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Hello!! I'm a huge fan of your art and I thought I would ask about your colorwork, because it's genuinely super impressive to me how all your pieces have amazing palettes and they add so so so much to the general atmosphere. Do you have any process to pick colors for pieces? Like using picture references, gradient maps, etc or do you genuinely just eyeball them? I'm super curious :]
But yea I really love what you do and love seeing every new piece!! Have a nice day! Ty for reading <3
Thanks! I very much use references, though I don't use the color picker on them, gotta train the eye. I have an ever-expanding reference folder of photos and paintings with colors that I like so that when I start a new painting and I have an idea of the color scheme I want in mind, I'll already have some reference on hand. Good reference really makes a world of difference!
I also like to bias colors a little bit away from their standard versions:
The more blue green and the more yellow green are both more interesting to me than the "just green" green. Nothing wrong with that average green though, sometimes that's exactly what you need. It's always situational.
Lastly, a fantastic color tip for digital art specifically that I got from Mike Hernandez: Use the RGB sliders instead of the HSB color selection!
By default, Photoshop gives you the HSB (Hue, Saturation, Brightness) color picking setup which looks like this:
It's perfectly functional and has its uses, but it doesn't really feel like mixing color. On the other hand, if you use the RGB sliders:
Now you can add a little more blue if you think that's what the color needs, or you can take away red, add some green, etc. It gets you actually mixing color and thinking more about how the colors relate to each other. It can take some getting used to if you've only used the HSB setup before, but it's worth it!
#and thank you for your patience!#I know this and other questions have been sitting in my inbox for a while#these past months have been the type where there was always something (or several somethings) just a little more urgent on the to-do list#and once again thank you so so much to everyone who has sent in kind messages about my work!!#it would flood this blog if I were to respond to every one but know that I do immensely appreciate every one#they absolutely make my day
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i’m not sure if you’ve heard yet but nico’s tattoo is all of his family members’ astrological signs smushed together which is so… i’m obsessed
NO I HAD NOT HEARD!!!!! (partially because tumblr decided i was not to see people’s asks??)
oh my god. oh my god. that is so unbelievably. actually i take it back it is incredibly believable and i love that for him
#what is this fucking update. guys i hate it here i hate the stupid little circle buttons i don’t Like It they’re the wrong shape#and WHY are you eating all my asks!!! have you been eating them!!! i don’t know when this is from i’m so sorry!!#anyway.#hi anon. i love you. i love when i ask questions and then you guys come to my inbox and tell me things this is my favorite way to learn#(yell into the void and the void is like uhhhh oh yeah bud we got you)#the way in which i full mouth open BEYONCÉ???? meme’d myself. i wanted to function for the next ??? hours and now i will NOT oh my god#liv in the replies#guys i don’t even have an appropriate rxn meme for this. what can i do when i can’t even use my brain approved ask format (comment & meme)#DID I POST THE YOJ THINK I’M SMALL POST OR IS IT STILL IN MY DRAFTS#i know my thirst tags about nico’s sister from like. two years ago are still in my drafts sorry but i love the way nico is with his family#nice to see good family dynamics!!! they all seem like really talented and lovely people!!! i’m going to throw away the part of my brain#that just rapid fire went ‘nico’s mom is an olympian right she’s an olympic swimmer ellen’s an olympian right or at least high level player#where’s my nico’s mom & ellen narratives y’all are sleeping on that’ NO ONE IS SLEEPING ON IT you’re just vibrating at a nonsense frequency#aka i will be dragged kicking & screaming into nicojack & in the process will be getting my grubby little hands on any adjacent narratives#moral of the story: thank u i love you i will use this information for evil (think about it & hurt my own feelings)#it is Nico Hour on the blog now. we will be releasing a bunch of nico posts from my drafts in honor of this ask#[also in honor of me having the devs game on while i work]#nico hischier#new jersey devils
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Wayne Family Garden ~Batmom Imagine~
Summary: Your plan on growing a garden. However, you don’t have a green thumb. Luckily, you know someone who does.
Author’s Note: I'm obessed with the Wayne Family Adventures on WebToons. Like you don't know how obsessed I am with them.
BatFamily Masterlist
Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her
Warnings: fluff, Poison Ivy and Harley know the Batfam's identies (its canon)
Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!
Do not repost this anywhere!
"What do you think Alfred?"
"I think having a lemon tree could really benefit the garden and our groceries," Alfred tells you.
"Maybe we can have an apple tree too?" You said.
"Sounds delightful. And Master Bruce agreed to your garden?"
"Yup. Said we can have it on the side in the backyard. And we can grow whatever we want," you smiled.
"We should start off small then," Alfred said.
"Right. So then a lemon tree, an apple tree, and carrots?" You asked.
"Sounds good to me," Alfred smiled.
You had been growing more bored around your home now that most of your kids were adults and had moved out of the mansion. So after seeing a good amount of gardening TikToks, you wanted to start your own little garden. But there was one slight problem, you didn't know how to garden.
So there was one person you could think of who could help you start off. You didn't want to bother Alfred more than what he has to deal with so you used your husband's technology to find a certain someone.
The apartment complex looked a little run down but yet again, you knew this was where they would be laying low. You knocked on the front door, only to see Harley Quinn opening it up.
"Mrs. Wayne? Whatcha doin here?" Harley asked you.
"Hiya, Harley. I'm looking for Ivy. Is she around?" You asked.
"Yeah. What's going on?" Harley asked.
"Harley. Who is it?" You heard Ivy ask.
"It's Y/n Wayne! Batman's wife!" Harley said excitedly.
"Hi, Ivy. I came here to ask for a favor," you tell her.
"Uh sure. What's up?" Ivy asked.
"I am currently planting a garden at my home but the problem is, I don't know how to garden. I was wondering if you can help me out," you asked her.
"Don't you have a butler who also knows how to garden?" Ivy asked.
"Yes but I don't want to bother him more than my family already has. And besides, I need more females around the house," you mentioned.
"What are you trying to grow?" Harley asked.
"I would like to start off with a lemon tree, an orange tree, and an apple tree. But I know those take a couple years to grow but I would like to begin growing carrots, tomatoes, and green beans as well," you tell her.
"Those are good to start off with," Ivy mentioned.
"Thanks. So will you come by my house with me and help me get started? I have the tools and everything to start off," you asked her.
"Yeah. My schedule is clear for today," Ivy shrugged.
"Thank you! Harley! You can come over too," you invited.
"Oh sweet!"
Whenever it was a light night, meaning that there was barely crime for once in Gotham, the whole family would get together for dinner. However, they were surprised to see two new comers joining you all in dinner.
"I expect you all to behave yourselves for the night. Ivy and Harley are my guests as they helped me with my garden today," you tell your family.
"Yes mom."
"And no hero or villain talk in the table. I would like a dinner where we can just eat like normal people for once," you say as you prepped the table.
During dinner, everyone ate peacefully but kept a close eye on Harley and Ivy. It was mainly you talking about the garden and your plans for it.
"What are you planning on growing in the garden ummi?" Damien asked you.
"I would like a lemon, orange, and an apple tree but I know those take a while to grow. But I'm also planning on growing some carrots, green beans, and tomatoes to start off," you say excitedly.
"Just make sure to follow the instructions I gave you," Ivy said.
"Of course. And I'll call you in case anything happens," you smiled at her.
The next few weeks, you were proud of your work. The trees were starting to form slowly but surely. You kept notes to check your progress as well as making sure everything was going smoothly. So it wasn't a surprise for the batfamily to see Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy come to their house every week to help check on your garden.
"They're growing good," Ivy tells you,
"Thank you!"
"If you want, I can help you speed up the process for the trees."
"I know I should wait but I do want to try baking an apple pie and make my own orange juice."
"As long as you keep maintaining it you should be fine."
"Mmm. Okay. Let's do it!"
Cassandra and Stephanie quickly rushed over to Harley's and Ivy's place with the bag from their mom. It had been a couple weeks since Ivy and Harley last visited you and your garden. Cassandra knocked on the door, waiting for one of them to answer.
"What do you kids want?" Ivy asked as she opened the door.
"wanted us to drop this off to you," Stephanie said as she handed her the bag. Ivy looked into it before smiling. A fresh apple pie along with a pitcher of orange juice and lemonade were placed in the bag.
"Tell her we said thank you."
"We will!"
"Let her know that if she wants to start something new, have her call me," Ivy tells the girls.
"We will!"
#batman x reader#batman imagine#batman#batmom#batmom imagine#bruce wayne#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne imagine#batfamily#batfam x reader#batman imagines#harley quinn#poison ivy#dc#dc imagine#wayne family adventures#alisonwritesimagines
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mmmmmm been thinkin abt photographer!san right nd he is know for his boudoir photography but his latest client’s got him in a chokehold like god how is she so fuckin sexy nd he can’t focus at all bc fuck all he wants to do is fuck her senseless— HELP
Your wish is my command Angel! Thank you for being patient 😘
As always, enjoy 🩷
snap.
<Choi san x fem!reader>
Synopsis: encouraged by your friend, you give boudoir photography a try after recovering from a break up, you find yourself doing more than just be a model.
Genres/warnings: smut, boudoir photographer!San x model!reader, sexual tension, unprotected sex, cream pies, mention of oral
Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies
“Boudoir photography?” You reiterate. Your friend nods.
“A friend of a friend of a friend tried it recently and apparently she’s been full of confidence. Her boyfriend adores it too!” Your friend squeals.
You scrunch your eyebrows, wondering how semi-nude photos taken by a professional photographer in this niche would boost one’s confidence.
Your friend’s eyes dart to you again, and then your phone pings. You look at the link your friend sent you. It’s a referral code for a promotion. You turn to her, gaze still dripping with skepticism.
“Come on, just try it. You’re a lovely person and you deserve to see it for yourself! Boudoir photography might really help at not being constantly self critical.”
You weren’t an entirely insecure person, and you were sure of that. It’s just that, after the rough break up with your ex, and seeing them move on instantly (like two fuckin weeks) with a new partner, undoubtedly was a gut punch to your self esteem, while you were still stuck grieving over the lost relationship and wasted time.
You’ve heard of boudoir photography, but you’ve never actually understood the concept of it, considering that it was niche, and that you don’t really know the point of it. You glance down at the referral link before deciding to just fuck it and sign up.
San is working overtime again, meticulously editing and touching up the photos. It’s become a natural part of him to almost be a perfectionist, whether when on the ground taking photos of the model or the post editing process. But he never loses the sight of letting the women shine naturally through their photos. After all, in such a niche market, they picked him. Definitely, he has his mix of male boudoir models, but the women evidently take up a higher ratio. He understands that one of the most important aspects of boudoir photography is trust and comfort with his models, which has them coming back for more sessions, sometimes even with their partners.
Setting up his own business in such a niche market was difficult of course, and he’s grateful that he’s managed to make a name for himself. But sometimes he’s grateful that his good looks are an added bonus to drawing in his clients.
His email pings and it makes him pause his work. Maybe he should finish it tomorrow. San glances at the fresh email that sits in his inbox.
An appointment via referral.
He opens it, and looks through the client’s information. At the bottom box for comments, sits a short question.
[Just wondering, what should I expect for my appointment? Is there anything I should prepare?]
He takes a moment before he drafts a reply.
[Hey there! Nice to meet you. I’m Choi San, boudoir photographer of Woodie’s Studios. First of all, thank you for choosing our studio for your boudoir experience!
Regarding your question, come in with an open mind. For what to wear, you may bring a set of clothes/lingerie of whatever you feel confident in.
I don’t bite, I promise!]
He reads the reply a second time before he hits send. It’s not as if it’s the first time he’s gotten questions like these anyway. His train of concentration is broken, so he decides to call it a night.
You reach the opaque door of a clean-looking studio apartment. The sign has San’s studio name and logo imprinted on it, so you’re sure that you are at the right location.
You press the door bell and it chimes a lovely tune. There is a quiet pause, before the door handle clicks and the door itself pulls back. Before you stood a really, no, an insanely good looking, tall male. His glasses rest loosely on the bridge of his nose as his small eyes meet yours. His brunette hair is slightly messy. He wears an expression of confusion at first, but it turns into something unreadable. You think for a spilt second that he may have gotten the wrong client, but your rationale reminds you that you did send him photos of yourself so he’s able to recognise you. You blink once, then twice because you were starting to get lost at how handsome your photographer was.
“Choi San..?” you say, with a small tilt of your head.
Then it’s his turn to blink, and he snaps out of that small trance he seemed to be caught in for a few seconds. Then a smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he greets you.
“Hey! Y/n right? Sorry, was tryna recognise you. I promise I don’t usually take that long to process”, he chuckles, pulling the door wider as he ushers you in, reminding you to switch out your shoes for the apartment slippers.
The hallway San brings you down is brightly lit and spilt into a couple of sections which you assumed one of them would be the photo studio itself. A couple of posters of pin up girls hang on the walls, all of them beautiful and stunning.
He then stops at a glass door and pushes it, to what you assumed to be his office.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get you a cup of tea. Any preferences?”, he gestures. You shake your head as you let yourself sink into the velvet couch, gingerly leaving your bag of clothing beside you. San gives a polite nod and excuses himself to the pantry.
And the moment the door shuts behind him, he tears his glasses off the bridge of his nose and hooks the branch onto his collar.
His hand is placed over his heart.
San has photographed many different women over the course of his career, some breathtakingly beautiful. But none has ever made his heart skip a beat and caused his words to be stuck at the back of his throat, not like you did. He doesn’t know what has gotten into him. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how you looked like—the pictures you sent served that purpose. Maybe it was the fact that he never expected you to look like that in real life, and for once, he almost doesn’t know how to react. His thoughts are all over the place as he paces into the pantry to prepare your tea. As he’s dipping the tea bag into the piping hot water, he begins feeling self conscious—was his hair too shrivelled? Did he smell bad? Was there something on his face? He tightens his grip on the mug and hastily makes his way back to his office.
San returns, with a smile on his face as he settles the cup onto the coffee table before you, and he joins you, seated on a velvet armchair across you.
“Take your time”, he reassures. “We can start after this, if you’re feeling comfortable, or we can just talk a little to ease your nerves.” It doesn’t take you much to think—you opt for the latter of course.
San laughs and nods. “I get that a lot, especially from first time female clients. It’s valid of course, having a male being your photographer for boudoir can sound off-putting. Perhaps looking at my portfolio might put you slightly at ease?” He reaches out for a large and thick leather-bound photo album. You let it rest on your lap as you receive it with a soft “thank you”, and flip the album open, and you’re instantly awestruck—San’s work spoke for himself. The models were diverse, both in nationalities and body shapes, all equally stunning and sensual in their own expressive ways. The only common denominator was the glint of genuine emotion and confidence reflected in their eyes.
You wonder to yourself—could you look and feel as confident as them? As you skim through the pictures, you feel yourself falling in love with the models as well—their genuine smiles when they do and the gazes they give.
When San catches himself staring at you being absorbed in admiring his portfolios, he feels his cheeks flush and he looks down, wondering what you think of it all.
“I see why you have so many clients. The pictures are gorgeous”, you say, shutting the photo album and handing it back to him. San flashes a sheepish smile and mutters a “thank you” loud enough for you to hear. The silence in the room remains a for awhile as you sip the tea, letting it calm your nerves. You don’t even know it but the person with actual jittery nerves was San himself, a feeling that he never expected to feel since the last time he did was when he started out this business three years ago.
“So… what’s the goal of being a boudoir model, if you don’t mind me asking? Like was it a long time thing you wanted to try or was it something spontaneous?” He asks to break the silence.
“I broke up with my ex recently”, you respond curtly, before taking another sip of the tea. Damn, this is some good ass tea. San blinks at your reply, unsure of what to make out of the bluntness. Before he attempts to reply, you continue, “and my friend sent me a referral to your studio, and I thought to myself, why not? I want to feel confident in my own skin. Also, I think it’s an interesting way of self exploration.” Your gaze meets his, and it’s his turn to look awestruck. You try to ignore the flutter in your chest when he laughs softly, when his smile reaches his eyes. It’s the way that he’s confident of his craft, and it’s making you warm up to him even more.
Your fingertips tap on the mug softly. Your gaze lands on the photobook once more.
“Does taking such risqué pictures affect you when you first started out?” You ask before taking another sip. San ponders about the question for awhile. He has people asking him that before, but for some reason, he wants to be slightly more transparent with you.
“I don’t see about my clients in a sexual way, even if they physically look appealing to me. In the end, self confidence and comfort always comes first, and I think that’s what I enjoy seeing in my clients when they become more comfortable in their own skin. People don’t understand how difficult it is to fully love yourself”, he replies.
That’s when you understand why San’s photography studio had so many recurring clients.
“Why boudoir? I think sensuality and intimacy is a form of art. It’s beautiful—watching people discover parts of themselves they never knew existed and falling in love. You don’t have to be conventionally attractive to be a boudoir model.
The money’s good, of course, but the satisfaction of watching my clients giving me feedback of them realising they deserve to love themselves more, or discovering other sides of themselves is nothing short of rewarding.”
By the time he’s done explaining, you feel a rush of confidence in yourself. It’s only been about ten minutes since the both of you just sat and talked, but you see that he definitely prioritises your comfort before he even begins the sessions. You ball your fingers into a fist, meeting San’s gaze with determination, telling him, “I think I’m ready.”
San’s eyes brighten up. “Great! You can use the bathroom to the left, and I’ll meet you at the photo studio just opposite the office.” He stands up, opening the door for you, and you bow slightly in courtesy as you head to the washroom to change. San’s heart beats faster, wondering what you’re gonna wear for the shoot.
San is fixing the sheets of the bed, then the studio lights at the perfect angle he wants it to be. His heart is still racing as he walks over to the tripod, glancing over at the door from time to time, awaiting for your arrival.
He perks up when he sees you walk in with a bathrobe on and he greets you cheerfully again, trying to hide his excitement.
You wave back with a smile, letting the environment of the photo studio sink in. The basic package for first timers consisted of a bed shoot, so it’s no surprise you see a bed in the middle of the room, covered in white. The bed looks comfy and you giggle to yourself, wondering if you’d end up falling asleep mid-shoot from how nice the bed looks.
“Anytime you’re ready”, San reminds you, carrying the tripod in one hand, his biceps flexing as he does, and it makes you blush slightly, which was ridiculous. Why are you swooning over your handsome photographer carrying the tripod with one arm? Suddenly you’re self conscious again, your fingers clutching against the black bathrobe. It was frustrating that you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was making you nervous, but you weren’t about to back out.
San continues to adjust his camera on the tripod, and his gaze absentmindedly shifts towards you, and his breath gets stuck in his throat, watching you undress from the bathrobe, revealing a white button up over black lace lingerie. It’s not anything new, but for some reason he can’t seem to tear his eyes off you—the way the panties hugs your hips and the bra cups your breasts, the garter belt hugging your waist and the straps hanging past your panties. He watches you climb onto the bed, eyes shutting briefly as you sink into the mattress with a soft smile.
He’s not confident that he’s able to last through the shoot, not when you’re looking like that.
“Is it too cold here?” San asks, trying to divert his attention from his perverse thoughts. You pop up from the sheets, the collars of the shirt slipping past your shoulders, obviously too big for you. That does nothing to help him with his thoughts.
“No, I think the temperature’s okay. Shall we get started?” You ask, buttoning up your shirt, the white material pathetically sheer that San is able to see the black bra peeking through.
The sight of you in an oversized shirt on, with no pants, just your underwear on is like a meal for San’s eyes. He hides behind the camera to hide his flushing cheeks, only to face your body through the viewfinder, watching you preparing to pose as you position yourself at the end of the bed, turning your body slightly to the side with one leg up, your thighs in full view, with the sleeves of the shirt covering most of your fingers, and your gaze right into the camera lens.
San takes a deep breath. Forty five minutes. He can do this.
“Sure. Ready whenever you are, y/n.”
It turns out to be a very agonising forty five minutes. While the both of you were cracking jokes during the shoot, San finds himself getting more distracted when you gradually remove your shirt, and when your poses grow ever more risqué—at one point you remove your bra and fit your shirt over again, which definitely made San grow very restless when he’s unable to tear his eyes away from your bare chest.
Midway through the shoot, all that swarms his mind is wondering how your body would feel against his, how your bare skin would feel under his hands, what kind of faces you would make when you’re under him.
What kind of noises you would make for him when he fits his cock right into you. He wants to fuck you so hard that your mind goes blank—so good that you’ll never remember your ex.
San blinks, his finger still on the shutter button. He doesn’t know what washed over him, but what he does know is the taut feeling in his pants, and he internally heaves a sigh of relief that he decided to wear cargo pants. Nonetheless, he hopes that it isn’t obvious. Well, it shouldn’t be, as long as you don’t ask for close up shots.
“San! Could you come closer for my close ups?” You call out, letting the collar of your shirt fall off your shoulder once more, revealing your bare shoulders, and reminding him that you were still braless underneath the loose clothing article.
Fuck.
San forces a smile, unlatching his camera and trying to walk normally without letting his erection steal your attention.
He reaches to where you are, reminding himself to stay professional, but when he meets your playful gaze, all he wants to do is pin you down. Your eyes twinkle with allure as you prepare your next pose. You get it now—the confidence that slowly trickles into you after every photo taken. You’ve never realised that you had this side of yourself, not until now, and you love it.
The close up shots only spell another layer of doom for San—he adores the budding confidence that you exude, but it makes it even harder for him to hold back, watching you make sultry expressions and poses close up. Through the viewfinder, his eyes try to focus on taking the photo but he finds himself being entranced by your stare. He counts down, then taking a few shots, not missing the growing smile you had.
San puts his camera away, reaching forward to your face to remove a stray hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear, and his touch is warm on your face. It’s then you realise how physically close San is to you—you smell his cologne and it leaves your mind blank for a spilt second. He’s absorbed in fixing your hair, combing the strays off your face, the sound of his quiet breathing the only thing you hear. You look away, wondering if your heartbeat is loud enough for him to hear, and you hope it isn’t. San gives you a soft smile when his eyes finally meet yours.
He pulls back, preparing to take his camera for the next shot, but his leg gets tangled in the sheets.
Everything happens in a spilt second—his knee that shifts forward at first, pressing against the sheet that has unknowingly tangled around his other leg, then San trying to get up quickly with the tangled leg, realising a little too late by the time he falls right onto the bed.
Right onto you.
He almost squishes you. Almost. But he lands above you, supported by his elbows just in time before his body is in contact with yours.
Your heart races, way too quick for you to even process what just occurred. All knew you was:
One; San is right above you,
Two; his lips are hovering over yours,
Three; you feel something pressing against your pelvis.
And San stares down at you, his heart beating in his ears. He takes in the sight of you below him—eyes looking up at him through fluttered lashes, your heat radiating against his skin, your lips slightly parted in surprise.
As well as the strain in his pants when his eyes instinctively lower to your bare chest, your nipples peeking through your shirt, and that his little problem is just resting right on you.
“I’m sorry”, San whispers, breaking the silence that had hung between the both of you. “This usually doesn’t happen…”
You crack an amused smile. “Usually?”you reiterate teasingly. A tint of red flushes San’s cheeks and his clothed erection presses harder against your bare skin, and it makes you bite your lip.
“Fuck. I mean, this never happens. It’s just.. I’ve never felt this way about my boudoir models…”, he trails off. “I think you’re fucking stunning since you entered the studio, and I think you’re even more stunning now.”
Your heart flutters at his confession and this time, you feel yourself blush. A soft laugh escapes from the male above you when he sees you avoid eye contact from the shyness. His strings of rationale—yelling at him to stay professional—is snapping. He’s not lying. He’s never felt so attracted to any of his models before, until you, and now that he has you trapped under him, he doesn’t want to lose that chance.
“Should we end the session here?” San asks, with a quick glance at your pretty red lips.
Your fingers are playing with the dangling silver chain that he wears. He lets you, waiting for your response before he catches your gaze dances back to meet his again. Your hands shift to caress San’s jaw, and he takes it as a sign to make his move. You inhale softly as you feel his lips press onto yours, and it makes your head spin with glee. He tastes so heavenly, and your legs clench at the feeling that flutters between your thighs.
San slightly presses his body weight onto you, his erection only growing harder against your thigh. But it looks like he’s taking his time.
His fingertips warm your skin, and he lets them slip up your body, until he’s at your chest, barely covered by the sheer cotton material. His thumbs grazes against your nipples, and you gasp in between open mouthed kisses. You feel him smile, and he applies pressure, and the sensation goes right to your pussy.
He pulls back, watching your lip stick smudged, and your eyes dilate. You can’t help but feel entranced by San, and now you’re wondering how his face would look like when he falls apart.
And it makes you excited.
San lulls you back from your thoughts when you feel his lips suck softly against your neck, and now your fingers are playing with his soft locks of hair.
He’s slightly embarrassed at the way he’s growing even harder when he gingerly peels the white shirt away. His hands cup your bare tits, and he lowers himself to your left tit, giving it a couple of hungry licks and sucks, leaving your back arching and your mouth agape from how ticklish his tongue feels as he flicks your nipple. He doesn’t neglect the other nipple, giving it the same attention as he relishes in the way you fall apart for him. When he has his fun of sucking and making sure your nipples swell while you moan and tug his hair, he pulls away.
He sits up, pulls his shirt over his head and you’re left drooling at how chiseled his body looks. San unbuttons his pants and yanks it off, alongside his boxers, and you watch with awe as his cock springs out—hard and heavy against his abdomen. Your panties are tugged off you in no time, and you don’t miss the way his cock twitches when his eyes land on your slick covered cunt.
“You’re gonna be the death of me”, you hear him mutter before he collides his lips against yours once more. You squeal when you feel his fingers press onto your clit, giving it small rubs, watching and soaking your reactions—your whines and whimpers. There is a dull buzz in your mind every time your bundle of nerves get stimulated, and it builds up in your tummy.
“Oh god, you’re getting even wetter”, he sighs, his fingers completely soaked.
“It feels good. So good. Keep doing that”, you whisper, your fingers pressing against his arm. Your moans only grow louder as San picks up the speed on rubbing your clit, and it’s sending you over the edge way quicker than you wanted to.
San lowers himself to your head, and his husky voice vibrates in your ears.
“That’s it, keep coming undone. Let your mind shut off. You look so fucking beautiful like that.”
“San, San, fuck. I’m gonna cum. Oh fuck-“
Your eyes roll back as your orgasm washes over you, your body tensing as pleasure becomes the only thing you know. You barely catch onto the dirty things San is telling you, but you know he’s encouraging you to cum on his fingers like a good girl.
He makes sure he has your orgasm drawn out as long as possible, your mind completely blown out at that point. San sucks off your arousal on his fingers, before giving his cock a few pumps.
“You taste like heaven, babe. I’ll get a taste of that cunt soon, but right now, I really can’t wait”, San huffs, trying to keep himself composed as he slowly fucks his hand.
“San, hurry up, please. I need you, so fucking bad”, you whine, your fingers pulling your wet folds open for him.
His breathing goes heavy at your words. “Damn, the shoot really got you heated,” San teases.
“I can’t help it if my photographer makes me wet”, you reply with a playful smile.
Something seems to snap in San when he hears that—all he’s thinking about is wanting to drive his cock so deep into you that your mind completely blanks out.
So that’s what he does.
San lines up his cock to your entrance and pushes and inch in. His eyes dart to your face, licking the bottom of his lip when he watches your face contort into pleasure. His hands stroke your thighs as he pushes in a couple more inches, soaking in your broken moans as he stretches you out. He forces himself to stay composed despite the fact that you’re squeezing him with your warm and soft walls.
He manages to bury himself right to the hilt and he gasps at how perfectly fitted his cock is in you, an uncontrollable moan escaping his lips when he feels you convulse around his cock.
“San, you’re so big. I’m so filled”, you whimper through glazed eyes, his cock completely cutting off other senses as your thighs tremble. A smile tugs at his lips.
“I’m gonna fuck you now, pretty”, San tells you. Despite that, he waits for your green signal before he pulls out and drives his cock right into you.
Your mind switches off the moment his cock is fucking your pussy, because that’s all that matters. It’s so good. So fucking good.
His hands slither to your wrists, and has them pinned over your head as his cock pistons into you. You swear he’s driving you to be cock dumb by the end of this, but not like you fucking minded anyway.
“Look at you. Growing stupid over my cock already. So fucking adorable.”
You only nod in reply, biting your lip as his cock continues to render you speechless. Now San has completely flooded into the smallest crooks of your mind. San has his mind blank, his eyes darting from your fucked out expression to your bouncing tits.
Your cunt flutters once again and tears are pooling at the corner of eyes. The sounds of wet skin slapping echo around the studio.
“…wanna touch you”, you mutter. Despite the face that you loved that he was holding you down, you are feeling desperate to feel his skin as you dance on the fence of your orgasm. San releases your wrists, and he props himself better as he continues to pound into you, hitting the soft, spongy spot over and over again when he has your legs folded. When his pulls out, his cock is covered in a creamy mess. His head spins and his ego inflates at the thought him being the one who drove you to this point of mind blanking pleasure.
“No, no, I’m gonna cum again. So good. San!” His name leaving your lips as a whine. Your hands are gripping onto the loose unbuttoned sleeves of your shirt. His hands take yours and places them on his on his sides, and he groans at the way you’re clawing him.
“Shit. Fuck!” San curses when you cream on his cock even more on top of your walls hugging him tightly. You let go on his cock with a pleasured sob, legs twitching.
It’s not long before a long drawn out moan San releases as his warm cum completely floods your tight hole. He swears he wants to keep his cock tucked in your pussy because it feels that fucking good.
His face—oh, his fucking face when he orgasms. You barely recover from your second orgasm to watch San fall apart while he empties in your pussy, and it almost drives you to your third orgasm. Almost.
The both of you remain still for a moment, only breathing filling in the silence. Then, San slowly pulls out, watching the way his cum leaks out of your abused hole.
San pulls back, and he realises that he’s never seen a more beautiful sight—you, splayed out in nude, only covered by a measly white shirt that inevitably drives him crazy, with cum leaking out of your pretty hole while your body twitches against the white sheets.
He thinks that it’s a pity that his camera is out of reach, because it’s such a beautiful shot.
You glance at San with a shy smile as he hands you your panties. He hooks the your legs into the panties and pulls it up to your hips. You feel another load stain your panties while your thighs twitch.
San dresses himself quickly and extends his arm for you to take as he leads you off the bed. He knows he’s got extra work to wash the sheets but that’s the least of his worries.
What throws you off is when he pulls you into his arms and kisses your temple.
“I promise I’ve never done to any of my clients”, he reiterates.
“Unprofessional”, you tease, your hands sneaking up his shirt.
“Can’t fucking help it. I never knew fucking an Angel in my studio would be this exhilarating. It makes the thought of washing the bedsheets bearable”, he teases back, letting his fingers tangle in your hair.
Your mind goes completely blank when he tells you to wash out the loads in you, so he’ll fill you up once more when he brings you home, which earns him a slap on the chest. He gestures you to go change up, watching the way you remove your shirt to reveal your bare back, and he makes a mental note to start fucking you from behind.
And back at his place, he does. His eyes are hyper focused on the way your ass bounces on his cock. A loud slap reverberates in his room followed by a whimper.
He stills in you, spilling his load once more into your abused cunt as you cream all over him once again.
Then he has you wrapped up in his arms, peppering you with kisses as you’re teetering off your high.
“Stay over, won’t you?”, San requests, tucking a lock of hair behind your ears. You’re beginning to feel completely enamoured by the male. You nod as you melt into his arms.
San thinks it’s ridiculous how hard and fast he fell for you, but he’s confident that you’re his favourite model, ever.
#ateez#ateez scenarios#ateez fanfic#ateez x reader#ateez imagines#ateez smut#smut#ateez fic#kpop smut#choi san smut#Choi san#San ateez#ateez san#choi san ateez#ateez choi san#choi san x reader#cultofdionysusnet
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On the Horizon (1/?)
Summary: You've been pining over your coworker for a while now. He might not have realized but someone has. Pairing:Tyler Owens x F!Reader (with minor Scott x F!Reader) Word Count: 2.5K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Angst, flirting, and asshole!Scott. Future chapters will be smutty. Not all themes are tagged. A/N: Thanks to @writercole for the summary and @ryebecca @mermaidxatxhear @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for their beta help. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.
Masterlist ♡ Glen Powell Character Masterlist
It’s sweltering in the midday sun and you wipe the sweat from your brow as you surreptitiously watch Scott work beside you. He doesn't seem bothered by the heat, typing away on his computer despite the stagnant air. It makes you yearn for the cool, controlled environment of the labs you used to work in before Javi recruited you. Although he'd likely tell you this weather was perfect for a storm, you're miserable. Meteorology isn’t even your specialty; you’re here for your engineering skills to manage the specialized equipment the team relies on for their data collection.
Perched on the tailgate of the Storm Par truck, you have a clear view of the other storm chasers clustering around Tyler Owens' red truck. The man in question emerges with a brilliant smile, and beside you, Scott scoffs, annoyed. He hates Tyler, and you're pretty sure the feeling is mutual.
"Ass," Scott mutters, returning his attention to his computer.
When you look up again, you catch Tyler watching the two of you. You know he’s more than likely looking for a chance to provoke Scott, but to your surprise, he offers you a wink and pulls down the brim of his hat in acknowledgment. Before you can react, he's turned to speak to one of the young women on his team, giving her his full attention. A hand rests casually on her shoulder.
You wish Scott would acknowledge you like that. You thought things would be different after the night you shared weeks ago, but he quickly dashed those hopes the next morning, ignoring you completely. He only seemed to look at you when he needed your tech skills or when you made a mistake. Your cheeks still burn from his last reprimand in front of the team, the sting of his criticism lingering.
Clearing your throat, Scott’s eyes briefly land on you before returning to the computer screen.
"What?" he demands.
"I was going to get something to eat. Do you want anything?”
"Yeah, you know what I like," he says dismissively.
When it's clear that's all you're getting from him, you push off the truck onto the dusty road with a soft exhale and head into the gas station. The air conditioning inside practically makes you groan with relief, and you take a moment to appreciate the cool air.
"You're not melting on us, are you, city girl?" You jump at the unexpected voice, surprised to see it belongs to Tyler. "MIT got you all wound up, huh?” He questions, amused.
"What?"
"Your boss," he clarifies.
"Oh, he's um...he's not my boss. Javi is."
"No?" he asks, brows raised. "Well, he certainly barks at you like he is."
Heat rushes to your face as you realize Tyler must have overheard Scott reprimand you yesterday after you miscalibrated one of the sensors.
"If you worked with my team, I'd be a lot nicer," he says.
You stare at him, unsure how to react to his comment and the suggestive tone. Before today, you’d barely spoken to him, although you get the impression that his flirtatious nature is just a normal part of his outgoing personality. Thankfully, you’re spared from having to figure out how to respond when the doorbell jingles and someone calls your name.
It’s Scott.
"Owens," he bites out.
Your lips part in a surprised inhale as he places a hand on your shoulder and stands so close that you can feel the fabric of his shirt brushing against your arm. Tyler's gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your face with a knowing smile.
"Well, I enjoyed our chat," he tells you, not bothering to acknowledge Scott. "We should do this again, sweetheart."
Once he’s gone, Scott moves to stand in front of you "What did he want?" he demands.
"Oh, nothing. Just...saying hi."
Scott tenses, and he steps into your space, cupping your elbow. "You shouldn't talk to him," he advises.
When he tilts his head to stare down at you, something flickers in his blue eyes that looks an awful lot like jealousy. You glance over your shoulder at Tyler, only to have Scott say your name again, more forcefully. Turning back, you find his intense dark blue eyes locked onto yours. For the first time since that night in the hotel room, you realize you have Scott’s full attention and that sends a thrill of excitement through you.
You bite your lip, the beginning of an idea coming together.
An opportunity arises to put your plan into motion later that night. Nearly everyone has descended on the only motel in town, but no one seems interested in staying in their rooms. Music pumps from Tyler’s red truck and another group grill burgers nearby. Alcohol is flowing freely as different teams mingle.
You spot Scott busy inside the Storm Par command van, completely absorbed in his work. From experience, you know any attempt to pull him away would be pointless, but spending time with Tyler just might. You linger at the edge of the parking lot, trying to muster the courage to approach the Tornado Wrangler crew. They’re sharing beers and laughing, but when you look closer you realize a lot of them are still working in some way or another. Lily has the inner workings of her drone exposed, tinkering while Dani and Tyler look like they’re securing something to the side of his truck.
Suddenly what felt like a great idea earlier now seems silly. So does your sundress and the time you spent making yourself look nice. Any attempt to enact your plan would mean intruding on their little bubble. Besides, you’re not even sure this hairbrained idea would even work on Scott a second time.
You turn to head back to your room when Tyler calls out, “Hey city girl, you want a beer?”
You freeze, eyes closing briefly as you realize there’s no turning back now. You’ve been spotted. When you face him again Tyler is watching you with a casual, expectant smile. He leans against the hood of his truck with one arm draped over it.
“Come on, we don’t bite,” he encourages.
“Not unless you ask us to,” Boone chimes in, earning a collective groan and playful slap to the back of his head from Dani.
Someone tosses you a beer, and you fumble to catch it. It’s icy and slippery. Tyler watches you with a raised eyebrow as a slow, amused smile spreads across his face. You’ve never felt less cool in your life and you end up looking anywhere but him.
“Hey…you’re an engineer right?” Lily calls out. “You wanna take a look at the wing here? She’s giving me some trouble.”
You glance at the Storm Par van, half expecting Scott to come to scold you for even considering helping the enemy, but he’s still inside.
“Tin Man seems pretty tied up with his work,” Tyler observes. “I think you’re safe to join us, Dorothy.”
You blink, both surprised and a bit embarrassed to realize just how obvious you must be. “Uh, yeah, I can take a look,” you tell Lily.
She grins, shifting back on her heels. You follow her over to the truck to examine the drone. Lily talks you through everything she’s already tried so far with Cairo and you ask her a few questions in return. After a bit of trial and error, you identify the issue. Thankfully it's a quick fix.
Boone lets out a low whistle, impressed. “You know, if things don’t pan out with the corporate overlords, I bet Ty would offer you a spot on our team.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, watching Tyler round the truck and draw closer to you.
“I’m a much nicer boss than Scout,” he promises.
“He’s not my boss,” you remind Tyler. “And his name is Scott.”
“Oh, I know, sweetheart,” he intones, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes it hard to focus on anything but the way he’s looking at you.
You let out a nervous little chuckle, realizing that you hadn’t actually planned for anything beyond capturing Tyler’s attention. Glancing down at the beer in your hands, you fiddle with the label until Tyler takes the bottle. He twists off the cap and hands it back without a word.
You offer him a quick, “thanks,” and take a sip. The lukewarm, hoppy flavor tingles on your tongue. You make a face.
“Not a beer girl?” Tyler asks, drawing back to give you a thoughtful once-over. He hums consideringly. “No, you strike me as a rosé-all-day type.”
“Actually, I’m a whisky girl,” you lie, grinning at the surprised blink you get in response.
“I must be losing my touch,” he confesses, leaning into your space and letting you catch the faint scent of his cologne or deodorant—something sharp and clean like the ozone that lingers in the air after a storm. “Unless, of course, you’re just messing with me,” he continues. “But you wouldn’t do something like that, would you, city girl?”
The way he stares at you suggests that he’s not just talking about your choice of drink. Before you can stop yourself, you look over his shoulder, searching for Scott. Tyler doesn’t turn to see what has your attention. He doesn’t need to, you realize.
“A lesser man might take that as a blow to his ego.” His tone is teasing as he uses two fingers under your chin to gently guide your gaze back to him. “Lucky for you, darlin’, I’m a big boy.”
A prickling warmth spreads across your body, and your jaw muscles tingle with a mix of embarrassment and anxiety. You must have been horribly transparent in your attempt, you realize.
“I’m not…I didn’t,” you stumble over your words as Tyler’s smile grows.
“The decent thing to do is ask,” he encourages. He cranes his neck behind him and you see Scott’s finally noticed the two of you together. “Better make it quick, he’s on his way over here now.”
“What?”
“You know what,” he replies, tapping your nose.
Panic settles in, your reluctance to admit what you were trying to do warring with your desire to get Scott’s attention. “Okay, okay, fine,” you relent. “I’m trying to make Scott jealous.”
You can see Scott over Tyler’s shoulder now, his expression dark. He’s second away from being in hearing range. “Tyler. Please.”
“Well since you said the magic word.”
He turns and in one smooth motion throws his arm over your shoulder to draw you in close. That seems to surprise Scott whose pace slows as he approaches. Your heart flutters wildly in your chest as you gaze up at him, acutely aware of Tyler’s body pressed firmly against your side.
“Hey, Scooter,” Tyler greets. “Want a beer?”
Scott’s cheek ripples in annoyance. “No,” he says curtly.
“Suit yourself.” Tyler shrugs. He grabs the bottle in your hand and takes a long drink from it before handing it back to you. “Nothing better than a cold one after a day of chasing storms.”
Scott’s nostrils flare and he utters your name in a clipped tone.
“Uh, I better go,” you tell Tyler. “Thanks for the beer.”
“Well, I hope to see more of you later, sweetheart,” he replies with a wink.
The second you’re within reach, Scott’s hand is on your upper back and quickly moves to rest at the base of your neck. You feel a little like an errant school child with the way he guides you past the rest of Tyler’s crew, whose goodbyes are decidedly less enthusiastic than their welcome. Boone glances between you and Scott, making a face that you can’t quite decipher.
“I thought you were headed to bed early,” Scott accuses as soon as you’re out of earshot of the crew. He’s tense beside you, fingers flexing against your skin.
“I was but then the Wrangler crew invited me to join them for a beer.” He doesn’t need to know you sought them out for your ill-conceived plan.
Scott scoffs, moving in front of you. He stares down at you. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time with those hillbillies.”
“They aren’t so bad,” you defend until he pins you with a quelling look. You know Scott well enough by now to drop the topic, even if his words don’t sit quite right with you. Tyler and his friends were nothing but kind to you tonight.
“Storm Par can’t be seen spending time with those amateurs. It’s bad for business. You should know better.”
You realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s not jealous — he’s just angry. He’d probably be just as upset if another member of your team was seen mingling with the so-called enemy. How could you have been stupid enough to think talking to Tyler would make him want you again?
“Come on,” Scott urges, seemingly intent on walking you back to your hotel room.
At the door, you wave the card over the keypad and shoulder the old, warped door open. Before you can turn to bid Scott a good night a hand on your hips pushes you forward and he follows you inside. The door shuts and he plucks the keycard from your hands, thoughtlessly tossing it on the bedside table.
His mouth is on yours before you can speak, his hands grabbing at the hem of your sundress. The shift in his mood is enough to disorient you and you don’t resist when his tongue invades your mouth. The back of your knees hit the bed and then he’s on top of you, warm and solid. He pulls roughly at the strap of your dress, his teeth nipping at the exposed skin. When you feel his hand land on your inner thigh you push at his chest.
“Wait, Scott,” you breathe. This feels nothing like your last time together.
He pulls back, a tick in his jaw as he stares down at you. “It's been a long day,” he says, “and we both know you want this.”
You do want him, more than anything, but there’s something about his tone and words that dredge up an uncomfortable feeling in your chest. It makes your skin prickle, and you avert your gaze, suddenly uncertain. Above you, Scott sighs, and you feel his fingertips gently touch your jaw. You think of Tyler suddenly, his teasing tone and the amusement in his green eyes. When you look back at Scott, his unreadable blue eyes meet yours.
The bed creaks as he shifts back. “I can just go,” he offers.
“No, please don’t.” The words escape your lips before you even realize you’ve spoken. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. Scott’s the kind of man you always dreamed about, handsome and intelligent – one of those Ivy League boys who never looked twice at you in college.
“Good answer,” he says with a smile.
You pull him closer, and as his lips find yours once more, the lingering discomfort fades away. You’re finally getting what you’ve wanted.
Aren’t you?
Part 2
♡
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#tyler owens x reader#tyler owens x you#tyler owens#twisters#scott miller x reader#scott miller x you#scott twisters
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Yandere School Q&A
I've gotten some related asks and thought I'd put them in a cleaner format, so I don't spawn another round of screenshots from my inbox.
Ohhh how would yan school react if y/n got hurt somehow?? Also quick question is her parents also platonic yans for them? Thanks!! - Anonymous
It only makes sense that the staff of the school is yandere material, too. The students may rush to help and insist they've got it under control, but the school nurse will be quick to act. It's the chance of a lifetime, having you to himself, and for longer than the usual standard checkup. The curtains are pulled, and the "do not disturb" sign is flipped. Your injuries are not to be taken lightly. You'll need to spend all day under his supervision.
The parents and all relatives are indeed platonic yanderes! I thought it'd be a nice touch since I've never approached the trope before.
YAYAYAYYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAA MORE YANDERE SCHOOLLLLLL You’re amazing!!!!! (I had to ask to make sure I used the right your/you’re) also is the darling yandere gonna keep sabotaging y/n? - @femboybasil
The tying up incident was actually an exception to what I originally planned, haha. For most of the competitions, darling yandere will guide (Y/N) and aid them for a flawless win. That's the comedy of it: he's indirectly doing the yandere part while trying to be discreet enough as to not alert the other yanderes. Additionally, (Y/N) helps him with the darling tasks. Though that part is very much expected by everyone from school. The Daring Academy teachers are probably observing the activities, baffled. "Who the hell is that student? What skill...what obliviousness. They should've applied to us."
If you’re comfortable with this concept, (since it’s a school-based series I don’t know if the reader and yanderes are minors are not, if they are then you don’t have to write this.) but obviously the students of the Yandere Academy are going to need to learn how to tie up their darlings once they’ve been captured. Would you mind writing a little blurb about it since Reader is the unofficially assigned darling stand-in for their classes? - Anonymous
This is the ask I used for the tying up idea in Part 3! To answer your worries, all of my stories involve 18+ characters! Just wanted to clear it up for anyone in doubt. The school/academy setup is more of a college/university kind of institution. I do love a good high school setup, but not for self insert romance.
I’d imagine that there’s a drama class at the yandere school to help the students learn how to act and seem innocent. What if they put on a musical or something like Phantom of the Opera (because of course it would be that) and reader got the role of Christine or the equivalent. Imagine all the yanderes fighting for the role of their love interests to get the excuse to kiss them, and other yanderes trying to sabotage them as tactfully as possible to keep the show going, but replace the leads to be alongside reader. Think that may be something cool to add/write about? No pressure of course! - Anonymous
You know the whole thing is going to turn into a ninja survival shitshow. They had hoped to never cast (Y/N) in any role, for everyone's safety. And for the most part, (Y/N) thankfully never showed any interest in the drama club.
The supervising teacher held (Y/N)'s application form with trembling hands. It seems their little club had finally run out of luck.
Worst part: the school can't even rely on the teachers. They're just as desperate to see their cute little (Y/N) perform on stage. "Maybe this job is too overwhelming for one person, sensei..." they'll smugly tell the original supervisor. "We could divide some tasks. Someone else could train (Y/N), for example..."
ok here me out, what if there is like a field trip or sports festival kind of thing where the Yandere and Darling academy meet up. Basically where a Yandere and a darling are made to pair up to go through the numerous activities (maybe ones that test their yandere/darling skills) so reader decides to pair up with clumsy Yandere ( who is in Darling academy) much to the displeasure of Yandere classmate. Maybe like a battle of the the Yanderes? - Anonymous
This was a little trippy to read, because it came right after part 3, haha. Which I feel is basically the same plot. Though it would be interesting to see how it'd play out if the stranger was Reader's best friend instead.
Reader excitedly approaches Clumsy!Yandere and asks him to work together, to the dismay of all other students. They're enraged. You can see it plainly: their hands tremble, their jaws are clenched, their eyes have a psychotic glint. Poor Clumsy!Yandere is in constant shivers, unaware of the death stares. You're cheerfully guiding him around, his hand in yours, happy to see your friend again.
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I was watching Sanemi's training episode and thought about this ask."Sanemi was training the hunters,his wife called him and all the hunters to have lunch with the delicious food she made,but when the hunters saw Sanemi's wife they were enchanted by her beauty and kindness,how would Sanemi react to seeing the hunters enchanted by his wife's beauty?" (Sorry for my bad english)
❕Sanemi’s reaction to his trainees being enchanted by you
You were kind enough to prepare meals for Sanemi’s students after a long and gruelling training session. They absolutely adore you! How will your husband react?
Note: Thank you so much for requesting. Your english is very good, don’t worry! I have another request in my inbox I’m planning to write and publish today. Sorry for not being very active today.
Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader
— Sanemi has been letting his assigned slayers suffer. He beat their ass with the wooden training katana until it broke, or until the slayer passed out. If the wooden katana broke before the trainee did, Sanemi made sure to continue with his fists. Is this even proper training anymore? Striking or even coming close to this maniac seemed impossible!!
— You knew that your husband is not holding back with his assigned slayers, and so you prepared beforehand: You had a fully stocked pantry and medical closet. You made sure to grab extra medicine and bandages from the butterfly mansion even before the first slayers arrived, wanted to make sure everyone is surviving Sanemi’s training.
— While Sanemi was taking on his trainees, you were cooking some veggie miso soup with a side of steamed dumplings. While that was brewing, you were making a small batch of ohagi just for Sanemi. It’s also very tiring for him, and you’re sure he’d want something sweet to eat during his break.
— Shortly after pouring the soup into the bowls and arranging the dumplings on side dishes, the first starved and badly bruised slayers arrived. Well, they more likely crawled towards the scent of food.
— While they wolfed down their bowls of veggie miso soup, you carefully tended to their wounds while they were distracted. You dabbed on an ointment and wrapped some bandages around their torso’s, arms and legs, speaking encouraging words to them. After the slayers ate and managed to rest up for a while, they actually realised from who they got all this caring attention from.
“Mrs.Sh-Shinazugawa! You’re an angel! Our saviour!”
“Can I have another bowl of soup? Pleeeaase?”
“My shoulder hurts, can you massage me a little? Pretty please, Mrs.Shinazugawa!!”
— But one question lingered on their minds collectively: How the hell did Sanemi find such an angel of a woman like you?! And how the hell did you agree to marry him? Were you forced? Paid? Beaten into submission?!
— Regardless, more and more of Sanemi’s poor trainees showed up crawling, sobbing or being carried/dragged across the dirt by their mates. They desperately needed nourishment and tending to their wounds, or there will be fatalities. You didn’t know if you were supposed to laugh or cry at the sight.
— Sanemi noticed how more and more of his slayers disappeared. Are they seriously hiding from him? Idiots. He started stomping through the training ground, following the smell of green tea and miso soup. That’s where he found you and almost all of his slayers.
— You tended to almost every single slayer personally, patching them up and giving them encouraging words. Some of his trainees even started following you around, trying to help you out and leave a good impression. Maybe you’ll give them extra portions of food or kind praises? Your voice sounded like a healing melody in comparison to Sanemi’s constant yelling and insults.
— But the peaceful atmosphere of you giving out some leftover miso soup and holding some light conversation with the trainees here and there was interrupted by Sanemi’s yelling.
“You’re all useless!! Ya think hiding behind my wife is allowing you to skip training, hah?! Back to the training grounds, shitheads!!”
— Yes, Sanemi is incredibly angry about his slayers hiding from him, especially crawling to you for safety and respite. But he’s more angry about the fact how they were all trying to get your attention and affections. Sanemi doesn’t mind when you interact with other people, or even men. He gets slightly jealous when men get too comfortable and start flirting with you,but Sanemi trusts you. He will interfere if things get too much though, just like now.
— Sanemi is feeling very jealous right now. He saw how you tended to the slayers. Your fingers were wrapping bandages around their wounds and bruises, and you were being so incredibly gentle and soft. You were blushing at their compliments and thanked them gracefully when they help you out.
— Your gentle touches should only be reserved for *him when you patch him up after a long night. Your hands should only touch *his skin with such carefulness and gentleness, and only Sanemi is supposed to make you blush with his* praises. Not these… good-for-nothing slayers.
— You are not oblivious, and you realised why Sanemi was really shooing them away. That’s exactly why you prepared the small batch of ohagi, just to show him that in the end, he’s the only one that received special treatment and affection from you. Although Sanemi only stops grumbling and complaining to you about his assigned trainees’ behaviour once you give him at least one kiss and some reassurance. But he still gave out severe punishments afterwards.
“Their annoying asses are getting on my damn nerves. I’m gonna have a fucking headache in the evening… soo… cuddles? Later?”
💠
Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed.
Anways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!
Take care of yourselves <3
#💠 house of vry 💠#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer#kny x reader#demon slayer hashira#fluff#sanemi x reader#sanemi x you#demon slayer sanemi#sanemi x y/n#sanemi shinaguzawa#kny sanemi#kimetsu no yaiba sanemi#sanemi shinazugawa
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[ 1:08 am ] - cheol
ఇ coups and gn!reader
ఇ warnings: smut! unedited! if anything needs tagged lmk
ఇ wc: 1,582
ఇ notes: this is my first smut in years so i hope it’s up to everyone’s standards! my inbox is currently open for requests, so feel free to stop by 💗🎀
“i miss you so much” you pout, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder. you hear him chuckle on the other end, sighing before he responds.
“baby, i am literally on my way home to you right now” you grunt softly, letting him know he’s been heard, but you aren’t pleased. “not good enough. need you here right now,” you respond, letting yourself flop back down onto the bed you share with him.
after ten minutes of anxiously waiting for the front door to open, you finally hear the sounds of his keys searching for the keyhole. once he’s got the door unlocked and a foot in your shared home you are off the couch and running in his arms “cheol!” you cry out, clinging to him as he just barely catches you.
seungcheol nuzzles his nose in your neck and inhales deeply, letting out a relaxed sigh. “missed you,” he mumbles rubbing a hand up and down your back. he leaves soft kisses in his wake as he follows the length of your neck, all the way up to your cheek, and around your jaw, on to your eyelids, the tip of your nose and finally, thank god, a loving kiss to your lips. you let out a small moan as the sweet peck quickly turns in to something steamier.
“should we at least move away from the entrance and close the door,” you pant, reaching your hand up to seungcheol’s face wiping the side of his mouth where your tinted balm had transferred. with a nod seungcheol lifts you up, his arms wrapped around your thighs, shutting the door with a hard shove of his foot and carries you deeper into your shared home.
once you’ve entered the bedroom seungcheol unceremoniously tosses you on the bed as he starts undressing. he stills briefly, looking down at you before biting his bottom lip and flicking his head at you, motioning for you to do the same. as soon as th nonverbal command is given you mirror his actions, leaving you both in a state of undress in record time. “cheol,” his name come out in a whine “missed you, need you so bad” you know you’re in for a long night because you’ve already begun to breathe heavily and he hasn’t even touched you.
the instant seungcheol hears you borderline beg for him he is on you. he’s got your thighs in his hands and he has pulled you to the edge of the bed. “yeah,” he questions “need me so bad you can’t even greet me properly, huh”. he smiles deviously while he moves to clutch both of your thighs in one hand and reaches the other down to your core, teasing you gently. your hips jump at the contact, it’s been a few weeks since you had last seen each other, no one can blame you for being needy!
once he’s had his fill of teasing you, seungcheol bends your knees back and out of his way. he stills and takes you in, wetting his lips before moving to prep you with his fingers. he starts off with one just one, his middle finger. seungcheol enters a second finger and then a third continuing to piston them inside of you, by this point your back can hardly keep contact with the mattress. “more,” you pant “i need more, seungcheol”. you’re beginning to lose the ability to think as you reach down to wrap your hand around his wrist, halting his movements. your eyes roll back and you let out a groan at the loss of stimulation but with the power you have left you ask again, this time with an offer he can’t refuse. “please seungcheol, give it to me. let me sit on it,”
before you can even process what is happening you’re sitting on top of seungcheol as he maneuvers your bodies. once he’s got his back half against the head board and you hovering over him he gives you a nod “go ahead baby”
you take him in your hands, aligning him with your entrance and slowly sink down onto him. with a guttural groan you throw your head back and allow yourself time to adjust to the stretch. seungcheol squeezes your hips, encouraging you to take your time. once you’ve gotten comfortable you sink the rest of the way down until you feel yourself bottom out. “fucking shit,” seungcheol moans, head tilted back and mouth open “god i missed you,” he breathes.
you mumble a quick “me too” before you begin rolling your hips, slowly finding your rhythm. “so good, cheol. you feel so fucking good,” you’re picking up the pace, rising until seungcheol risks slipping out before bouncing back down. seungcheol groans and tightens his grip on your hips as you do this a few more times before stopping completely only to roll your hips again. your nails scratch up and down his chest as you grind on him, his abdomen creating euphoric friction against your most sensitive places. as you run your hands down his chest you make sure to take care of his chest along the way, rolling and flicking at his nipples. seungcheol signs at the contact, looking down at you through his lashes.
“you like that,” you question, raising an eyebrow. seungcheol nods hesitantly as you bend forward taking experimental kitten licks. seungcheol raises a hand and tangles it in your hair before tugging your head back so he could look at you. “better stop while you’re ahead, babe”. a smirk crosses your face as you continue to suckle at him. “baby, i’m warning you,” he threatens in a stern voice that is just itching to be challenged. you continue with your licks and begin using your fingers, tending to the other, neglected, nipple.
a deep growl comes from seungcheol’s chest and before you can react he has you pressed against him, arms wrapped around your middle as he starts to pound himself inside of you. your head lulls to the side as you glance up to see seungcheol wearing a smug grin. “feel good” he asks looking down at you.
“uh-huh,” you confirm as coherently as possible “cock feels so good” you’re delirious as seungcheol lets go of your waist to sit up further, pulling you along with him. your head lays against his shoulder as he continues fucking into you. “so deep,” you mewl “so deep, so good, don’t ever leave me again” tears form at your lash line from the stimulation. you can feel the deep rooted warmth in your belly “about to cum,” you warn. seungcheol doubles down on his movements, almost tossing you off of his lap with the power behind his thrusts.
“oh yeah? gonna cum on my cock,” seungcheol brings a hand up, swiping the hair sticking to your face off to the side, resting his palm on your cheek “gonna give me what i’ve been missing while i was away,” you lean into the comfort of his palm as you nod letting out a desperate whine of “uh-huh”. seungcheol coos at your cute display before winding his hand in your hair once more, tugging your head back. shifting forward seungcheol kisses your neck, leaving small marks all over. once he is content with the work he’s created he sticks his tongue out, running it up the length of your neck slowly allowing the cool air of your room to hit the wet trail he’s left.
you let out a loud groan, feeling yourself tighten around seungcheol’s cock. “cheol, close” you warn one last time “so, so close”. you almost sob when seungcheol moves even faster.
“cum for me” he commands “cum all over me, i can feel how wet you are,” seungcheol runs his fingers through your slick, playing with you you, as it leaks out of you and onto his lap. you whine, throwing your head back as you reach fever pitch. eyes in the back of your skull, mouth agape and breathless groans and cries in the form of his name leave you as you tighten around him with everything you’ve got. “fuck,” seungcheol let’s out a deep groan, letting your climax knock him over the edge as he stills, emptying himself into you and continuing to fuck you through your orgasms. after a few minutes of slow, shallow thrusting you tap his shoulder with your palm, indicating uncomfortable overstimulation. with a final sigh seungcheol stills and lets his head fall to your shoulder, as you continue to sit on his lap with him buried inside of you.
you play with the hair on his neck, running your fingers through all the way to his scalp and back down. feeling him relax into your touch you gently push his head back to look at him. “seungcheol, if you’re going to fall asleep right away let’s at least get cleaned up first,” you say, a hint of reprimand in your voice. seungcheol shakes his head “not, too sleepy. just want to hold you,” he looks up into your eyes with a small pout on his lips. seeing the seriousness in your features he is quick to make moves to get up, picking you up and bringing you along to the bathroom where he begins to prepare a bath to be shared. as you wait for the tub to fill seungcheol places gentle kisses on your face as he mumbles sweet nothings in your ear “i missed you so much”
#seventeen smut#svt smut#scoups smut#seungcheol smut#seungcheol x reader#scoups x reader#seventeen x reader#seventeen imagines#i hope the ending doesn’t feel or sound rushed i just had a hard time finding a natural end that didn’t ruin the vibe 😖
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Hi Bunny!! This is kind of a big order…May I please have an earl grey + Margarita + cranberry juice + mocha coffee + sticky toffee pudding + Belgian waffles served by Mark Webber?
P.S Your writing is just BRILLIANT
bakery menu
want to have your own order? then hit up the menu! there are tons of items to choose from and i love doing these! so thank you for those who ordered, and i hope you love this! (i've never written mark webber before, but i do have more requests in my inbox that i might take a look at ;))
belgian waffles: "i cum in that every night." + sticky toffee pudding: "the only way this is ending is you getting pregnant." + earl grey: big cock + margarita: unprotected sex + cranberry juice: mean!character + mocha coffee: breeding kink served by mark webber (formula one)!!
cw: smut/pwp, age gap (20/29), rookie driver!reader, mean!mark (but he has the capacity to be nice), breeding kink, set in '05/'06, unprotected sex
2005
a twenty-nine year old mark webber had just met his wife, the rookie, almost ten years his junior. that was what you'd be known to mark as for the rest of your days. the rookie, his rookie.
it started a small affair, you weren't too sure how mark got under your skin so perfectly. maybe it was because a lot of these drivers were so chauvinistic, patronizing to the point where it made you seem like you were so much smaller. mark wasn't soft with you. and that extended both on and off the track.
"i can't believe you said that to both kimi and michael!" you snapped when mark got into your hotel room. his arms around you. that was what thing he liked about you. he couldn't very well pick up other drivers the way he could with you.
"what i said wasn't that bad, beautiful." he groped your ass through your jeans, "you're being so sensitive."
"i cum in that every night." you shot back, "why don't i wear a big stamp across my ass that says "webber's slut!"
he perked up a little bit, "will you."
you fisted the front of his shoulder and made a face at him, "of course i won't!" then pressed his forehead against yours, "i can't believe you did that." then pulled away, "you shouldn't have even come over."
"well if i didn't how could i cum in you?" he questioned as he got closer, "don't be so mad, beautiful. you don't look good when you're frowning." he beamed at you, "plus. it could've been so much worse. i could've said, the only way this is ending is you getting pregnant."
you made a face, "don't joke about that." then watched mark grab your wrist. there was a pull to him that allowed him further into your hotel room and onto the bed.
his hands pushed up your tank top, "feelin' good as always." he chuckled as his lips touched your pulse as he got you onto your back. soon he got your jeans off, followed by everything else you wore. and you pulled at his t-shirt off his back.
"you are a menace."
"ah, but you love me." he smirked, "you love when i come into your hotel room and make a mess of your pussy. i know the accent gets to you, i know you think about me all day."
"hard not to when you're ego fills up entire rooms." you raked your nails down his back and he groaned a little before he pulled you into a heated kiss. you melted a little bit. damn webber.
both naked on your hotel room while the city was alive outside. you raked your fingers through his shirt dark hair and the kisses continued. legs tangled up in one another, you felt a pull towards him. as you always did.
he rubbed his bare cock up against you and it wasn't until the kiss broke that he was able to get himself ready to fuck you properly. after all, you only deserved the best. he smirked, "you look better on your back than in a car." he got your legs up to his chest and managed to slip his cock into you.
the feeling left him with a small shudder, the sparks in his brain lit up when he got himself to the base. always took him so beautifully. he looked down at you as he held your hips. he pressed his cock up inside of you, he watched your expressions as he moved.
"fuck, webber."
"i got you, rookie. you like when i'm like this to you. those other drivers treat you like shit. but also like glass. oh, you can't hurt the girl. you can't get aggressive with her. but, i like being aggressive with you. how you bite back at me. you're not a docile puppy." but then as he sucked a mark onto your collarbone, "but then again, neither am i."
you moaned and arched your back. you clung onto the covers under your body. the cheap hotel sheets that mark was fucking you into. he curved over you and kissed you passionately. the kisses were vicious, rough in a way that left you squirming. his words were in your head.
"fuck, webber." your back arched as you felt the hear radiate through your body. and you swore you could feel mark's heartbeat, even though he wasn't chest to chest with you.
he continued to rut against you, his cock dragged across your more sensitive parts which made you moan a little louder. soon your nails dug into his shoulders, scratching across his strong back.
"i love how you say my name. maybe if you play your cards right it'll be your name one day." he continued to fuck you, he pushed into you as much as he could. he wanted to make sure that you felt it all. you may be the upcoming star on the track, but mark was more than happy to take you apart every night. make you feel better than any rush of the race.
maybe it was because he was painfully in love with you.
his pace quickened as he felt closer to orgasm. he could feel the thump of his heartbeat in the back of his mind as he felt the urge to climax weigh heavy on him. his mouth continued to run until you pulled him in closely and kissed him all over the mouth.
his lips were bright red by the time you were done with him. you clung to him tightly as you came first. your cunt tight around his cock as he continued to fuck you passionately. his pace became uneven as he yearned for his own climax, he could feel the rush of blood to his cock and the light-headed feeling as he kept fucking you.
"that's my rookie. all mine." he said with a hint of tenderness. not enough to inflate your ego. he gave it a few more thrusts of his hips before he kept all of himself inside of you. it felt good doing it bare, it also left you flustered. naughty girl.
"fuck, webber."
"keep saying that and you might get a ring soon." he teased as he pulled out, which made you groan.
you laid in each other's embrace. you allowed him to hold your hand the way lovers did. it was tender, it was nice. it was certainly not horrible. maybe to love mark webber wouldn't be horrible.
2006
"mark alan webber." you snarled as you threw the plastic pregnancy test at his head. the plastic hit him right in the forehead, "you son of a bitch!" you were shaking, you had tears in your eyes as you threw yourself at him.
but he caught you and held you to his chest. he kissed the top of your head, "no reason to that, beautiful." he swayed you a little from side to side, "we'll figure it out. you, me and baby." mark webber was a mean man, he easily bullied his little rookie.
"you ended my career. on purpose" you grumbled.
he rubbed your back, "yeah, it took me a year to get you pregnant to wipe out my only real competition. my second choice was fernando."
you looked up at him and swallowed back some of the sadness, "mark... shut up." and were met with kisses. you tried not to laugh, even with the sadness in your stomach.
mark hated to see you cry, at least in a context whe he wasn't bullying your poor cunt. it broke his heart. to see you in such a fragile state clicked something in his brain. he held onto you tightly while you cried. you two were terrors to each other, mostly mark towards you. but, you'd make this work. and mark, despite everything, would not make you do it alone. <3
#bunny writes#the bakery#reader insert#formula one imagine#formula 1#formula one fanfiction#formula one smut#f1 smut#f1 x reader#mark webber#mark webber x reader#mark webber smut#mark webber x you#mark webber x y/n#formula one#formula 1 fic#formula racing#f1#f1 fanfic
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hi! can u write caitlin clark x reader where caitlin is dating a popstar like as big as taylor swift? pls and thank u
# END GAME
pairing: caitlin clark x popstar!reader
word count: 2493
warnings: none !
summary: caitlin acting like an obsessed fangirl when she shows up at your concert.
⭑ from lani: this is the oldest ask i have in my inbox and ive been tryna clear out reqs so bear with me y'all!! also here is a link to the full piano version of end game from the eras tour if yall wanna watch that 😋
masterlist !
“GOD, I ACTUALLY have no idea why i’m like, nervous,” caitlin smiles shyly as she thinks out loud. she was currently being recorded for “full court press,” a docu-series that featured her story along with kamilla cardoso’s and kiki rice’s.
the director wanted to get some shots of caitlin being a normal civilian (whatever the hell that means), so he instructed the videographer to follow her around this weekend. and it just so happened that this was the weekend she had tickets for your concert. your twenty-second concert of the tour. let’s just say it was no coincidence that you chose iowa city as the twenty-second show.
right now, she was in the front seat of her family’s car while her older brother, blake, drove them to the venue. caitlin’s phone was currently connected to the car’s aux so she, of course, had to play your music. she had an entire playlist for only your songs, but she would never tell that to anyone. not even you.
“yeah why are you nervous? you just need to like, chill,” her brother says.
“this is my first time seeing her perform since…y’know,” she smirks, hinting at her secret relationship with you.
she shoots a mischievous look to the camera, knowing full well that the audience that would watch this wouldn’t know for sure what she was talking about.
“remind me how you got us free tickets again?” blake fake-questions. he knew about the relationship, each of your families did. but for the sake of the camera recording their every move, he eggs caitlin on.
“i’m close…with her um…management,” she lies as she picks up her phone to text you. the time read “5:04” meaning it was only a few hours until you went on stage.
both of you were ecstatic to see each other here for the first time in months. with caitlin being busy with her basketball career and you traveling constantly on tour, it was difficult, to say the least. that’s one of the reasons tonight was special.
when planning out your tour, you requested that iowa city would be reserved for the twenty-second show of the north america leg and that it would be held at kinnick stadium. the reasoning behind it being the twenty-second show was obvious, as it was your girlfriend’s coveted jersey number.
the motivation for choosing kinnick stadium was that it was where you first met caitlin and where she broke an outstanding record with her team. you were one of the 55,646 people attending the iowa vs. depaul women’s basketball game in 2023. it became the most-attended women’s basketball game in history. you managed to get courtside tickets to the game and ended up getting to talk to caitlin after the win, which obviously led to something more valuable than friendship.
“have you ever talked to her? i heard she’s actually a fan of you,” her brother smirks.
“i’ve talked to her once in person,” she starts, lying of course, “it was actually here at kinnick when we played dupaul. she was in the audience, which was really cool.”
“oh that’s sick, actually. what about online? y’all don’t text or anything?”
“we do but, y’know, we’re not that close,” right as caitlin says this she receives a text from you saying the camera men were cleared for the show as long as they only recorded caitlin, not the show, “she just texted me actually,” she smiles big at the notification as she reads the text out loud. “how far are we from the stadium?”
“about ten minutes.”
“okay cool. i’m so excited, dude, you have no idea.”
“you’re such a fangirl,” blake laughs.
“okay we should have enough footage for now, we’ll start recording again once we get there or once the show starts,” the cameraman says from the backseat.
“sounds good, thank you,” caitlin replies as another text from you pops up on her screen.
my fav girl: can’t wait to see you babe i added a surprise to the setlist for you ☺️
my cc bby: omg no u didnt im alr so excited ur hyping me up even more
my fav girl: ur gonna love it trust 🫡
my fav girl: okay wait i gotta go get ready but ill see u soon!! love u!! 🤍
my cc bby: love u too ill see u out there!! 🤍
———
“i still can’t believe we’re here right now this is crazy,” caitlin says as she looks around the stadium that has started to fill with fans, “welcome to the ‘hits different’ world tour!” she motions to the stage behind her as she smiles at the camera with her arms up in the air.
your album “hits different” became a huge success in the past year. the internet buzzed with anticipation prior to the release and followed through with the praise the second it came out.
your fans posted reaction videos, theories, edits, the whole nine yards to show their appreciation. your songs were heard on radios, at bars, in school talent shows, literally everywhere.
the album was about growing from the mistreatment from former partners and finding true love again after too many instances of hurt.
and right at the center of your inspiration was caitlin. even before you began dating in private, she was your best friend who comforted you through your big breakup. she lifted you up when you felt like you could never get up again.
you poured your heart and soul into the album, expressing all your deepest emotions - positive and negative - through the power of your writing.
you won multiple awards for the project, including vmas for your creative music videos and grammys for your productions. the whole world knew your name. it was everything you ever wanted. but there were downsides.
aside from the expected criticism and hate comments, you faced more serious problems. you started receiving intense backlash for some of the lyrics in your song that dissed your exes, and some people didn’t like your boldness. they retaliated, making it seem like you were the villain despite being so badly hurt from your past relationships. people claimed you were “crazy” and a “drama queen.”
fortunately, the speculations and assumptions only empowered you further. the only thing you had to say to those comments was: “remind me, who’s worth billions of dollars and taking the world by storm right now?”
“where are we sitting, cait?” blake asks.
“we’re in the vip section actually which is insane.”
“dude how did you get vip pit tickets??”
“no, not in the pit, we have our own tent on the floor, i think.”
“no way, bro, you’re lying.”
“i swear! look, see! oh my god our names are on chairs!” she runs over excitedly like a little kid at a playground. the whole experience is making her giddy, acting like a proud mom or teenage fangirl.
“how did you swing this??”
“i have my ways,” she winks at the camera, “the show starts in like an hour so we can chill and maybe get some food? i wanna say hi to other fans and see how they’re feeling.”
and with that she’s rushing back out of the tent and up the stairs to the concession stands swarmed with fans. it’s like she forgets she’s famous too because she gets surprised when her own fans spot her and ask for pictures.
———
“how you guys doin’ out there?” you say into your mic as you walk across the stage to your piano. you hear a raging storm of cheering in response, “sounds good, sounds good,” you laugh. there’s truly nothing you loved more than performing and interacting with your fans.
“so…” you start as you begin to play a few chords softly, “tonight is a very special night for me, for this tour. it is the twenty-second show and we are here in iowa city and i don’t think i could feel any happier,” you beam as you hear more enthused cheers.
“there are many reasons why tonight is special but the most important being…this is where i first met my partner.” the loudest set of cheers yet. your fans were always up to date with your life. they knew boundaries, of course, but they couldn’t help their curiosity.
they cared about who you were with, there was no denying it, and they knew how you loved to draw your inspiration from your relationships. right now you only had one person in mind, but they had yet to figure out who it was exactly.
“and i wanted to give you all a little…gift, per se. let’s just say that i started working on a new album-“ an insane volume of screams cuts you off as you shake your head and laugh. “aw thanks! okay anyways, i’ve been very excited to post for you guys tonight and to see my partner who, yes, is in the crowd, so i wrote a little song.” more screams.
“-and i wanted to get your opinions on it! so here we go, this is the acoustic version of a new song called end game.”
you begin to sing an altered version of the upbeat song over the hums of the piano. the stadium was the quietest it had been all day as fans listened attentively to your lyrics.
little did you know, caitlin was having a mental breakdown of excitement. her face was as red as a tomato and she was practically shaking.
she loved when you would mention her but not mention her. she loved knowing that your relationship was just yours at the moment. she loved knowing that no one could take it away from you. she loved knowing that you were only hers.
and right now, as you make your way through the song, she’s paying close attention to your words. this whole announcement was news to her, and she assumed it was the surprise you had mentioned earlier. she was grinning ear-to-ear as she listened to your voice echo throughout the stadium.
she was entranced by you. the delicate yet passionate tone of your singing, the beaming smile on your flawless face, your bubbly conversations with the crowd - everything.
you had her full attention as you practically declared your love for her in front of thousands of people - millions if you wanted to count the fans that watched through live streams.
she was so enthralled that she didn’t even notice the cameraman pointing his equipment in her direction, capturing her hypnotized expression as she simply smiled watching you on the big screen. the viewers of the documentary would then know who she had fallen so hard for and who you dedicated many of your songs to, but she didn’t care.
all she cared about was you.
———
“thank you so much, iowa city i love you and we will see you all next time! get home safe please!!” you say into the mic as you begin to walk offstage. the sound of wild cheers, fireworks, and confetti cannons fill your ears.
as the final song of the show reaches its climax, you take a second to soak in the moment from the side of the stage. being a performer was one of your favorite parts of your job. you never got tired of any of it - the dancing, the singing, the fans - it was all part of why you started this in the first place.
a few minutes later, you are ushered away from the stage and back towards the dressing rooms to change out of your costume. you are handed a towel and water bottle as you make your way through the concrete tunnel with your staff right behind you.
“y/n, you have a few guests that wanna say hi, would you like me to let them through?” your assistant asks you.
“who are they?” you reply. you weren’t expecting anyone to stay at the venue after the show. you insisted you would meet caitlin and her family back at the hotel so it couldn’t be her, right?
“oh they’re just over there actually,” she responds with a pointed finger, “do you recognize them?”
you follow her direction with furrowed brows only to be met with the familiar faces of your girlfriend and her brother. your jaw drops in shock as you immediately run over to her now outstretched arms.
when you jump to hug her, you both almost fall to the floor from the impact. her arms snake around your waist as she lifts you with ease, squeezing you tightly.
“hi,” you breathe out with a smile, nuzzling your neck into her tall frame.
“hi, princess,” she whispers into your hair.
“i thought we were meeting up at the hotel for dinner? i didn’t think you guys would stay here!”
“you think i could wait that long to see you when i could just finesse my way backstage??”
you laugh at her phrasing, the sound instantly making caitlin melt. “i missed you so much, dude, you have no idea.”
“i missed you too,” she smiles brightly as she sets you back down on the ground. her large hands move to cup your flushed cheeks, “you did so good out there, baby, i’m so proud of you.”
“thank you, cait, that really means a lot to me,” you say sincerely as you momentarily depart from her to greet her brother, “hey blake, how you doin’? enjoy the show?”
“i’m doin’ good, y/n, and yeah, i mean, it was incredible, really,” he answers as he goes to hug you.
“love to hear that, i’m glad you guys had fun!” you reach for caitlin’s hand, holding it gingerly as you begin to walk in the direction of the awaiting golf cart, “i have to change out of this really quick before we go but i’m gonna ask for a space for you guys to hangout in the mean time.”
“what, you mean you have to change out of that sparkly leotard and those four-inch heels?” the brunette jokes.
“i know it’s crazy, i actually wanted to keep everything as pj’s,” you play along as the two of you move to sit on the back of the golf cart.
while you two were entangled in each other’s presence, you failed to notice the cameraman, once again, recording your interaction. he made sure to get both of your permissions to add the clips into the documentary, but he couldn’t help but capture the authentic smiles on both of your faces. he knew that the viewers would be able to feel the love through the screen and be overwhelmed with joy for the two of you.
after tonight’s events, you and caitlin knew that the public would eventually be able to figure out the clues left that all pointed to your intimate relationship.
you were both aware of the consequences, the potential feedback from the internet, but their opinions didn’t matter. the only thing that mattered was that you really were each other’s end games.
— leilani signing off ! 📁
#leilanihours#laniwrites#caitlin clark#caitlin clark fluff#caitlin clark smut#caitlin clark x reader#wnba#indiana fever#university of iowa#wcbb#wbb#ncaaw#fluff#x reader#taylor swift#end game#reputation#music#wlw#lgbtq
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The Perfect Proposal (the 4 times you expected that Mat was going to propose + the 1 time he actually did)
(Gif credit to @mattymartin)
word count: 1,968
genres: established relationship, fluff, self-insert
warnings: none
A/N: This story is based off of the song “Joy of My Life” by Chris Stapleton and I make references to this song throughout the story. I highly recommend listening to this song before reading my story. This story is short, sweet and fluffy. It’s not set at a specific moment in time (It’s taking place in a fictional future but you could also say that it’s set this upcoming season or even a past season). It’s written with a female reader in mind because I’m a female of color but the reader doesn’t specifically have to be a POC or a woman and there’s little dialogue. This is not a sequel to Your Favorite Secret (which you can still read and check out and if you want this to be a sequel to that, you can interpret it that way). As always, I’m open to any and all feedback, comments or questions; just put them in my inbox or dm me. Thank you so much in advance for reading, I appreciate it😌
(P.S. I have other stories (linked here) that I have written for other players as well if you want to check it out)
“Someday it will come right on cue.” -Somewhere Love Is Waiting for You from the Schmigadoon TV series soundtrack
Prologue
Meeting Mat changed your life in the best way possible. You took Mat’s breath away when you met up for your very first date and since then, you continued to take his breath away in small doses every time you saw him. He added so much goodness and love into your life and you did the same for him. Mat felt so grateful to have you in his life and even though he made millions, being with you was his greatest treasure. You and Mat deeply appreciated each and every moment you had together, no matter how big or small it was; the two years that you had been together so far were some of your greatest times. You were both so smitten that you always looked at each other with such deep love and devotion and couldn’t get enough of your significant other’s presence. For a while, Mat knew that he wanted to propose to you but he just needed to figure out the best way how to and time when to ask that all-important question.
————————————————————
It finally happened. After 3 challenging years, you finally completed law school and earned your Juris Doctor degree from NYU. All of your friends and family came into town to celebrate your accomplishment. In order to accommodate everyone, Mat graciously rented a large AirBnb house in the Hamptons to host your graduation party. You handled some aspects of the party planning while Mat handled the rest and the party went very well. During the congratulations portion of the evening, Mat wanted to give a quick remark to acknowledge your achievement.
“For the past 2 years, I watched this wonderful person ambitiously work their way through law school. There were a lot of late nights, early mornings and so many case reviews and vocabulary study sessions that I think I could go get a law degree. Y/N, to say that I am proud of you is a massive understatement. My love, you are so amazing and you did it. I love you so much. Because I love you so much, I have a surprise for you.” Mat spoke.
This moment seemed like it was the right time for Mat to ask for your hand in marriage; you had been dating for a while, you lived together and blended your families together, and he had just finished a great speech that made all of the party’s attendees realize how much he was in love with you. Instead, Mat handed you an envelope. Inside the envelope was a copy of a check for the exact amount that you owed in student loans and a letter informing you that your loans were fully paid off. You couldn’t believe what was happening and began to cry.
“How did you do this?”, you mustered out through your tears of joy.
“So you know how you gave me access to your book of important information in case anything happened to you? Well, I asked Liana to call the loan office to pretend to be you and ask for your account balance”, Mat cheesily revealed.
Mat saw firsthand how much distress and frustration law school caused you so he wanted to help out someone he deeply loved by eliminating the stress of having to pay for a student loan; this surprise was better than an engagement ring.
————————————————————
After your graduation party and after the Islanders were eliminated from playoffs, it was the official start of the off-season. This year, it was a milestone birthday for Mat’s dad so the Barzal family decided to do a European summer vacation to celebrate. You were important enough to their family that you had been invited and Liana, Mat’s sister, also invited her best friend to accompany her on the trip.
Hand-in-hand with the man you considered to be the love of your life and his family, for 3 weeks, you explored England, France, Monaco, and Mat’s ancestral homeland of Italy. In England, you indulged in English culture while Mat hilariously attempted a British accent. In France, you shared plenty of kisses with your lover in the City of Love, swooning every time Mat spoke French. In Monaco, you and Mat felt like the protagonists of a spy thriller while hanging out in the city.
Once you arrived in Italy, you got to see a different side of Mat that rarely came out. He had been to Italy several times before but he was thrilled to share all that he knew about that special place with you. Mat glowed differently whenever you got authentic gelato together or when he swam in the waters along the Amalfi Coast. Of course, throughout the trip, you still spent plenty of time with Mat’s parents, sister, and her friend and attended a lovely birthday dinner on a boat for Mat’s dad while visiting Sicily.
On the plane ride traveling back to Canada after your whirlwind European tour, you thought to yourself that you were going to come back to North America with a new jewelry addition to your left hand; you did have a lot of date nights and one-on-one time with Mat on the trip. However, your wonderful boyfriend did get you a gorgeous Cartier love bracelet from the official store in Paris and you were returning back with the gift of good memories that were created with your future in-laws.
————————————————————
The remainder of the off-season went by so quickly; between weddings, summer holidays, and other events all happening, you and Mat were swept in so many different directions. Time flies when you’re having fun and soon, it was already time to return to Long Island for the hockey season.
The usual ups, downs, and chaos of the hockey season lingered in your household but you navigated through it together. As the season went on, you spent a lot of time studying for the Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam and Universal Bar Exam, which allowed you to become eligible to be admitted to the New York State Bar next year. Even though you had those responsibilities, you still supported Mat at most of his home games. One of the things about Mat that you loved was how he would always quietly tiptoe into your shared home after a late game but he loved how you always waited up for him to come home after every game, regardless of what time he returned. Before you both knew it, the year was winding down and it was almost Christmas time. You and Mat had decided to host Christmas this year and both of your families were coming. This wasn’t the first time that both of your families had been together to celebrate an occasion; they were there all together for your law school graduation earlier in the year and both sides enjoyed being together as one cohesive unit but for some reason, things felt different to you this holiday season.
You spent hours preparing and making sure that everything was right for the arrival of your guests. Christmas came and went wonderfully. It was so nice to have your families together during the holidays. You gifted Mat a new game day tie and a gift card to one of his favorite road restaurants; Mat got you a nice bag to carry all of your work things and a personalized padfolio for you to take all of your legal notes in.
Yes, you were secretly expecting a diamond underneath the tree this year but it was okay because you still got other great gifts as well. Despite wanting something else, you still deeply cherished the time you got to spend with your loved ones.
————————————————————
After the holidays were over, you and Mat settled back into your respective routines until it was All-Star Break. Mat was not chosen for the All-Star Game that year and some of the Islanders players and families decided to go to the Bahamas for their team All-Star Break trip. The time away gave you and Mat both some essential rest and relaxation. At the end of February, you were scheduled to take the Universal Bar Exam but you took a break from studying to enjoy your mini-vacation. You stayed with your lover and company at a phenomenal resort; you swam with dolphins, relaxed at the spa, and ate so much tasty food. You also enjoyed lots of group activities with Mat and his teammates and their respective significant others. During the trip, one of Mat’s best friends’, Anthony, and his long-term girlfriend, Emma got engaged. It stung a little to see someone else reach the relationship milestone you deeply desired to share with Mat and you had expected that it was going to be you and your lover’s turn to share that special romantic moment on this trip, however, you were happy for your friends.
————————————————————
One evening, you came home from a long, exhausting day of work. After passing both the Universal Bar Exam and Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam and completing some other requirements, you were admitted to the New York State Bar last month and got a job as a junior attorney. It was a pleasant surprise to see Mat cooking; he was subtly singing in the kitchen and tenderly caring for some handmade pasta. You couldn’t quite make out what song Mat was singing but it didn’t matter what it was because you had caught him singing songs that you’ve played around the house and pop songs from the radio plenty of times before. You smiled to yourself as watched him in his element before slipping away for a much-needed shower.
After you came out of the shower and changed, there was a beautiful plate of pasta waiting for you on the table. Mat tapped deep into his Italian heritage and made a delectable dinner for the two of you. You shared with Mat the details of work and although, he may not quite fully understand everything you were expressing your feelings about, he still listened to you as you rambled on. After dinner concluded, you and Mat were going to share a box of bakery cannolis and watch a movie on the couch but Mat told you to wait at the table and suddenly got up. He returned to the room with a look of nervousness on his face. You asked Mat if he was okay but you could tell that he had something important to say.
“I’ve been holding onto this ring for a while. There were so many other times that I wanted to ask but there’s just something that feels so right about this moment. Sitting here, I realized something very important. I want to spend the rest of my life, making you dinner when I can and listening to you speak. I want to continue to come home from my games to you and wake up next to you. I have the greatest honor of knowing and loving you. You have the sweetest heart that’s made of gold and you are like an angel brought down to Earth from Heaven. I want to be by your side forever. Y/N, you are the joy of my life. Will you marry me?” Mat declared while holding out the engagement ring of your dreams in a Tiffany blue box.
You were speechless because Mat was right; this was the perfect moment. You looked straight into Mat’s green eyes that you admired so dearly and accepted his marriage proposal; you were both super excited to embark on this new journey in your relationship. You and Mat swayed with each other to the sound of your fiance’s voice, serenading you to “Joy Of My Life” by Chris Stapleton, the same song Mat was singing to himself earlier. Patience was an important virtue and all of that waiting paid off at the right time.
#mat barzal#mat barzal x reader#mat Barzal imagine#mat Barzal fic#ny islanders#my writing#hockey writing
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Part 3 of butcher!Simon I've got two lovely anons in my inbox and seeing people liking butcher!Simon really made me want to put more of my thoughts about him into words. Thank you two! I hope this doesn't suck too bad. < Part 2 | COD Masterlist | Part 4 >
It’s Friday. That fact is the only thing that keeps Simon from turning himself into minced meat. Friday means you’ll come and get your ugly mutt meat. That means he’ll get to see you and hear your pretty voice and if he’s really lucky and plays his cards right, maybe he can make you laugh again.
So when some Karen complains that his meat went bad after she left it on the porch for a week (Jesus what did he do to deserve customers like that) he swiftly throws her out of the shop and tells her to get her meat elsewhere if the quality isn’t satisfying, instead of getting into an actual fight (Would you be proud of him for that? Call him a good boy?).
He doesn’t want to be occupied with some silly argument when you come in. You deserve his full attention.
When he sees you through the window he feels like a wife that has been waiting for years to see her husband come back from war (hah, the irony of that thought), and immediately straightens up brushing his apron down and adjusting the mask.
This time you only hesitate a second before you open the door and step in with your dog. Simon grins a bit behind his mask. He’s so proud of you for doing what makes you more comfortable that he almost murmurs “good little lovie” under his breath but he manages to bite it back. Thanking god for the self-control to hold that in because that would have weirded you out for sure.
You smile brightly at him and he wants to steal you away and chain you up in his home so no one else but him gets to see that.
When did he turn into such a fucking creep? He shakes his head to rid himself of those thoughts. Seeing you smile like that makes tension he didn’t even know he had bleed out of his shoulders.
“Hi, Simon.”
He almost shudders, hearing his name being said by you again. And instead of greeting you back, like a normal fucking human, he is so flustered by your smile that he only manages a vague grunt as hello.
He’s reverted back to cavemen days, it seems. He’s already made a fool of himself and you’ve been in the shop for barely a few seconds.
You step up to the counter, looking at the meat while your dog eyes Simon. At least he doesn’t seem to hate him which he counts as a big achievement.
Simon nearly groans again when he sees the adorable way you purse your lips and furrow your eyebrows in concentration. Yeah, Fridays and Tuesdays are his favorite days of the week for sure.
He watches you pick out your meat and carefully bags it for you, making sure that you have the best pieces.
“Not the usual?”, he questions and watches you nearly jump from suddenly hearing his voice.
Why is he so bad when it comes to making you feel at ease? You shake your head.
“Want to give my boy options so I know which ones are his favorites.”, you explain and pet your dogs back who promptly begins to wag his tail.
Damn, Simon would wag his tail for you too if you deigned him worthy of getting to feel your hands. He could swear your dog is grinning at him victoriously when you stop petting him to pay and get the meat from Simon’s hold.
The sly mutt gets all nosy with the bag and slyly tries to take it from you. You turn your full attention to the dog.
“Down, boy.”, your voice is stern and immediately the dog settles, looking up at you with big innocent eyes. “That's my good little pup.”
Simon grabs onto the counter, blood rushing to his face and other places. God he really wishes he was born a dog.
#the sewer writes#butcher!simon x gn!reader#gn!reader#simon ghost riley x reader#can you tell that he has no experience with crushes?#he's hopeless really#cod x reader#butcher!simon#I'm so happy about people talking to me about stuff I write
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guilty as sin? (fic - part 1/2)
jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader | largely inspired by the bible
content warning: sexual content; mentions of parental abuse (physical abuse) | any questions for trigger warnings, feel free to inbox anonymously
word count: 14k.
blurb: when you, John B's half sister, return to Kildare after over two years of living in Colorado, your adolescent crush that you harboured for his best friend comes screaming back. Because you and JJ can't be together in real life, what's the harm in a fantasy?
“And this is your room.”
The syrup-coloured wood is the first thing your eyes meet when John B pushes open the bedroom door. There’s the vague lingering smell of teenage boy which he’s tried to air out, the window open ajar, and the clutter of his belongings has been moved to make space for your own. As you drop your duffel bag and step into the room, you take in the walls. There’s posters and prints stuck above his bed, dotted around on slats of wood separating windows: someone surfing; a rockstar smashing his guitar. An old skateboard deck is nailed into the wall alongside a license plate. The sheets are bright blue, the bed freshly made, and a clean towel is folded up at the foot. It’s well-lit with plenty of daylight flowing through the many windows. Homely and inviting.
“Is it, uh, alright?”
You turn to find John B leaning against the doorframe, hands in his short pockets. Smiling, you nod.
“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “I’m honestly chill with crashing on the couch, though.”
It’s pretty obvious this was his room: you feel guilty kicking him out.
He shakes his head and gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “I moved into my dad’s room anyway. This has been the spare for a while.”
“Well, thanks,” you smile.
He nods, mirroring your content. “I’ll let you settle in and stuff. I moved all my crap out the closet so you can put your stuff in there, and the top bedside drawer is empty.”
“That’s perfect,” you say. You lift your bag with a grunt and dump it on the bed.
“I gotta go to work but call if you need anything. Shouldn’t be back too late.”
Unzipping your bag, you look to him. “Where’d you work?”
“Got this gig helping out at Ward Cameron’s. Don’t know if you remember him?”
“Course I do,” you snort. “The kingpin of Kildare, and your dad’s treasure hunting buddy.”
There’s a tense silence as your words catch up with you. You press your eyes shut, embarrassed.
“Shit, sorry. That didn’t come out how I meant it to.”
“It’s cool,” John B says, graciously gliding past it. “Anyway, he pays pretty good so can’t complain. Mostly just handy-man odd jobs.”
“Very noble work,” you joke.
With a quiet laugh, John B nods and backs out the door. He lingers another moment, contemplating saying something else. “Look, uh, I know it isn’t ideal circumstances, you coming back to Kildare and stuff, but I’m glad you’re here. Really. It’s nice having you back, sis.”
Your mood sobers, smile turning solemn.
“Thanks,” you quietly reply.
He nods once more and pats the doorframe in farewell. “Right, I’ll let you get unpacked. See you later.”
“See ya.”
When John B leaves – the front door shuddering against the house as it slams shut – you’re overcome with quiet. In Colorado, where you lived with your mom in the city, there was little nature. You forgot how peaceful Kildare is. Through the crack in the window, birdsong and cricket chimes accompany the sound of your unpacking. You turf out your clothes and take to putting them in the closet. Shoes and bags and bikinis. A jacket and a few sweatshirts. It was easy enough to plan for your outfits considering you’re only staying the summer. You remember the weather in Kildare well enough from when you used to live here.
Once you’ve unpacked your clothes, you find your paints. A box of watercolours which have seen much use and love, the hinges rusted and the inside of the palette smeared with dried mixed paint. Turning to the bedside table, you pull open the bottom drawer on accident. You come face to face with corny porno magazines, a box of tissues, two wrapped condoms and a half empty bottle of painkillers.
“Gross,” you mutter, slamming it shut. Yep, this was definitely a dude’s bedroom.
The top drawer is empty, like John B promised. You fill it with your paints and sketchbooks and pencils.
As the day ploughs on, the room becomes increasingly saturated with your personality. Postcards from Colorado, of the towns and cities you visited, photographs from school of your friends and classmates: you scatter them along them wall, amongst John B’s. Some of your favourite paintings, alongside artists which inspire you, join the mix. On the desk you add a few of your own books to the haphazard stack of abandoned homework and school reports.
At the bottom of your duffle bag is your penny board. You look around the room, searching for empty space to slot it without adding to already cluttered surroundings, and opt to slot it under the bed. Ducking down, you come face to face with a collection of empty beer cans. Clearly the spring cleaning only went so far. It’s noisy as you drag them out, but you’re certain you hear someone shouting. Pausing, sitting back on your haunches, you turn to peer out the open bedroom door. It’s silent for a moment, and then you hear footsteps.
“Yo! JB, you home?”
It’s a guy shouting. His voice sounds vaguely familiar. When he comes into the corridor, he glances into Big John’s bedroom (now claimed by your older half-brother) first. Blonde messy hair and well-worn combat boots instantly name him. JJ. He turns to the spare bedroom and stops short the moment his eyes land on you, sat amongst a pile of trash.
“You’re not John B,” he says.
“What gave me away?” you reply with a lift of your brows.
There’s a long awkward moment where he stares at you. You can practically hear the cogs turning as he takes you in. When you lift your arm up to scratch the back of your neck, realisation dawns upon him. You imagine your scar on the outside of your elbow gave you away.
“Holy crap! Little Routledge?” he gapes.
You laugh. “Haven’t been called that in a minute.”
JJ steps into the room and you get to your feet. He tackles you into a hug. It’s too short, too sudden, and then he’s stepping away from you again, leaving you dizzy on your feet.
“The fuck? You’re, like, grown now,” he says.
Rolling your eyes, you reply, “well, I am sixteen.”
“The fuck!” he repeats. He then takes in where you’re standing, and the state of the room, and frowns. “Wait, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Colorado with your mom?”
“I was,” you say. You kick one of the cans out the way and fold your arms over your chest, shrugging. “I came back for the summer.”
“Oh, that’s sick!”
You laugh. It’s a nice reaction to have from someone who you haven’t seen for over two years.
“John B gave you his old room then?”
He walks into it as if it’s his own. You watch as he studies the new additions to the wall that you’ve added. Lingers on one of your paintings.
"Yeah, he’s moved into his dad’s, apparently.”
“Yeah, he moved in there a while ago,” JJ tells you. “I’ve been sleeping in here most of the time.”
Your mind flashes back to the bedside drawer stocked with teenage boy necessities. Ah, makes sense. You remember how JJ was when you were a dorky thirteen-year-old. At the ripe age of fourteen, he had girls fawning after him. He was shameless in his reputation. The conversations you overheard between himself and John B as he’d brag about his escapades are seared into your memory, as you felt your wasted preteen heart splinter with every tale. It’s no surprise now that he’s probably just as unruly. Especially considering how he looks. There isn’t much time to ogle though because he’s looking away from the décor, meeting your gaze again.
“That explains all the empty beer cans, then,” you say.
He cringes. “Yeah, uh, sorry ‘bout that.”
You shrug. “It’s cool. I need to toss ‘em out but I don’t know where the trash bags are…”
“Oh, right,” he says, breezing past you. His cologne lingers in the air when he leaves. There’s the smallest moment for you to catch your breath as JJ bangs around in the kitchen, and then he reappears with a roll of black bags. Tosses them to you and you catch. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
You begin to shove the cans into the bag and JJ starts to help. His black button-up gapes open as he leans over and it takes everything not to glance down his shirt like some pervert.
“How come you didn’t want to stay in Colorado for the summer, then?”
“Change of scenery,” you vaguely reply. It isn’t a complete lie, but it isn’t the whole truth either.
“Well, you chose the best summer to come back. Our mission this year is to have the best summer of all time.”
“Pretty lofty goal to set,” you chuckle.
JJ glances up at you, flashing you a grin. “Nah, we got it in the bag.”
You find yourself smiling back, held captive under his stare. When he takes the now full trash bag off you, tying it off, you snap out of it.
“So, where’s your brother at then?” he asks, heading out the room. You follow.
“At work. Said he does jobs for Cameron now.”
“Oh, yeah. Cameron sorta took him under his wing after his dad…went missing,” JJ replies.
You have a feeling that the way people talk about John B’s father is rather doctored.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” you tell him, referring to Big John.
As you step on the porch, the sunlight warms your face. The floorboards creak as you make your way down them, to the garbage can outside.
“It was insane,” JJ says to you. He tosses the trash away. “I mean, we all knew Big John was a bit too into the whole royal-merchant thing but…we never thought it’d go that far, you know?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “Scary.”
JJ looks at you a moment longer. Then, he laughs to himself and shakes his head. “Can’t believe you’re sixteen now.”
“Can’t believe you’re seventeen.”
“What? I look good or something?”
He does a small spin on the spot, arms held out by his sides. You roll your eyes, acting as if you’re unaffected. It’s hard to swallow the reflex reaction of yes.
“Or something,” you say.
JJ takes it in stride. “Well, you look pretty cute yourself considering you’ve been in the mountains for the last three years.”
“I don’t live in the mountains,” you snort. The word ‘cute’ rattles around your head like a pinball.
“You’re taller now too. Practically come up to my shoulders. I remember when me and John B could pick you up by your ankle like a marlin.”
“Yeah, I remember that too,” you not-so-fondly recall.
JJ grins and steps over to you. Despite both of your growth spurts, you still have to look up at him, and him down at you. His eyes are just as dreamy as you remember them. When you first left for Colorado, you hardly had time to pack. In the midst of chaos, taking a picture of your brother’s best friend didn’t seem all that important. Cut to you spending endless nights trying to remember his eyes, the exact colour and the exact shape. Trying to remember the dimples that popped out when he smiled. The pure joy in his laugh. The way your heart felt like it might explode whenever he looked at you, even if it were for a second.
But when JJ pats your head, your chest deflates.
“Well, see you around, little Routledge,” he says, stepping away. “Tell your brother I was looking for him.”
Because even after all these years, you’re still just John B’s little sister in JJ’s eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
You stare into your can of cider. In the night, the only light being that from the bonfire John B started up in the backyard, you can’t make out the colour of it. Just the swirling of liquid. You’d spent the last three days working on a watercolour of the marsh side to John B’s house, but you couldn’t capture the movement of the water quite right.
“Wait, I’m confused,” Pope frowns.
“What’s there to be confused about, Pope?” JJ sighs, seemingly exhausted from the questions. There had been an influx of them the minute John B brought you out of the Chateau. “His mom shagged her dad and boom, here she is.”
“Charming mental images there, JJ, thanks,” John B cringes.
You laugh into your drink.
“No, I get that. But…You used to live here, right?” Pope asks you.
You nod.
“But then you moved to Colorado?”
“Yeah?”
“But now you’re back here?”
“Apparently,” you say.
Pope’s frown deepens: apparently that cleared nothing up for him. You’ve never known someone so analytical. “This is complicated,” he observes.
“No shit,” Kiara quips.
It was complicated. Families usually are. You and John B had different dads, in short. Your shared mom cheated on Big John when John B was hardly a year old, putting you around 11 or so months behind him. She ran off to Raleigh with your dad to try and fix their tumultuous relationship, leaving you with Big John for practically thirteen years. Whilst he wasn't unkind to you, he never saw you as his. You supposed you were a reminder of his ex-wife's unfaithfulness. But John B treated you like blood, as did his friends.
Just after your thirteen birthday, your mom decided to flee the state, and she was taking you with her. It all came out of the blue. You weren’t exactly thrilled to go to Colorado. You liked Kildare, and North Carolina, and John B and his friends. Kiara was always nice to you. She never talked down to you, despite you being seen as John B’s little sister. You bonded over turtles and Bob Marley. JJ was different. He’d prank you with John B and tease you about your dolls, but he’d also patch you up if you fell and calm you down after a nightmare. Your crush on him evolved naturally over time. What started as childhood infatuation with the supposed delinquent of Kildare became real. You liked JJ. He was funny and rambunctious, but he had a kindness and tenderness that he kept hidden below. He was often at the house as his own family situation was far from perfect, so having him around became as familiar as John B’s presence. When you left, JJ gave you a hug that you wished would last a lifetime.
But you drifted away in Colorado. You didn’t have anybody’s phone number, save for Big John’s (which your mom refused to let you use), and you were too young to remember addresses to write to them. Social media was never something you latched onto and eventually it all faded away into a strange, dreamlike memory. Being back here is almost proof that you didn’t imagine the whole thing.
“We’re half siblings,” you say, whittling down your family history into a simple statement. “That’s all you really need to know.”
“Damn straight,” JJ whoops, downing the last of his drink. He crunches the can in his fist and heads to the cooler for another.
“You’re staying for the whole summer then?” Kiara asks.
You nod. “I’m tryna get a job at this restaurant in town to keep me busy.”
“Screw that. Just come smoke and surf with us all day, that’ll keep you occupied,” JJ grins.
He’s comfortable in himself, relaxing in a lawn chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. His t-shirt represents one of Kildare’s small-town establishments and his shorts are stained with dust and dirt from riding his bike.
“She’s the good one out of us lot,” John B announces, gesturing to you. “Out of all the Routledge offspring, she’s gonna go places. You’re not gonna taint that, JJ.”
“And by ‘all the Routledge offspring’ you mean yourself and her?” Pope checks.
John B nods fervently. “I’m telling you! She’s madly talented.”
“You’re drunk; it’s giving you beer goggles,” you dismiss, finishing your drink.
“You were always the creative one,” JJ remarks. Everyone looks over to him. “Me and John B would be out on the water and she’d be drawing it.”
“Maybe you can show us some of your stuff,” Kiara says.
You laugh and shake your head. “Maybe not.”
The alcohol wizzes up your body as you get to your feet and you take it as a good time to call it quits.
“I think I’m gonna head in.”
“What?”
“No!”
“Come on!”
You laugh, shaking off the group’s disputes. “I’m tired!”
“Lightweight,” JJ teases. You flip him off as you pass, ditching your empty can in the garbage as you go.
“Night guys!” you holler as you head back into the house.
“Night!”
The bedroom John B offered you is starting to feel less like a guest house. You shrug off your cardigan – it stinks of smoke from the fire – and close the door. Through the window, you can hear the group chattering.
Pope seems nice. He hadn’t been around when you lived in Kildare, but you recognised his name. Heyward was a legend on the Cut; you could see his dad in his eyes. Kiara was just as you remembered her, if not more consumed by her environmental activism than before. JJ was the most staggering change of all. He’d grown into his looks, matured around the face. Any puppy fat that you remembered from childhood had vanished. Lithe and lively, he was an American heartthrob, through and through.
As you do your skincare, you glance out the window. You can make out JJ, sat with his back to you. His arms are flailing around as he tells a story. You can’t make out the details through the window but the looks on everyone’s faces tells you it’s pretty damn entertaining. He was always the joker, humour hiding whatever was happening underneath like he was arming himself with a grin. The unexplained bruises on his face and the painful batterings on his body were never explained whenever he’d stay at Big John’s, when you were younger.
The moment he shifts in his seat, you dart away from the window, scared to get caught, and finish getting ready for bed.
A bad dream rouses you awake. It was about Colorado. The warped memories keep you from falling back asleep, no matter how hard you try. Sighing, you stare at the ceiling. The room is bathed in moonlight, cosy in the wooden interior, and you contemplate sitting outside for a bit. The same cardigan from earlier gets pulled on over your vest top and you slip into some crocs.
You head for the front door, creeping past John B’s room, and step onto the porch. There’s a warm, humid air in the night. The crickets and owls harmonise with the faint buzz of mosquitos who surround the porch light. That’s when you realise that it’s already on, and you’re not alone. JJ’s on the porch, laid out on the sofa. He’s smoking a joint. The smell of weed merges into that of the dying embers from the abandoned, extinguished bonfire. You rap gently on the wall as you approach, hoping not to startle him.
“Hey,” he says, looking up at the sound.
“Hey.”
“Can’t sleep?”
“No,” you say. “I thought everyone went home.”
“They did. I’m crashing here tonight. My dad’s…”
He falters, glances up at you, and shakes his head.
“Don’t need to bore you with it.”
“You’re not boring,” you hear yourself tell him.
Smiling, JJ offers the joint to you. You take it, sitting down in the red armchair at the foot of the sofa. The weed consumes your senses when you take a drag, hitting the back of your throat and dulling your thoughts.
“Haven’t smoked in ages,” you say.
“Big smoking community out in Colorado?” JJ asks.
You laugh. “Not where I live, no.”
He takes the joint back when you lean over to him. Tilts his head back as he takes another hit. He’s in the same clothes as earlier, hasn’t even taken off his boots; his hair is tousled like he tried to sleep but couldn’t. You’re caught in the act of staring at him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a joke. Instead, he holds your gaze. It’s almost like a silent challenge: who’ll break first?
“Can I say something kinda inappropriate?” he asks.
“I feel like you have to, now.”
JJ grins at that, amused. “You’re way cuter than I remember you.”
“Oh? You mean sweaty thirteen-year-old, chalk-highlight-pink-hair wasn’t cute?” you joke.
Shaking his head, he adds, “No. Well, yeah, but not in the way you are now.”
Your stomach tightens and heart constricts, and you wish you had the joint to have something to distract yourself with. You hope you sound calm and collected when you say, “thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“Oh, you’re too kind,” JJ jokes. He takes another long, deep drag. “Is it nice? Being back in Kildare?”
You glance off to the marsh. You forgot to check the time when you got up but judging from the endless navy blue of the sky, it’s still late.
“Sure.”
“Sure?”
You look back to him. “It’s better than Colorado.”
“So, you’re not missing home then?”
The blunt is passed back to you. Taking a drag, you ponder his question. “I don’t think I know where home is right now. I don’t think it’s Colorado, but I don’t know if it’s here either. Maybe I don’t have one.”
JJ doesn’t say anything and you remember yourself. Laughing self-deprecatingly, you shake your head.
“Sorry, think this joint’s going to my head. That was dramatic.”
“No, no, I get ya,” JJ assures. “I know what you mean.”
“You don’t like Kildare?” you ask him.
His expression darkens like a shadow has cast over him. “It depends.”
“Hm,” you say. Nothing more is said on the matter. You get the sense that JJ was vague on purpose.
Pulling your legs into your seat, you glance around at the clutter on the porch. A surfboard is lent against the nett lining of the porch; a rusting duck ornament balances on one of the beams. What looks to be a broken radio sits beside a half-full bottle of rum on a small table by the couch.
“I think it’s good for John B, having you back.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” JJ smiles. “He sorta spun out when his dad disappeared. You’re kinda the only family he has left.”
“You’re his family too. Been around longer than I have,” you tell him.
JJ’s smile softens. He glances away from you, fiddling with the paper of the joint, almost as if he’s flustered. “Thanks.”
“So,” you say, “you got some poor girl on this island falling after you?”
“Rude of you to assume there’s only one,” JJ grins wickedly.
You roll your eyes.
“What about you? Some West Coast jock waiting for you back in the home state?”
The sarcastic ‘har har’ that he gets has JJ frowning, bemused.
“Definitely no guy, and definitely no jock.”
“Now that I find hard to believe,” JJ says.
Before you can ask what he means by that, or spiral out by thinking too much about it, JJ’s getting to his feet. He puts the blunt out on the window ledge, ditching the empty butt in a filthy dish. Stretching his arms over his head, sighing, you watch as his t-shirt rides up. The tensing of his abdominal muscles is like torture. God, to run your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, tangle them in the salt-soaked strands of his hair…
“Right, night Little Routledge,” JJ says.
You blink away from his chest and meet his gaze. There’s a strange expression on his face, one you don’t recognise, and you want to scrutinise it and find out what it means. But it’s gone in a flash, as is he as he heads back into the house. You watch through the window as his silhouette drops onto the pull-out sofa.
It takes a minute to regain your composure.
You can’t think of JJ like that. He certainly doesn’t think of you like that, and that childhood crush has long been put to bed. Shaking it awake is the last thing you need right now. Besides, he’s John B’s best friend. Your brother’s best friend. The same brother who’s taken you back into his house, offered you a room, free of charge, without complaint or question. And it seems like John B needs as many people around him as possible right now. But it’s hard to maintain that line of thought, when as you lie back down in your bed, desperate to get some sleep, you can vividly picture the slit of JJ’s chest that you were privy to just moments ago when you close your eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
You follow Tom through the restaurant. He’s the supervisor, eighteen and a fresh high school graduate. It’s hard to keep up with him as he points things out: waiter’s station; kitchen; storeroom…You’d forgotten how overwhelming job orientations can be.
“And this,” he pushes a door open, “is the staff room.”
You glance in and take in the messy pile of shoes, the overflowing trash can, and the three coat pegs overwhelmed with bags and hoodies.
“Love what you’ve done with the space.”
Tom laughs. He closes the door and leans against the doorframe. Broad shouldered, he stands taller than you by a couple inches.
“So, what made you want to work here?”
“I’m really interested in not being broke,” you reply, making him laugh.
“You new to the island? Feel like I haven’t seen you around?”
“This island that small?”
“Or you’re just that unforgettable,” he smoothly returns.
Your face fires up. Laughing nervously, you shift your stance. “I just moved in with my half-brother for the summer. Need something to keep me busy for a few months.”
“Ah, sweet. Anyone I’d know?”
“Dunno,” you say. He starts back into the main restaurant building. They haven’t opened yet. It’s void of life. “John B Routledge?”
“Oh shit, yeah. JB,” he says, flashing you a grin.
He’s charming in a disarming way. The kind of face that a modelling agency would swipe up because of his easy marketability.
When the two of you approach the bar, there’s a girl stood polishing wine glasses. She looks to be about your age, maybe a couple of years older. Her smile is sweet and welcoming like warm hot chocolate on a winter’s night.
“Hey, Lizzy. This is the new starter,” Tom introduces.
“I’m guessing I got the job then?” you ask him. He nods. With that, you offer a hand to Lizzy.
“Nice to meet ya,” she says, shaking it. “Could do with more girls around here.”
“Happy to help,” you reply.
“So, you think you can cover a shift tomorrow night? I figured cause you’ve waitressed before it shouldn’t take too long for you to learn the ropes here,” Tom says.
You nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says.
You bid farewell to himself and Lizzy, seeing yourself out the front door. The restaurant is in the heart of the cut, surrounded by other small businesses and hipster start-ups. You begin the journey home, plugging in your headphones and submerging yourself in Reggae music. Children play in the local park and preteens chatter as they speed past you on their bikes. There’s a warm breeze that brushes past you; it smells of sea water and fried fish. You’re passing the harbour. Eyes land on Heyward’s store, the logo just as you remember it from all those years ago. It’s surreal being back.
When your phone buzzes, you pause your sightseeing to check it. It might be John B asking after the interview. Your throat closes up when you see your mom’s contact pop up. A text. ‘Call me back.’
Just like that, you’re dragged out of Kildare and are back in Colorado.
It’s impossible to ignore the text, but you do your best either way. You don’t even remember half the journey to the Chateau as you walk through the door. JJ is home. He’s sat at the messy dining table, eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. Tugging out your earbuds, you give a small wave hello.
“How’d the interview go? That was today, right?”
“Smashed it. Got the job,” you say.
“Oh, sweet. Congrats.”
“Thanks.”
You ditch your bag by the door along with your phone. Taking the seat opposite him, you sit cross-legged on the wooden chair. The sketchbook you’d abandoned earlier lays dormant. Opening it up, you flick to your latest piece of the marsh. It’s coming together rather well. You’d decided to add the H.M.S Pogue, sat harboured on the grass. JJ peers over his bowl to the painting.
“Holy shit. That’s sick,” he says through his mouthful of Captain Crunch.
“Thanks,” you smile. “I’m pretty happy with how it’s come out, considering how old these paints are.”
JJ watches as you crack open the aforementioned watercolours. The smell of artificial paint teases the air. Dampening a thin brush in the mason jar of water, you dip into the blue.
“They bad quality or something?”
“A little. They best ones are Winsor and Newton, but I can’t justify spending over twenty bucks on paints.”
“Why not? You’ve clearly got a gift,” JJ says.
You hate how casual he is when he says things like that to you. Like it doesn’t knock the breath out of you like a sucker punch to the chest.
“S’just practice,” you mumble.
You can feel his gaze as you paint. Resting your chin in your hand, you work at the water under the jetty, trying to perfect the shading. You want to feel as though you can walk into the painting; like you could drown in the crystal clean waves.
Painting had become an escape when you were in Colorado. Whatever you could remember of Kildare, you’d paint. When that well ran dry, you began to paint places you wished you could go. Anywhere but the dilapidating family home you’d found yourself in. Secret gardens made of twisting ivy and crumbling, ornate statues hidden amongst orchids and rose bushes. Cosmic planes with make-believe ice cream stations snuck onto Mars and Venus; whales which bathed in the stars and caught a tan in moonbeams. Underwater societies full of sea kelp and multicoloured coral reefs, with octopi hiding amongst crabs and shellfish.
You glance up to find JJ transfixed on the painting. There’s a crease between his brows as if he’s the one concentrating. It makes you laugh, quiet and under breath, and he looks up. Holds your stare.
“That’s amazing, that you can just do that,” JJ says, remarking to your work.
You swallow the sickly rush that his words give you. His tongue dampens his lower lip, tantalisingly slow. You feel it hit somewhere deep inside of you. Something in the air shifts.
Then, so quiet neither of you can be sure he really said it, he utters, “you’re amazing.”
“Yo!”
The door swings open with your brother’s arrival. Your head spins over your shoulder to the front door. John B stands holding a bag of takeout burgers in the air beside his head.
“Y’all hungry?”
“Hell yeah,” JJ says.
When you look to him, it feels as if you could have imagined the whole interaction had just moments ago. JJ’s sat in his seat as he was before, unfazed.
He abandons his cereal and follows John B into the kitchen like a starving dog, begging for food. You place your paintbrush back into the water and join them. John B unpacks the burgers and fries onto half-clean plates. You watch JJ toss a fry into the air and catch it, whooping in celebration. A plate is handed back to you, over John B’s shoulder.
“Beef burger with cheese, no pickles.”
“Thank you,” you sing-song, taking the plate off him.
JJ turns around and looks at you with faux disgust. “No pickles?”
You shake your head, heading back to the table. JJ and John B join you with their own quick dinners, and the three of you eat. You tell John B about the summer job you secured, and he tells you and JJ about Sarah Cameron and her new boy-toy Topper. JJ says he’s “biceps without a brain” when you ask which one Topper is.
“That can’t be his real name,” you snort.
“Oh, it is,” John B replies.
“His name is almost as dumb as he is,” JJ sniggers.
There’s the sound of chewing and swallowing.
“Two official weeks into summer,” John B randomly announces.
You quirk a brow. “Two weeks since I came back to Kildare.”
JJ holds his cup of soda up in a toast. John B wipes his mouth and raises his own, as do you. The three of you clink cups, smiling at the stupidity. As you bring your cup to your lips to drink, you find your eyes meeting JJ’s across the table. He holds your gaze as he sips, swallows and licks his lips of the sugar. You feel it hit somewhere deep, deep inside of you. JJ looks back to John B and starts recounting his tales of the day fishing, leaving you stumped.
What the hell was that?
~*~*~*~*~*~*
As your days in Kildare stretch on, your imagination becomes your most loved and loathed place all at once.
The Pogues had taken you under their wing without a second thought. It felt as if it wasn’t just because you were John B’s younger sister. Kiara would spend hours talking to you about music and star signs. Pope would discuss books and artists that he’d read about, falling into a huge debate about whether Andy Warhol is as legendary as everyone makes him out to be (the answer is, of course, yes). You and John B connected as brother and sister, filling that hole of ‘family’ that had been taken from both of you within the past year. Movie nights sharing popcorn and critiquing corny horror films, and mornings spent tending to the yard and fishing at the jetty: you felt yourself coming back bit by bit, in the company of the brunette.
But spending time with the Pogues came with spending more time with JJ. That little childhood crush that you’d claimed had succumb a long, undisturbed slumber…Oh, she had been awoken. Him staying over more and more on the pull-out when him and his dad ‘got into a thing’ meant the throw pillows smelt like his cologne and soap. He’d offer you his sweatshirt when sat around the bonfire on evenings drinking, and the warm distinct smell of him would consume you, drown you in the pheromones, affecting you like some pathetic animal in heat. Days spent surfing and sunbathing at the break gave you space to shamelessly ogle his bare chest, splattered in sea water, scorched and tanned with sunlight. The ripple of his lats when wearing his useless muscle tees as he waxed his board in the surf shack. His jawline strong and steely when annoyed or focused, with faint blonde stubble a week after shaving. But you swear he knew how it affected you. Swear he knew it drove you crazy whenever he’d fleetingly touch your back, brushing past you in the kitchen to grab a drink, or adjust your grip when helping him fix up his bike. When sharing a blunt on the porch (as you often did when sleep couldn’t come), he’d take his time passing it to you, fingers brushing. Innocent, incidental touches that felt calculated and planned. The way his eyes would gaze into yours, like he could read your thoughts and decipher your wants. A vague, barely-there smirk to his lips, constantly tortured by his tongue and teeth…
God, your whole body feels as if it has been on fire for the past week.
You blame your overactive thoughts of JJ on your boredom. Working at the restaurant hadn’t been sufficient distraction from the mess that is your life right now. Even now, as you stand before the till, typing through an order for the kitchen and bar, you feel your mind wandering. To thoughts of the Chateau, and to a certain blonde-haired guy sprawled on the pull-out sofa, shirtless, back on proud display…
“You gonna be much longer?”
“No, I shouldn’t be,” you say to Tom.
You hope your embarrassment doesn’t read on your face. It’s not as if he could hear your thoughts, so you’re not sure why you feel caught in the act. You finish selecting the sides for table 16 and press ‘store table’. Stepping to the side to grab some side plates, Tom takes over the till.
He’s nice. Makes you laugh a lot at work, as you slander rude tables and gush over those that tip an extra twenty.
After depositing the side plates at the table, you head to the bar to run the drinks you put through. Lizzy is mixing the cocktail you ordered. She pours rum into a shaker and then passionfruit puree.
“Can I ask you something?” you say to her.
She glances over. The two of you had gotten closer at work. You were hoping to hang out with her one time down at the beach, or maybe grab lunch after a morning shift. She runs a hand over her buzzcut hair style and nods.
“Do you think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?”
“Bit deep to be asking that at eight o’clock at night, don’t you think?” she smirks.
You roll your eyes. As she goes on making the cocktail, you elaborate. “I have this dumbass crush on this guy which I know I shouldn’t have…I just feel bad for thinking about him so much.”
“Well, that’s dumb,” she snorts.
There’s the loud rattle of ice against stainless steel as Lizzy shakes the cocktail. Then, as she strains it into a martini glass, she looks up at you once more.
“Who’s this guy? Do I know him?”
“Maybe.”
Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Is it Tom?”
And, no, it isn’t Tom, but maybe saying it is means she won’t keep digging. You’d rather keep your embarrassing years-long infatuation with your brother’s best friend close to the chest. So, you do your best to look meek as you nod.
“Holy shit! Well, if it makes you feel better, he’s totally into you,” Lizzy tells you.
“He is?”
“Hell yeah. Guy practically ogles you across the room,” she says.
You glance over to Tom. He’s stood before a table, talking away, scribbling down their order on a notepad. At the feeling of being watched, he looks up and meets your gaze. You flash him a small smile and he mirrors it quickly before returning his focus to the task at hand.
“So, do you?”
“Think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?” Lizzy checks. You nod. She ponders the question whilst garnishing the cocktail. “No. No, I think only actions talk. I mean, I think bad things all the time about customers who are dicks. I could put glass in their drinks: that’d show them sort of thing. But I don’t actually put glass in their drinks, so I’m off the hook. Nobody’s the wiser.”
It’s a somewhat extreme example but it gets the point across. You take the tray and nod.
“I mean, maybe fantasising about it might be cathartic. Get it out your system, you know?” Her sly wink speaks volumes as to what these ‘fantasies’ are about. You roll your eyes.
“Thank you for your advice, Lizz. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Anytime sunshine.”
With that, you walk over table 16 and deliver their drinks. The rest of the shift passes by rather quickly. You end up making a bet with Tom that you can sell more pints of larger than him and come up victorious, leaving work with an extra ten dollars in your pockets.
The streets are painted sunset purple, orange and pink. You spot John B’s campervan, known as The Twinkie, in the parking lot; he’d promised to pick you up after work tonight. But as you walk up to the passenger side, you realise it’s JJ behind the wheel. You’re not sure if the feeling of your organs shrinking is a good thing or a bad thing.
“Where’s John B?” you ask, climbing in beside him.
“Nice way to say, ‘hi JJ, it’s so good to see you!’”
“Okay, hi JJ,” you say, rolling your eyes. He starts the engine. “Now, where’s my brother?”
“He had to go do something for Cameron.”
“At ten at night?”
“Dude, I just work here, a’right? I do as he says so he lets me stay on his sofa,” JJ says. You laugh.
The radio kicks on and ‘Downtown Lights’ starts to play. You look out the window as he drives, watching the houses fade into overgrow and trees.
“Hey, you hungry?”
“Starved.”
“We can swing by a Wendy’s on the way home, if you wanna,” JJ says.
You smile as you look over to him, nodding. With that, he takes the next left and the two of you make your way in comfortable silence to the drive through. At the worker’s request, JJ recounts his order: two hamburgers, both with cheese, one without pickles. Oh and a large Pepsi.
As he pulls forward to pay, you say, “you remembered I don’t like pickles?”
He glances over to you like you’re stupid for even asking. “Course.”
Food secured, Pepsi in the cupholder for you both to share, you start the journey to the Chateau.
“Feed me a fry?”
You laugh and oblige. It’s the least you can do, considering he bought you takeout, after all. You turf one out the brown paper bag and hold up to his lips. His breath fans against your fingers as he takes it. Chews and swallows. You managed to tear your eyes away. That man could yawn and you’d be mesmerised, you swear. It’s pathetic.
“Thanks.”
“Course.”
The ride back is over way too soon. You take what’s left of your food and your bag, opening the door. “You staying over tonight?”
JJ contemplates a moment before shaking his head. He studies his hands as they run up and over the steering wheel when he says, “no. No, I gotta go home sometime.”
“Right,” you quietly say. The last fight him and his dad got in was ugly. He came over, shaking with anger, a purple bruise forming under his eye. It scared the shit out of you to let him go back there alone. “Well, thanks for the food.”
JJ looks up from the steering wheel and takes you in. His lips move, like he wants to say something, but he seems to abandon the thought. You take it as your cue to leave.
“See you soon.”
“Yeah. See you soon, Little Routledge.”
You hate that nickname. The resentment is thick to swallow as you say goodnight, stepping out the van.
John B isn’t home when you walk into the Chateau. The lights are off, dirty dishes piled up in the sink. The sofa bed is unmade from the last time JJ slept on it. You contemplate crashing on it for the night, just so you can feel as if you’re near to him, but you know that’s insane. If John B were to find you there, he’d only be concerned that something was wrong with your own room, either way. So you trundle back to your bedroom and strip out of your uniform. Makeup rinsed off and teeth brushed, you crawl into bed and drift off easily.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
His lips are hot and wet on your skin, kissing down your stomach. Your breathing’s laboured like you’re fighting an adrenaline rush. He seems to notice, laughing darkly against your tummy.
“So wound up already and I’ve barely touched you,” JJ croons in his southern drawl.
Your eyes slip shut, fighting back a whimper as his fingers dip teasingly into the waistband of your panties. A moan finally lets slip at the sensation of his lips pressing against your crotch, over the cotton.
“You want it?”
“Please,” you whisper.
“Yeah? You want my mouth?”
“Yes, JJ, please.”
It’s embarrassing to beg but you don’t have much left in your mind other than thoughts of him to even care.
Fingers knotting into his hair, you try and coax him lower still. And he obliges. Drags your panties down your legs like time is a luxury. You wonder if he likes teasing you; if it brings him pleasure like the feeling of his hands on your body does for you. He leans back on his haunches and runs his palms up and down your thighs, staring at you exposed pussy. His shark tooth necklace sits against his toned chest and you’re jealous of how close it gets to be to him.
“Fuck,” JJ groans as you open your legs.
He leans back down and nuzzles your inner thigh, pressing a sharp kiss with his teeth, sucking in the skin and relishing your pleasured yelp. It feels as if he’s marking you as he leaves the hickey: mine.
“Been dreaming ‘bout this.”
Before you can let out another pathetic plea, JJ situates himself between your legs and goes down on you. Eats you out like a man who’s been lost at sea, like a man starved. Sighs at the taste of you on his tongue, kissing at your thighs as if to catch his breath, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. The damp of his tongue laps at your clit and your legs lock around him in a vice. He’s indefatigable, insatiable and…it’s too much.
“I can’t,” you whine hopelessly. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, eyes clenched shut.
“Come on,” JJ preens. “Wanna see you come.”
He leans close to your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth, and slips a finger into your seeping hole. Your orgasm comes like waves crashing over splintered rocks; breathing jagged and vision blurring behind eyelids. Somewhere in the euphoric haze you cry out his name. Flashes of colour blending into a mercurial high as he works you through your ecstasy, unrelenting.
You gasp awake.
Had you been sleeping?
Your forehead is damp with sweat, throat parched and chest heaving. Anyone would have thought you’d have just sprinted three miles. When you sit up in bed, you register the pulsing between your legs and the telltale stickiness of your thighs.
Shit. Good thing there’s no such thing as bad thoughts.
Wiping at your face, your skin feels red hot. You venture to the bathroom and drink water from the faucet. Making eye contact with yourself is too hard right now, considering you just had the most incredible wet dream about your brother’s best friend. Now that the high is passing, you’re overcome with shame and guilt. You’re delusional. Maybe you should submit yourself to be sectioned. Would be a good way to kill some of these summer weeks…
Heading back to bed feels like returning to the scene of a crime. Instead, you head out onto the porch, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. John B’s a deep sleeper, you’ve come to learn. You’ve never heard him get up in the night, in all your moments of insomnia. There’s no risk of crossing paths with him out here.
Stepping out onto the paint-peeled floorboards, you notice he forgot to turn off the porch light when he came home. Great, I guess I know where my wage is going. But as you head to your favourite red armchair, ready to gaze out at the marsh and watch the waterside plants dance in the breeze, you freeze.
JJ’s on the sofa. And he’s awake. You can tell just from where you’re stood.
Before you can flee back to your room, the floorboard creaks. JJ jolts up and looks around, eyes landing on you. You swallow. The moment you lay eyes on him, part of your dream comes screaming back to you. The way your voice cracked as you cried out his name, tumbling over the edge. You quickly shun away the thoughts, slamming them closed in a box, before your body can lose itself to the fantasy once more. Please God tell me that I didn’t actually scream his name.
“Hi,” you dumbly say.
“Hey.”
“I thought you were staying at your place tonight,” you say.
JJ shrugs. “Change of plans, I guess.”
“Oh.”
He looks back ahead at the armchair, back to you, and you can’t help but pull a face akin to holy shit what the fuck do I do? When he holds up a joint, you decide to stay. Panties are just the same as a bikini anyway, and he’s seen you in those. You make sure to wear your cutest ones when he’s surfing with you. The ones that are tight in all the right places and hug your figure in a way that you wished he would. Oh my God, shut up. You wordlessly take the joint as you quickly step past him, planting yourself in the armchair. You pull your legs up and sit atop of them, taking a long drag to try and calm your racing mind and heart. Inspecting the floor seems a good thing to do, suddenly. The divots in the wood from worms and the strips of paint. Looking up, you find JJ’s eyes trained on your legs. His gaze diverts when you lean forward, offering him the blunt again. As he lifts himself to take it, you see him wince, and now in the light of the porch, fully taking him in you, you can make out the bloody cut beside his eye.
“Jesus Christ, JayJ.”
“It’s fine,” he reflexively says. He takes another hit. “Just need some self-medication.”
“Bullshit. You need to clean that thing ‘fore it gets infected.”
“Be my guest,” JJ scoffs.
With that, you get to your feet and head back into the house. The first aid kit is under the bathroom sink. It’s probably the least dusty thing in the whole room. Returning to him, you forget all about the reason that you got up in the first place and shove it to the back of your mind. This was more important than worrying about some dumb dream. Shoving his legs off the couch, you force him to make space for you. You place the first aid kit on your lap and open it. JJ keeps smoking. The smell of weed clouds your senses. Picking out a disinfectant wipe, you turn to him.
“This’ll sting,” you say, opening the packet.
“That’s what she said.”
You frown. “What kind of kinky ass sex are you having?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he grins.
For a moment dread drops down your body, chilling your spine. Did he hear you? No, no he couldn’t have. You probably didn’t make a noise. He’s just being his usual, salacious self.
You take his jawline in hold gently between your fingers. The bone is hard beneath the soft of his skin; fine stubble scratches your fingertips. Leaning up, you try not to get distracted in his eyes as you dab at the cut. You apologise as he hisses. It doesn’t look as intimidating when clean of blood, which is more than a relief. You dip back into the first aid kit and offer up two band aids. One is plain nude and the other Hello Kitty.
“Take your pick.”
He rolls his eyes with a small smile and grabs the Hello Kitty one, holding it out to you. You shift onto your knees, bending over him to plant it over his cut. You notice a bruise forming on his cheek bone on the other side, and a cut lip. You should have insisted he stayed over when he dropped you off. He looks up, as if he can hear your thoughts, and meets your gaze. You can’t seem to find it in yourself to move away.
“It’s not your fault,” he quietly says.
You swallow. It’s scary how easy he can read you. Makes you worry what other thoughts he can tell from your face. “Wished you just stayed here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Hate the thought of you going back to that house.”
“That’s sweet,” he smiles. “But if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t have you here taking care of me.”
“Oh, was it all part of your masterplan?” you joke, finding your smile again. His seems to grow at the sight.
“Something like that.”
When his lips press to yours, you’re taken aback. It feels like fire, searing hot, and you flinch like you’ve been burnt. You gape at him, wide eyed, and it seems to register what he’s just done. You both move to put as much space between you as possible, as if trying to keep the blaze from spreading.
“Shit, I—”
“I should go back to bed,” you hurry out.
JJ nods. “Yeah, yeah. Course.”
In your scramble to get back to your feet and back in your room, the first aid kit falls to the floor, the contents spilling out. You cuss and drop to your knees, rushing to retrieve all the clutter. JJ joins you, passing you gloves and bandages. You find some nerve to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he says. The sincerity in his voice…It’s painful.
“It’s okay. I don’t…It isn’t…”
You sigh. Your speech is just as messed as your mind. Closing your eyes, gathering your words, you take a deep breath. Looking back to JJ, you shake your head.
“We can’t.”
“I know,” he replies, almost sadly. Nods once more. “Yeah, I know. I’m just…high. And tired.”
“Right. Course.”
And whilst his excuses should sting, they don’t, because you don’t believe them. JJ smokes enough weed to not be affected all that much by half a joint. But you don’t argue. Instead, you close the box and go to head inside. You stop in the doorway.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say.
You spare him one last glance. He’s on the floor, head hung and back to you, and you consider staying. But you don’t. You go straight to bed, acting as if a fresh start tomorrow will reset the entire thing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
In the morning, JJ’s gone. John B doesn’t seem to have even realised he’d stayed over. You find your older brother in the kitchen, washing up the dirty dishes. Swiping up a towel, you come to help.
“Hey. Sleep okay?”
“Yeah,” you lie. “You?”
“Like a rock,” he grins. “You still up for that keggar tonight, at the boneyard?”
“Oh shit, that’s tonight?”
“Yeah. All the others are going,” John B says.
“Yeah, I’ll go. I think I’m catching a ride with Lizzy from work.”
“Alright. Just stay safe.”
“I will,” you drawl. He smiles at you before turning back to the washing up. “Hey, John B?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For letting me stay here.”
“Yeah, course,” he says. He pauses his handy work, turning his attention to you. “You’ve always got a bed to crash on here, even if child services are up my ass.”
“I appreciate it. I really needed to get out of Colorado.”
The seven missed calls from your mom slip into your mind. Her texts go unanswered, but she knows you read them. You don’t want her to think you’re in danger. Talking to her is just too much right now.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I needed you back too,” he says. “Things have been kinda messy since my dad…disappeared. I don’t know what I’d do if I was on my own.”
“You’re never gonna be on your own, though,” you smile. “The Pogues would do anything for you. It’s actually kinda scary.”
John B laughs at that. “Yeah, yeah, they’re, uh, not the smartest.”
“Apart from Pope,” you point out. He nods, smiling as he looks back to the soapy water.
“Yeah, apart from Pope.”
“JJ cares about you a lot,” you feel the need to add. His voice last night, apology ready, after your kiss, echoes in your mind.
“I know. I feel like you two are the best things in my life right now,” John B admits. The guilt multiples by tenfold with that. You fix your face when he looks to you. “So, thanks.”
“No worries, big bro,” you reply, nudging his shoulder with yours.
He laughs. “Thanks, little sis.”
With that, you both continue cleaning the pots. The shame from last night gets shoved down into the deepest, darkest pit of your stomach, and you try to go about your day without sparing another thought to JJ.
On the way to the keggar, Lizzy grills you about your ‘crush’ on Tom. “He’s gonna be there tonight, I think.”
“Oh, really?” you say. You know you don’t sound enthused. It’s too much effort to pretend.
“Everything good?” she frowns, glancing away from the road.
You nod and plaster on a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired, I think.”
“Couple drinks in you and you’ll be wide awake, I promise,” she assures.
Nodding, you shift in your seat and look out the window. Your skirt rides up in the processes. It’s a little short but it’s so ridiculously hot tonight, you can’t seem to care. A crotchet style crop-top dresses down the outfit. You don’t want to seem like you’re trying too hard for a beachside keggar. As you pull up closer to the boneyard, cars line the roads. Lizzy finds a spot and parks. You grab the crate of Budlight and her the box of White Claw, and you hop out the car towards the beach. Her stories about work and school have brightened your mood.
She’s tall and remarkably cool in a way that you never will be. She has stick and poke tattoos on her knees and elbows, and nine piercings on one ear. Her nose ring and snake bite piercings are far from intimidating on her cherub like features. The buzzcut has been dyed neon blue, standing bright against her dark skin. As you pass groups of teens, she shouts hello to those she recognises and shares the odd bro-hug.
You add your drinks to the pile of booze before grabbing a can, cracking it open. A quick scan of the scene tells you that the Pogues are still pre-drinking at the Chateau. You’d managed to dodge JJ so far.
“This is a pretty decent turn out,” Lizzy tells you, swigging from her can.
“Know a lot of people here?”
“Sure,” she says. She points to a gaggle of polo-shirt wearing pretty boys who look like they could snap you with one finger. “Those are the gym rat kooks. That tall blonde Topper is with the princess of Figure Eight, Sarah Cameron.”
JJ was right: biceps without a brain. You watch as he shotguns a drink and cracks the can on his forehead. Sarah Cameron, blonde hair straight flowing down her back, does not look impressed.
“And her brother Rafe. That guy’s all kinds of whacked out,” Lizzy mutters. You follow her finger to spot a tall, short haired guy. He looks unapproachable, even from far away.
“Yo Lizzy!”
You both turn to find a crowd of girls and guys. One of them is waving at Lizzy and she waves back.
“Come on, I know these guys. They’re cool,” she tells you, taking your hand and guiding you over.
You’re introduced to everyone and soon enough are roped into beer pong and shots. It’s fun though. Everyone’s having a laugh, cheering each other on. You hear about some good spots to grab food and learn Michael, Lizzy’s closest friend, can drink you under the table. A few hours in and there’s a comfortable buzz to your bones. You haven’t thought about the Pogues, or JJ, or the fleeting kiss all night. As you laugh along to one of Michael’s soccer stories, someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around to come face to face with Tom.
“Hey,” you smile, squiffy.
“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“Yeah, I came with Lizzy.”
“Hey, Tom,” she smiles before sending you a more than suggestive look. Oh, shit. The lie. “Hey, why don’t you go get my girl a top up?”
Before you can contest, she’s taking your half full can out of your hand and coaxing you away with an assuring smile. Tom takes it in stride and walks with you to the coolers. He grabs two cans of beer, passing one to you, and you cheers him.
“How you finding Kildare?”
“Good.”
“Yeah? You been hanging with John B’s crowd, right?”
“Most of the time, yeah,” you smile, nodding. He makes a face before taking a drink. You frown. “What?”
“Nah, nothing. They’re just kinda…well, I mean, some people think they’re bad news.”
“Some people, huh?” you say cautiously.
“Just reputations and all that. Like that JJ guy. He’s got slippery fingers, if you know what I mean,” Tom says, wiggling his own in demonstration.
Suddenly this conversation is very unappealing. You glance off to Lizzy and the others. “I should probably get back to them. Thanks for the drink, though.”
“No, hey, no,” Tom says. He grabs you by the wrist. “Come on, I was being a dick. I’ve had one too many. Let’s just hang, alright? I really wanna get to know you.”
You look between him and Lizzy and sigh. Taking a swig, you shrug. “Alright.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tick you off.”
“I like the Pogues. They’re a good group,” you feel the need to defend.
“No, yeah, they are!” Tom agrees. You can smell the stench of liquor on his breath. “I just don’t want you to get corrupted by them.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just, you’re new here—”
“And so I’m clueless on how to judge people?” you finish sardonically.
Tom rolls his eyes and it makes your anger tick. “Come on, you don’t gotta be a bitch about this.”
“What did you just call me? You know what? Forget it,” you scoff, snatching your arm away from his hold. “Have fun drinking on your own.”
But you don’t get very far before he’s grabbing at you again. “Calm down, would you? Just gimme—”
“Let go!” you demand.
His grip only tightens. The strong front you’re putting on begins to crumble under the panic of this guy is way bigger than me.
“Just quit bitching and we can talk,” he says harshly.
“I don’t want to talk. Now please let go of me,” you firmly return.
He doesn’t let go. Keeps chattering away, insisting that you have to hear him out.
“Let go, Tom!”
“Everything good here?”
Your wide eyes look away from Tom and land on JJ, and your whole body relaxes. He’s looking at you and the panic must read clear on your face because his demeanour changes in a split second. Jaw tight, he turns to Tom.
“I think you should let go, man.”
“You think I’m gonna listen to you?” Tom scoffs.
JJ takes another step towards him. He towers over Tom by enough to be intimidating. “Think you should listen to her.”
“Oh, I get it,” Tom snarls. He lets go of you and you can feel your skin breathing. You rub at the pink marks, easing the sting. Tom gets into JJ’s face, undeterred from a fight. “You wanna keep John B’s sloppy sister for yourself, huh?”
JJ’s fist flies at Tom’s face, making an ugly, visceral sound as it lands on his left cheek. You gasp. Nearly knocked off balance, Tom stumbles on the sand. The commotion has drawn in somewhat of a crowd. Before you can intervene, Tom’s throwing hands. He aims an upper cut to JJ’s jaw but he’s quick to dodge, landing his own punch instead by Tom’s eyebrow. That one seems to deter him. He trips backwards. The chanting of the crowds egging it on makes you feel sick. You’d just finished patching JJ up last night, and you’ve seen his anger before. It takes control quickly and blinds him to reason. The last thing he needs is to wind up in a cell. So, before he can land another hit, you’re stepping forward and grabbing at his arm, stopping him.
“Come on, let’s just go,” you say pleadingly.
His chest is heaving with anger, breathing short and jaw heavy set and tense. He hesitates, looking between yourself and Tom. He’s still cradling his last hit, trying to regain his composure. Sighing, JJ lets you lead him away. Tom’s heckling is laced with slurs directed at you, and you have to keep a steady grip on JJ to keep him from going back.
“He’s not worth it, JayJ,” you mutter.
“You’re so wrong,” JJ darkly returns, but he doesn’t go back.
Away from the beach, back on the road, you let go. He paces for a moment, trying to calm himself. Tugs off his cap and rakes his fingers through his hair, breathing deep and slow. You don’t speak: just let him go through the motions. Babying him through this isn’t going to help anyone.
Whilst violence isn’t the answer to anything, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for JJ’s help.
Letting him cool off, you take a seat on one of the fallen tree trunks.
“Hey.”
Looking up, JJ walks over. He’s mostly back to himself.
“You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No. Just freaked me out a bit. He’s not usually like that. He’s just drunk.”
“Like that’s an excuse,” JJ scoffs. He takes the spot next to you, sitting worryingly close.
The culmination of last night and tonight makes your head spin. The effects of the alcohol vanished the moment Tom took a hold of you. Now you just want to forget the whole thing.
“Wanna get out of here?” JJ asks.
You turn your head to face him and smile smally, nodding.
“Come on. I brought my bike.”
His red bike is parked beside the Twinkie. He climbs on first and offers a hand to help you onto the back. Your arms slot around his middle, circling around his taught chest, pressing yourself against him. Face resting on the middle of his back, you try not to inhale the smell of him. It might be too much for tonight. His calloused hands on yours have you shifting your hold, ensuring your tight against him like a backpack.
“Good?”
“Good,” you quietly reply.
He kicks off the stand and starts up the engine. You pull away from the keggar and up the road, zipping down the isolated streets. There’s nobody around at this time. Not a soul in sight. It feels so right, wrapped up against him like this, safe in his presence. Tom was wrong: JJ wasn’t bad news. Sure, he was a klepto, but he was the same guy who learnt how to sew to fix your favourite pair of shorts when you were little. The same guy who stepped up when some dirtbag was harassing you. The same guy who remembered you don’t like pickles on your burgers. Who looked at your paintings as if they were Picasso.
Somewhere along the ride, one of JJ’s hands comes to rest on your own. You don’t ask why and don’t pull away. Just let the reassuring weight of his hand on yours stay there and ground you to him like an anchor. Here, flying through the night, you can pretend like all the other shit doesn’t matter. It’s just you and him.
He starts onto a dirt track, slowing down, and a house emerges. Pastel yellow painted exterior hidden behind porch netting. There’s clutter of engines and fishing gear amongst surfing supplies. He pulls to a stop and kicks on the stand, turning off the engine. It’s quiet now, without its rumble. “Your dad home?” you can’t help but ask, staring at the front door.
JJ shakes his head. “No. He’s out on Friday nights. Kinda the only routine he has.”
You don’t ask where and he doesn’t expand. You step off the bike and watch as he clambers off too. Fixing your skirt, you wait for him to talk. He doesn’t. “I should probably head back,” you say. You’re not entirely sure why you came to his place instead. You’d assumed when you got on the bike that he’d take you back the Chateau.
“I mean, we can share a joint first if you want. Help you calm down and stuff, after that shitshow,” JJ half-chuckles.
There’s something heavy in the humid air. It’s hard to describe, hard to place, but you can feel it like static electricity. You find yourself nodding. He nods too and starts up to the house, hands in his black short pockets. You watch his feet sink into the grass and guide your eyes up his figure. His shoulders are tense, dressed under a thin t-shirt. He ditches his cap on the kitchen counter when you walk through the door. Through the house, past the neglection, and to his bedroom. He flicks on the light and clears his throat as he goes to his desk drawer.
You stand, leaning against his door until it clicks closed, and look around his room. There’s a world map pinned to the wall but no markings on it asides from one: Kildare, North Carolina. Print outs of palm trees and pressed, framed butterflies and leaves seem less innocent when placed between posters of models on the beach. The floor is a mess of dirty clothes and empty beer cans. Several dead vapes litter near the overflowing bin, and cigarette and joint buds scatter the windowsill and beside table. But the smell of JJ hangs strong in the air; it makes you smile to yourself.
“Alright,” JJ sighs. The desk drawer slams closed and he turns around, holding up a fresh joint and lighter. His initials are scratched into the metal: JJ. He sits on the bed and places the blunt between his lips, flicking at his lighter. You watch him take a drag and take it off him when he offers it over.
No words are shared as you pass the bud for several minutes. You both glance around the room, at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but each other.
“How’s your face?”
“Huh?” he asks, finally meeting your eyes.
You nod to his cheek. “Your cut from the other night?”
“Oh, right,” he mumbles. He lifts a finger and strokes it absentmindedly. “It’s alright.”
“Good.”
JJ hands you the joint again, you take a drag, you pass it back to him. That same feeling from earlier, when you first climbed off the bike, has only amplified.
“So…”
You brave clearing the distance between you. You take the spot next to him on the bed.
“We gonna talk about it.”
“What’s there to talk about?” JJ deflects, studying the floor.
“Well, you kissed me,” you eventually reply, taking the joint back. “So, there’s that.”
“I already told you,” he sighs. “I was tired and doped up.”
When you say nothing, he looks up at you. "What? You think I'm lying?"
You take a drag. Shrugging, you honestly reply, “yeah, a little.”
He holds your gaze as if challenging you to back down. You don’t. Beating around the bush won’t help anything here, and its obvious you can’t go back to acting like it didn’t happen. You can’t move past it until you know why he did.
“S’just weird,” JJ mutters, looking away. “What happened last night, with me and you. S’just weird.”
“Yeah, it was weird for me too,” you agree. Swallowing, you take another hit. “But not bad weird, right?”
JJ’s head lifts once more. His eyes flash across your face like he’s searching for some kind of trap. He sucks his teeth in contemplation. “No. Not bad weird.”
Your heart stutters, breathing shaky and unsure. You feel your eyes dart down to his strawberry pink lips, and his to yours. But then he’s shaking his head. “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know…” you breathe. You’re transfixed on his lips. Can’t move away, can’t bring yourself too. The blunt in your fingers is burning away, ash dropping to the floor, but you don’t care. All of it, everything but JJ, is white noise.
The moment you flit your eyes up to his, something shifts in him. His jaw ticks as he clenches it. Your brows pull in thought but there’s no time for you to ask.
“Fuck it.”
His lips are on yours within a breadth. He consumes your senses like a drug, dulling down anything else until all your thoughts are on him. He grabs for the blunt in your fingers, haphazardly putting it on the bedside table, and then his hands are sliding up along your sides, up your back, into your hair. One finds purchase on your cheek, and you rest your jaw in his hold like a bird settled in its favourite branch. The way he holds you like you’re something holy is different to how sinful his kiss is. It’s pure passion: raw, animalistic heat from weeks of build-up. And, God, it feels so right. The way his tongue brushes against yours, warm in your mouth, heavy in your head. The nip of his teeth on your lips and the fanning of his breath when he has to break for air. You’ve never been kissed like this before, not by anyone. It’s dizzying.
Until it isn’t, and he’s pulling away. His forehead rests against your own. You’re both panting. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says.
You slide a hand up his neck, tracing his jawline with your fingers. He practically melts under your touch, eyes slipping shut. “I know,” you whisper distractedly. Your thumb traces his lower lip. It’s swollen from your kisses.
He blinks his eyes open. “I’m serious. He can’t know.”
“He won’t,” you say, going to reconnect your lips.
But JJ stops you. “No, he can’t. He’d…God, he just can’t.”
You want to cry, seeing the moral dilemma weigh on JJ, feeling you share the burden. But the thought of walking away from this, of not feeling every inch of him, of never hearing him fall apart, makes you want to sob.
“Maybe just one time,” you murmur. Your finger traces down his chin, along the centre of his neck. “And we can just get it out of our system.”
“Yeah,” JJ mumbles. “Yeah, one time.”
“Yeah?”
You meet his gaze. His pupils are dilated, heavy with lust, and you feel your body ignite. “Touch me, please.”
With that simple mark of consent, JJ’s unchained. He doesn’t hold back when your lips reconnect. Somehow it becomes deeper, rougher, better. It’s such a strange oxymoron, the way he touches you and kisses you. You pull away to remove your crop top, and he takes the moment to strip off his shirt. The two of you are shameless as you take in the other. Reaching out a hand, you run your fingers up his chest in the way that you’ve imagined so many times before. It’s funny how in your head, you’ve already done it. His eyes dip down, watching your hands explore. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his left pectoral, then his right. Sighing, his chest drops up and down with uneven breathes.
“So pretty,” you say through your kisses.
His fingers tether into your hair. There’s a slight tug that sends ripples of pleasure through your body in ways that it shouldn’t as he pulls you away, guiding your lips back to him. As he crawls atop of you, you inch up the bed, skirt riding up. You settle on our back. JJ’s greedy in his touch. Strokes your skin, explores your body, like it’s his own. And in a way it is because you’d give him anything if he asked. When his fingers slip behind your back, searching for the clasp of your bra, you lift yourself onto your elbows. He holds your gaze as he unfastens it, guiding it off your shoulders, helping it off your arms.
“Fuck,” he sighs.
A smile teases at your lips. It takes a certain type of guy to make you blush at the sound of his curses. Your head rocks back, eyes sinking closed, as his lips latch around your nipple. A hand palms at the skin, teasing your breast, exploring your reactions. You sigh out your pleasure, bringing a hand up to mess with his hair. It’s better than you imagined. Tops every fantasy, every wet dream, every sinful thought. And it’s only just begun.
“So fucking sexy,” JJ groans, kissing up your body until he finds your lips.
You don’t want him away from you. He looms over you, encasing you in the safe, consuming feeling of his presence, trapping you in the smell of his cologne and soap that you’ve tried so desperately to avoid. Through the kisses and love bites marked into necks and collarbones, you feel one of his hands ghost the outline of your figure. Traces down so slowly like you might not even notice. Down, down, to your panties. It’s there that he sweeps over your cotton covered mound. You sigh against his lips in anticipation.
“I know you’ve been thinking ‘bout this,” JJ says.
His voice is just as you pictured it: deep and crooning, his Southern accent at forefront. You want to bottle it like brandy and drink it until you black out. His lips work down your neck as he lightly circles your clit over your panties and you can’t stop your moan.
“I heard you, the other night.” Your eyes shoot open. JJ meets your gaze. He’s dying, the desperation clear as day on his face. His eyes themselves could send him straight to hell. There’s the shadow of a smirk.
“Were you thinking of me, whilst you were getting off?”
You go to push him away. The last thing you need is for him to tease you about it and make fun. But he doesn’t let you. Instead, he kisses just below your ear.
“Cause I think about you. Every night since you’ve been back. Can’t jack off to anything else,” he confesses into the crux of your ear. Your only reply is a small, surprised gasp. Your body’s ablaze with his words.
His fingers finally dip below your panties, sliding between your soaking folds. He groans at the sensation and you feel your legs give way. He works at you for a while, toying with you like it’s a side hobby. You’re only half aware of the sounds you make. One of your hands has situated itself on his upper back, nails scratching at the skin. JJ can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. It’s one blasphemy after another, and it drives you deeper and deeper into the abyss. He seems to become impatient. He removes fingers to push your underwear down. You kick them off at the ankles with a small giggle.
The moment his finger sinks into you, you swear you’ve seen heaven. JJ worships you, taking his time to inch you closer and closer to the edge. Another finger, then another. The stretch is heaven. Your back arches off the bed, mouth agape, brain dumb with pleasure. He won’t be quiet. He whispers praises into your ear. Narrates his own fantasies he’s harboured about you. Know you’ve been teasing me with those tiny bikinis. I wish I fucked you on the porch the other night. The moment his thumb swipes over your clit, you know you’re close. And then he’s bending his fingers just slightly, hitting that spot. You abandon all religion: this is the only type of prayer you need.
JJ has the audacity to laugh as you climax. You grasp uselessly at his body, the bedsheets, anything. You use a shaky hand to push his fingers away, overstimulated, and he finally relents. Starts kissing at your neck like a Goddamn vampire.
“That good, huh?”
You can’t really formulate words. You just drag his face to yours, kissing him senseless. When you inevitably part for breath, JJ leans back. He pinches your chin between two fingers, gnawing at his lower lip, and parts your lips for him. Your body pulses at the submissiveness he’s placed you under. Then his used fingers are slipped into your mouth. You close your lips around them, holding his gaze as you suck them clean. The salty distinct taste is unfamiliar but not necessarily unpleasant. He gives a small laugh, like he’s in disbelief.
“Fuck. Why did we wait so long to do this?”
You pull his hand free, taking grip on his shoulders. Pushing him against his bedroom wall, you move to straddle him. His hands fall onto your hips. Somewhere in your heady make-out, you rock yourself back on him. JJ groans; his head knocks back against the wall. He’s rock hard. It must be torture. You shuffle off him to make room to pull his shorts off. They join the mess of clothes on the floor. The tip leaks precum, straining painfully. You go to jack him off but JJ stops you.
“I won’t last,” he admits, half-embarrassed.
You nod, biting back your smile. “You got protection?”
“Top drawer,” he says, nodding to the bedside table.
You lean over and dig about before finding a condom. You come back, tear it open, and gently slide it over him. He lets out a shuddering breath at your touch, eyes clenched shut in concentration. It makes you feel slightly guilty for letting him indulge you for so long, but this will pay it back.
Straddling him once more, you steady yourself with one hand on either shoulder. His find home on your hips once more, and he helps you line up. Then you slowly sink down onto him. The stretch stings despite the earlier efforts. Head hanging forward, mouth falling open in silent moans, eyes clenching shut, you take him in. JJ’s mumbling praises, eyes transfixed on where you connect, spurring you on. Taking me so good. Jus’little more. You rock against him, using whatever energy you have to ride him. He helps guide you, head resting against the wall. You love that he isn’t quiet. Love that you’re on top and can see every ripple of pleasure course through him, reflect on his face. But when his eyes slip shut, you take a hand and guide his face to yours. Pressing your forehead against him, you lean forward and steady yourself with a hand on his chest. The new angle is euphoric. You moan and whine against his lips, eyes staring into his own. It’s the most hideously lewd symphony as the two of you chase your highs. There’s only one thought in your mind. And when JJ comes unannounced, shuddering as he finishes, never looking away from your eyes, only one thought is in your mind.
If it can only happen this once, it has to be perfect...
to be continued (part 2 will be released later this week)
#jj#jj maybank x reader#jj x reader#obx#outer banks#obx fics#outer banks fic#obx fic#obx preference#outer banks preference#jj preference#jj maybank preference#routledge!reader#jj x routledge!reader#brothersbestfriend!jj#brothersbestfriend!jj x reader#jj x fem!reader#jj maybank x fem!reader#fem!reader
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VI. Fury
Harwin Strong x Velaryon!Reader (unrequited love), Alicent Hightower x Velaryon!Reader, Larys Strong x Velaryon!Reader
Series masterlist
Part 6 of this
I still can't believe writing more than 5000 words, there were times when I thought this would never come to light and it frustrated me so please give it a lot of love and let me know what you think of this chapter 🥰💖💖
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When the Queen was informed that Harwin had been seen leaving your chambers in the middle of the night she felt her heart skip a beat. She was afraid that for some reason you had decided to forgive your husband for his indiscretions with the princess and give your marriage another chance.
When it was time for lunch that Alicent, Larys, and you had, there was no need for the Queen or Larys to ask you about your husband's sudden visit because you told them yourself. Harwin offered to help the twins put to sleep and you accepted because you were tired Alicent instantly offered to hire more maidens to take care of the children at night so you could rest but you refused saying that you didn't want other women to take care of your children. While you were saying that Alicent couldn't help but notice that you were looking askance at Larys as if you were expecting a reaction from him but she thought it must have been her imagination because when Larys changed the subject you didn't seem disappointed or upset. Unfortunately, the Queen's worries did not disappear throughout the meal so when you left to go spend time with your sister and mother she shared them with Larys.
"I'm afraid that he will once again occupy a place in her heart," the woman admitted, clasping her hands under the table. "What happens if he convinces her to give him another chance? What if she leaves us?" As she spoke, she took off part of the cuticle of the thumb. If her father was watching her he would be scolding her. She knew it was a horrible habit but the anxiety she felt at the thought of losing you was too great. Alicent wouldn't know how to live alone as your friend again, not now that she had tasted what true love was. No one cared about her like you do.
"You heard her, she only let him stay because of the children" the man reminded her as he poured them both more wine "She will never forgive him" he declared and the Queen was envious of his trust. Larys must have noticed that her concern was great because she added "Besides, she will never leave us, especially you. She always seems to want to kill Criston Cole for daring to breathe the same air as you."
Alicent hurriedly brought the wine glass closer to her mouth to hide her smile. Larys' statement had to upset her, after all, Criston Cole is one of the few people she trusts and she should be upset that you want to hurt him, but instead, she managed to calm her down a little.
But Alicent's worries soon grew worse as the days went by because Harwin kept coming to your chambers and the worst thing was that now the two of you with the twins were walking around the castle together. At first, Larys wasn't worried that Harwin would spend time in your chambers after all you made it clear that you were only using him to babysit the twins. But now Larys felt sick every time he saw the four of them together at court. They seemed like a happy family. Aethan shouldn't look so comfortable tied against Harwin's chest with one of the special clothes your mother had ordered for you from Essos, and you shouldn't look so calm when Harwin's hand is on your back while you hold Alyn. You should move away every time his brother kisses your forehead but you don't. You're never the one to initiate the physical contact but Larys still doesn't like it, he's not sure if you're really not pulling away because you don't want to make a scene or because you're bonding with Harwin now that he's spending so much time in your chambers.
One day Larys reaches his limit. You, Alicent, and Larys are eating together again but the man instead of joining the conversation you two are having is too busy thinking about the image of Harwin with his hand on your back again while you were both talking to some Lord and how later his brother left the conversation but not without kissing you on the cheek before leaving.
"Why do you let Harwin spend so much time with you?" he suddenly interrupts your conversation with Alicent. She looks at him surprised but at the same time seems grateful for him to dare to question your closeness with Harwin since she would never do it for fear of upsetting you.
"I told you he's just helping me with the twins," you replied, frowning at his rude interruption.
"You shouldn't be depending so much on Harwin to take care of your own children."
"Larys" Alicent's intention was a reprimand but he could detect the nerves in her voice and her eyes.
Larys knew he said the wrong thing when he saw how your eyes seemed to spark and how you abruptly dropped the cutlery.
"Our" you corrected him. "And maybe I wouldn't be depending on Harwin so much if you took charge" you spat every word like it was poison.
"We should take a moment of silence before saying something that we regret," the queen proposed in an attempt to calm the waters as she tried to take your hand but you pushed her away and barely looked at her.
"It's not fair. We both knew that when you got pregnant the child couldn't know the truth" Larys said, appearing calm, not wanting to let you see that your words bothered him.
"Of course, they won't grow up knowing the truth but you're not even trying to help me" you crossed your arms. "Even Daemon and Rhaenyra seem more interested in them than you," the bitterness in your voice was clear.
And the only reason for that was because they both wanted to fuck you but Larys wouldn't tell you that because it would only make your anger worse so instead he told you the reason for his distance.
"I stay away to avoid making people suspicious"
Not wanting the court to suspect him of being the father of your children was not the only reason for his distance. The truth is that Larys had no idea what to do with the twins. He saw the immense love you had for children. Not just you, your parents and your siblings too. Everyone seemed to love Alyn and Aethan from the minute they saw them but he didn't. Of course, he was worried about their safety the second you announced to Harwin and Lyonel that he was the father. He didn't want anything bad to happen to them but he wouldn't say that he loves them and he's sure they don't either, especially Aethan because the few times he carried them, they became instantly agitated and cried demanding to come back to you. Their crying made his head hurt and he's sure it made your head hurt too so he stayed away thinking it would save both of you the stress of hearing the children scream.
"People think you're their fucking uncle, no one will suspect that you spend time together. You're family." It was obvious that you were dissatisfied with his defense by the exasperation in your voice. "And don't tell me that you're afraid that someone will realize the truth because Aethan has the same eye color as you because months went by and no one said anything. So stop being paranoid and spend time with your children" You got up from the table "I'm sorry, my queen, but I lost my appetite and I have to continue with my duties"
Neither Alicent nor Larys had any doubt that you were angry but you confirmed it when you left without even giving them both a measly kiss goodbye.
"You have to fix it," Alicent ordered, looking at him furiously. "If we lose her because of you..."
"That's not going to happen," the man interrupted, throwing his napkin at the table angrily. "I'll fix it."
Of course, after that argument, Larys couldn't allow you to get even closer to Harwin so that same afternoon he sent you a message through one of your maids. He asked you not to allow his brother to come to your chambers tonight because he was thinking of coming to see you. In the middle of the night, Larys entered through the secret passage that had your chambers hidden behind one of the paintings. A snort left your mouth when you saw him appear with a small bouquet.
"If you think I'll forgive you because you brought me flowers, you're wrong," you warned him but your anger shouldn't have been so great because you didn't leave his side when he sat next to you on the bed, in the middle were the twins lying awake. Face up they seemed entertained trying to turn around on their own. Larys was relieved that neither of them burst into tears when they saw it.
"I'm not stupid to think that, I know your character.," he said and extended the bouquet to you waiting for you to take it, you looked at it doubting whether to take it or not "It see like someone wanted it more than you" he commented when you saw Alyn stretch out her small hand as if he wanted to touch one of the flowers. "Do you mind sharing?" you shook your head and couldn't help but smile when you saw him remove a flower from the bouquet to give it to Alyn. You hurriedly pulled another flower from the bouquet and gave it to Aethan before he got jealous. "I will get better at this parenting thing. I will come at night and help you take care of them" he wanted to see your reaction but his attention went to Aethan when he saw him put one of the petals in his mouth so he moved the flower away from the baby making him squeal. Not wanting Aethan to start crying, he gave him the flower again but he had to take it away because he put the petal in his mouth again.
"Why does he want to eat it?"
You laughed as you saw the frustration on Larys's face because every time he gave the flower to Aethan he kept wanting to eat it and then squealed when Larys pushed the flower away. But he wasn't a squealer like when he was about to throw a tantrum, it was one of the ones he did when he played with you or your brothers.
Alyn must have also thought his father was making a funny face because he joined in with your laughter.
"I'm sure that at first the color of the flower caught his attention, but now he just thinks that he's playing with you," you reassure him. "Larys, I want actions, not just empty words. I want you to be there for us," you asked, returning to what your lover had said before.
And Larys showed that he was serious. He started coming to your chambers in the middle of the night to help you with the children. You noticed that at first, he seemed to struggle when they cried but after you taught him that skin-to-skin contact helped calm them down and told him that talking to babies helped too, Larys seemed to handle it well, although the first few times you had to stop yourself from laughing at how uncomfortable and lost the man looked because he had no idea what to talk to babies about. You had to tell him to stop thinking about it so much and just talk. Larys didn't make silly voices like Laena, Laenor, or Harwin but Alyn didn't seem to mind because he happily responded to his father with babbling. It didn't take long for Aethan to join in as well because she didn't want to be left out of the "talk."
You will never forget Larys' smile when for the first time he was greeted by Alyn's excited screams as soon as he saw his father enter your chambers. You feel happy with all this development, not only that but Larys also starts to join you during the day, of course not every day, but sometimes he happens once at the nursery with you or they meet by "chance" with you in the gardens and show the twins the flowers together. Even Princess Helaena joins you a couple of times but she soon loses interest in the flowers and entertains herself with the bugs she finds on the ground. At those times Larys and you have to make sure the twins don't try to put any insects in their mouths.
Everything seems to be fine again...Except for Harwin, who feels displaced when you no longer allow him to spend the nights in your chambers and starts seeing you and Larys together during the day. Harwin knows that he should be happy with the fact that you no longer seem to hate him and with the rapprochement that the two of you had during the time that he helped you with the twins. You don't seem angry when you meet him at nursery, nor do you reject him when during the day he insists on spending time with you and the twins. You don't even yell at him when he proposes that Jacaerys join the four of you. He should settle for that but he can't. He just wants to get your love back.
You should not have been surprised when one of your maids came to inform you that your husband was in the princess's chambers. You didn't expect that now that you could stand his presence and have the occasional civil conversation with him, he would magically forget about Rhaenyra. You weren't stupid, you knew he was still seeing her but you hoped he would at least have a little respect for you. You couldn't believe he dared to be in Rhaenyra's chambers while she gave birth. People were already talking about you three but this would only make it worse. You didn't think they could dare to humiliate you any further, at least at the birth of Jacaerys, Harwin hadn't dared to do this.
Fury took over your body. You ignored your maid's calls as you strode out of your chambers.
You felt the blood in your body heat up, noticing that you were getting closer to your destination. You couldn't stop thinking about your hands around Harwin's neck. You wanted to kill him. But you couldn't do it. If you kill your husband you will not go unpunished and you will suffer some punishment, your death, or your exile, and the last thing you want is to leave Alicent and Larys. So you'd have to settle for making a scene.
If Rhaenyra and Harwin wanted attention then you would make a damn spectacle. Tomorrow there wouldn't be a single person who wouldn't talk about you three.
When you finally reached your destination you abruptly opened the doors making as much noise as possible. You entered, leaving the doors open with the intention that anyone who passed by could hear you. You found Rhaenyra lying on her bed with Harwin kneeling next to her and holding her hand.
All eyes were on you, Laenor looking at you with fear, the midwives tensed while the princess and your husband looked at you with pure surprise. For a moment Rhaenyra thought that you would be at her side and accompany her while she gave birth.
“I tried to get him away from her,” Laenor said quickly, from the corner, seeing the fury in your eyes not wanting to be on the receiving end of it. Not when he had struggled to obtain your forgiveness.
You ignored your brother and headed straight for Harwin. One of Rhaenyra's handmaidens thought you would try to hurt the princess so she tried to stop you by standing in front of you. You barely bothered to look at her before pushing her in Laenor's direction. Your brother, as you expected, caught her before she could fall to the floor. The screams of the other maids irritated you even more. You hadn't even put all your strength into the push, of course, they had to be just as dramatic as Rhaenyra.
“What are you doing here?” with every second that Harwin passed in silence you felt your fury grow even more, the worst thing was that he didn't seem to have any intention of separating himself from the princess because he was still holding her hand. “Why does a sworn shield need to be here? “You questioned but again you didn't get any response causing you to lose what little control you had “You can't protect her from the birthing bed, you idiot! You shouldn't be here! Do you understand how humiliating it is for me, for my children, that you are here?!” As you spoke, you raised your voice more and more to the point that you ended up shouting, you were sure that at least your complaint had been heard by anyone who was there. will be found in the hallways. You were sure that from today the court would be sure that Harwin was the father of Rhaenyra's children.
You saw Rhaenyra flinch, you didn't know if it was because of your screams or because she was having a contraction. You didn't care anyway, she did this to herself you thought. If she were smarter she would not have gotten pregnant by your husband again and much less would she have allowed him to accompany her during her birth.
“She needs me,” said Harwin, looking at you with pleading eyes, hoping you would understand, you should, you know Rhaenyra and you know that she is afraid of childbirth after everything her mother suffered.
“Harwin, we're leaving,” you demanded.
Harwin loves you but he loves Rhaenyra too so he couldn't leave her alone right now, not when she knew she was scared and needed him.
“No,” he said painfully, knowing that the little process he had done between the two of you would be forgotten. Now you would get angry but then he would work hard to win you over again.
Your dragon blood or your Baratheon blood had to have taken over your body because suddenly your hands were on your husband's scalp. Years ago you had caressed his curls tenderly but now you found yourself pulling him with all your strength, if he wasn't willing to get out then you were willing to drag him. You would embarrass him in front of the maids and anyone in the hall.
Harwin quickly let go of Rhaenyra's hand to prevent you from ending up dragging her with him. The princess didn't know what to do as she watched in shock as Laenor grabbed you by the waist and tried to pull you away from Harwin, but you didn't give in, your hands seemed to be clinging to him. All Rhaenyra could do was shake her head as one of her handmaidens approached the door ready to call the guards and silence the rest. The last thing she wanted was to get you in trouble.
“Please, sister, let go. Please,” Laenor asked desperately. He feared that at any moment a guard would walk in and you would end up having an audience with the king for disturbing the princess in the middle of her birth and attacking her sworn shield. The worst thing is that he saw you capable in your state of the fury of telling Viserys to rot for pretending not to know what was happening right under his nose, how his grandson was a bastard: "It's not worth getting in trouble for them. Please release him. If the king and queen find out about this…
He stopped talking when he watched you loosen your grip on Harwin carelessly causing his head to hit the floor. Laenor couldn't help but grimace at the noise. He had to have pushed you away instantly because you once again grabbed Harwin by the hair, lifting his head and then slamming it back onto the floor. This time when you let go, Laenor took the opportunity to lift you up and left Rhaenyra's chambers with you on his shoulder while you shouted curses in Valyrian.
They hadn't even reached the end of the hallway when Laenor stopped, a few seconds passed before he put you down. But you understood his reaction when you saw his father standing in front of you. He was looking at you angrily and again you felt like you were a little girl getting into trouble running away from your babysitters. Laenor must have felt your anguish because he took your hand and intertwined your fingers like he used to do when you were children and you were both scolded, not only that but he put his body in front of yours.
"Did you expect me to stand by and do nothing while they humiliated me?" you questioned your father once he finished scolding you and Laenor. During all of Corlys's talk, your brother didn't let go of your hand and you loved him more than ever for it. He could have avoided witnessing this, he could have left you alone but he didn't. Your brother wasn't to blame for your attitude but he was still scolded for not being firm enough to stop you before making a scene. You were sure that if Laenor had excused himself, your father wouldn't have bothered to scold him later.
"You humiliated yourself," he declared. It didn't matter that he had been ranting for what felt like hours he was still angry.
His words were like a slap. Unconsciously you tried to make yourself smaller in your seat as you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. He is your father, he should be on your side, he should be furious with Rhaenyra and Harwin, not you. He should be shouting and defending your honor. But instead, he's yelling at you.
You remained silent without knowing how to respond, feeling small, pathetic, and humiliated under your father's gaze. Not being able to take it anymore you lowered your head looking at your lap. You didn't like feeling like this, you hated it.
You loved your mom. It was a silly and childish thought but if she were here you believed she would take your side. She may not agree with your actions but she would never make you feel this way.
"Tomorrow the whole court will be talking about how you lost your mind, entering the princess's rooms and beating your husband," your father said making you feel worse. You had wanted to make a scene to get people talking but you thought it would be to your benefit, you thought the court would side with the poor faithful wife but maybe your father was right, maybe in the end you would be the one who would end up badly. Perhaps Rhaenyra and Harwin would not be the ones to make the Velaryons the laughingstock of the court but you. The pain in your throat worsened at that thought. "What if this reaches the king's ears?"
"That will not happen, Father," you were surprised by the firmness in your brother's voice. "Despite the distance between my sister and Rhaenyra. The princess still has great esteem for her and does not want to get her into trouble with the king. If Viserys decided to act and punish my sister that would only encourage people to talk more about the true paternity of Rhaenyra's children" he said as he gave your hand a squeeze hoping to get you out of whatever was scheming in your head knowing that it wouldn't. It must have been nothing good."Besides, I doubt people will think my sister is crazy. "The court will side with her after all it is normal to see a woman hurt by her husband's cheating."
"A maester had to see Harwin," Corlys reminded them with a frown.
"An accident. One of the maids dropped hot water and the idiot slipped and hit his head. It's his fault for being in the delivery bed when he shouldn't be" You couldn't help but laugh at the easy lie your brother made up. You wouldn't be surprised if there were people who believed her. Laenor turned to look at you with a smile, feeling satisfied to see that you were settling back down normally in your chair instead of trying to hide. "The only thing my sister did was go yell at her stupid husband for daring to snub her like that."
Before Corlys could say what he thought about it there was a knock on the door. After your father gave permission to enter a maid reported that Rhaenyra had given birth to a second son named Lucerys and that the three of you could now go and meet him.
"Come on Laenor, we have to meet the future lord of Driftmark," the Lord said once the maid left.
The fury you felt when you heard those words made you forget any feeling of smallness that your father caused you. You could allow your father many things but not this. You weren't going to stay silent while he took away your son's birthright and gave it to Rhaenyra's bastard. You knew that your father was an ambitious man and wanted to go down in history—that's why he had pushed you to spend time with Viserys as soon as Queen Aemma died and when you didn't become queen he made Laenor marry Rhaenyra even though he knew his preferences—but you never thought he would be able to deliver the legacy of your ancestors as if nothing had happened. It was insulting. This was outrageous.
When you least expected it, your father always found a new way to disappoint you.
"You can't be serious," you said, standing up abruptly from your chair while resting your hands on the desk.
"Please don't start again," your father said as if he was treating you like a tantrum child making your fury only grow even more. You could feel your blood heat up.
"He can't be Driftmark's heir," you said, emphasizing each word to get it into his head.
"He is the son of Laenor. It is his birthright"
"He is my son in name only," Laenor reminded him. He loved Jacaerys and was sure he would soon love Lucerys too, but he still knew he couldn't give any of them Driftmark. It would be an insult to Laena, to you, to his uncles and cousins.
“And why is that?” Corlys accused him. He didn't need to say any more words, the three of them knew that he blamed the lack of legitimate children on Laenor's preferences. You would think that after years your father would have accepted it by now.
“Driftmark belongs to Aethan,” you said, watching as Laenor clenched her hands into fists clearly frustrated, putting her attention back on you “He was born before Lucerys, it is his birthright” You tried hard not to raise your voice thinking that if You looked calm and confident. Your father could listen to you for once.
“You know perfectly well that the line of succession follows the lineage of Laenor.”
“That's the point,” you exclaimed. “Lucerys has no Velaryon blood and no offense to Laenor, but we all know you will never have descendants. "You turned when you saw your brother but he didn't look offended by your words so you turned your attention to your father "If Laenor doesn't have children then the line that follows is Laena's but she still doesn't have children so until that happens follow my line. Alyn was born first so he will have Harrenhall but Driftmark belongs to Aethan.”
“Lucerys will inherit Driftmark after Laenor,” your father stated as if he hadn't heard anything you said.
“He doesn't have Velaryon blood!” you argued, losing your patience, a part of you wanted to throw yourself at the desk and beat your father to the point of exhaustion. Maybe this way he would come to his senses.
“History does not remember blood, it remembers names”
Again he was looking at you like you were a little girl, like you were stupid and couldn't understand what she was talking about. But you understood, he was always going to care more about his ambition than his family. This time you did not hide from his gaze but instead took refuge in your fury.
Nightwing shouted angrily from the Dragon's Pit.
Slapped.
Your father looked at you in shock. You didn't feel guilt or regret, in fact, you felt satisfaction. You hoped the mark of your hand would remain on his face. You weren't going to apologize, he deserved it for choosing Rhaenyra and his bastard over you and your son, his own blood.
Laenor was the first to react, taking your arm and pulling you back and then standing in front of you, ready to protect you in case his father tried to do something to you. But you weren't afraid. Your father had never hit you before and you didn't think he would start doing it now, not when you were already a grown woman, not when you could still hear the furious screams of your dragon, not when you both knew that if he dared to touch you your mother wouldn't hesitate to feed him to Meleys
“Get her out of here,” Corlys ordered, regaining his patriarchal composure.
You broke free from your brother's grip. You didn't need an escort. You could go alone but you had one last thing to say. You expected this to torment him.
“You will be the one to ruin our name, you will make us a laughing stock if you leave that child as heir.”
Of course, your fury can't last forever. That's why when Larys entered through the secret passageway that your room had, he found you curled up in bed.
"Are you angry?" You turn your back on him as you feel him lift the sheets to get into the bed next to you.
Your voice was weak and unsure like you were afraid to know his answer. And Larys didn't like it.
"Just for not being able to see how you hit my brother" he replied and you wanted to laugh but it came out more like a sob making the look in Larys' eyes soften. If it was someone else they would find it annoying or feel uncomfortable but you are the exception. He just wanted to make your pain go away. "What happened?" he asked, ready to listen to you complain about Harwin and Rhaenyra.
"My father wants Lucerys Velaryon to be heir to Driftmark instead of Aethan" You turned around and dared to sneak into your lover's chest now that you knew he wasn't upset with you.
You took Larys by surprise because he didn't expect that to be the reason for your discomfort.
"That's not going to happen," he assured you as he gave you comforting strokes on your back. "Not many children make it to the age of two. Even if they do, they can always have an accident during their childhood. And if that doesn't happen, then we'll take care of Lucerys."
You should be horrified by what Larys just said and its implications. You should be scared at how calm he seems at the idea of murdering his own nephew but instead, you feel more in love with him. It's twisted but his words gave you comfort, knowing that you weren't alone in this, that you had someone on your side who was willing to do something so heinous just for you and so that your child would have his birthright. You and Larys must be crazy thinking about the death of a newlyborn baby. You're probably not as good a person as you thought and you don't know how to feel about it. You send a silent prayer to the gods and apologize for your thoughts because that's what a good person would do. You convince yourself that your fury is still poisoning your head and that's why you think of Lucerys dead. Your usual self would never think of that. How would you wish for the death of an innocent baby?
"We won't do anything," you say but both you and Larys can notice the lack of determination in your decision. But he's smart enough not to highlight it, it would only worsen your mood. "It's not Lucerys' fault that my father chose Rhaenyra over me," your voice breaks at the end and it seems like you're about to cry again.
"He didn't choose her, he chose the power he thinks she possesses," he said in an attempt to make you feel better.
"I'm sorry that your father disappointed you," he gently wiped your tears with his thumb. "But you don't need it. You have your siblings, and your mother and you have me. I'm always on your side."
At his last statement, you felt your heart warm up along with a sudden huge need to kiss him. So you obeyed your desire and leaned towards him and then captured his lips. You kissed him again and again, you tasted his lips as if it were the most exquisite wine you had ever tasted, but the thirst you felt for him did not seem to disappear.
"Be good and make me forget about today" you asked with heavy breathing.
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hotd masterlist
#the sea dragon the clubfoot and the green queen#larys strong x reader#larys x reader#larys strong#alicent x you#alicent x reader#alicent hightower x reader#harwin strong x reader#harwin x reader#harwin strong x you#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#laenor velaryon#corlys velaryon#velaryon reader#rhaenyra targaryen#hotd fanfic#hotd fic
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Like Oil and Water
Summary: Your office power struggle with Scott comes to a head. Paring: Scott (Twisters) x F!Scientist!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Enemies to lovers trope, PIV sex, fingering, and dirty talk. Slight angst. A/N: The story is based on this ask I received. I know there are like…five Scott fans out there besides me so I hope y’all like this. I have no explanation for this fic except I’m horny for Scott. I had an alternative ending to this story but whoops feelings crept in. Thank you to @ryebecca, @whatblogisthis216 and @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over. The snazzy summary is courtesy of @writercole.
Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.
David Corenswet Characters Masterlist
“I’m never picking up your coffee order again,” Javi swears, handing the Starbucks cup to you. “Whatever happened to coffee with a little bit of cream?”
“Capitalism,” you reply, taking a sip. It wasn’t exactly how you liked it, missing that deep caramel flavor, but you appreciate Javi’s effort. “Thanks again.”
He nods, drinking from his cup as you make your way down to the labs, discussing the results from the latest test.
“We will need to adjust the relays, but other than that, I think we’re in good shape,” you tell him. “I’ll let the techs know we need those changes made this week.”
“Sounds good. I gotta make a quick call, but I’ll join you after,” Javi promises, disappearing into his office while you make your way down the hall.
You hear the low timber of Scott's voice before you spot him in conversation with one of the female techs. You loathe to admit it but he looks good, his tanned forearms on display with the sleeves of his white company shirt rolled up. The baseball cap tucked into his back pocket and dusty boots let you know he probably came straight from the field.
"We need to fix the relays. They failed the test. Again. That's unacceptable," he begins, gearing up for another one of his infamous lectures. "Back when I was at MIT, this type of calibration was the first thing we were taught."
Scott may have been one of the smartest guys on Javi’s team but he was also a smug asshole. From the moment you met him, he irritated you, reminding you of every man who thought he was smarter and better than you just because of his gender. Everyone expected engineers to be difficult to work with, but Scott took it to another level. Who could blame you for taking him down a peg or two when you had the chance?
"So you went to MIT. Big whoop," you begin, delighted to see Scott tense up at the sound of your voice. When he turns to face you, the tech is quick to scurry away. "Call me when you have a PhD from a real school, like Caltech, Scotty."
He hates it when you call him that but today it's your jab about MIT that strikes a nerve. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he exhales harshly. God, that angry look in his eye really did something for you. Too bad his looks couldn’t make up for how much of a dick he could be.
Scott practically spits your first name out, stepping into your space to loom over you. His broad shoulders and muscular build block your view of the lab. You tilt your head to look at him, fighting the urge to smile. "You really should address me as ‘doctor,’" you calmly remind him, tapping your name badge.
You arch a brow, waiting for his response but his mouth snaps shut, attention moving to something behind you.
It’s Javi.
"Come on guys," he sighs. "Play nice."
You glance over your shoulder, smiling sweetly. "I'm always nice.”
"Why are you even in the labs today?" Scott questions, glancing down at your heels.
You smooth a hand down your dress and smile. "I'm the Vice President of R&D for Storm Par. These are my labs. I belong here.”
"Dressed like that?" He scoffs.
"What, you don't like it?" You ask, turning in a slow circle.
"We had a meeting with some new investors," Javi supplies, trying to cut off the start of another fight between the two of you.
Scott turns away and you can practically hear his teeth grinding together. He still hasn’t forgiven you for talking Javi out of letting his uncle invest in the company. It would have been easy money but you never liked the business plan. It was best to stick with government grants and investors without any personal connections.
Javi touches your arm. “Come on, we gotta finish that grant.”
You hum in agreement, trailing behind him to the doorway. Pausing, you glance back and catch Scott watching you, his lips pressed into a thin line. With a grin, you wiggle your fingers at him, amused to see the furrow in his brow deepen even further.
The rest of your day is blessedly Scott-free and you spend your time buried in meetings and wading through needlessly complicated grant submissions. Javi employed some of the smartest people you’ve ever had the privilege of working with but they were terrible when it came to making the science digestible to investors. You sigh, rubbing your temples. It was going to be a long night.
You work uninterrupted, buried in the complexities of the grant, until Scott storms into your office, slamming the door behind him. “Did you tell the techs they could go home early?” he demands.
“Please, do come in,” you deadpan, setting aside the papers you’re holding.
“Did you send them home?” He repeats, rounding your desk and invading your personal space. At his side, his hands are clenched into fists, the veins in his neck standing out.
“I did.” You rise to your full height but even in heels, he dwarfs you.
“That wasn’t your call.”
“You do remember my job title, right?”
“I’m VP of Operations,” he reminds you. “I say when they go home, especially when we’re on a deadline.”
“They report to me, and you’ve had them working long hours,” you fire back.
He shakes his head, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, as he gives you an unimpressed look. “You’re too soft on them. I told Javi you weren’t right for this job. This isn’t academia. We work hard here.”
You bristle at his words, clenching your fist so tightly that your nails dig into the soft skin of your palm. He has no idea what it took for you to get here, the challenges you faced, or the men like him you had to prove yourself to.
“Go fuck yourself, Scott.”
You glare up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. You wait, ready for whatever asshole comment is sure to come but he just stares at you. Then, to your surprise, his gaze drops to your mouth. You freeze, electricity zipping up your spine when you realize you’re close enough for your chest to brush his as you exhale. Looking back, you won't remember the impulse that led you to tilt your head and press your lips to his, only that you did.
The kiss only lasts a second before you pull away, heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, neither of you moves, but then suddenly he surges forward, his large hand grasping the side of your face. His lips crash into yours roughly. A hand at your hip urges you back until you bump your desk but he doesn’t stop until he’s practically dragged you on top of it. He presses in close, eating up what little space remains. You groan, grasping at his shirt as you push your hips into his.
“Fuck,” he pants, resting his forehead against yours as his warm breath fans across your face. For one terrible second, you think he might stop or say something stupid to ruin the moment but then he’s kissing you again. He forces a hand between your bodies and roughly pulls your underwear aside so his fingers can drag through your folds. You’d be shocked by how fast it’s all happening but any higher thought fizzles out once his thumb circles your clit and his tongue breaks the seam of your lips to taste you.
You’re breathless when he pulls away, back arching in response to his talented fingers. Through your lashes you see him smirk down at you. “No smart comebacks now?” He questions.
Before you can retort he adds a second finger. You moan, rolling your hips to seek more of him. “Knew you’d be fucking greedy,” he whispers.
He watches you fuck yourself on his hand with a hungry glint in his eyes until your pace slows. He glanced at your face. You rise up on your elbows, brow raised. “Am I going to do all the work here?”
“Shut up,” he growls, withdrawing his fingers.
A witty comeback is on the tip of your tongue but it dies when Scott brings his fingers to his mouth. He stares down at you while he sucks them clean, his Adam's apple bobbing. Your stomach clenches hard at the sight.
“That’s better,” he comments, unbuckling his belt. “Nice and quiet.”
He takes a condom from his wallet and rolls it on his thick length. If there was ever a time to stop, it’s now. You look at Scott, his dark gaze swimming with desire and push the thought away, rising up to kiss him. The blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance and you lift your hips. You relish the way he looks, dark hair curling over his sweaty forehead and his body straining for you. Knowing you’ve done this to him sends a rush of want through you.
Scott pushes inside slowly, hissing as your wet heat envelopes him until he’s halfway in and then he snaps his hips forward unexpectedly. Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush. He falls forward and the weight of him is electrifying. You’d be embarrassed at the desperate little sounds his mouth swallows up if he didn’t feel so damn good.
He fucks with an intense kind of precision you’ve seen him bring to his work, reaching deep inside you to hit all the right places. You bury your fingers in his dark hair and pull, eliciting a needy moan from the irritatingly talented man above you.
“You gonna come for me?” He asks, breathless.
A desperate little, please, slips past your lips without your permission, spurring him on. He hooks a hand under your knee and forces your leg into your chest as he keeps up his frantic pace. The new angle takes him even deeper and pleasure ripples through your stomach. He feels unbelievably good and you practically sob when he pulls back and rises to his full height, afraid he’s going to stop. But he doesn’t, grasping your hips with both hands and forcing you to meet his thrusts.
You’re tantalizing close and, without thinking, you reach down to help yourself along but Scott is quick to slap your hand away, replacing it with his own.
“That’s mine,” he growls, the rough pad of his thumb catching on the sensitive skin. He watches with rapt attention as his cock and fingers work in tandem to drive you over the edge. You come with his name on your lips.
“Fuck, just like that,” he gasps.
Before you can recover your breath, he leans down and kisses you, his weight pressing you into the desk as his hips move relentlessly. Then he shoves himself deep inside and stills, groaning. Your ears ring and your body buzzes with the aftershocks of your own orgasm. The two of you stay like that, intertwined and panting until, finally, Scott moves.
Cool air rushes between your bodies and you stare up at him. You can see him thinking in real time, his clever gaze searching your face as he continues to process what happened. What could either of you possibly say after this? Nothing good you realize.
“Don’t,” you whisper, finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t ruin it.”
Scott closes his eyes and swallows hard. Then he's moving, slipping out of you with a grunt. He turns away from you, redressing. The clink of his belt buckle is loud in the quiet office. Pressing your fingers to your swollen lips, you take a moment to let yourself feel everything before pushing it aside and standing on unsteady legs.
You fix your appearance the best you can and busy yourself with shuffling the mess of papers strewn everywhere. It might be cowardly, but you keep your gaze fixed on your desk when you hear the door creak open. You wait, the minutes dragging by until you know it’s safe to look up, only to find Scott still there.
He lingers in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you.
Then you blink and he’s gone.
♡
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#scott#twisters#twisters fic#twisters fanfic#scott twisters#scott x reader#scott x you#scott miller x reader#scott miller x you
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Can I talk about this image from Rivulet's ending for a second?
(edited to add a break because the post is very Long TM)
If Five Pebbles knows that you are delivering the Rarefaction Cell, Moon pulls this message up alongside the dialogue;
"I cannot run away from my mistakes forever; Please understand." Five Pebbles, what have you done… I've been given so much already, and now you've given all you had left.
Based off of Moon's dialogue, this seems to be an inbox of some sort. We can assume that the orange symbol is basically Five Pebbles' profile picture. Which would mean that the pictures to the side are unread messages from other iterators, some more clear than others.
Based on what we know of other iterators, it is probably safe to assume that the green diamonds are No Significant Harassment, while the red sun is, well, Seven Red Suns. We also see that Pebbles' message got greyed out when Moon opened it. Now, this is all well and good for understanding another aspect of how iterator communication works, that being that they can basically send emails to each other. However, that brings up a few questions; one, who the hell is this blue iterator?
This iterator's symbol is a bit different from the rest, seeming to have the third and fourth karma symbol in their profile picture, alongside a diamond in between. There are three possibilities in my mind. I'll go from most likely to least likely:
This is Chasing/Grey Wind, trying to check up on Moon before or after her collapse. This would make sense, based on their dialogue in the pearls.
This is Unparalleled Innocence. Despite being a jerk to Pebbles, perhaps they checked on Moon at some point.
This is Looks to the Moon, sending a message to herself, perhaps in hopes of using the inbox as a secondary form of memory if she is able to access it. The inbox has at least lasted all this time, for as long as the broadcast networks have been down.
My second question would be; what is the content of the messages from Sig and Suns? I believe that, for Sig's messages, they're the broadcasts that we see him send to Moon before her collapse. However, they could also be Sig's attempts to get the slag reset keys to her without needing his messenger to do it.
As for Suns, they could be apologizing to Moon for what had happened. After all, they were indirectly responsible for her collapse.
I suppose my ultimate takeaway from all of this is; I like getting a glimpse at what iterators can do, and how they interface with each other and the world. I also enjoy speculating about trivial things, lol.
Anyways, thank you for reading my ramblings. It means a lot. Now, though, I must return to my work (aka calculus homework :P). Have a good night y'all!
#rain world#rw spoilers#rw downpour#rw downpour spoilers#rw rivulet spoilers#five pebbles#looks to the moon#seven red suns#no significant harassment#rw iterator#ramblings#speculation
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