relaxes—in recognition—his chest pulls in tandem. “They’re sweet, huh?”

Us; that should’ve been us. Rafe nods, smiling wistfully. “Can you believe you’re the one that set them up?”

“At your holiday house,” you return, smiling in tandem. “This was a two-person wing man job.”

“Nah. You were the one that saw their potential.” A pause. “You’ve always been really good at that.”

Your brow furrows. “At setting people up?”

“At seeing their potential,” Rafe corrects. An unreadable emotion crosses his blue irises. “Even when they don’t deserve it.”

Your expression falters. You aren’t sure what to say to this, so you don’t say anything at all.

“Listen,” Rafe tries again, scratching the back of his neck, “d’you need a ride?”

“Well…”

You hesitate, looking over his shoulder for your parents. When you spot them, they’re in avid conversation with some family friends; they look extremely comfortable, like they’re going to be dawdling until God knows when.

You’re searching for justification even though he doesn’t deserve it. After all the pain he’s caused you, your wretched heart still yearns for more.

Fucking sadist.

“Actually, yeah,” you finish after a beat, bringing your gaze back to him. “That’d be great, thank you.”

His shoulders relax. “Yeah, of course. You have all your things?”

“Uh huh.”

“This way.”

You allow him to guide you to his pick-up trunk, pretend that you didn’t discern it right away. Besides, you were meant to have forgotten the location of his unofficial ‘official’ parking spot. So you follow him toward it, deny the familiarity of its number plate, and act like every dent and wretched scratch isn’t a piece of your heart.

“Shit—ow!” You curse, hurtling forward as you stall, again. “This is fucking impossible, Rafe. I quit.”

Rafe grins perplexedly, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Baby,” he placates, “if Top can learn to drive manual, anyone can.”

You make a frustrated noise, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not me, clearly.”

Rafe lets out a laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt so he can pull you into his lap. “C’mere.”

When he does so—with entirely too much ease—he pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb so he can guide your lips against his. It’s an unhurried kiss, a sure press of emotion, as though he’s rousing the embers that live within your ribcage.

He has this funny way of leaving you out of breath no matter how chaste the embrace. You break away reluctantly, raising your eyebrows at him. “So is this the reward system you used when you were teaching him to drive, hot-shot?”

Rafe makes a face, dipping his head to sponge a kiss to your neck. “Why? You jealous?”

“Never,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “You wouldn’t dream of leaving me for someone else, Rafe Cameron. The Figure Eight wouldn’t forgive you if you did.”

“I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did.” Another teeth-scraping kiss. “I’d be crazy to let you go. I’ve been in love with you since we were freshman.”

He doesn’t open the passenger’s side door for you after unlocking his pick-up truck. That isn’t his place anymore.

He wants to, anyway. You want him to, badly. This revelation passes unsaid between the two of you as you climb into the seat yourself, unscathed by chivalry.

Once you’re buckled in, your gaze lifts to the new air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. “Huh,” you say, flicking it absently, “you replaced it.”

He wants to say, you left me no choice. He wants to say, old spice smells like you. “Oh yeah,” he replies instead, clearing his throat. “Rose got me it.”

“It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

He shifts into reverse and backs out of the park, and there’s a split second where he almost places his hand on your headrest. He can’t do that anymore. Too close; not close enough. You notice it too. An ache passes from his heart to yours.

“Are you going to take any time off over summer break?” You ask, keeping your gaze on the road ahead.

Rafe pulls out onto the main road before turning to you and responding, “I wasn’t planning on it, but I think I might need some.”

“I think you might need some too,” you agree, sending him a fleeting smile. “Bahamas?”

You don’t expect the tears in his eyes that follow. You straighten abruptly, your eyebrows pulling together. “Sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“No—shit, I just—” he falters as his voice cracks, clearing his throat again, “I don’t think I could go back there any time soon. Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “Your dad, of course. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes in a jagged breath. “Shit, I’m the one that should be apologising. For everything.”

“Rafe —”

“No, listen…”

He pauses as he turns left onto your street, pulling onto the side of the road as soon as he can. He’s still a good mile away from your house, but it feels an injustice to keep you waiting for an explanation. When he turns and angles his body toward you, there’s a brokenness on his face that makes your miserable heart falter.

“I’m… I’m so sorry for everything I put you through after I broke up with you. Even if that was what I needed at the time, even if it was the right decision, I shouldn’t have been so fucking heartless and I regret not reaching out to you more often.”

You swallow thickly. He takes your silence as encouragement to keep going.

“You deserved better than the way I treated you… you’ve always deserved better than me. I didn’t know how to deal with all of my grief and I pushed you away in the process. It was… fuck, it was so selfish of me, and I’m sorry. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for it.”

He’s taken all of the oxygen in the car, and you find yourself struggling for air. You turn to him, every drunken rationalisation manifest. “Thank you,” you whisper, “for saying that.”

“And listen, the Elle thing —”

Too much. “Rafe,” you interrupt, swallowing again. “Stop. It’s fine. I accept your apology.”

Rafe frowns, the furrow in his brow painfully evident. “Yeah? Because… because I’d understand if you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” you affirm, turning away from him. “Besides, it’s ancient history. I forgave you a long time ago in my head.”

“You did?” Rafe’s asks, searching your features in earnest. “Why?”

The champagne you’ve consumed swirls uncomfortably in your stomach. “I had to,” you say quietly. “It was the only way I was going to be able to move on from the situation.”

Rafe’s stomach drops. “Which you have.”

“Which I have.”

The smokescreen between you smothers any semblance of hope you might’ve shared. He nods, turning on the ignition once again. “I hope that means you’re happy, Y/N.”

“It does,” you reply, “I am.”

“Good.” It doesn’t feel good at all. “Maybe this means we can be friends.”

You turn to him again, raising your eyebrows. “Friends?”

“Like we were before,” he affirms, putting the car into drive. His fingers brush the bare skin of your thigh near the gearshift. A very unfriend-like jolt of static shoots into your chest. “I… I don’t know. Sometimes I think I just miss my best friend.”

Your heart sighs. “Me too.”

“Friends then.”

“Yeah,” you reply, sending him a small smile. “Friends.”

—

You haven’t been to Shake Shack since you broke up with Rafe. You didn’t even realise you’d evaded it so long; perhaps it was a subconscious thing, too many painful memories to bear.

You remember when it first opened up in the Banks, this egalitarian refuge nestled between the Cut and Figure Eight.

Rafe Cameron remembers too, remembers bringing you here on your very first date. Roguish at fourteen with endless charm and a handsome face, he had far less creases etched onto his forehead then; far less familial expectations to deal with.

If only you knew he’s evaded it too. When he pulls into the carpark, the aforementioned date comes forth in fragments.

When memories lie dormant so long in one’s head, they tend to lose the stitches that hold them together. Nervousness, excitement, cherry coke and a lilac singlet. The strange feeling of forever before either of you could place it. He doesn’t remember any of your conversation, nor how long the date lasted, but he remembers the cloudless sky, the flutter of new love in his stomach.

The pair of you share a look before exiting his pick-up truck. A look that says: uh oh, and insinuates far more than that.

“So how’s work going, anyway?” Rafe asks, shoving his hands into his front pockets. He’s a beat behind you head toward the entrance, and you can feel your neck burn where his eyes remained trained on you.

“Yeah, alright, same old,” you say, sending him a fleeting smile over your shoulder. His blue irises are dappled golden in sunlight, and their brilliance unsteadies you, the eye-contact like a firestarter. You clear your throat. “Sam quit.”

Rafe’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding,” you shake your head, “he ended things with Peyton and booked a Contiki in South East Asia.”

“Shiiiiiit,” Rafe wolf whistles, shaking his head in tandem. “Is he going through some kind of quarter life crisis?”

You shrug. “Who would let someone like Peyton go, huh?”

Rafe resists the urge to wince. He can think of one person in particular who threw away something far more special. He clears his throat significantly, regret like molasses coating the sides of his windpipe. “Yeah. How’s she doing with it all?”

“Oh you know Peyton, she’s the queen of acting unbothered,” you reply, sounding reproachful. “Even when she’s heartbroken, she refuses to tell me about it.”

Rafe frowns. “Fuck that.”

“Yeah?” You send him a wayward glance, raising your eyebrows knowingly. “Cause to me, it sounds like someone else I used to know.”

There’s a pause as he meets your gaze, a frightening wistfulness passing between you. It lingers.

“Right.” You’re at the entrance to Shake Shack now, and Rafe grapples for purchase on the one thing he can control—friends. He pulls open the door and beckons you forward, “So. Is today the day you branch out and order something new, Y/N?”

When you pass by him, a tendril-like brush of shoulder on chest, the buttery scent of your vanilla perfume lingers. A lot about you does, a lot more than he’d care to admit.

Rafe’s wretched heart cycles between the old and new you like it’s trying to make them both fit within its chambers.

“Don’t think I have a choice,” you reply, sending him a smile over your shoulder. “They’ve completely revamped their menu since the last time we were here.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at you. “They have?” You checked?

“Uh huh,” you reply, nodding. “I was going to make a reservation here for our anniversary way back when.” You clear your throat. “When I went on their website to do so, I realised that their menu was totally different.”

You leave out the part where you’d stopped by soon after, asked—no, begged—the manager to serve you the originals when you came. You know, when old time’s sake was a sacred concept. When that sweet, lovesick version of you still existed.

“Oh shit,” Rafe says. Though it’s subtle, he catches the smidge of diffidence in your voice, like the ghost of relationship’s past rearing its ugly head. You checked, for him, and you’re so nonchalant about it. Like it may have mattered then, but right now it matters far less.

He feels an awful twinge in his chest. He adds, “That sucks.” He isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the change in menu or the change in your heart’s purpose.

“I know.”

“I was looking forward to ordering the usual.”

“Me too.” You shrug. “We’re just going to have to find a new usual, I guess.”

What you mean is, make new memories that’ll replace the old ones. What you mean is, erase the nostalgia being here brings.

Also, though you’d never willingly admit it, start anew.

Rafe nods, stepping forward and glancing up at the menu. Though it’s different to the one he remembers from his youth, the interior of the diner is comfortingly familiar — same ugly yellow track lights, same checkered linoleum underfoot. Same fingerprint-smudged counter and broken drinks machine, same uniform on the workers, same greasy smell permeating.

And the same booth you were partial to nestled in one corner, it’s retro cushion covers faded as ever.

The menu, and the girl beside him. The only two things that feel different.

“Hm.” You frown, deliberating over the menu. “I’m thinking the ‘classic’. You want to split some curly fries?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes full of mirth. “So the one that’s exactly your old order, minus the pickles. Got it.”

“Yes,” you decide. “Except I’ll ask them to add pickles.”

“Of course you will.” Rafe grins. “I’ll get the same.”

You gasp, faux-scandalised. “Rafe Cameron eating pickles? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “How d’you know I’m not just ordering it to pawn ‘em off to you?”

You balk. “I don’t, I guess.”

“And yes, to the curly fries,” he adds, quick to change the subject. The bashfulness on your features dissipates, but the tension in the room weighs ever-present.

You nod, sliding your wallet out of your back-pocket. “Should we just split the bill, then?”

“No way,” Rafe says, clasping your wrist to hold it in place. Your pulse feels funny. “I got it.”

“Rafe.” You frown, shaking your head. “Look, it really isn’t a big deal —”

It is to me. “Exactly,” he interrupts. “Which is why I got it.”

Maybe you should argue some more, insist on paying until he gives in. But you don’t. Between the pulse-jolting closeness and mocking sense of nostalgia, you aren’t sure you have it in you to retaliate.

Though in an act of rebellion, you avoid your usual booth. Once you’re seated at a new table and separated by your burgers, you re-enter this stupid friendship thing you’ve adopted. The one that boasts no-strings like the red one isn’t obvious.

“So,” you say, popping a curly fry in your mouth. “You remember Maya, right?”

Rafe makes a face. “That psycho roommate you had in senior year? Yeah, pretty hard to forget.”

“Well, she hit me up a month ago to let me know she’d be in the Banks to see her boyfriend.” At his audible gasp, you nod significantly. “I know. Asked if I wanted to catch up while she was here.”

Rafe wolf whistles in amusement. “No fucking way. After the Hell she put you through?”

“I fucking know,” you reply, grimacing in disdain.

Rafe raises his eyebrows, swallowing down a handful of curly fries. “Tell me you said no.”

You raise yours in tandem. “What do you think, casanova?”

“Y/N!” He groans, shaking his head. “Why do you put yourself through this shit?”

You frown, reaching for your soda and sipping stubbornly. Condensation rolls down your palm, the soft skin shining. “C’mon! It was useful, I swear. I got the intel on Maya and her mystery OBX man.”

Rafe leans forward in interest, taking a pull of his soda too. “Go on then.”

“God, I’ve been sitting on this information for ages,” you say, your pretty eyes full of excitement. Rafe’s heart leaps. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but we weren’t talking and you were avoiding me and I didn’t know whether I should break no contact.”

It deflates just as quickly, sinking into his stomach like deadweight. “I wasn’t… I don’t know, I thought it’d be best if I kept my distance.” He sighs, sitting back and raking his fingers through his hair. “Clearly that was a mistake. I haven’t been this relaxed in fucking ages.”

You smile small. “Yeah. This is nice.”

“Nice.”

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, this sticky, molasses-like something rising from your chest, “it’s Dylan. Like Dylan fucking Young that had a crush on me in freshman year.”

“Fuck off, seriously?” Rafe replies, mirth evident on his features. “Not kidding, think it’d be grounds for a restraining order if she ever found that out.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows significantly. “You promise to take this to your grave, Cameron?”

Rafe nods, faux-somber, extending his pinky toward you. “He won’t hear it from me, Y/L/N.”

When your fingers entwine, you wonder whether he feels it too. It’s a jolt of static that leaves your skin warm and your insides funny, and you wonder whether the effect it has on you is endearing or pathetic.

The latter, you conclude. The red string of fate disagrees.

“Good,” you say, retrieving your hand. “Oh, and,” you take a generous bite of your burger, “did you hear that Taylor’s moving to Texas?”

“I did, actually,” Rafe replies. “From Top, funnily enough.”

You frown. “He’s still pining, huh?”

“Unfortunately.” He pulls apart his burger to pick out the green pickles, placing them onto your plate before re-assembling. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. In the offensive, fluorescent lighting, they shine up at you in mocking. “Anyway, I should probably learn to get used to it. I’m moving into Kelce’s room now that he’s happily wed.”

Your jaw slackens in surprise. “You’re moving in with Topper?”

Rafe grins. “I know. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

“But,” you pause, popping another curly fry into your mouth, “why?”

“Needed to get out of Tannyhill, I guess.” He falters, swallowing down the bile-like rise of emotion from his chest. “Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “That makes sense.”

“Besides, Sarah’s starting college soon, and Wheeze’s off at boarding school for the majority of the year anyway.” He shrugs. “And Rose… well, she’s at the Bahamas house more than she is in the OBX.”

“Too many memories,” you repeat, frowning sadly.

“Yeah. I guess.”

There’s silence then, the comfortable kind. An emotion passes between you that feels both familiar and new at the same time.

It matters less when you finally finish, what you speak about, whether you’ll meet again. All you know is, something feels different now, as though there’s embers that this reunion has reignited in your ribcage. Dormant though they had once been, you’d always hoped that the renewed hope would set them aflame.

The next day, you wake up to a text from Rafe.

thank you for yesterday. It was really nice.

You don’t have it in you to reply; Rafe doesn’t mind. He knows you feel the same way.

—

It’s a few weeks before you see him again, at a farewell party for Brooklyn and Kelce.

Prior to embarking on their honeymoon, they were shifting their lives to Chicago; laying down the foundations of stability so they could return to a clean slate.

It upsets you to no end. You’d always assumed that her marriage to Kelce would guarantee that she settles down in the Banks.

Rafe Cameron must remember this, the way he does everything else. He hands you a beer and clinks his own against it, beads of condensation sliding over his calloused hand.

“Huh,” he murmurs, shaking his head in faux-disappoint, “so much for staying here and ruling the Eight with an iron fist.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, taking a generous pull of beer. Rafe’s gaze falls to the bare column of your throat, and he temporarily loses his bearings. “Does loyalty mean absolutely nothing around here?”

Rafe grins appreciatively. “They’re bound to come back, you know.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” Rafe pauses, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “we were all cursed by the hometown witch when we were babies.”

You let out a peal of laughter. “Is that why I came back here after college?”

It isn’t lost on you that Rafe is standing far closer to you than he should. His spicy, cedar-wood cologne presses over your figure in waves. He bows his head to eye level, still grinning his mirth, “It’s why we all did. It’s also why they aren’t going to last more than a year in Chicago, I’m calling it now.”

“Who isn’t going to last more than a year in Chicago?” Comes Brooklyn’s voice from behind him, pulling the pair of you from your reverie.

He breaks away and turns to find her standing behind him, her eyebrows raised accusatorially at your closeness.

You smile guiltily at her, raising your arms in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t deny it either!” Brooklyn reproaches, faux-scandalised. She sends Rafe a playful glare, reaching for your arm and pulling you away. “I’m rescuing her from your bad influence, Cameron.”

Rafe nods sagely, taking a sip of his beer. “I think that’s wise, Astor—” he balks, shaking his head, “—sorry, Smith. Shit, Brooklyn Smith, huh? Guess I can’t do that last name thing ‘round here anymore, can I?”

“Not with us,” she replies, turning the pair of you around. She sends you the ghost of a wink before adding, “Y/N’s fair game, though. You know she’d rather die than take a guy’s last name.”

Something in Rafe’s chest deflates. “Yeah?”

You frown at him over your shoulder, mildly bewildered. “You knew that, Cameron.”

Maybe I thought I was different. “True.” He raises his beer bottle in acknowledgement. “Besides, Y/L/N suits you too much.”

Not as much as Cameron would have, once upon a time. You nod approvingly, the twinge in your heart conveying the exact opposite. “Doesn’t it just?”

Brooklyn steers you to the kitchen under the pretence of grabbing a drink, her true intentions becoming obvious when Kelce pivots into earshot on his barstool.

“So?” She prods, rounding on you once you’ve halted. “What’s the deal?”

“Deal?” You echo, feigning confusion. “What deal?”

“Don’t do that,” she replies, narrowing her eyes accusatorially. “Are you guys seeing each other again?”

You swallow. Your gaze darts to a helpless-looking Kelce. “Why? Has he said something?”

“That’s the thing,” Kelce mutters, shaking his head thoughtfully. “He hasn’t. But he’s… different.”

You frown. “Different how?”

“I don’t know… chiller. Happier. Like he was before Ward passed away.”

“Of course he is,” Brooklyn snorts, not buying it for a second. “He’s finally being absolved of all his guilt!”

“Brooklyn…” you sigh.

“What? It’s true!” She asserts, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s… listen, Y/N, whatever you think this is, you need to snap out of it. He’s proved time and time again that he doesn’t have the emotional capability to deal with his shit, and you’ve been made collateral too many times to forgive him this quick.”

“Quick?” Your chest feels on fire. Isn’t seven months of torture enough exoneration?

“C’mon baby, you’ve gotta cut him some slack,” Kelce assuages, gentle but firm. “He fucked up, sure, but he also lost his dad, remember?”

“Grieving or not, he shouldn’t have pushed her away.”

“Granted, but we’ll never know exactly how he was feeling —”

“We shouldn’t have to, you just don’t do that to someone you love —”

“I’m still here, you know,” you interrupt quietly, frowning. “That someone that Rafe doesn’t love.”

A pause. Its silence that’s distilled in the overhead lighting, the scene beneath it awash in dim regret.

Brooklyn’s features are softer when she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I worry about you.”

You know she does; it isn’t her fault. She’s the one that slept over for four weeks straight post break-up, forced food down your throat and wiped away all your tears.

“Don’t apologise, Brooke, I get it,” you say, sending her a small smile. “But I’m fine, I promise. This isn’t even… this feels different.”

“Different how?”

“Like… you know that saying: ‘You’ll never find the same person twice, not even in the same person’? That’s how this feels. We haven’t fallen back into old habits.”

Brooklyn regards this for a moment, surveying your features carefully. “But you’ve been hanging out?”

“Only once,” you reply honestly. “Sent a few texts back and forth, that’s all. If… if anything were to happen, it’d be like a new relationship, not like restarting the old one. You know?”

“I do.”

Kelce smiles. “That’s… shit, that makes sense.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice. “That’s why I couldn’t figure out what it reminds me of, this different him that’s chilled and happy.”

You furrow your brow. “Hm?”

“It’s freshman year him all over again,” he explains. “You know… when the two of you got close the first time ‘round.”

“Oh.” Your heart soars. “Square one, huh?”

Kelce shrugs, sharing a meaningful look with Brooklyn. “Square one I guess.”

You’re about to respond when Rafe’s figure pulls your gaze, his crossed arms and broad shoulders blocking the kitchen entrance. He’s wearing a handsome expression and his hair is perfectly unkempt, the heady scent of his cologne juxtaposing his lack of proximity.

Sometimes, life is unfair. Your ex-boyfriend, now new friend, eliciting such un-platonic thoughts is one of those instances.

And it isn’t as though you’ve given Rafe much of a break, his blue eyes caught on your figure like a moth to a flame. You aren’t wearing a dress he recognises, which is both a delightful and agonising revelation.

Delightful, because it reveals bare expanses of skin that make his wretched hands itch in longing. Agonising, because it’s a reminder of the seven long months that he’s had to spend grappling with your absence.

Having a smile as pretty as yours is extremely unfair, all things considered. And eyes. Soft skin. He needs to stop staring before he does something stupid.

“Perfect,” he announces brusquely, “are we hosting our intervention now?”

He looks at you expectantly. You raise your eyebrows. “You know,” he adds, “the one where we beg them to stay in the Banks?”

“Hey!” Brooklyn exclaims, her green eyes full of mirth. “What d’you mean stay in the Banks? Newsflash, I’m not even from here.”

“You’re not from Chicago either, Ast-Smithy,” he returns significantly, sending her a meaningful glance. “Besides, you married into a Figure Eight family. You are very officially one of us now.”

“Not for long!” Brooklyn sings, sending you a wink.

“C’mon, Smith,” Rafe tries, turning to Kelce and feigning disappointment. “What happened to our sacred pact?”

“We were eight, Cameron.”

“And already privy to the tragedy of small-town life,” Rafe sighs faux-dramatically, nodding in agreement. “I’m bitter, alright? I thought I’d be the first one to get out of here.”

He glances over at you fleetingly as he says this. We’d be the first ones, his heart corrects in vain.

“As if,” you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “Mr Cameron fucking Development leave this place before me? No chance.”

Rafe grins roguishly, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “You’re all talk, Y/L/N. We both know it.” He sends Kelce and Brooklyn a meaningful glance. “We all are.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going to be here all fucking night if we keep arguing about this,” Brooklyn decides, patting Kelce’s thigh to prompt him to stand. “C’mon, baby, we should probably get back to mingling.”

“You know,” she adds, narrowing her eyes playfully. “‘Cause it’s the last time we’ll see some of these people.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. Any retaliation on Rafe’s tongue fails at the timbre of it.

Once they’re out of sight, you turn to him, adopting a faux-somber look. “If we are truly doomed to a life in the Eight, will you promise me something?”

He’s still grappling with the fact that he’s a man starved of your beautiful laugh, now reborn. “Go on.”

“Should you find me yelling at Island Club employees about flower arrangements or charcuterie boards, shoot me.”

Rafe laughs, and it reverberates through your bones warmly. “And suffer alone? No way. I’ll meet you in the middle. Lobotomy?”

“No thoughts in my brain? So generous,” you tease. “Alright. It’s a deal.”

Rafe clinks his beer bottle against yours in confirmation, taking a generous pull of the bubbly liquid. “Can we trade promises?” He asks.

You take a sip in tandem, maintaining eye contact as you do so. There’s tension in the air, that familiar-new feeling manifest, and it’s no longer frightening, but rather a comforting embrace.

You marvel in it. Breaking free feels fruitless. “Yes.”

“If you make a plan to settle elsewhere, will you tell me?”

“Of course I will.” A pause. “Although, I think you’re right. I don’t think any of us are truly capable of leaving permanently.”

“If anyone is though, it’s you,” he says, so matter-of-factly, like he actually believes it. “I mean… you’re the only one who had the balls to go to a college out of state. The rest of us just accepted a cushy offer at UNC.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you dismiss. “I was back here so often I barely left.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Only because you had a reason to come back.” You still do, if you’ll take me.

I still do, if you’ll take me. “True.” You frown, thinking on this for a moment. “Even so… I don’t know. Maybe it’s that hometown curse talking, but I wouldn’t want to raise my kids anywhere else in the States.”

Rafe’s gaze steadies, pulsing through you in waves. “I get that. We had a pretty sweet childhood, all things considered.”

You make a face. “Like, I don’t think I can deal with this iPad kid epidemic. Least we were sheltered from all that crap, you know?”

“Yeah,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Even if there were plenty of other things to jade us with.”

“Shit, I know,” you respond, laughing bemusedly. “See, only people from the Eight know how political beach clean ups can get.”

Rafe chuckles in tandem, taking another sip of his beer. “God, our lives are fucking ridiculous.”

You raise your bottle in agreement. A comfortable silence falls between you.

After pause, Rafe speaks up again. “You know,” he says quietly, an unnameable emotion flickering across his blue irises. “I don’t even think it’s everyone in the Eight.”

You balk. “Hm?”

“The whole, knowing each other thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’ve always understood me better than anyone else.”

Your traitorous heart leaps, and you force yourself to ignore it. Actions have always spoken louder than words, and you decide now’s as good a time as any to confront him about this.

It’s time to be brave, you decide. You say, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Elle.”

Rafe’s miserable heart falters, penitence like a lump in his throat. He’s been preparing for this accusation since your very first reunion, but it still doesn’t feel like enough; he’s a coward trembling at the frontlines, anyway.

“I’ve… we’ve… my therapist and I have talked about that situation at length.”

You eyes widen in surprise. “Your therapist?”

“I’ve been going to therapy, yeah,” Rafe replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “For a month or so now, every week without fail.”

It isn’t lost on you that Brooklyn and Kelce’s wedding was a month ago. The rift in your ribcage widens.

“Has it been helping?” You ask.

“A bit,” Rafe admits. “Mostly just to validate what I knew all along, I guess.” At your silence, he continues, “That… shit, that I’ve got this problem where I push people away when I need them the most. The Elle thing, there’s no fucking excuse for it, none, but it became pretty obvious after you confronted me that she was just a rebound.”

“A rebound,” you echo.

“A distraction, an escape… I don’t know.” He rakes his fingers through his hair slovenly. “All I know is, I didn’t care about her, so I didn’t have to push her away. She didn’t make me talk about my dad, my grief, anything, so she was easy enough company to have around when I felt like it.”

“Oh.” You swallow. “But I did.”

“But you did,” Rafe affirms, grimacing sheepishly. “Shit, all you fucking did was care about me and all I did was push you away.”

You try to be pragmatic. “Grief makes people do shitty things.”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve it.”

“True.” A pause. Your gaze falls over Rafe’s face in paces, his haggard expression making you soften. “Listen. I’m glad you’re going to therapy, seriously. I know that’s a pretty big step for you to take.”

For you. “Thank you,” he replies quietly. “It… I just wish I’d listened to you the first time, you know? When you’d told me to go to therapy before I’d ended things.”

Your throat feels funny. “No use living in the past.”

“You’re right,” Rafe replies. A pause. The ghost of a smile flickers over his features. “What did I ever do to deserve your forgiveness?”

You smile in tandem, a little rueful. “Maybe you were a martyr in your past life, Cameron.”

“And you’re one in this one,” Rafe responds. “You know, after I lobotomise you over flower arrangements and charcuterie boards. Does that count as a full circle moment?”

You grin. “Not when you live on the Eight. Infinity sign, baby.”

It slips out before you can stop yourself, the ghost of pet-names past pushing Rafe’s pulse to fibrillation. Your eyes widen abashedly. “Should we rejoin the party?”

Rafe nods, “Probably,” and then, when you’re just out of earshot, “I’d do something stupid if we didn’t.”

—

Over the next few weeks, you begin to see more and more of one another.

A few texts back and forth become more than a few virtual trysts, and every spare moment you have is dedicated to being in each other’s presence.

And it isn’t as though you’re mending old love, this feels like something else altogether. Though old memories may flit through your brain on occasion, they are boundless and free — they don’t define this connection.

You’re starting anew. Rafe realises it too.

He still remembers how it felt to tell you he loved you the first time around, fourteen years old with a bashful smile and enough hope in his heart to ache. He still remembers what you were wearing the first time he drove you around; the first time you came to UNC to visit; the shade of lipgloss you worshipped from Sephora. And you remember it all too, the feeling of being in his pick-up, of being with this roguish, freshman boy that had so much charm your insides soared.

Going through it all again feels like receiving a new lease on life. How lucky are you to love a different person in the same man?

Currently, the pair of you are sprawled out on beach towels, velvet dusk revealing the bespangled sky stretching above you. Beside you, take-out boxes and sodas lie in the sand, discarded. Every now and then, his wrist brushes yours with a jolt of static.

You’re lying closer to each other than you should, his body heat pressing over you in paces. He’s pretty sure his clothes are going to smell like your soft-toned, vanilla perfume later, and he quietly delights in this.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You smile. “Shocker.”

He nudges your shoulder with his in faux-admonishment, turning his head toward you. It lingers; he’s closer. Your pulse feels boundless. “I’ve been thinking,” he repeats. “And I’ve realised something.”

You turn your head in tandem, his proximity making you balk. “What’s that, Cameron?”

“If we hadn’t broken up in the first place, I’d probably never have gone to therapy.”

A hush falls. “True.”

“And I’d never have worked through my emotional unavailability and all the problematic shit that comes with it.” He pauses, a heavy emotion making his blue eyes somber. “We’d have stayed together, but I’d never have become the man that you deserve.”

You swallow. “Is that what you are now?” You murmur, your voice unsure. “The man I deserve?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers quietly. “Don’t think I ever will be. But… but I’m working on it, properly this time. And getting to know you again, for real, has made me realise just how worth it this is.”

It’s too much. You make to turn away but Rafe’s hand stops you, gentle but firm on your face. His thumb swipes over your warm cheek in comforting circles, and you find yourself leaning into his touch inadvertently.

Uh oh, you’re falling in love. You sigh. “It feels inevitable, huh?”

“D’you believe in soulmates, Y/N?”

Your lashes flutter shut in response. Rafe inches closer still, his hand slipping down to your jaw, and when he kisses you, old embers create a new flame within your heart. It’s chaste, unsure, a second first kiss. And yet, though it’s soft, the press of his lips is a ravaging embrace.

“Do you, Rafe?” You return, opening your eyes tentatively.

His gaze is still trained on your pretty mouth, less iris than pupil as his yearning transcends everything else. He presses his thumb on your lower lip gently. “Only if it’s you.”

“I think I am,” you murmur.

Rafe smiles. Oh no, he’s falling in love again. “I think you are too.”

—

I thought the plane was going down / How’d you turn it right around?

[mybelovedrin]

✷ ITOSHI RIN x reader. fluff, established relationship. reader talks a lot and rin listens. this is actually pointless. warnings: the writing is kinda messy, i think. note: i just really think that rin <3 ! sorry if there's typos.

"shut up."

rin probably says these two words to you more than he says 'i love you'.

yet, he really, really does not want you to shut up.

it's been twenty minutes since you came from your dinner with your friend. twenty whole minutes of you rambling. twenty whole minutes of rin lying in bed, his arms feeling empty since you're too busy turned away from him as you change into more comfortable clothes. twenty whole minutes of him having to listen to your friend's husband's family's problems while his eyes stay locked on you as you throw on one of his shirts and then start removing your make up.

and again, he really, really does not want you to shut up.

but he would really prefer holding you while you ramble, and the fact that it's been twenty minutes and he hasn't even gotten a kiss yet is kind of starting to get to him.

"so anyway, she's basically hated by everyone from his side of the family— and i told her over and over that she should talk to him about it, but she just won't listen to me. god, why am i blessed with such stubborn friends?"

at this point, he feels like he's skipped eight chapters.

and yet he still listens, humming thoughtfully as he shifts in bed a little, pulling the covers over him just a bit more as he sighs in defeat, staring up at the ceiling as he mumbles, giving his own opinion. "shouldn't pressure her into it, though."

you groan, giving him a look as you still stand in front of the mirror while doing your skincare now. "i'm not, i swear! those people suck. she shouldn't be letting them do what they want and i'm sure that her husband would do something if he knew how salty they are."

his eyes go from the ceiling to you, blinking sleepily as he stares at the way his shirt looks on you. "when are you coming to bed?"

"almost done, rinnie."

he yawns quietly, turning around so that his back is to you. if he couldn't hold you yet, he could at least listen to your voice. "then does she really plan to just endure that treatment?" his voice is muffled by the pillow as he asks, setting you off on another talking spree.

"i guess she does. i hope everything goes well for her. but personally, i would not tolerate stuff like that." you say, shrugging as you finally finish your business, before going into the bathroom to wash your hands and brush your teeth.

the few minutes of you being gone and quiet make rin feel as miserable as ever.

he waits and waits, eyelids heavy.

when the mattress finally dips next to him and he smells the familiar scent of your skin products, he swears he's never moved this fast to turn around in bed and latch onto you.

you chuckle as he buries his face into your neck, holding him close as your little giggle turns into a quiet laugh when he groans in annoyance. "you took too damn long."

his hair tickles the side of your face. it's getting longer, you realise as you play with it gently, smoothing over some soft strands on the back of his head while he sighs softly into your skin.

"i talked a lot earlier, didn't i?" you ask quietly, your lips curling into a sheepish smile.

rin stays quiet for some time, his arms around you tight and firm as he presses himself against your side, even going as far as to place his muscular leg over you, caging you in against the soft mattress of the bed. "y'know i don't mind that."

"yeah, but im sure there's a limit—"

"there's no limit when it comes to you. 'kay?" he says quietly, his voice groggy and deeper now as he gets closer to drifting off— almost as if he was ending that discussion right there, not wanting to hear you talking about yourself in such a way.

"yeah, but—"

"shut up." he cuts you off, and you stop talking, only to let out another soft laugh. "if you're gonna complain about yourself, that is. now, more sleeping and less talking. i'll listen to the remaining part of your friend's story during breakfast tomorrow."

you snort at his devotion to listening to your silly stories, a slight wave of warmth creeping up your neck. "fine."

he nods a little, before holding you tighter.

"and i didn't get a single kiss from you ever since you came, by the way."

"oh, i am so sorry. my most sincere apologies." you speak, clearly joking as you shower him with light pecks on the side of his face that's peeking out from the crook of your neck.

he grunts, not being able to hide the redness under his warm skin as he feels your soft lips. his eyes stay closed shut. "ok. good night."

"no 'i love you' or anything?"

he sighs heavily. "shut up."

"...and i love you." he adds, before letting himself relax into his sleep when you let out a satisfied sound and say it back to him sweetly, your soft voice partially responsible for putting him to sleep.

[jaysng]

when your daughter is mad at him | pjs

pairing: pilot!husband!jay x female!reader

genre: fluff, comedy

synopsis: your daughter misses jay, but as a pilot his schedule requires him to be in places but at home. So she sulks and sulks..

“Come on, say hi to appa” you coo at your 3 year old daughter who refused to talk to her dad, “yeorum-ah i miss you so much, i promise to come back to you and give you all the cuddles and all the kisses. Let’s not be mad at each other hmm?” Hearing your husbands voice trying to convince your daughter to finally open her mouth and respond. A smile appeared on your face, reflecting your amusement. 

But she was your daughter, maybe jay’s genes did not even try to fight at this. Your husband, a pilot was once again gone for his work. A grueling week with multiple destinations was for sure hectic. “He said the same thing last time” your daughter mumbles, pushing the phone back to voice barely audible because of her pout.

You gently try to console her. “I know it’s hard, sweetie,” you say softly. “Appa has to be away for work, but he loves you very much.”

Mumbling again, “But it’s not the same when he’s not here. I miss him mmh…..” she complains shifting again on your lap. you sigh, understanding the pain in your daughter’s voice. 

You know too well the sacrifices involved and the strain it places on your family. “I miss him too,”you admit, talking to her as you gently rub yeorum’s back. “But we’re so proud of him, and he’s working hard to provide for us. It’s just for a little while longer. So can you talk to him?” Jay watches through his phone as your daughter finally sits still on your lap, “That’s my girl, appa apologizes for making my little princess this sad.”

“I wish you could be here right now” yeorum says as she overdramatically lets out an exhale, Jay gives a reassuring smile. “Me too. But I am thinking of us every moment. And when i get back, we’ll have all the time we want together.”

With her lips curved up to a smile, your daughter looks convinced now “Will you do anything i want when your back here?” She asks as your husband raises his eyebrow and chuckles softly, trying to predict the little one’s answer “Yes honey, tell me anything you want or want to do. Now, what does my baby want?” 

“You’ll play princess-princess with me!”

jay thinks, about the time when yeorum watched her first ever disney princess film, where her eyes first caught the glammed up looks and the pretty dresses, she wanted to recreate it on her dad. Well, she actually wanted to do it on you but then she claimed, ‘eomma s’already a princess’ 

Jay sat on the floor of the living room, smiling as yeorum carefully applies makeup to his face. She’s holding a small brush with great concentration, her tongue poking out in focus as she sweeps bright eyeshadow across his eyelids.

“close your eyes, appa!” she says with a giggle. He obliges, chuckling softly. She hums a little tune while she works, drawing thick lines around his eyes and then reaching for the lipstick. 

“You look just like a princess!” She says passing the mini pink hand mirror to her now pretty appa.

Just as he’s about to comment on his new look, his phone buzzes on the table. He picks it up and his expression shifts from amused to concerned. “Oh, man. I’ll be there in 10 minutes don’t worry”

Yeorum looks up at him with wide eyes, her signature disappointed pout evident on her face. “Appa, you have to see how pretty you look first!” she insists, holding up a small handheld mirror.

He glances at his reflection and stifles a laugh. “Wow, I look… amazing, baby.” But there’s no time to fully appreciate her artistry. He rushes to the bathroom to wash it off, only to find that the eyeliner and lipstick won’t budge. His heart sinks as he scrubs harder, but the marks remain stubbornly in place. Walking past the washroom, a distressed jay catching your attention. You walk over keeping a hand on his shoulder as he flinches, “Oh my god.. is it not coming off?” You say slowly getting worried and tensed yourself. 

“Yeorum-ah” you call out, trying to keep your voice calm, “what did you use to do appa’s makeup?”

She proudly holds up a set of colorful markers. “These! They were in your drawer!”He groans inwardly as he realizes she’s used permanent markers. His meeting is in ten minutes, and there’s no way to get it off in time. Double fuck.

“Shit. What do we do jay?” You say, trying to rub the eyeliner of his face. With no other option, he throws on a hat and large sunglasses, hoping they’ll hide most of it. As he heads out the door, kissing you and yeorum goodbye. She waves cheerfully. “Good luck appa! You look so fancy!”

He forces a smile, knowing this is going to be an interesting day at work.

You could say, to this day you’re grateful that she didn’t glam you up. 

It finally lift yeorum’s mood up after jay promised her he would once again, play the game with her. Now deep asleep in her room, your and your husband’s laugther echoes as you reminisced about that day. This time you’ll make sure to hide all the permanent markers from the drawer. 

As your giggles go quiet, suddenly feeling shy as jay looks at you through the screen with those lovestruck eyes. “Hi” you say, voice sweet and soft. “Hi” jay says as he brings the phone closer to his face, eyes shifting between you and the camera every then and now.

“You look beautiful, did i tell you that yet?” He adds, As the words left his lips, you felt a warm blush creeping up your cheeks. Your smile widened, almost uncontrollably, and you glanced down, biting your lower lip to suppress the giggle bubbling up inside of you.

He caught the change in your demeanor and chuckled, his voice low and full of affection. “What? Did I say something wrong?” he teased, leaning a little closer to the camera, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“yeah i heard that a couple of times today” He grinned, unable to contain his own laughter now, the sound of it mixing with yours in a harmonious, joyous melody. You both knew that the words you shared were simple, but it was the way he said it, the way you looked at each other, that made you feel like teenagers in love.

You tilt your head “It’s hard convincing her you know..” you start, “when i feel the same, lonely without you.” you start to smile a little as jay raises his eyebrows and smiles back at you “I know, no wonder where she got this trait from.” he jokes as red tint appears on your cheeks, “But i know, i love you and i miss you every single moment honey.” He says, bringing his camera close to his lips as he kisses it. 

Back in the cockpit, jay adjusts his headset and catches a glimpse of his family photo pinned near his control panel. He takes a deep breath, a mix of longing and determination in his eyes. He knows his absence is hard on them, but he holds onto the thought of their reunion, using it as motivation to get through the flight.

all do not copy or repost — @/jaysng

[penvisions]

Pairing: Joel Miller x F! Reader

Word Count: 781

Warnings: filth, sloppy blow job, praise, pet names, joel is just a beautiful man okay, adult content, unprotected p in v, smut, oral (m receiving), pussy pronouns, soft dom! joel, eager sub! reader, reader has no description but has hair that can be pulled back easily

A/N: inspired by true events, excuse the v early morning queue for this utter depraved filth i jotted down before bed

navigation || drabble masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“You’re so god damn pretty.” You can only hum around the hard length of him, mouth stuffed full. One hand around the base of him, the other holding you steady as it spread over his massive thigh, soft hair there tickling your palm in the best way.

He moaned out at the feeling, his hands fighting where they fisted your hair and pulled it away from your face to see you better. It had fallen from where it was tucked behind your ears when you swallowed him down, the head of his cock sliding right into the back of your throat.

Rough palms and fingers caressed your face, hands reaching down past your bare shoulders to tweak a hardened nipple had you relaxing your jaw to feel all of him, drool pooling at the base of him from your lips, trailing down to the soft skin of his balls. But when he moved to mirror the action with the other one, he pinched hard.

Gasping hard the shining, slick weight of his cock slipped from your mouth.

A throaty chuckle sounded in the air, glazed eyes taking in the beautiful sight of him sprawled out before you. His dark eyes watching the strand of spit that connected your bottom to the head of his ruddy cock. God, it was so pretty.

"Such a good girl for me, aren't ya darlin'?"

"Mhm," Is all you can manage as you pant, looking up from between his thighs. He thumbed at your bottom lip, breaking the line of bubbling spit that kept you connected to him. Sucking the digit into your mouth, you hummed again. Words not working, mind not thinking. All you knew at that moment was Joel, Joel, Joel.

You licked, from the messy base of him all the way to his leaking slit with a flattened tongue, enjoying how the broken grunt from his plush lips lit you up. You were bare, your own arousal pooling in your core and shining on your thighs, clit jolting at every move, every sound, every sensation of moving together with him in this intimate way. Heat enveloping you as it burned underneath your skin.

You gripped him tight, pumping him a few times before you opened your lips wide and swallowed him down once again. Bobbing your head, you felt him hit the back of your throat with every nuzzle of your face into the soft bush of hairs that his cock was nestled in.

“Fuck, you gotta let me- she must be cryin’ for me. I gotta feel her squeezin’ me,” With a dirty pop, you released him from your mouth, kissing your lips to the velvet soft hardness you had come to crave. He sighed at the softness of you, the way you seemed so completely lost to anything but him at the moment. And he reveled in it.

"Best I ever had, so pretty and such a good listener." His arms hooked underneath your shoulders, helping to pull you up and into his lap.

Hands gripping tight to your hips, his fingers sunk into the give of your ass, making him moan at how well you filled them. With a whine, you rutted against him. Your outer lips, slick with your own arousal and the spit from your mouth allowing him to glide through them. The head of his cock caught on the hood of you, clit taking all the pressure and you cried out.

“She can take it, we know she can, don’t we?” Joel ground his hips up, rocking himself against you hard enough to send white sparks on the backside of your eyelids.

“I want you to look at me while she takes it, be a good girl for me.” Your eyes flew open to heed his command, feeling him reach down to take ahold of himself. He tapped himself against your clit, the wet smack of it jolting you into an arch. But you didn’t dare break your eyes away from his. “Such a pretty girl, so good for me.”

Head prodding, you could feel him breech, stretching you with just that little part. He slowly filled you up, hand still on your hip guiding you to lower onto him. Your lashes fluttered when your hips settled flush over his own. His teeth bared as he felt you clench, a twitch deep in you in response and then suddenly he was pulling you to him, cradling your upper body as he got his feet underneath him and began to pound up into you.

Crying out, your hands locked around his neck. Bare chests pressed together as the wet smack of skin on skin filled the bedroom.

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @sawymredfox @littlemisspascal @morallyinept @undercoverpena @joelsgreys

[maxillness]

You Say You Hate Me || MV33 x gf!Reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, google translated Dutch, sub!Max, PDA (reader kisses Max’ neck during stream), oral (f), fingering, hair pulling, marking, choking, praise kink

Wordcount: 1.1k

He always looks so good during streams 😫🫶

She stood in the kitchen preparing lunch for her boyfriend. It was simple, just a sandwich

“Here. Eat” She held out the plate, but he didn’t take it

“Babe, I’m streaming. I can’t” He said not looking up at her but focused on the game

“I don’t care. You haven’t eaten all day” She looked at her watch seeing the time was almost 2pm

“Babe…” She sat the plate down on his desk in front of him “I-“

“The plate better be empty in half an hour” She said leaning down to place a soft kiss to the exposed skin on his neck “Okay?”

“Mhm” He whimpered soft

“Goede jongen” Good Boy. She said as she caressed his cheek before leaving, but not without noticing the light blush on his face and down his neck

“I hate you” He said, wrapping his hands around her body from behind as she stood and prepared the dinner

“And why’s that?” She chuckled, feeling his arms tighten around her and hid his face in the crook of her neck

“You made me get a boner on stream” He mumbled, sending the vibrations all through her body

“I know. I noticed, and I can feel it too” She tried getting out of his grip to get over to the stove, but he just kept still “Babe, I gotta get over to the stove”

He still had his arms around her as they walked over to the stove

“Please” He whimpered, one of his hands trailing down to the waistband of her shorts “I need you” His hands disappeared into her shorts

He started placing opened mouthed kisses on her neck as he circled her clit softly through her panties

“Baby- Fuck… The food…” She sighed, feeling him apply more pressure

“Can wait. Or just forget about it. I’ll be satisfied just eating you” He pushed her panties aside, resuming his actions again

“Okay. Okay, okay” She turned the stove off, pulling his hand out of her shorts and pulled him towards their bedroom

They had barely gotten the door closed before his lips were all over hers. The kiss was messy and wet

He guided her over to the bed, pushing her gently down on it

His hands worked on her shorts as his lips went over her jaw and down to her neck

He finally got her shorts off as well as her soaked panties. They were carelessly thrown to the ground as he pulled her shirt over her head

He kissed down her chest, between her breasts, and down to her lower stomach

He skipped the place she needed him the most

“You wanted this, Max. You’re only teasing yourself” She said, threading her fingers through his hair

“Sure about that?” He asked, looking up at her as he kissed closer and closer to her cunt

“I can just leave and finish the dinner” She scrambled to get off the bed, but he pulled her back

“God, I hate you” He said before drawing his tongue through her wet folds earning him a whimper from her

“And yet your eating me out” She chuckled breathy as he flicked her clit with his tongue

“Rather you than dinner” He drew his hand away from her hip and down to her cunt

He teased her before slowly pushing two of his fingers inside her. He curled them, hitting the spot inside her that made her see stars, earning a scream like moan

“Fuck, right there. Don’t stop, baby” She felt him smirk as he drove back to lick at her clit

“Fuck, yes. Doing so good for me” She praised tugging softly at his hair “Don’t fucking stop” Her thighs were starting to shake

He chuckled at this, knowing she was close to her orgasm. Her grip tightened in his hair, making him whimper in pain

Her back arched off the bed, head rolled back, eyes rolled into the back of her head behind closed eyelids

“Fuck, baby. Gonna come” It was the only warning she gave before coming around his fingers as her whole body shook rapidly

He rode out her orgasm before pulling out and away from her. She chuckled, seeing his face all glistered on-top of a deep blush

“Get up here and let me take care of you” He hurried up from the bed, and out of his clothes

He got on the bed beside her, pulling her into his lap. She leaned down to kiss at his neck as she lined him up with her entrance

They both moaned as moved down onto him. Her movements was stilled, allowing herself to adjust to his size

His eyes were shut closed as his head was rolled back, exposing his neck, which she took the opportunity to attack it with her lips, leaving marks all over

She soothed her tongue over the marks as she started moving, making his grip on her hips rougher, his nails digging into her skin, leaving moon like marks

“Fuck, please… Feels so good. Faster, please. More” His words were slurred as he looked up are her through glassy ayes and clammy lashes

“I’m usually the one to ask for more” She chuckles, but speeds up anyways, holding onto his shoulders

One of his hands left her hip and went up to one of her wrists. She took her hand, guiding it to her throat, placing it there

“You sure, baby?” She asked softly, yet not slowing down in anyway

“Please” It was so soft she almost missed it

She nodded and started by applying only a little pressure “Harder” He choked out, encouraging her to press harder onto his throat

She felt him start to twitch inside her, as well as his hips bucking up to meet her thrusts

The only sounds filling the apartment was their shared moans and skin-against-skin contact

“Looks so pretty like this” Her other hand came down to her clit, starting to circle it “All fucked out, my hand around your throat, hickies under it, hair clamming to your forehead, and all because of me” She smirked, feeling his thrusts get sloppier

“Gonna come for me, baby?” He nodded, his whole body shaking as she clenched around him

Without warning, he held her down, coming deep inside her. The feeling of him releasing inside of her, filling her up to the brim sent her over the edge, coming around him

She let go of his throat, sliding down beside him. She pulled his body into hers and tugged them under the sheets

“If you learned to say ‘yes, ma’am’ the first time, you wouldn’t have gotten that boner, Y’know?” She said, stroking his back softly as he laid his head onto her chest, feeling her rapid heartbeat

“I know. But what’s the fun in that?” He asked, placing a small kiss on her chest above her breast

[trumpkinhotboy]

Little critters

Pairing: paul lahote x fem!reader

Type: requested

Warnings: nothing, pure fluff!!

Word count: approx 800

Requests: open! for twilight wolfpack, narnia and heartstopper

A/n: loved loved this request it's so cute and I think the vibes are adorable hehe seeing sam being so soft for emily🥺 so thank you again for this nice request I always love writing for you guys

"Aren't you the most adorable little creatures I have ever seen?" "You're so cute. I want to keep you forever!"

Passersby probably took Emily and you for some deranged ladies when they saw you crouched in an alley, apparently talking to the ground.

But they couldn't see the adorable little balls of fur meowing back at you with impressive intelligence lighting their eyes. You were leaving the grocery store when you had heard plaintiff meowing sounds and discovered kittens shivering in an old cardboard box.

There was two of them, a fiery black one, who hissed when you first came close, and a grey one who immediately approached you, looking for pets. It had been 10 minutes, and since then, you had dug in your bags to give them water and food. By the way they devoured the bit of ham you gave them, you knew they had been there for a while.

"We can't leave them here," sighed Emily as she petted the black cat on her thighs. The grumpy cat had seemed to take a liking to her incredibly quickly.

"But where can we bring them? I'm scared if we leave them at the pound, they'll be forgotten," you pondered while delicately petting the gray head of the little critter bundled up in your lap.

As if you had just communicated telepathically, you and Emily looked up with a knowing light in your eyes.

Without having a plan, you brought the kittens back to Emily's to give them proper shelter and a long-awaited bath.

The four of you were now on the couch, extenuated after this eventful day. Junior and Paulie, the names you had settled on because of their resemblances with your boyfriends, were sprawled before the fire.

You had just started preparing dinner when you heard familiar howls from the forest. Seconds later, the seven members of the pack entered the cabin. Distracted by the smell of food, they didn't seem to notice the new presence of the two fur balls. Sam immediately headed for Emily to hug her and kiss her cheek. You smiled at the happy couple as you felt a pair of warm hands grab your hips. You smiled and melted into the muscular arms wrapped around your figure.

"Hey, you." "Hey," you answered, a smile in your voice. "What have you been up to?" he sweetly asked.

You tensed at his question, your eyes immediately finding Emily's. Through all your excitement, you didn't have a plan on how to tell seven werewolves you were planning on keeping two kittens.

"Well, actually, it's pretty funny," you started as you turned to face your boyfriend's suspicious expression. You tried delaying your explanation when you heard Seth's excited scream.

"Oh my god! Where do those kittens come from?! They're so adorable!!" he cooed before dropping on his tummy to try and pet them.

"Kittens?!" exclaimed Sam with a questioning look at Emily.

The pack gathered in the living room, observing the two cats, unbothered as ever, lying in front of the fire.

"We found them across the grocery store. We couldn't leave them there to fend for themselves!" explained Emily as she walked to little Sam Junior. The antisocial cat lifted a heavy eyelid at the disruption of his nap, only to meow and lift his head in search of pets when he noticed who it was. She grabbed the kitten in her hands, bringing him close to her chest with an adoring smile. The little beast softly purred in her arms. It was impossible to deny the special bond they already shared.

You looked at Sam with a glimmer of hope. The look he gave Emily as he saw how happy she was told you everything you needed to know.

"What's his name?" he asked with a defeated sigh as he neared the pair. The little kitten carefully sniffed his hand before allowing him to scratch his head.

"Actually," Emily looked at you with a conniving smile. "With his black fur and protective instinct, he made me think of you, I thought we could call him Sam Junior."

Your little crowd chuckled at the name and the resemblance between the two.

"Junior, eh? Sounds about right." He smiled softly. Whenever Emily was concerned, Sam was as docile as the cat in her arms.

Suddenly, a soft nudge on your shins surprised you. You looked down to realize it was the gray kitten. You felt your heart melt at the display of affection and lifted him carefully from the floor.

"Oh, don't even think about it," uttered Paul as he noticed how you looked at each other.

You pouted your lower lip, bringing the little kitten next to your cheek. "Please, please, please, please," you pleaded. "His name's Paulie," you added with a cheeky smile.

Your boyfriend looked at you with incredulous eyes.

"I see it, Paul. He looks like you," added Sam with a teasing grin and a lift of his shoulders, as if to say 'You know they've already won bud'

He stayed silent, observing your pouty face and the sleepy kitten in your arms. Before finally saying, "Werewolves with kittens?"

You gave him a little nod. "Yeah, I guess that can work," he conceded with a grin.

[princessbrunette]

if anyone understands having a tricky relationship with their father, it’s nate archibald. ౨ৎ

somethin small i wrote abt nate bc a few people asked. cw: daddy kink, daddy issues, smut

that distant stare of yours, that pout as you stare out over the city from his apartment window. he knows it all too well. approaches you softly with a slight sympathetic pout of his own, running a hand over your head and bringing your cheek to his chest so he can kiss the top of your head. he couldn’t give you a better father, but he could give you that guidance and love you crave so much. he could do better.

so he gives you everything — you want that dress costing an arm and a leg? it’s already hanging in your side of the closet at his apartment. you too sleepy as you sit at the kitchen table in the morning after a long night with him? he’s forking up a perfect biteful of pancake and bringing it to your lips with a grin, happy to do so. he never gets mad when you snap at him, something deeper clearly triggering such a sudden reaction— only frowning and shaking his head, closing in on you to thumb at your cheek. “whats with the attitude? somethings on your mind. talk to me.” he coo’s empathetically.

it’s not just you that noticed— blair’s smug but somewhat gleeful smile as she totters alongside nate on the street, nudging him with a sharp elbow through her maison margiela coat. “well, you know how thrilled i am for you to finally be tugging along a girl of taste. even if i have to watch you treat her like you snatched her from the cradle yourself.”

he huffs out a laugh, shooting her a confused glance, walking alongside her with his hands in his pockets. “what are you talking about? she’s like one year younger than me. nearly two.”

“age isn’t nothing but a number, nate— i’m talking about the coddling, tell me — does she call you daddy in just the bedroom or do you extend that to all hours of the day?”

“jesus— need i remind you of boundaries blair, what i do with my girlfriend is none of your business… but— no, she doesn’t call me that.”

but it stayed bouncing around his brain like a ping pong ball. started noticing all the little things, how much more you’d cling to him after an argument with your father. selfishly, he almost started wishing you’d fight more— just so he could dote on you like that. the whole ‘daddy’ thing wouldn’t be so weird right? the thought of it had him reaching down to readjust in his tight suit pants, clearing his throat. uncomfortable? yes. but sexy, crazily so.

maybe he could milk it out of you. enforce a little more guidance until you’re putty in his hand. it wouldn’t be hard, he saw the way you’d blink at him all doe eyed when he’d tell you not to stay up too late, both thumbs stroking your cheeks. he’d speak slower, calmer, stand closer, make him the only thing you can see, think about even. he was gentle, loving, held eye contact super well — too well, made your face get hot and wanna look away. made you wanna shrink, go all mushy in your brain. “hey, look at me when i talk to you sweetheart. i don’t bite, you know.” he smiles, and there’s no threat present but god you’d never disobey him. never your nate.

it finally slips out when he’s got your thighs pinned open, strong arms wrapped around them whilst he sucks on your clit. he was always good at that, making you cum. nate knew just how to destress you after a long stressful day, far too stressful for his sweet girl. he laps you up, pressing thick fingers deep inside gummy walls, dribbling over your slit.

“nnnnnn—” you can’t even get his name out, clutching a pink throw pillow.

“i know, baby.” he hums.

“daddy!” you cry, and he doesn’t even bat an eyelid as if he was expecting it. if you’d been more with it, you would have seen him bite back a proud chuckle, shoulders relaxing just a little. he keeps at it, stroking the inside of your sensitive thighs.

“thats right. tell daddy how it feels.”

[kingorqueenofnarnia]

Peter, fifteen and fresh out of a bloody and brutal war, sneaking out of Cair Paravel in the middle of the night and going to the river, sticking his head into ice-cold water to shock himself out of a nightmare riddled sleep. Narnia won, but at what cost?

Peter, lying in Susan's bed with his fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her skirts, dried tear tracks on his face and Susan singing quietly in an effort to comfort him. Her fingers pick apart the strands of his hair and he falls asleep only to wake up an hour later with screams on his lips.

Peter, wrapping his arms around an Edmund who has returned from war and murmuring frantic thanks to the Gods for keeping him alive. He presses kisses on Edmund's forehead, cheeks, nose and eyelids, and considers the idea of never letting any of his siblings out of his sight ever again.

Peter, sitting on the High King's throne at the age of thirteen and wondering if he is worthy of this, if he deserves this, if he is capable of this. He is thirteen and barely knows anything about anything and he is High King who should know everything about everything is he worthy is he deserving is he capable he does not know—

Peter, in Lucy's room sitting on the floor with his back pressed to her bed, allowing her to braid flowers into his hair as he stares at the wall. The Victory Parade is in a few hours, but they lost many soldiers and people and Peter has lost sleep and sanity and good friends. Narnia has won but Peter has lost.

Peter, carrying a candle to the Castle Library at two in the morning and pulling out a book about children's fables. He cannot sleep, might as well distract himself. The candle dies down and the sun comes up, and Peter drags himself back to his quarters to get ready.

Peter, who locks himself in his chambers and does not come out for days and days, who refuses food and drink and buries himself under his blankets and stares out the window with blank eyes and slack eyebrows, who does not speak and does not cry and pushes his face into his pillow and screams for the nightmares to go away please I'll do better I just want to sleep please stop please—

Peter, who wants peace and contentment, but cannot help but go to war. Peter, who is quiet and introspective but needs to be loud and abrasive because he is High King. Peter, who wishes he could put down the sword that he wields as easily as he breathes.

Peter, who desires peace, but becomes a God of War