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0mg-bird · 2 months

Note

i would love it if you wrote anything with a shy reader and bob, but no pressure!

Two shy characters? I love it.

Shy Reader x B. Floyd

Summary: At the Navy bar your friends drag you to, you come across an aviator who isn’t like the rest of them.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, fluff!, Bob is so cute I wanna put him in my pocket even though I know he’s a grown man.

A/n: I did something a little different than my Jake story, hope you don’t hate it <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I really wish we could have just stayed at the restaurant.” You awkwardly laugh as your friends, Ashley and Steff, pull you along with them.

“Oh come on, it’s my birthday so we’re going to get drunk and find a soldier to take home. One for each of us.” Steff says, already slightly tipsy from dinner.

You hide your frown, adjusting your curled hair and fiddle with your top.

You’ve never been into the Hard Deck, that’s what starts off your unsureness. You weren’t one for public outings, you enjoyed the company of your friends but they were always more adventurous than you.

There’s music playing and lots of people mingling, you’re practically hiding behind Ashley, following the two through the bar.

“You need a drink, you’re too stiff.” Ash says as the three of you sit at the bar.

“I’m always this stiff.” You reply, sitting on your stool. “Well, let’s fix that.” Steff giggles before ordering three drinks.

You chat and your anxious feelings subside, as soon as you get to thinking that bar scene really isn’t that bad, you hit a curve.

“God, they’re all so gorgeous.” Ash practically moans and you follow her line of sight to the group of uniforms behind you. They’re all playing pool and talking, all clad in tan and name badges.

“I like…that one- no! Him, yes, the tall one.” Steff bites her straw, motioning to a dirty blond with broad shoulders and great biceps.

Ash hums in agreement. “I like him too.”

“Well it’s my birthday so pick again.”

They have the argument for another minute or so, then as you finally dissociate from them, they’re telling you they’re going to go say hi.

“What? No just stay here…please?” You beg, not wanting to be left alone.

“We’ll be right back, I swear.” Steff says, kissing your cheek. “Have another drink and you’ll be fine.”

You groan and rub her lipstick off your face, then turn to the woman behind the bar. “I’ll have another Long Island, put it on the party girl’s tab.”

She smiles. “Coming right up.”

You blow out a puff of air, then look around. You must look awkward, sitting by yourself, not chatting like everyone else. When your drink comes, you look sip on your straw and look over your shoulder to see if your friends have gotten any farther with the guys they’re talking to. You smile at the way Steff is feeling her guy up, as you go to glance away, something catches your eye.

Someone.

He’s sitting on a stool, not fully engaged with the rest of the squad. As your eyes catch his stare, he looks away for a moment, then looks back.

A genuine smile he gives you, and then it’s your turn to slightly smile and look away.

Bob’s eyes keep shifting to your seated position across from him, and by the third time of his drifting off, Phoenix is onto his game.

“Are you gonna sit here like an idiot all night or are you going to talk to her?” She asks.

“What? I don’t know what-”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ve been staring at her like a puppy for twenty minutes. Go talk to her.”

The thought of approaching you seemed like a death wish. You were gorgeous, and any other previous times he’s approached a gorgeous girl, it ended with some sort of question about what Hangman was up to.

“No, she looks busy.” He says, looking back to the sunflower seeds in his cup.

“Busy doing what? Stirring the ice in her drink? That girl is bored out of her mind, Bob, go put her out of her misery.” She has a demanding tone that makes him stand, still unsure.

“What’s he doing?” Fanboy asks, noticing the way Bob slowly inches forward. “He’s gonna go talk to the girl he’s been ogling for too long.” Phoenix says.

“You go Bob!” Payback encourages, really just joking.

“Get me a beer while you’re at it!” Fanboy calls.

“Me too!” Phoenix and Payback add.

He walks with hesitation instead of determination, the entire time he thinks it’s a ridiculous idea.

He stops at the spot beside you. “Penny, can I get three beers?”

By his sudden presence, you startle, slightly jumping in your seat.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare yuh.” He apologizes. You’re more beautiful up close, timid as you tell him it was okay.

“Why’re you sitting alone? If you don’t mind me asking?” He asks and you bite your lower lip, fighting a smile. “My friends are busy groping your friends over there.” You joke.

“Makes sense. You’re not a fan of their antics?”

You shake your head, nose scrunching. Bob takes in a small breath. “Well, I think it’s a real shame that you’re sitting alone. Why don’t you go back to your friends?”

You like his accent, it feels southern but you aren’t sure.

“Really, I’m fine. I’m not exactly a fan of the attention being on me.” You admit.

As Penny places three beer bottles in front of him, he grabs them up. “I think you should join me.” He rushes out, his tone just as surprised as you are.

“Join you?” You ask, looking to the group. Two guys are shoving each other back and forth, seeing who will fall over first. You’re not satisfied with the idea of involving yourself with that. “I think I’ll just wait for my friends to come back.”

He takes a seat beside you. “Can I join you then?”

No guy has ever been so persistent with you before, you’re not sure what to do. You look at his name tag.

“Okay, Floyd, you can stay but I’m kind of boring.”

He shakes his head. “I find that hard to believe and uh, you can call me Bob, everyone else does.”

Having him up close, you recognize how handsome he really is. Not the obnoxiously attractive that the rest of his crew is, he’s more reserved. You like that. His glasses are quirky and different, making him look all the better.

“I’d hate to keep you from your friends, Bobby.”

No one’s ever called him Bobby before, the way it sounds coming off your lips is addicting.

“Trust me, you’re doing me a favor.” He jokes. “You got a name?”

You look at your shoes and tell him. When he tries it out, you blush.

“I like that name.” He compliments.

“I think it’s kind of boring:”

“It’s not boring.”

You like the way he’s being so kind, most guys would have tried a pick up line by now, but Bob sits with utter curiosity in his eyes.

“So, you from here?” You ask, sucking on your straw.

“No, I’ve lived in Lemoore for a while but I’m stationed here until further notice. I grew up in Kentucky actually, then I joined the Navy and haven’t really been back.” He explains, watching the way you rest an elbow in the bar, then lean your head on your hand. “What about you? Are you from here?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m from up North actually. But I went to school down here and fell in love with it so here I am.”

The two of you are quickly immersed in conversation about childhood and travel and Bob watches you come out of your shell.

“You don’t want anything?” You asked, motioning to the bar.

“I don’t drink.” He explains, though he’s distracted by Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin who suddenly is crowding your space.

“Excuse me, is this guy bothering you?” He asks, joking around with Bob.

“Don’t you have a blonde to attend to, Bagman?” Bob questions, making the man drop his smile.

“I’m getting her a drink, her friend too.” He says before ordering two vodka sodas. He looks back at you. “Your party girlfriends are wanting you to join them.”

As you open your mouth to respond, a shout comes from the group. “Bob! What happened to the beers?”

Bob groans, then stands to gather the beers that have been sitting for twenty minutes. “I should get back to it.” He tells you with a smile, walking away.

You look around, confused. Maybe you put him off, maybe you gave the wrong signals. You grab your drink, finishing it quickly, and before you can second guess yourself, you follow after him.

As your presence is recognized, the crew halts in conversation.

This was a bad idea. You could turn back, it wasn’t too late.

As you go to do just that, Bob speaks. “Hi again.”

He’s motioning to the stool he was going to sit on, offering it to you instead.

You slowly sit, deciding on being brave.

You’re introduced to the rest of the group, and as you remember why you didn’t want to be around the guys your friends wanted to, Bob is there, talking to you so the others couldn’t. There’s plenty of jokes made that you force yourself to laugh at, just so you wouldn’t seem awkward, but the tale tell sign of you constantly checking the little leather watch on your wrist showed you were ready for some peace and quiet.

“You wanna go for a walk?” Bob’s voice is low next to your ear, it makes a shiver run through you.

As you look up, his face is surprisingly close to you. You slowly nod. “Okay.”

In the moment that everyone else is distracted by the two girls who adore the attention, the two of you head for the door. You don’t pull away as Bob clutches your hand, keeping you close as he leads you past people.

The music is immediately quieted as you make it to the fresh air, the gentle sound of the waves coming in is relaxing.

“I don’t love the crowds either.” He says as you make your way across the sidewalk. You’re busy looking out to the sand and waves. “Ash and Steff are really more the fun ones, they can have a good time with a group of people watching…I cannot.”

He likes the sound of your laugh, the way the white moonlight is hitting your features makes you seem radiant.

“I always thought the Navy would make me a more sociable person, I guess it has but I think it creeps people out, how quiet I am.” He chuckles.

Completely content with strolling beside you, he gives off an energy you feel utterly comfortable in.

“I like that you’re quiet, most Navy guys aren’t.”

He playfully squints at you. “You talk to a lot of Navy guys?”

Reevaluating your words, your cheeks flush. “No that’s not what I meant, I just meant that- they’re all a certain way- not that I would know! I have never slept with any man of uniform!”

Bob stands in surprise at your ramble, finding it humorous. As he laughs, you cover your face, embarrassed.

“Hey, I was just teasing. I swear, I was teasin’.” He grabs your wrists gently, prying your hands from you so he can look at your red face. “Come on, pretty girl, look at me.”

As soon as he says it, he feels embarrassed himself. The name just slipped out, he should’ve halted the words, he needs to apologize-

You look up at him, doe eyes and a small smile.

Your hearts pounding, your close proximity to him has you feeling hot. As the low crash of waves mixes with the ringing in your ears, you wonder what it would be like to live on the wild side, to do what people do in bars. If you were brave and stepped out of your shy personality, would he let you kiss him?

Bob’s gazing down at you, he’s trying to figure out what’s turning in your mind. One hand lets go of your wrist, it gently cups your cheek.

“I’m going to be bold.” You state with a determination that makes him nod.

“Okay.” Is all he says.

The hand he has a hold on, goes to rest on his chest. You’re surprised at the hardness of it, sure you knew he had to be physically fit to be in the line of work he’s in, but his body is so unsuspecting, it honestly makes him utterly attractive.

He watches you hyper fixate on your touch on his chest, and the warmth of you is enough to make him feel buzzed.

He doesn’t want to rush you, but every second where you don’t pursue whatever thought you have, is killing him.

You start thinking against it, you don’t want him to think you kiss strangers, it’s not who you are at all. You swallow hard, about to call the whole thing off and tell him goodnight. When you raise your head though, he’s lifting your face to his. You’re captivated, he’s embracing you so tenderly, kissing you with an unsure and unfamiliar passion.

You sigh deeply, he holds your hand to his chest, your free one slides over his shoulder. Slowly, shyly, your lips move against his, falling into a gentle rhythm.

Your heavy eyes are shut, the utter feeling of him is making an electricity flicker through you.

After a moment, he pulls away, both hands cradling your face now.

“Please tell me that’s what you were going to do.”

You nod with a fever. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to do.”

He kisses you quickly once more, just to get it out of his system. “What are you doing tomorrow?” He asks.

“Probably nursing Steff’s hang over, but if you call me I’ll do whatever you’re doing.”

He grins, liking the idea.

You continue your late night walk, and inside the bar, Coyote looks to the vacant stool with confusion. “Where’s Bob?”

The crew stops, then looks to the empty space.

“Stealth pilot, I’m telling you.” Hangman says. “This guy is always disappearing and popping back up again.”

#top gun fandom #top gun maverick #bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x reader #jake seresin #natasha trace #lewis pullman #fluff #x reader

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kamaluhkhan · 29 days

Text

LONG HOT SUMMER NIGHT

pairing: luke castellan x fem!poseidon!reader word count: 8.4k chapter summary: it's the summer solstice and olympus is throwing a party! thalia notices the tension between you and luke, poseidon gives you some relationship advice and you punch the god of desire in the face. warnings: angst! jealous reader. lots of drinking. complicated relationships. reader dealing with ptsd + survivor's guilt (post-titan war). mention of injuries + blood. creepy guy pushing reader to hook up. ending is a bit steamy but no actual smut. spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 also reader is in a band called the midnight sirens and is born on the summer solstice! author's note: thank you so much for all the love for part 1!! summer is almost over and this is very much a summer series BUT summer's not over yet !!! hope y'all enjoy this one too and thanks 4 reading 💙

part 1 | series masterlist

♪: long hot summer night by jimi hendrix

mail to:

Luke Castellan Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill 3.141 Farm Road Long Island, New York 11954

LUKE!

I’m sitting in my kitchen right now, watching Percy make us blue blueberry pancakes and hoping he doesn’t burn down my kitchen while doing so. I caved and agreed to take him to Disneyland while he’s here and breakfast was part of the deal, but I think I might regret it later.

We went surfing yesterday. It was Percy’s first time, but he was (unsurprisingly) amazing at it. I still can’t get over how beautiful the beaches are and the waves — gods, the waves are unreal. You’d seriously love it here. It’s like every day is summer. You have to come visit. PLEASE come visit!!!!

- [your initial]

P.S. The band and I are working on some new music, which means I won’t make it to camp again this summer. I’m sorry ;( Fingers crossed I’ll make it next year.

P.P.S. hi luke! happy to report that i did not burn down my sister’s kitchen. anyways, can’t wait to kick your ass in sword-fighting this summer. xoxo, percy

THREE YEARS LATER

the first time you visited olympus, you had been sent on a quest to retrieve zeus’ stolen lightning bolt, bringing luke and charles beckendorf along with you. you had missed the summer solstice deadline, but still tried to reason with the king of the gods when presenting the symbol of power, maybe calling him out once or twice along the way. before zeus could strike you down for your boldness, poseidon stepped in. the war between them was averted in fear of a much larger, looming threat; an ominous introduction for what was to come in the next chapter of your life.

another time, the gods debated whether or not they should kill you, some seeing you as a threat to their future. that was the day you accepted your destiny, not wanting your brother percy or your cousin nico to deal with the weight of the great prophecy.

your last visit to olympus was on your 18th birthday, after helping to defeat kronos and his army. you made the gods swear to stop neglecting their kids and to allow all demigods, regardless of whether their parent was an olympian or not, to have a home at camp half-blood; to treat their children as children rather than heroes as pawns in their twisted games.

needless to say, it’s quite strange, being back here under very, very different circumstances, where the gods invited camp half-blood’s senior counsellors and staff to join in their summer solstice festivities.

it’s not every day you’ll be invited to a party on olympus; you’re determined to have a good time, to have fun. there’s already an abundance of music, dancing, food, or alcohol, and the night is just getting started.

you’re happy to be there with new and old friends, but you’re ecstatic when you see that thalia grace is there, too.

“immortality looks good on you, t!” you compliment, raising your voice slightly over the music.

thalia preens, and you bask in her silver glow.

“bet you wish you took the gods up on their offer, huh,” she teases. then, her eyes widen. “oh - shit! it’s your birthday! happy birthday!”

thalia tackles you with another hug; even after all these years, she still smells like pine trees. she grabs two goblets of honeyed wine and hands one to you as you catch up. you eagerly gulp the sweet drink, until you’re reaching for another while listening to her stories about adventures she’d been on with the hunters of artemis.

about halfway through her story about fighting off a manticore during a snow storm, a nymph appears with a platter of the ripest of fruit – sweet plums and fresh figs, tantalising pomegranates, succulent grapes and crisp apples.

“oh my gods, this is the best apple i’ve had in my entire life!” thalia exclaims after indulging in a taste, herself giddy from a few goblets of wine. “where’s luke? he’s gotta try this — he’s always reminding us to eat more fruit. luke!”

you hadn’t kept track of luke, at least not on purpose. you assumed he’d been off partying with van or his siblings, and, probably, avoiding you. wherever he was, thalia calls his name twice more and, like a ghost, luke appears.

“i’m here, t.” luke’s voice is a deep, steady rumble floating above the music. his cheeks are slightly flushed, either from the heat or the drinks. likely both. “what’s up?”

“you need to try this.” thalia shoves the apple in his mouth before luke can respond.

luke takes a bite, and some juice drips down his chin. you, in a honey-soaked haze, think about running your tongue over to catch it, but he beats you to it, wiping it away with the back of his hand.

probably for the best.

“holy shit. yeah, it’s good.”

thalia, a sparkle in her eyes, urges you to try it as well. from across the makeshift triangle the three of you had formed, luke tosses the apple your way. you catch it effortlessly, and sink your teeth into it.

you’ve almost overwhelmed by the burst of flavor. the fruit is just the right amount of tart to balance out the sweetness, and it’s damn near the best crunch you’ve ever experienced.

“good is an understatement,” you say after another bite. a distant memory crosses your mind. “i wonder if these are the same ones we almost got killed by a hellhound for.”

thalia shakes her head, laughing in disbelief. “all because luke said we needed more vitamin c.”

“i was just looking out for us!” luke guffaws. “how was i supposed to know that persephone owned an apple orchard in connecticut?”

you pat his shoulder, the three of you smiling at the memory. “let’s call it an honest mistake.”

“well if annabeth had been with us by then, i’m sure that she wouldn’t have made that same honest mistake.”

“okay, but she’s the daughter of athena —”

you let luke and thalia slip back into their playful bickering as if no time has passed. you listen and continue eating that glorious apple, enjoying how the golden glow of your shared past fills whatever distance might have grown between the three of you.

somewhere down memory lane, luke’s amber eyes flick towards you.

“hey, you’ve got some….” without another word, luke suddenly reaches over to brush away a trail of juice with his thumb before sticking the finger in his mouth to savour the taste. he holds your gaze as he does so, and you feel a familiar kind of heat rush through your body — not from alcohol or summer sun, but from luke.

it’s such an intimate gesture that you almost forget that you’re at some extravagant party on mount olympus, where gods and half-bloods and a whole bunch of other mythological creatures are celebrating the start of summer by essentially getting drunk together, until thalia clears her throat.

“okay, well, seems like the two of you might want some alone time.”

luke’s cheeks grow more flushed than before, and his eyes widen as if realizing what he’d done.

“oh, we don’t need —”

“we’re not —”

you and luke both stumble over your words; thalia just smiles knowingly.

“i’m gonna go flirt with that nymph,” she announces, pointing across the grand marble pavilion.

“i thought — doesn’t artemis sort of frown upon that sort of thing?” you ask.

“she makes exceptions on holidays. besides, i’m her favourite. you guys have fun.” thalia winks at you and walks away.

you glance at luke and, gods, there’s so much history between you.

the time you jumped into an ocean full of sirens to save luke from drowning? you have a scar running down your forearm where one of them scratched you as you struggled to get luke towards the surface.

or when you took turns holding up the sky while on a quest to save lady artemis and defeat the titan atlas? it’s evident in the matching streaks of grey that you each have running through your hair. whenever you see your reflection in the mirror, you remember how you couldn’t save your cousin bianca di angelo earlier that day, and how nico has had to grow up without a sister because of a promise you broke.

how about when you, luke, and one of your best friends were sent on a mission to destroy the princess andromeda, the headquarters of kronos’ army? only the two of you survived, and sometimes you can still feel luke squeezing your hand pike he did during charles beckendorf’s burial shroud ceremony while you both cried.

or when luke took a sword between the ribs for you because he, somehow, knew the one spot the curse of achilles left you vulnerable? he can only slouch for so long before the bones there start to ache.

so, yeah. there’s way too much history, and so many tangled threads, and now really isn’t an ideal time to unravel it all.

“i’m gonna go find my dad,” you blurt out and disappear into the crowd with no real intention of finding your father.

the once sweet apple now tastes rotten on your tongue; you rid yourself of it in exchange for some more wine. you’re determined to have fun — no pain or heartache or grief.

you’ve all had enough of that for three lifetimes.

summer — age 14

“sorry your birthday was ruined.”

luke exhaled sharply when you pressed a disinfectant-soaked cloth to the wound on his leg.

“hold still,” was all you mumbled in response, brows knitted together as you wrapped the cut in gauze.

once you were done with his leg, you moved on to luke’s hands, burned by poisonous acid. the four of you had run into a hydra earlier that night. you managed to wound it enough so you could all get away, but not before a few injuries were sustained.

you were uncharacteristically quiet as you worked. you only met luke’s gaze to warn him before pouring some nectar on his wounds. you let luke hold your hand, tightly, as the liquid dripped through his fingers and down to yours, first right, then left. the pain was instant, seering almost as much as the hydra acid, but it was over quickly. the last thing you did was bandage each hand before getting up.

“i’m…i’m gonna check on thalia and annabeth. i’ll take first watch.”

luke caught your hand before you got away.

“wait. you’re bleeding.” he pointed to the cut on your brow. you had been so preoccupied in making sure everyone else was safe that you let crimson liquid drip down your face. it probably stung, too, based on your grimace.

luke wiped away the blood with his sleeve, used nectar to disinfect the wound, and dressed it with a fresh bandage, working silently as you did.

“it’s still your birthday,” luke finally said once he was done. “you get some rest; i’ll take first watch.”

you gave him a small, strained smile before checking on the others.

later that night, you stayed up with luke anyways.

seemingly out of nowhere, you handed him your portable cassette player. luke stared at it for a moment, unwilling to comprehend just what you were offering and, more importantly, why.

you and luke had grown accustomed to sharing things: flannels, socks, makeshift beds and scavenged food. but this —

it was your aunt’s.

you never met your mother, who’d left you as a baby, and of course, poseidon was too busy tending to his underwater kingdom to step in as a parent. your aunt raised you as her own. and then you lost her, too.

you kept her cassette player buried deep in your bag with some mixtapes she had made and ones you’d stolen throughout the years. when it wasn’t your turn to keep watch, luke would sometimes catch you with headphones on, looking up at the stars.

luke liked to think he knew you well; all those subtle elements that made you — the crack of your knuckles, the cadence of your voice, the slope of your nose, the dreams of your childhood. engraved in his own personhood. bones and all.

and, still: he didn’t know you, not entirely.

you’d only allowed luke to listen with you once, maybe twice. he’d never forget what it was like: knees pressed together and heads just as close to keep the wires from stretching too far; you gushing about the magic of jimi hendrix, recounting memories that echoed through gentle guitar riffs; luke yearning for one more song to play, for another a wistful smile of yours to appear. luke, wishing to linger in your private oasis a beat longer before you pushed him out again and closed the door behind him.

the one lock luke couldn’t crack: your grief, and how you carried on so buoyantly despite its weight.

well, there you were, presenting the key to luke as an offering. a sacrifice for something luke would never ask of you.

“this….” luke swallowed the lump in his throat, refusing to look at you. he turned the device over in his bandaged hands, the metal smooth, though well-worn. “you can’t just —”

leave. you can’t just leave. you can’t just —

“hey.”

your hand over his, forcing him to stop spiralling and look at you.

right away, luke regretted it. a small sliver of him, however delusional, had hoped that you were joking.

you weren’t. behind you, there was an empty space where you had previously wedged your sleeping bag. your backpack was already strapped around your shoulders, fully packed.

“i need to leave, luke. we can’t stay together. it’s too dangerous.”

“you don’t need to —”

“there’s more of us, now,” you interrupted, pulling your hand away to rest on your thigh. “four demigods together isn’t ideal. we’ve been attracting more monsters. more deadly monsters.”

“that would happen, anyways. it always has whether it’s the four of us, the two of us, or….”

luke stopped his sentence short, not even wanting to give you the idea to go out on your own, even though you’d probably been thinking about leaving for some time.

you made reckless decisions sometimes, but this didn’t seem to be one of them.

“well, it’s happening more.” your voice was steady, too steady. luke imagined you rehearsing just what to say to counter the inevitable backlash.

luke shook his head. “i’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“you almost died because of me,” you clipped. you lifted a hand to touch the bruise on luke’s jaw, but let it drop just as quickly. “you know that children of the big three cause more trouble. maybe we managed it when it was the two of us, but now, there’s more to consider. a child of poseidon and a child of zeus, travelling together. it’s like we’re asking to be killed. it’s too dangerous.”

“that’s our life,” luke snapped. “you can’t just run from it.” from us.

you faltered, looking back to where annabeth and thalia were sleeping peacefully.

oh. he must have said that last part out loud, too.

“you know i’m right,” is all you said.

luke could only shake his head again. because, fine, you weren’t entirely wrong. it was more dangerous — but it was danger luke hoped you’d all face, together.

“i’ve made up my mind,” you added, an anchor in the sand.

“don’t leave.” luke’s words came out as a prayer. if he offered something, maybe you’d stay.

you paused to take a shaky breath. “this isn’t goodbye, luke. i swear to poseidon…fuck, i swear to all the gods that this isn’t goodbye.”

luke couldn’t speak. there were tears bubbling in his throat, threatening to spill.

“so, keep this for me,” you whispered, once again placing your hand on top of luke’s. his fingers gripped your cassette player tightly, like it was the only piece of driftwood leftover from a shipwreck, keeping him from sinking into the cold, dark nothing. “you’ll give it back when we see each other again.”

a promise.

“fine,” luke conceded, though he wanted to scream at you. he wanted to argue like little kids — petty, loud, meaningless, back and forth until tears streamed down cheeks and throats were raw.

but, you were leaving, one way or another. luke didn’t want this shared memory to be tainted if it might be your last.

“you have to take this, then. give it back when we see each other again.”

luke removed the chain from around his neck, the one that held the key to his childhood home. he placed it around yours, instead.

he didn’t need the key now, but his mother had given it to him when he was six. before he knew what it meant to be the son of hermes, god of thieves.

call him sentimental, but luke had kept it. just in case he ever got lost.

“if you’re ever back in connecticut, you have a home.”

“yeah, okay.” you smiled softly.

it fell just as quickly.

“take care of them,” you told him. “of yourself, too. i’ll see you again when it’s safe.”

luke didn’t ask when it would be safe, because the truth is that it might never be.

“because you want your cassette player back?” luke joked, instead trying to lighten the mood, to capture one last moment of brightness.

you laughed softly to not wake the others.

“yeah. that too.”

you pressed your forehead to his, something you hadn’t done since you were kids.

“i’ll see you again,” you repeated.

without another word, you got up and jogged away. luke shut his eyes, refusing to see you become nothing but a shadow.

(you looked back several times, but he couldn’t see through the darkness.)

now

call the gods out on their bullshit (you encourage it), but if they have one thing going for them, it’s that the olympians know how to throw a party.

the night grows darker, yet somehow becomes more lively. demeter and persephone had supplied a generous amount of fresh, decadent fruit, and dionysus an even more generous amount of wine. apollo starts a karaoke corner and you’re just tipsy enough to agree to sing a duet with him in order to break the ice. apparently, he’s a big midnight sirens fan and had seen your band when you headlined at glastonbury festival. you smile to yourself, imagining your bandmates’ faces if you told them that the god of music had watched you perform.

as you hand the microphone to a giggling dryad, the sound of your name washes over like gentle waves on a shore.

“if it isn’t my sweet, summer child!” your father brings you in for a hug and an ocean breeze engulfs you — salt and sand and sun.

“hi dad,” you exhale as you pull away.

you hadn’t seen each other in a while, but poseidon looks the same. he’s dressed in a turquoise hawaiian shirt and birkenstocks with a crown of seashells on his head. there’s a cocktail umbrella in his glass, a slice of pineapple wedged onto the rim. you’re about to ask him how he managed to secure a pina colada and where you might find one, too.

“that was quite the performance!” poseidon takes an eager sip of his drink, green eyes sparkling like sea glass in the sun. “i must tell you: your newest album is all the rage in atlantis. the nereids and merpeople can’t seem to get enough of it and, truthfully, i find myself playing it on repeat as well. you’re quite talented.”

you try not to let your shock slip through, instead smiling and asking how things are in his underwater kingdom, but you’re….touched at your father’s unexpected praise.

the gods aren’t perfect, and your father is no exception. they’re divine beings who have time to conceive children, but not to raise them. there’s a long history of them abandoning, mistreating, and manipulating their own offspring. of course, being the prophecy child, it became practically impossible for your father to ignore you; you’re sure that being dubbed the saviour of olympus gives him bragging rights with his immortal family. even with their sworn promise to change, it’s impossible not to resent the gods in some ways.

still, you feel comforted by your father's presence at times — when you catch the perfect wave on your surfboard, for example, or when you sit on your fire escape during a storm after a bad day. it’s been like that pretty much all your life: poseidon there in spirit, not in practice. despite everything, he’s watched over you, and percy, throughout the years.

and here poseidon is now, grinning at you like you’re his pride and joy.

“enough about aquatic politics.” he pats your shoulder enthusiastically after telling you about the struggles of keeping humans from overfishing. “i came over to wish you a happy birthday. and to give you this.”

poseidon reaches into the pocket of his shirt and hands you something you’d long thought gone: a leather cord with several clay beads and a silver key.

“i found it off the california coast,” he explains. “i kept meaning to get it to you, but i suppose time has a way of getting away from us, immortal or not.”

a warmth grows in your chest as you run your thumb over your old camp necklace, bright and full. it had fallen off one day when you’d gone surfing, and you assumed it was lost to the ocean. you'd been given a fresh leather cord when you arrived at camp earlier this summer, but it felt empty. hollow.

“thanks, dad.”

you smile at him as you put on the necklace; it feels like coming home. your father then asks you about your summer so far.

you tell him all about your life as of late, until you catch a glimpse of luke with van on a marble bench at the other end of the pavilion. van is sitting in luke’s lap, and they lean over to whisper something in his ear before kissing his cheek.

you freeze mid-way through your sentence.

sensing the shift in mood, poseidon frowns. he turns his head to follow your gaze.

“ah.” poseidon turns back to you and clears his throat. “now, i don’t mean to pry, but i saw you earlier with the castellan boy.”

you flush at the fact that your moment with luke was witnessed by your own father. “dad —”

“did you know in ancient greece, throwing someone an apple and having them catch it is considered a marriage proposal?”

“i’m pretty sure that was disproven,” you scoff.

poseidon raises an eyebrow at you, clearly amused. “which one of us was actually there, hm?” and though you roll your eyes, you can’t argue with that. “i just wanted to know if there was a wedding happening in the near future.”

you almost choke on the last remnants of your wine. “dad.”

“i’m kidding. i’m kidding! mr. castellan seems otherwise occupied.”

“yeah, it does seem that way,” you grumble.

poseidon puts a hand on your shoulder, firm but reassuring. “regardless: if you find someone who would go to tartarus and back with you, someone who would fight alongside you every step of the way, you hold on to them. there’s only so much time you mortals have on this earth.”

you sigh — easier said than done — but your father is trying, so you manage a nod.

“i’ll keep that in mind.”

“now, i better go — ” poseidon looks over your shoulder, where the air behind you starts to feel staticky. “it seems a disagreement is brewing between zeus and hades. they always get into it whenever dionysus makes the wine a bit too strong. brother, put away the lightning bolt —” and he rushes away to prevent another divine conflict from arising.

left to your own devices, you venture over to the food table, finding an array of fresh and dried fruit, breads, cured meat, fresh oysters and, of course, more wine. you grab a goblet and a few dried figs.

“careful, i heard dionysus made the wine extra strong tonight,” someone warns, creeping up beside you. the voice is soft and alluring, and you feel something tug at your heart.

you do a double take when you turn to them; the person is devilishly handsome, a golden aura paired with a golden smile.

(you will soon find out that the god flirting with you is the son of ares and aphrodite, the latter of which takes the appearance of whoever the onlooker loves. as it turns out, her son appears in the same way.

all this to say: it doesn’t mean anything that this god looks like luke castellan to you.

it doesn’t mean anything at all.)

“i’m eros.”

“hey. i’m —”

“i know who you are, savior of olympus.” eros winks at you. “i just never realized you were so beautiful.”

your cheeks heat up as you take a sip of your drink.

oh, shit.

okay. the literal god of desire and pleasure is flirting with you.

you’re flattered, really, and maybe the wine has gotten to your head, but you’re not eager to turn him away.

“well, i’ve definitely heard about you, and the rumors do not do you justice,” you quip, painting on a flirtatious smile.

eros puffs out his chest, clearly pleased.

over the next few minutes, you decide that eros can hold a decent conversation, asking you the classic first date questions about your likes and dislikes, and he’s cute enough that you wouldn’t mind things going further.

(he might be a god, but he’s no luke. you push that thought away, and force yourself to flirt with helios. eros. right, eros.)

eros leans in close, pretends to listen to you, lets his gaze drop every so often to the deep v-neck of your shirt.

“no way! 13 going on 30 is a classic,” you argue. you nudge your shoulder into eros’s playfully, and let the contact between you linger. eros, the inspiration for cupid himself, has angel wings, and you feel them brush softly against your burning skin.

“it’s totally overrated!” eros exclaims. “also, the childhood friends to lovers trope gives people false hope.”

“it’s not false hope. it’s about the buildup to their happily ever after,” you reason, swallowing some wine to dislodge the lump in your throat.

eros shakes his head. “trust me, baby, it’s all about the instant attraction. that’s where the excitement is.”

he’s so close now, you can smell the sharp alcohol on his breath. not wine, but something stronger.

“oh? what do you mean by that?” you lean impossibly closer, trailing a finger down his chest.

eros smirks, placing a hand on your thigh. “want me to demonstrate?”

not even a second after you whisper a yes, eros crashes his lips onto yours, and you will yourself to kiss back. he slides his tongue in your mouth, runs his hands over your body.

you’re making out with the god of desire and passion, so, objectively, it’s a good first kiss: soft around the edges and firm where it needs to be.

sure — you feel nothing, no real spark, but it’s almost enough to fill the hole in your heart in the shape of a certain son of hermes.

the son of hermes who has moved on and is in a loving relationship with a perfect emotionally available partner.

so, it’s fine.

this, this thing with eros, is fine.

you’re fine.

eros pulls away first, but keeps a hand on your cheek.

“let's get out of here.”

he grabs your wrist before you have a chance to answer. you stand up, let him weave you through the crowd towards the stairs of the pavilion. apparently, his room is just through the garden.

as he tugs you along, he looks back at you, smiling. under the glow of the stars, eros looks just like luke, except it’s becoming harder to ignore that he isn’t luke and that makes you feel all sorts of nauseous. your camp necklace weighs on your chest and, in particular, the silver key that you’d kept for all those years burns through your skin.

lightheaded, you pull away from eros’ grip just as you reach the top of the stairs and place a hand on the column next to you to steady yourself.

eros turns around sharply. “what is it?”

“i changed my mind, actually. let’s just…keep talking here.”

eros grabs your wrist again, his grip tighter than before. “don’t be a tease.” his tone is ever-so-gentle, but there’s an edge behind his words.

this time, your voice comes out more assertive. “i just changed my mind. that doesn’t make me a tease.”

“come on, baby, don’t you wanna experience what real passion is? this is a once in a lifetime opportunity that a million girls would kill for. you’d be an idiot to pass it up.” he brags, and you’re this close to breaking this guy’s nose, god or not.

“i don’t care,” you snap, struggling to break free from his grip. “and i’m not your baby.”

“okay, whatever,” eros rolls his eyes, but quickly plasters on an arrogant grin. “we’ll go somewhere private and i’ll call you whatever you want.”

he manages to drag you down two steps as you strain against his iron grip, now almost cutting off your circulation. your heartbeat quickens and you feel dizzy. finally, you grab onto the railing for leverage and use your strength to rip out of his grip, forcing eros to stop in his tracks.

“what is it now?” he snaps, whipping his head around once more.

he looks nothing like luke, now.

“just stop, eros.”

“listen,” he starts, speaking to you almost mockingly, like you’re a naive little kid. so much for being the savior of olympus. “trust me, i know what people want, so you don’t have to be shy. i promise to be the best you’ve ever had —”

“eros, is it?” the rest of the party is in full motion, but here’s percy, giving eros one of the most intense death stares you’ve ever seen. percy, your little brother who talks to lonely fish at the aquarium; who, if you cut open, would bleed blue m&m’s; who would never let anyone, god or otherwise, hurt someone he loves. “i’m gonna have to ask you to let go of my sister.”

“mind your own business, kid,” eros hisses. “we’re kinda in the middle of something.” he tries to move you down another step, but you stand your ground.

annabeth, no longer the scared little seven year old you, luke, and thalia found behind a dumpster, is also glaring at liam from the top of the stairs. one of her hands rests firmly on her belt, where she keeps her dagger.

“i’d back off, if i were you,” she warns. “wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

“just mind your own business,” eros snarls.

“they said leave her alone,” thalia asserts, walking over once she sees what’s happening. “and you don’t wanna mess with us, trust me.” she clenches her hand into a fist.

“who the fuck are you? her bodyguards?”

“just let her go,” percy orders. “my sister can do a lot better than a minor god with a major god complex.”

eros growls, baring his teeth at percy. “you impertinent little shit.”

as soon as eros lunges for your brother, you tug one of his wings towards you, hard. he whips around and you take the opportunity to punch him in the face. he doubles over, golden ichor gushing from his nose.

“i’d be careful if i were you, baby,” you seethe. “you wouldn’t want to go up against the demigods who led an army against kronos and won. unless, of course, humiliation is a kink of yours.” you laugh humorlessly at the way eros scowls at your words. “to each their own,” you continue. “but i’m not in the mood to fuck an entitled creep with angel wings to compensate for his tiny dick. you better fucking respect that, and leave us alone while you’re at it.”

eros’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only entitled, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a few blows to their ego.

call it stupidity or arrogance, but his only response is a punch delivered right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but percy manages to reach out and catch you before you fall down the stairs. he holds you as thalia and annabeth create a barrier between you and eros. you hear them shouting at eros over the music, but their exact words don’t register.

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is suddenly all fuzzy. percy tries his best, but you slump your body weight into his and he almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” luke’s calm and measured voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. “from what i remember, you were too much of a coward to even step foot on the battlefield, so i’d listen to her if you know what’s good for you.” in a haze, you guess that luke is directing his sharp words towards eros, before turning to the others and instructing: “you guys take care of this — find clarisse if you need back up.”

somehow, you find yourself over in a small secluded temple, sitting on a window bench overlooking the clouds as luke sits next to you.

like most of olympus, the building is made of marble with gold accents; this one has roses engraved on the walls, and the space smells like flowery perfume. it’s much quieter than the pavilion, though you can hear laughter and music in the distance. it’s cooler, too, but not by much; even without all the body heat, you're left with sticky summer air, and luke’s breath on yours, sweet with wine and ripe fruit, as he carefully examines your injury.

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the alcohol, or the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while — probably a dangerous mix of all three.

you know (from trying not to but ultimately not being able to pull your attention away from him after all) that he’s had a few drinks as well; it seems like the two of you ignore each other best when you’re sober.

“thought the curse of achilles would protect you from nosebleeds.”

“guess it doesn’t protect against —” what did percy call eros? “ — minor gods who have major god complexes,” you recite.

luke looks slightly amused. “that’s a shame,” he hums. “would have been nice to get one birthday without being injured.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the dull ache from your nose.

“you remembered.”

“of course i remember,” luke almost scoffs like the mere suggestion of forgetting what day you were born is an insult to his very character. he meets your gaze, and you could melt when he offers you that lopsided smile of his, painfully familiar. “happy birthday, aquagirl,” and it’s the softest he’s spoken to you in a while. just like old times.

he remembers.

somewhere within him, luke holds on to fragments of you.

he wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of his silk white button-down now stained crimson. “how’s your hand?” he asks.

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

“i guess all those years away didn’t change anything. still willing to put a god in their place, huh?”

all those years away.

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart, and you’re worried that it might burst the comfortable bubble you and luke had drunkenly stumbled into.

thankfully, luke continues:

“the kids really take after you.”

he says as a joke, mostly, but there’s a sincerity in those deep brown eyes of his, too. something you also hadn’t seen from him in a while.

the kids, who you’d in some ways raised together when monsters were trying to kill you and the gods didn’t care enough to stop it.

the family you and luke had built together despite being born into the world of greek tragedies.

“as if annabeth wasn’t threatening to pull the dagger you gave her, skywalker,” the nickname rolling off your tongue with ease. “besides, they’re not kids anymore.”

“yeah.” he pauses. “neither are we.”

luke’s fingers trace your camp necklace, brush against your collarbone. the breath hitches in your throat.

here you are again, at the edge of something real and very scary, and you fear luke is going to push the two of you over.

but he doesn’t. instead, luke suggests, jokingly: “maybe we should start a fight club at camp.”

you take that as a good sign: like you, he’s hoping to preserve the playfulness between you before everything else seeps in and ruins it. before you’re brought back to the present, where you’re practically ignoring each other.

where you’re fine, but really.

you snort. “chiron and mr. d would love that.”

“like they’d ever find out!” luke explains. “you know the first rule of fight club —”

“don’t talk about fight club,” you finish together.

luke laughs, even though it’s not that funny. you laugh, too.

and that’s the thing that really, truly gets you.

try as you might to ignore it, some days it’s hard to forget the pain and heartache and grief.

you still feel like your life is a battlefield; you still see the ghosts of everyone you couldn’t save even though people call you a savior; you still have those scars, inside and out, that seemed healed but ache every once and a while.

but that isn’t all.

sometimes it hurts more thinking back to the good times and knowing, deep down, you can never go back.

summer — age 13

“ugh — you think with all their power, the gods could help stop global warming,” you groaned, swatting away a mosquito that tried to land on you. “do you think they have air conditioning on olympus?”

“oh, for sure,” luke quipped. he gave you a lopsided smile, his curls sticking to his forehead, drenched in sweat.

it was the summer solstice, the longest and the hottest day of the year so far. the two of you had found a perfectly good hideout, but luke insisted that this place would be worth the move.

he’d been leading you down side streets for what felt like forever. the sun had already set, and you were very close to passing out from the heat, until luke finally stopped at a door behind an alley, with a sign reading CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS.

luke knelt down to do whatever son-of-hermes lock magic he had to do to get the door open. he flipped a switch, and you winced at the sudden overwhelming brightness.

the destination was different than the hideouts you usually sprung for: those small, hole-in-the-wall type places. instead, this space was big and bright, filled with arcade games and fun posters and neon colours. the type of place a kid might have a party or where a group of normal teenagers might spend their friday night.

“what…what is this?”

“you thought i forgot, didn’t you?” luke smirked at you. he sat down on the colourful carpet, taking out some snacks, a small plastic bag with coins, a wrapped box, and a plastic blue crown, and gestured for you to join.

you did, in fact, think that luke had forgotten your birthday.

birthdays were bittersweet for children of gods, who were constantly reminded that any year could be their last, their youth cut short by monsters or prophecies or a fatal flaw. all the two of you usually did on either birthday was split any sweet treat you could get your hands on.

it wasn’t a big deal, really, to skip that tradition of yours. there were much more urgent things to worry about, like finding food and water and shelter, and not being devoured by monsters.

you did think it was strange that luke hadn’t so much as said happy birthday to you all day, but you knew that he loved you.

(like a friend loves a friend. nothing else, no matter how much your stomach fluttered at the thought of him.)

“i wanted to surprise you,” luke explained once you claimed your spot next to him. he reached over to place the crown on your head. “i found this place a few days ago during a food run. it reminds me of where we had your —”

“eighth birthday party, yeah.” you smiled at the memory of running around and feeding quarters to every machine and trying every game, of your classmates singing happy birthday to you off-key before you all stuffed your faces with sickly sweet confetti cake.

truthfully, you never thought about having another celebration like that again.

but, it was five years from that faded childhood memory, and luke was presenting you with something you didn’t even realize you had needed: the chance to be a kid again.

“so,” luke got up, a wide smile on his face. he held the plastic bag in one hand, extending the other to you. “which do you wanna play first?”

you started with space invaders, then moved on to dragon’s lair and pac-man. you took a break before street fighter ii so that luke could ceremoniously light a candle and present a cupcake that had been tossed around in his bag (but you were still very, very grateful for), along with fresh batteries for your portable cassette player. he had made you a mixtape too, though you couldn’t figure out how.

your last stop was a photobooth. you vowed to keep those pictures — a collection of you and luke together, smiling bright and colourful, goofing off and laughing — for the rest of your life.

now

those moments from past summers are like popsicles melting in the sun: tangible for a limited time before leaving you with a sickly sweet mess of what once was.

you think about what happened earlier, how percy, annabeth, and thalia stepped in to protect you, still the brave kids you had once known so well. how luke is here with you now, taking care of you so tenderly even after you’ve silently agreed to give each other the cold shoulder.

maybe luke is right. maybe all those years away didn’t change anything.

except — once you leave this temple and the alcohol leaves your system, it won’t be the same.

none of you are kids anymore, if you ever even were.

“why’d you go for eros, anyway?” luke asks, breaking you away from your thoughts. he removes his sleeve from your nose since the bleeding seems to have finally stopped.

“you really wanna know?”

“yeah. most gods are assholes. and you’re…” luke places a hand close to your leg, pinky finger brushing your thigh. “you.”

“i went for eros because….well, honestly, i don’t think i cared who it was, as long as they made me forget you,” you admit, because what did you have to lose. you probably have a broken nose, you definitely have blood on your shirt, and your time with luke is running out.

luke’s eyes darken. his fingers start to play with the hem of your shorts.

“did it work?” his voice is a whisper, but he’s close enough that he’s crystal clear.

“no.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on luke’s — messy and urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. he cradles your face in his hands, and you move to straddle his waist. you taste wine on his tongue, and maybe a hint of sweet pears, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the alcohol or adrenaline, but dizzy from him. luke’s gaze is heavy on yours as he traces your top lip with his thumb.

“luke,” you whimper, itching to kiss him again.

“you’re still bleeding.”

luke wipes away the blood with his thumb. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s an echo of footsteps on the marble floor. a flower nymph, there to leave an offering and let you know that, while aphrodite encourages acts of love, she prefers it doesn’t happen in her place of worship.

you realize that aphrodite also might not look so fondly at you kissing someone else in her place of worship after publicly rebuking her own son.

luke untangles himself from you, and you know that he’s been jolted back to reality, too.

and, just like that, another moment has melted away.

your father was right. time has a way of slipping away for us, immortal or not.

summer — age 18

“hey, you awake?”

“yeah,” you replied softly. sleep hadn’t been easy, in the days and weeks and months leading up to that final battle with kronos and his army.

and once it was all over?

you rested your head on luke’s shoulder, sword discarded at your feet and armour half-removed, as argus, the hundred-eyed security guard of olympus, drove a school bus with a dozen or so demigods back to camp.

“why’d you turn down their offer?” luke whispered.

oh.

"why...why do you ask?"

"i don't know." luke paused. "just curious, i guess."

you closed your eyes and replayed that moment on olympus when you refused the gift of immortality. the look of shock written on the gods’ faces. and on luke’s.

“i don’t care about living forever,” you told him bluntly.

forever seemed too long, especially for someone who was prophesied to die at 18.

you tilted your head up to meet luke’s gaze, and his messy curls brushed against your forehead. evidence of the battle was clear on his face: caked-on dirt and blossoming bruises and dried blood.

behind him, outside the bus window, the world was flying by. a child who had fallen off their bike being comforted by a friend. two people sharing an mp3 player and a pair of earbuds. an elderly couple walking their dog.

“you once told me that this was our life,” you continued, gesturing towards the weapons and battle-worn kids, some quiet, others crying, many injured. “what if it didn’t have to be?”

luke furrowed his brow. “do you mean….are you talking about leaving?”

you shrugged. running from monsters for your entire childhood then being the child of the great prophecy was a lot.

a break might be nice.

there was so much about the world, the one you’d fought and bled to protect, that you wanted to experience.

maybe something closer to a normal life.

“would you ever leave camp?” you wondered, not really answering luke's question.

“no,” luke replied instantly. his fingers started fiddling with the beads on his necklace. “i can’t just walk away, not after everything.”

“yeah, i get that.” and you did; you really, truly, did. the guilt of wanting to leave camp curled in your stomach like a venomous snake. you took a shaky breath. “let’s talk about this later, yeah? i’m tired, and we have the rest of — ”

the rest of the summer slipped away in the blink of an eye. gone, before you even had a real chance to say goodbye.

you closed your eyes and held on to luke, as if gripping his arm would anchor you to something you weren't ready to let go of, but in some ways needed to move on from.

it was no use, though.

by the end of august, you’d be gone too.

now

you learned early on that the curse of achilles doesn’t protect you from hangovers.

you wake up the morning after the celebration on olympus with a deep, throbbing pain lodged in your temple and an uncomfortable swirling in your gut. parties and late nights at bars are common on tour, which means migraines are, too, so you have a routine to make sure you’re not out of commission for too long.

except this time, the aspirin and blue gatorade and dry toast don’t work. the sting in your brain and uneasiness in your stomach doesn’t go away, even after a few days. you haven’t been able to sleep, either.

desperate for a cure, you consult lou ellen, head counsellor of the hecate cabin, who you’d unexpectedly grown close to in the past few weeks. she mixes something for you, while asking if there’s something that’s been weighing on you.

you couldn't keep it in anymore; you tell her about the summer solstice and luke.

later, with nothing but your thoughts and percy’s snoring occupying your time post-curfew, you grab your phone and flip it open, deciding to finally reach out to luke, when you get a text from him.

luke is already on the beach when you arrive, looking out onto the water.

“hey,” you greet as you sit next to him on the sand, but not too close. “i was actually about to text you —”

“did you tell anyone that we kissed?” he interrupts. you can’t quite read his expression as he waits for you to answer.

“no, i didn’t,” you lie. “would it matter if i did?”

“well, i mean, word travels fast around camp, and i don’t want van finding out. it’s not like it meant anything.”

the throbbing in your brain becomes a sharper sting, the uneasiness in your stomach a tidal wave of nausea.

“it didn’t?” you hate how fragile your voice sounds, compared to luke’s stoic demeanor.

luke shrugs. “i mean, we were both drunk and the thing with eros happened…we just got caught up in the heat of the moment.”

“you’re saying there’s nothing between us, then? nothing?” the word tastes bitter in your mouth.

luke turns away before he answers. “no. nothing.”

“then what about last summer?” you demand. you force yourself to keep it together, your tone firmer than before. “i guess that didn’t mean anything, either.”

“y/n…” he sighs. “i don’t know what you want me to say. we’re barely even friends anymore. you come back here, after all this time, after so much shit happened, and expect us all to drop everything to fit you back into our lives. but, you don't. whatever you came here for, it's not here for you. there's nothing to go back to. we moved on. i moved on, and i can’t deal with you —"

“got it,” you snap, already turning to walk away. “loud and fucking clear, luke.”

it’s not like it meant anything. we’re barely even friends anymore.

you replay luke’s words as you crawl into bed, holding back tears so as to not disturb percy. finally, you swallow a generous amount of whatever concoction lou ellen had brewed up for you.

drifting off into your own sleep, you decide that you don’t love luke anymore. not as a friend, not as a.....

nope.

according to luke, there's not even anything to go back to.

nothing.

#feel free to comment + reblog <3 #saf writes #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #percy jackson #pjo fanfic #pjo series #pjo x reader #luke castellan angst

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its-avalon-08 · 23 days

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kiss and tell (cs55)

(in honor of our fav smooth operator's birthday!!)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x female!reader

✦ genre - friends with benefits, jealousy, comfort

It all started in Singapore. The city was electric that night, the lights from the Marina Bay Street Circuit casting a mesmerizing glow over the entire island. The race had been grueling, one of the most challenging of the season, but Carlos Sainz had come out on top, crossing the finish line first and claiming victory. The celebration that followed was nothing short of euphoric.

The entire paddock was buzzing with excitement as the night unfolded, but amidst all the chaos, Carlos only had eyes for one person—Y/N. She had been a part of the McLaren team for a while now, working closely with the drivers and crew, and over time, a comfortable camaraderie had developed between her and Carlos. There was always something more beneath the surface, though, an undercurrent of tension that neither of them dared to acknowledge.

But tonight, things felt different. The champagne was flowing, the atmosphere was light, and the barriers they usually kept firmly in place were starting to crumble.

Later that night, after the podium celebrations, the party had spilled over into one of the swanky hotels overlooking the Marina Bay. The drivers were mingling, the music was loud, and the drinks were even stronger. Y/N found herself at the bar, nursing a cocktail when Carlos approached, still riding the high of his win.

“Not gonna lie,” Carlos said, leaning against the bar with that trademark smirk of his, “seeing you out there cheering for me was the best part of the race.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes playfully. “Oh, sure, it wasn’t the adrenaline rush of winning or the thrill of outmaneuvering the other drivers? Just me?”

“Absolutely just you,” Carlos teased, his voice dropping to a low, flirtatious tone. “You looked good today, Y/N. Real good.”

She raised an eyebrow, feeling the familiar warmth that always crept up when Carlos started flirting. “Careful, Sainz, someone might think you’re trying to get me into trouble.”

Carlos chuckled, taking a sip of his drink as he studied her. “Trouble? Who, me? I’m as innocent as they come.”

“Right,” Y/N replied with a grin. “Innocent like you didn’t just race at breakneck speeds through the streets of Singapore.”

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Carlos shot back, his eyes locking onto hers, the playful banter doing little to hide the tension building between them.

They spent the next hour trading flirty remarks, each one drawing them closer until the space between them was almost nonexistent. The noise of the party faded into the background, leaving just the two of them standing at the bar, caught up in a moment that felt like it had been building for months.

Finally, Carlos leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You know, I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for cheering me on today.”

Y/N tilted her head, her heart racing at his proximity. “Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?”

Carlos’s lips curled into a slow, seductive smile. “I have a few ideas. But I think we’d need a little more privacy.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she met his gaze, the unspoken invitation hanging between them. She knew what he was suggesting, and she also knew she wanted it just as much. They had danced around this for too long—why not see where it led?

Without breaking eye contact, she downed the rest of her drink and set the glass on the bar. “Lead the way, Sainz.”

Carlos didn’t need any more encouragement. He took her hand, the heat of his touch sending a shiver down her spine, and led her through the crowd, away from the noise and the people. The tension was palpable, an electric current running between them as they made their way to the elevators.

When the doors slid shut, sealing them inside, the air became even thicker with anticipation. Carlos leaned against the wall, his eyes dark with desire as he looked at her. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual.

Y/N stepped closer, the proximity making her pulse race. “I think we’ve both wanted this for a while, don’t you?”

Carlos nodded, his hand brushing against her arm, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. “Yeah, I have. But let’s keep it simple, okay? No strings, just…us, enjoying the moment.”

She hesitated for a split second, knowing that agreeing to this meant putting aside any hope for something more. But tonight, with Carlos looking at her like that, she was willing to take the risk. “No strings,” she agreed softly.

The elevator dinged as it reached their floor, and Carlos wasted no time in pulling her out, his hand gripping hers tightly as they walked down the hallway to his room. The tension was almost unbearable by the time they reached the door. Carlos fumbled with the keycard, his usual steady hands slightly shaky with anticipation.

Once they were inside, the door barely clicked shut before Carlos had her pressed against it, his lips crashing onto hers with a hunger that left her breathless. The kiss was everything she had imagined—hot, desperate, and filled with months of pent-up tension.

Carlos’s hands roamed her body, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. Y/N responded in kind, her fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor. The world outside disappeared, leaving only the two of them in a whirlwind of passion.

When they finally broke apart, gasping for breath, Carlos rested his forehead against hers, his voice rough with desire. “God, Y/N…this is exactly what I needed tonight.”

Y/N smiled, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “I’m not going anywhere, Sainz.”

That night was the beginning of everything—and nothing. They had agreed it would be no strings attached, just something casual between two people who enjoyed each other’s company. But as the weeks went on, and the nights like this one became more frequent, it was clear that the feelings they had been trying to keep at bay were only growing stronger.

But Carlos was determined to keep things light, not wanting to ruin what they had with complications. He told himself over and over that this was enough, that he didn’t need more. But damn, he thought as he watched Y/N fall asleep beside him, her face peaceful and content, I’m in trouble. Because I think I’m falling for her.

And that was the one thing he was truly afraid of.

time skip

The days leading up to that night had been a rollercoaster of emotions for Y/N. Carlos had a habit of making offhand comments about relationships that cut deeper than she’d ever admit. They were subtle, sometimes even playful, but each one was like a small dagger to her heart.

It was just a few days ago when they were sitting in the McLaren hospitality area, surrounded by the usual crowd of drivers and team members. Daniel Ricciardo had been teasing Carlos about settling down, something about how the Spanish driver was getting too old to be a bachelor forever.

"So, Carlos," Daniel started, a mischievous grin on his face, "when are you going to finally settle down and stop breaking hearts left and right?"

Carlos chuckled, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile. "Settle down? Nah, mate, I’m not ready for all that. Relationships are too complicated. I’m enjoying life as it is."

Y/N, who was sitting across from him, felt her heart drop at his words. She masked it with a forced smile, pretending to focus on her coffee. Of course he isn’t ready, she thought, Why would he be? But underneath the casual demeanor, it hurt more than she could admit.

Carlos glanced at her, his smile faltering slightly when he noticed the way her eyes had dimmed. Fuck , Carlos, he thought to himself. Why do you keep saying this stuff? He hated seeing that look on her face, the one she tried so hard to hide.

But then, he did what he always did. He pushed those thoughts away, shoving his feelings deep down where they couldn’t betray him. It’s better this way. She deserves someone who can give her everything, not someone who’s constantly on the move, constantly putting himself first.

Yet, when he was alone, away from the noise of the paddock and the constant demands of racing, his thoughts always circled back to her. He would picture her smile, the way she laughed at his jokes, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she was passionate about. It made his chest ache in a way that was both painful and comforting. God, I love her. I’m so damn scared of how much I love her.

It wasn’t just the teasing from the other drivers, either. There were moments in between—when they were alone, when the world was quiet, and it was just the two of them. Like the time when they were sitting in the team garage late one night after everyone else had left. She was leaning against him, her head resting on his shoulder, and the silence between them was warm, comfortable.

Y/N had looked up at him then, her voice soft and filled with an emotion that made his heart race. "Do you ever think about the future, Carlos? About…what you want?"

He had stiffened slightly, the question pulling him out of the comfort of the moment. He knew what she was really asking, and it terrified him.

Carlos hesitated before responding, forcing a lightness into his voice that he didn’t feel. "I don’t think too far ahead. I’m just taking things as they come, you know? No need to complicate things."

He felt her deflate beside him, her silence saying more than words ever could. It was in moments like these that Carlos hated himself the most. Why can’t I just tell her? he thought, his mind screaming at him to say something, anything, to ease the hurt he knew he was causing. But instead, he just sat there, pretending everything was fine. She deserves better. I can’t give her what she needs. It’s safer this way.

But it wasn’t safer. Not for him, not for her. Every time he said something like that, he felt the distance between them grow a little wider, the connection that had always been so natural starting to strain under the weight of unspoken words and buried feelings.

They were friends with benefits, nothing more. At least, that's what they told themselves. Y/N knew she was in too deep; her feelings for Carlos ran far deeper than casual. But every time she tried to bring it up, Carlos would brush her off with a charming smile and a playful comment about how he wasn't ready for anything serious.

As the night progressed, someone suggested a game of spin the bottle. The group erupted in cheers and groans, the perfect mix of nerves and excitement. The bottle spun, pointing first to Y/N who blushed, much to everyone's amusement.

Then it was Y/N's turn. The bottle spun, clinking against the floor as it finally slowed down, the neck pointing directly at Lando. The room erupted in playful cheers and wolf whistles, while Carlos froze, his smile faltering just for a second.

Y/N glanced at Carlos, her heart skipping a beat, but he had already turned his attention away, a coldness settling into his features. She could see his jaw clenching, the muscle ticking angrily, but he said nothing.

Lando leaned in with his usual cheeky grin. "Guess it's us then," he said, his tone light and playful, trying to make the situation as un-awkward as possible.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding, but not for the reason everyone thought. As Lando's lips met hers, what was supposed to be a simple, friendly kiss quickly shifted. Lando, sensing the tension in the room, deepened the kiss, his hand slipping to the back of Y/N's neck, pulling her closer.

The room fell silent, the air thick with a sudden intensity. Lando's kiss was anything but innocent—it was slow, deliberate, and filled with a surprising passion. Y/N's hands instinctively moved to his chest, gripping his shirt as she found herself kissing him back with equal fervor. She could feel Lando's heartbeat beneath her fingertips, the heat of his body against hers.

(a little carlos pov)

As Lando leaned in for the kiss, Carlos’s internal monologue went into overdrive. Don’t do it, don’t kiss her like that, don’t touch her like that. She’s mine, for fucks sake! Why can’t you see that?

He watched as Y/N responded to Lando’s kiss, her hands on Lando’s chest, their bodies too close for his liking. That should be me. I should be the one holding her like that, kissing her like that. But I’m the one who keeps pushing her away. This is my fault. I’m going to lose her, and it’s my own fucking fault.

The kiss went on longer than it should have, and with each passing second, Carlos felt his control slipping. His heart pounded in his chest, anger and jealousy swirling together until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. I love you, Y/N. I love you so much it’s tearing me apart. But I’m too scared to say it, and now I’m losing you.

(out of carlos pov)

Carlos watched, every muscle in his body tensing, his breath catching in his throat. He tried to look away, but he couldn't. The kiss was more than just a game now—it was a reminder of everything he was too afraid to claim.

When Y/N finally pulled away, her cheeks were flushed, her breath unsteady. Lando kept his hand on the back of her neck for a moment longer, his thumb brushing against her skin as he gave her a small, knowing smile. "Well, that was something," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine, but it wasn’t from Lando's touch. It was from the cold, icy glare she felt burning into her from across the room. She turned to Carlos, who was no longer just silent—he was seething. His eyes were dark, filled with a mix of anger and something else, something deeper.

Carlos pushed his chair back abruptly, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. The room fell silent, all eyes on him. He stood up, his expression cold and unreadable. "I'm going outside for some air," he muttered, storming out without another word.

Y/N felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She excused herself from the group, ignoring the curious glances, and followed Carlos outside. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth inside. Carlos was leaning against the side of the motorhome, his back to her, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Carlos," she called softly, but he didn’t turn around.

She moved closer, reaching out to touch his arm. "What's going on?"

Carlos finally turned to face her, his eyes blazing with an intensity that took her breath away. "What the fuck was that?" he demanded, his voice low but filled with anger.

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. "It was just a game, Carlos. It didn’t mean anything."

"Didn’t mean anything?" He repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Sure didn’t look that way."

"What are you talking about?" Y/N asked, her voice rising in frustration. "You’re the one who said you weren’t ready for anything serious. You’re the one who keeps pushing me away!"

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, his expression torn between anger and something else—something deeper. "You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hate myself for that?"

Y/N stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. "Then why, Carlos? Why do you keep doing this?"

"Because I’m scared!" Carlos exploded, the words ripping from him like a confession. "I’m scared of how much I care about you, how much I need you. I’m scared of what happens if I let myself love you and it all goes wrong!"

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. She had waited so long to hear those words, but now that she had, they were wrapped in so much pain and fear.

"I’m already in love with you, Carlos," she said softly, her voice trembling. "And it’s killing me that you don’t trust me enough to let me in."

Carlos closed his eyes, his face contorted in anguish. "I don’t want to lose you, Y/N."

"Then don’t," she whispered, stepping closer until they were inches apart. "Don’t push me away anymore. Let me love you, Carlos. You don’t have to be scared."

For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at her as if trying to decide whether to take the leap. Then, with a shaky breath, he reached out, pulling her into his arms. His lips found hers in a kiss that was anything but friendly—passionate, desperate, and filled with all the emotions he had kept bottled up for so long.

When they finally broke apart, Carlos rested his forehead against hers, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you, Y/N. I’m just…scared of how much."

She smiled through her tears, cupping his face in her hands. "Then be scared. But be with me. We’ll figure it out together."

Carlos nodded, his heart finally beginning to thaw. "Together," he repeated, sealing the promise with another kiss.

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megalony · 2 months

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Heated Discussion

This is a new Evan Buckley imagine I had been wanting to write for a while now, and finally got the inspiration for it.

I hope you will all like it, let me know what you think.

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@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

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@ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: A strange conversation with an old friend leads to an argument which stresses out Evan's pregnant wife.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apprehension and surprise flooded Evan's stomach when he opened the front door. He already knew who would be on the doorstep before he opened it, but it was still a shock to see him stood there.

He almost didn't believe the text he got the other day, asking if they could meet up after what had been months of simply texts and the odd phone call.

"Come in," He took a step back and motioned his arm to let Connor walk past him into the hallway.

In all the time they had been friends and for however long it had been that he and (Y/n) lived here, Evan couldn't think of a time when Connor had ever been inside the house or had even clapped eyes on it. They always met up at bars or restaurants with other friends tagging along or at parties.

He led the way through the hall, noticing that Connor was looking at all the photos decorating the walls and the ornaments scattered around. There were the odd canvas pictures on the walls which (Y/n) had beautifully decorated. Photos on the walls that Evan had taken himself when he found a new obsession with photography. And a lot of little clay crafts and pompom creations and random things the boys had made over the years.

Evan headed into the kitchen, bypassed the island in the middle and moved towards the fridge.

"Want a drink?"

"Sure." Connor walked into the pastel blue kitchen and folded his arms on the kitchen island, arching his lower back out.

He nodded when Evan placed a bottle of beer in front of him and watched Evan lean on the opposite end of the counter. Evan pressed his left hand down on the edge and propped one hip against the cupboard while his other hand drew patterns along the edge of his glass that was already starting to drip with condensation.

"Nice place, don't think I've been inside before."

"Thanks. So uh, I haven't seen you in a while. Last time we hung out was at Dan's birthday, right?" Evan took a sip of his drink while his eyes studied Connor closely.

He had been shocked, to say the least, when Connor messed out of the blue three days ago and after a bit of catching up, he asked if they could meet up. There had to be a reason, there always was these days. None of the gang- which consisted mainly of six of them who had been friends in college- ever just messaged or hung out for the sake of being with friends.

There was always a reason, whether that was to celebrate a birthday, to get drunk after someone had lost a job or had a fight or made some kind of achievement. And Evan knew this was no different, there would be a reason Connor had asked for a catch up.

And with Evan working a lot of odd shifts recently and wanting to spend time with (Y/n) and the boys, he said it would be easier for Connor to come over for a chat. Rather than meeting up for a drink somewhere. It meant Evan could relax at home too while they talked.

"Yeah, I think so. God, I still feel hungover from that."

A calmer, more playful smile came over Evan's lips and he nodded. He felt much the same.

Dan had insisted they all go to a club for his birthday and it had been the first time in a long while that Evan had gone out with people other than the team and got drunk with them. Dan kept buying the shots and Evan was the last man standing, the last one able to keep up with Dan for taking shots. Evan was a fun drunk, so (Y/n) was always telling him.

He became sweeter and dopey when he was drunk, and (Y/n) had been delighted when- after he called and politely asked her to pick him up- she got there and he happily slurred 'there's my lady' and attached himself to her like a monkey.

Evan had been very glad the next morning that the boys had spent the night with (Y/n)'s parents because Evan had suffered a bad hangover from that night.

"Great night," Connor mused with a smile and took a swig of his drink before he took a glance around. "Where's (Y/n)?"

"Gone for a lie down with Luke, he's got a cold and (Y/n) didn't feel well."

Evan nodded his head in the direction of the hallway. Carter was at school, but Luke wasn't at nursery because he was coughing and croaking and hadn't had a good nights sleep. About an hour ago he had finally started to become sleepy, and (Y/n) felt under the weather so she took him upstairs to have a power nap together.

The only times Evan knew his wife to take a nap was when she was really ill, or when she was pregnant. And she was eight months along now.

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Okay…" Evan tried to smile, but that sounded omnibus and rather worrying. Those words didn't always bode well.

"You know I got married two years ago," Connor lifted his head but he leaned down further against the counter with his arms stretched out in front of him like he was going to reach out for Evan at any moment. He was trying to steady his hands that were messing with his beer bottle much the same as Evan was.

"Yeah, things still good between you two?" He remembered the wedding, it had been a good day. Evan and (Y/n) had been invited to the ceremony and the evening party but they didn't manage to stay into the evening because Carter hadn't been well.

He would admit he and (Y/n) didn't know Connor's wife Laura very well, the four of them never hung out very often and Laura didn't go on nights out when the group did. They had met her twice before the wedding.

It was different with (Y/n), she and Evan had been together since college so she had naturally gotten to know all of Evan's friends very well. She had been on lots of their nights out and all the boys thought she was loving and caring and funny. She was well and truly one of their own.

"Things are great- well, they were great. We wanted to start a family after we got married, so we tried, but nothing happened. We went to a doctor… and it turns out to be my fault."

"Your fault?"

"I can't have kids, Buck."

Evan rolled his lips together and leaned back off the counter. He scratched the back of his neck while his other hand started to drum against the counter out of nervous, ADHD habit.

He didn't know any of his friends to have that problem. Most of his close friends already had kids, Hen, Eddie, Bobby, even Chimney and Maddie now had Jee together. And a few of the guys from college had started settling down. Admittedly Evan had been the first one of them all to have kids, he barely scraped nineteen when he and (Y/n) had Carter.

"Oh, hey I'm sorry, that must be rough." Evan wasn't sure what the appropriate response to that was.

He couldn't say he understood because he didn't know what that was like. He didn't know what it felt like to be desperate to start a family only to find out there was something wrong with him that meant it wasn't going to be a reality. Kids had always been something Evan wanted in his life and he had been lucky enough to find (Y/n) and have Carter early on. They never had a problem starting a family. Carter was ten, they had Luke who was four and now they were about to have another baby.

Evan couldn't relate to Connor's problem and he didn't know how he could help or what he could say to try and take the sting out of it.

He realised a moment too late that maybe asking Connor round wasn't the best idea, now he knew what kind of problem he was going through.

Coming here meant Connor was witnessing the house scattered with trucks and toys and crayons and arts and crafts.

Evan could see Connor was already staring ahead at the fridge and Evan didn't have to turn round to know why. There were at least two new scan photos on the fridge because it made Evan giddy every time he opened the fridge to think about his impending arrival. His little girl.

And there was Carter's latest painting stuck up on the fridge which happened to be of a fire truck with Evan painted beside it in his bright yellow helmet. It was a picture Evan was immensely proud of and he would frame it soon once they took it off the fridge. There also happened to be a picture of all four of them on a day out at the beach pinned up there, and a picture of Luke sat in the fire truck with such a cheesy smile.

All of that wasn't going to make Connor feel much better with his current situation, being here was going to make him feel worse. And it made Evan feel bad for inviting him round without knowing the circumstances first.

"Connor, what does this have to do with me? Why did you want to talk to me?"

What use would talking to Evan do? Granted, he could be a listener when he put his mind to it and he liked to help people. He was always chatting and trying to talk people through situations and do what he could to help them. But he couldn't do very much.

Evan couldn't talk this situation into a better state. He couldn't come up with solutions, he couldn't do anything, it was nothing to do with him and it wasn't his speciality.

"We're thinking about other options, but adoption takes time and Laura wants to have a baby, she wants that experience, you know? So another option is getting a sperm donor."

"Oh."

A shiver crawled down Evan's spine and his expression went slack when realisation hit him like a train.

Oh.

They wanted him to be a donor? Why him? Why would they think of getting a sperm donor and have Evan be the first person they thought of? Was he even the first person they came to about this? Had they been to anyone else in their friend group, had they considered going to a donor bank?

The thought of being a donor had never crossed Evan's mind before. He was a blood donor, sure. He donated every month along with the rest of the team, like clockwork on the last Monday of every month. But blood was different to sperm. Blood saved lives, it didn't create them.

Evan thought the only lives he would ever create were the kids he had with his wife. He didn't consider donating and having other kids out there in the world that he would never get to see or know or bring up and raise as his own. The thought of someone else raising his kids made the hairs on his arms spike up and had his throat tightening in apprehension.

"I… Connor, that's-"

"I know, I know it's a lot to ask and a lot to take in. All I'm asking is for you to think about it, take some time, talk to (Y/n)." His expression was sincere and sorrowful.

He didn't mean to spring this on Evan and he didn't want an answer right away because of course an immediate response would be a no. He was just asking for Evan to think it over and consider what he was asking. That's all.

"Why me?"

"Because you're you. You're the guy who livens up a party, the one who does anything to help a stranger for no reward or praise. And you're a great dad, you're boys are sweet and they take after you."

"Well I- I'm flattered, truly." His lips quirked into a lopsided smile and he continued to rake his nails along the back of his neck causing deep red gashes to appear on his skin. "I'll think about it."

***

Dragging her feet, (Y/n) trudged through the hall and slowly made her way into the kitchen. Her head was spinning, her back was aching and her lower stomach felt heavy each time the baby twisted around.

She wanted to go back to bed, desperately, but she knew sleeping the afternoon away meant she wasn't going to sleep well tonight. Her fingers dragged through her hair and a smile pulled at her lips when she looked over at the kitchen table and saw Evan sat there.

He had his back to her, his head resting on his hand and he looked to be scrolling through his phone.

"Hi baby… did Connor come round?" Her fingertips trailed across his shoulder and she leaned over to kiss his curls which were running wild over his head.

She felt him lean back into her touch and he grinned when she kissed his temple. Her and Luke's power nap had extended a bit longer than (Y/n) first intended and she felt awful that Connor seemed to have come and gone and she hadn't even popped down to say hello to him. The last time she saw him was when she had picked Evan up from Dan's birthday party and she was sure Connor wouldn't remember that as he had been one drink away from collapsing on the floor.

"Yeah, left about half hour ago. How's Luke?"

"Fast asleep in our bed, thought I'd leave him a bit longer since he's settled. Was Connor okay?"

She kissed his cheek before she slowly moved towards the kettle and flicked it on. She could do with a drink to see if it would perk her up and ward off her headache.

Once she'd made a drink, (Y/n) twisted round and backed up into the corner of the counter. She leaned her back against the smooth edge, hoping that leaning against it would click her spine into place and rid her of the ache in her back. She slouched back and cradled her scolding cup between her palms while she looked across at her husband.

He spun round in his chair and folded one arm over the back while his other hand tapped against the table. That was a sign that he was thinking about something, that he might be worked up over something and it made (Y/n) curious.

She had been wondering what Connor wanted to come over and talk about and now it seemed he hadn't just come for a catch up or to ask about having another night out.

"He asked me to be a sperm donor for him."

"I beg your pardon?" (Y/n) set her cup down and moved both hands to grip the counter behind her. She could feel herself turning rigid as shockwaves coursed through her blood.

What had she missed?

What had they been talking about while she had been for a nap? Had she gone to sleep and woke up in a different time? Had she slept for a week instead of a few hours?

This was something strange and out of the blue. Connor had never asked something like this before, he had never really asked them for anything. But this was strange. What kind of friend came round and asked someone to be a sperm donor for them? It didn't matter how close they were, this wasn't the kind of thing friends asked of friends, it wasn't something friends willingly did for others.

Evan kept his hand gripping the table while his foot started to tap against the tiled floor. His other hand moved to the back of his neck again and his nails scratched into the skin until he was pinching himself and on the brink of drawing blood beneath his thin but relatively sharp nails.

Maybe he should have started the conversation off better than that rather than jumping straight to the point like that.

But he had been stunned. He was still stunned at what he had been asked and he wasn't sure how to process this or how to think and contemplate it. What was he supposed to think? Was he supposed to be flattered, angry, uneasy, happy? What was he meant to do?

"Him and Laura wanted to start a family, but he found out he can't have kids… so he asked me to be a donor for them."

Evan pushed up from the table and walked across the kitchen until he was in front of (Y/n). He leaned his right hand out against the kitchen island and his other hand found his hip. He could feel this conversation wasn't going to go down very well.

"And you're actually considering this?" Her nails began to tap out a frantic rhythm against the counter as she tried to stay calm, but this conversation was making it very hard. Just the thought of this was unnerving. If she disagreed with this, then (Y/n) was going to be made out to be the bad guy. She might be seen as being in the wrong for not wanting Evan to do this.

But was she in the wrong? Surely it was fair for (Y/n) to be concerned and uneasy about her husband potentially donating and having a child out there in the world that their friends were going to raise. They would know anytime that they saw Connor's child that it was Evan's biological kid.

Biology didn't mean everything, (Y/n) knew that. But she knew Evan like the back of her hand. He wouldn't be able to stay away. He would want to see his child, to know if they were okay and what they were up to and how they were doing. He wouldn't want to have a baby and then just hand it away, never to be involved again.

She lifted her chin to look up at her husband who took a step closer like he was trying to close the distance between them and close the argument that was now inevitable.

"I don't know, I at least need to think about it."

"Baby, that's not a normal thing to ask a friend. And why now? Evan, we're having a baby, we're gonna have three kids. I don't think now is the time to think about you having a fourth kid out there that you're never going to be able to see or talk to or tell them that they're truly yours."

(Y/n) ran her hand over her face and slouched back into the counter that was starting to hold more and more of her weight up.

Was she being unreasonable? Was (Y/n) being horrible for not wanting to consider this? But surely, she had some sort of say in this. She knew it was Evan's body and at the end of the day it would always be his choice, but this didn't concern just him. This concerned their family too.

This meant that there would be a piece of Evan out there that they couldn't talk to or connect with. A child they would never get to know.

They were married, they had three kids together and they were happy. Was Evan really going to be okay having a fourth child that he would never get to hold or cuddle or talk to? Would he be okay seeing them at parties or passing in the street, knowing they were his but never being able to stake that claim to them?

If it were (Y/n), she wouldn't be able to give up a child like that. And she had seen the way Evan was when the boys were born, he had that instant connection and love and adoration. He never wanted to put them down. This wasn't going to be the same.

"Connor can't have kids, (Y/n)."

The way Evan spoke made (Y/n) narrow her eyes and scoff. He spoke as if they had some part in this or some responsibility to Connor, but they didn't. That wasn't their fault and there was nothing they needed to do in this dilemma because Connor wasn't family or their partner. He was a friend.

"That's not your fault or your obligation to help, Evan."

"He wants a family."

His voice was so passive and calm that it made (Y/n) boil over with rage. How could Evan be so calm and easy going about this? How could he be contemplating this? If he went through with this there would be no turning back. There would be no way for Evan to stake his claim on that child because they wouldn't truly be his and he wouldn't have any rights to them.

Her temper was flaring and rising inside of her like a volcano starting to bubble over and it made her body shake with an overflow of adrenaline.

"Why you? There are donation banks out there Evan, so people don't get picky or try to find their donor and so there's no involvement and complications." If it were (Y/n) going through this, she wouldn't want a friend to donate, it would complicate things. She wouldn't want to know anything about the donor, as long as they were healthy that would be enough.

They shouldn't of asked Evan. It wasn't right, it was far too much to ask.

Did Connor and Laura not think this through? They shouldn't of asked Evan because they were friends. In the future if they went out together and people asked Connor how his child was, that was going to sting for Evan. That was going to bring up emotions he wouldn't be able to voice because of Connor.

When he talked about his child, Connor would be talking about Evan's child, that would change things in their friendship group. Evan wouldn't be able to ask about the child, he wouldn't be able to pay too much interest and what would happen if he were around the child?

Evan wouldn't be able to tell them the truth, he would have to stay at arm's length. He would be another one of their father's friends, nothing more.

"They want someone they trust and know."

"That doesn't make a difference, you won't be raising the child!"

A twinge tore through (Y/n)'s abdomen and she cringed, gripping the counter tighter until it was cutting into her palms and leaving lagged indents in her skin. Her back clicked in place when she pushed up straighter and shifted her weight onto her heels that were scraping against the floor.

This whole mess was stressing her and the baby out but (Y/n) couldn't just walk away and leave everything unanswered and sit in a panic. They had to talk about this and she had to know whether Evan was actually going to go through with this or not.

"Think about it, if you did this, they wouldn't let you be involved. You wouldn't be able to be around them much, you'd see everything from afar. They wouldn't tell the kid you're their dad. Could you honestly let a child go like that, Evan? Because seeing you with Carter and Luke, I don't think you could hand a baby over and cut all ties like that."

"I don't know."

"And when you go out with him and people ask about his kid, you can't pipe up and say anything. You'd have to sit there listening to all the achievements, the milestones, the illnesses and videos and pictures, and you couldn't share any of those moments."

Her tone was firm and her lips pressed into a thin line which made Evan sigh and tilt his head forward. He clamped one hand down on the counter and dragged the other down his face as he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

"(Y/n), it's not that simple and you know that." He lifted his head, trying to take a deep breath to calm down the argument that was evolving. "This is Connor we're talking about-"

"Oh yes, I know Evan. This is the guy that laughed and asked you why you were tying yourself down to me when I got pregnant. Or have you forgotten the way he joked with you and taunted me for having Carter? He told you it would be a mistake, and now he thinks that because he is doing things in 'the right order' he has every right to come here and ask something that big of you, of us."

Evan may have been able to forgive and forget on that front, but (Y/n) couldn't. She could let things be, but she wouldn't forget the way Connor had acted when they hard Carter.

She wouldn't forget how he had clapped Evan on the back while everyone else congratulated him and asked why he wanted to make this kind of mistake? He told Evan that having a kid at nineteen, before he finished college or had a steady job was a mistake and he didn't need to 'settle down' with (Y/n) so early. He could still wait a while and see if she was truly the one for him.

"He thinks he has the right to judge us for having Carter and then suddenly ask something so big, something no one has the right to ask. And all because, what? He's done the social order of things only to realise he's lacking in one area. That doesn't give him the right to pretend he's righteous and ask you to donate for him."

(Y/n) had always been weary of Connor after hearing what he'd said when he thought she wasn't around.

She had seen the way it upset Evan and how angry he had been because there were only a few of his friends who understood that a family, a proper, loving family, was all he'd ever wanted.

(Y/n) dragged her hand up and down her lower stomach while she looked the other way so she didn't have to focus on Evan's conflicted expression.

She felt sick. Her stomach was weighing her down to the floor, her back felt like it was snapping in two and her head was spinning so hard and fast she worried she might faint. This conversation was getting them nowhere, it was only creating an argument that was going to wake Luke and send them all into a state of distress.

"But the fact is that he's asked me, and the least I can do is consider it properly. I can't imagine a world without our boys or the pain it would cause to know I was the reason we couldn't have kids. And whether or not I donate or someone else does, I can see the reasoning of asking someone you know. It's comforting. If there are any problems, you can ask for medical history, you know they're a good person."

"Do what you want. It's your choice, but you have to think it through."

She wasn't going to be able to dissuade Evan no matter what he chose to do. He wasn't listening to her, he wasn't seeing this from the other angle. All he could see was his chance to help someone because that was what he was like, he wanted to help people and if he had the chance, he took it. Damn the consequences for himself.

Well if Evan wanted to do this, it was his choice. (Y/n) had no say because it wasn't her body, she could tell Evan she didn't agree and make sure he knew her thoughts and views, but she couldn't say yes or no because this was nothing to do with her body.

If Evan wanted to watch a fourth child from a distance, knowing he could most likely never talk to them or see their achievements or be in their life, then he could do that. He could do that and possibly make the biggest mistake of his life when that baby was here and he realised he wanted them, badly, but could never take them back.

And (Y/n) had a feeling that if he did this, it would be the last they saw of Connor and Laura. They wouldn't want to be around her or Evan too much in case their children got too friendly and their child realised Connor wasn't their actual dad. They wouldn't want Evan getting close to his true kin or getting attached or wanting to be involved in any way.

They would be selfish and push Evan out, once the baby was born, (Y/n) could see them not telling him anything. No pictures, no calls, no updates, nothing. He would be cut off just like every other donor out there.

Evan might be under the impression that because they were all friends, he would get more out of this. He would get to see this child grow up, but he wouldn't. He would be demoted from friend to donor.

"Baby don't do that-"

"I'm done with this argument." (Y/n) pressed her lips together to stop herself from crying, but she could feel the tears welling up behind her eyes creating a sting in her nose.

She turned on her heels, pushing her weight off the counter and back onto her legs that were close to buckling beneath her. She wasn't going to stand here and argue. He was going to make up his mind either way, this argument wasn't going to persuade or dissuade him in any direction. He didn't need her for these decisions and (Y/n) wasn't arguing when it was making her feel ill.

Her left hand trailed along the counter while her right hand pushed into the lower side of her abdomen like she was trying to give the baby a nudge to make them shift. They were pressing down on her hips and it was painful.

She kept her head tilted down, staring at the floor as she tried to pass Evan but she had to pause when his hand curled around her upper arm. But a deep growl left his lips when (Y/n) yanked her arm out of his grip and carried on walking.

"Get off."

She wasn't sure where she was trying to go. She was too wound up to try and go back to sleep with Luke and he didn't want to go upstairs in case she disturbed him. He didn't sleep at all last night and he had no nap yesterday, he needed his rest.

She passed the dining room and aimed for the living room, praying Evan wouldn't follow and drag this argument with him because (Y/n) knew if she sat down, she wasn't likely to be able to get up without a struggle.

"Baby, please don't walk away, this isn't just my decision."

He wanted to talk and he wanted to be close, he didn't want (Y/n) pulling away from him and not accepting his touch like this.

"Yes it is. If I told you not to and you regretted it, that would always be my fault. If I told you to go ahead and then you got shut out of that child's life for good, I would be to blame. My opinion is I don't think this is a good idea, but it's up to you. Help them, tell them to find someone else, whatever."

(Y/n) flung her hand out behind her to reflect that she was tossing this argument out the window and she couldn't hide the venom that seeped into her tone.

If she pushed Evan to do this and he couldn't be part of that child's life, he might regret it for the rest of his life. He might wallow about the child he could never see, never hug, never talk to. He might think about them for years to come and never come to terms with giving them up. But if he didn't do it, he might regret it later in life, he might think he missed out on a chance to do good, to give life and purpose to someone. Evan was always searching for ways to make a difference in the world.

(Y/n) couldn't make this choice for him, it had to be his own decision. But she feared if he went through with this, she herself might resent him for it.

She swallowed down a groan and aimed for the sofa that was calling out to her shaking legs. Her hand slid down to cradle the side of her stomach and both legs twinged and shook when a searing spasm pulsed through her abdomen.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she couldn't stop them from spilling down her face when she heard Evan groan and storm back into the kitchen.

Her hand reached out and clenched down around the back of the armchair while her other hand cradled her stomach that suddenly felt like it had dropped down towards her feet. She couldn't help but close her eyes as tears streamed down her face and her body doubled forward like she was a spring coiling back down.

Suddenly sitting down didn't feel like the right option even though her legs were close to buckling beneath her.

She twisted to the right, trying to gather enough strength to stand up properly again and aim for the stairs. She couldn't just stand here like a statue all afternoon. She needed to go calm down and the bedroom seemed the best place to do that, or maybe she could take a bath and see if that would relax her. (Y/n) didn't feel well, she needed to go calm down.

It took all the strength she had left to push off the armchair and try to shuffle towards the stairs and (Y/n) found she couldn't stand upright without leaning against something. Standing up straight hurt her stomach and her lower back too much. Her body slumped to the left, reaching out for the bannister to hold her up as her fingers dug deep into her stomach and her knees trembled.

She reached the stairs, but more tears were pouring down her face and curse words flew past her lips when her knees crashed down on the stairs.

"Fuck… oow, Evan."

Confusion tore through Evan and unease rattled through his blood as he spun on his heels and moved into a brazen walk down the hall. He didn't like the pain he could hear laced into (Y/n)'s voice or the guttural cry that followed.

His brows furrowed and he looked around, expecting to find her in the living room but he didn't like the sight he was faced with when he looked over at the stairs.

(Y/n) was knelt down on the stairs, one arm slumped on the step with her forehead pressed into her arm. And her other arm was cradling her lower stomach, a very bad sign indeed. Each breath was shallow and barely there at all and she was trembling enough to make thumps and taps rattle against the stairs.

"Baby, hey, baby what's the matter?"

He skidded across the floor to be beside her. His arms were stretched out before he was even within reaching distance of her and once he was close enough, Evan crouched down behind her with his hands on her waist. He waited a few seconds to see if (Y/n) would move or even turn his way, but she seemed too caught up in her pain to move or talk to him.

He looped his left arm around her waist across her bump with his hand flush against her stomach. And his right hand slid up beneath her arm to cup her shoulder so he could gently ease her back off the stairs. He pulled her as carefully as he could until her back was flush against his chest and her head flopped back against his shoulder.

"Talk to me. What happened, did you fall?"

(Y/n) managed to open her eyes to stare up at Evan and take in his panic-stricken expression. Her hand reached down to clench around his wrist that was resting over her stomach and she shakily grabbed his other hand while her eyes cast downwards.

"Fuck- oh, my water broke."

Panic took over Evan's system and had him on red alert. He glanced down over her shoulder, leaning his chest forward into her back to get a better view and he realised she was right. Her waters had broken. She was in enough pain that it had to be contractions she was feeling.

They were at thirty-six weeks now, labour could technically happen anytime now, although they would have hoped for another two weeks or more before having the baby.

"Oh oh… sweetheart I- I'm sorry. Come on, sitting on the stairs isn't gonna help either of you."

Evan kept her leaning back against his chest and he slowly shuffled off the lower step so he could get back on his feet. He eased (Y/n) back with him, moving both arms so they were around her waist, cupping her stomach to take her weight for her. He held her up with ease when her knees trembled and buckled and he carefully turned them to the side and started walking towards the armchair.

Once they were at the chair, Evan turned to the side so he could ease (Y/n) down into the chair. She sat on the edge, moving her hand to grip the armrest as she balanced her weight on her heels and sat forward, pushing her stomach down into her thighs.

As much as she felt angry towards Evan for this argument, she couldn't help but reach out for his hand and pull him closer as if she thought he would actually walk away from her right now.

"I'm b-blaming you for this." She whispered, following Evan through watering eyes as he crouched down next to her thigh and moved his free hand to grip her knee tightly. His puppy dog eyes stayed locked with hers while he leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss against her stomach.

There was nothing but love and sorrow hiding within his eyes that were close to tears. He hadn't meant to upset her this much or stress her out and push her into labour. He shouldn't have argued. He should have walked away or tried to simmer down the conversation when he noticed (Y/n) becoming uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I am. Are you okay?" It seemed like a silly question but it tumbled past his lips before he could think better of it.

This wasn't how they were supposed to have their third baby. This wasn't part of the plan. They were supposed to have another week or two so they could get everything ready. Maddie was going to have the boys and they would be prepared and not in the middle of a heated argument when this happened.

(Y/n) didn't think she had the will power to use her voice yet, so she settled for nodding while she gingerly moved his hand towards her stomach. His touch always soothed and calmed her down and it would do the same for the baby too.

"I'll ring Maddie and check if she's off work, see if she can have the boys and get Carter from school."

With her teeth sinking into her lower lip, (Y/n) leaned forward a little more so she could nuzzle her face into the top of Evan's hair. She felt his fingers softly gliding over her stomach and when she kissed the top of his head, Evan tilted his head back to look up at her. His free hand moved to cup her chin between his thumb and finger and he searched her eyes for a few seconds, making sure she was calm and no longer panicking.

His eyes softened and he dived up to steal a kiss, feeling like he had been starved of her lips for weeks rather than just a few hours while she had been upstairs with Luke.

He kissed her like he was trying to pour all of his thoughts into her mind and kiss an apology into her lips. His tongue swiped across her lips and delved against hers, taking any air she had and breathing it back to her. And his lips curved into a burning hot grin when he felt (Y/n)'s hand move from his wrist to secure at the nape of his neck to pull him closer.

"I think you're right."

His breathless words, spoken against her lips, had (Y/n) frowning. What was she right about? Being in labour?

She nudged her nose against his, the confusion in her eyes begging him to explain what he was referring to. If she weren't so flustered and ravaged with pain, (Y/n) might have given him a sarcastic response before knowing what he meant. She would of said 'of course I'm right' or 'what else did you expect?' but she wasn't in the frame of mind to strike up sarcasm right now.

"If I was a donor, they wouldn't want me involved… I couldn't be there for any of it, not like this. I don't think I could do that." His hands moved forward so both palms were grazing across her stomach and he leaned over to press his lips against her bump over the top of her shirt.

If he went through with it, then it would be Connor in Evan's place. He would know his child was being loved and raised by someone else, and maybe that would be okay for a while. Maybe he could get in the mindset that it wouldn't really be his kid, he was offering up a bit of himself to help others. He would be giving an offering and that was it, Connor would be the one putting the time and effort in to raise the baby.

And Evan believed being a donor was such a good thing, it helped so many people. But one had to be detached to be a sperm donor. They had to be uncaring and ready to cut ties and not know anything about any kids they may have out there.

Evan wasn't that kind of person. The marines had tried to drill the love and compassion out of him, mould him into a machine and he left specifically because that wasn't who he was or who he wanted to be.

If he was the donor, he couldn't be there like this. He couldn't be at the scans or revel in the scan photos or the heartbeat, and he couldn't be at the birth like he was with his three children.

Being here right now, with (Y/n) in his arms and their baby between them, this was the kind of way Evan wanted to bring life into the world. He wanted to be involved.

"That's not a bad thing." (Y/n) wove her fingers into Evan's wild curls and nuzzled her cheek against the top of his head, leaning further into his embrace.

If Evan was going to bring life into the world, he wanted to be involved, in every aspect of it.

#imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #pregnant! reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine

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nadvs · 6 months

Text

both sinners (part one)

pairing drugdealer! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug use

summary as a stripper, you’re well aware that someone you know could walk into the club at any moment. when rafe is your newest customer, you’re actually glad to see a familiar face.

{ masterlist }

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The room is humid. The pole is smooth. The music is throbbing. And the seats are filling up fast. It’s a typical Saturday night at the club.

You just stepped out on the stage, circling the pole, taking slow, seductive steps in your stilettos.

A polished ‘reserved’ name plate sits on table in the booth right in front of you. You’ll start your routine and get undressed when the people who claimed that booth come in.

You’ve only been stripping for a few months, but you know well enough by now that it’s not worth putting your best show on until the reserved booths are full. Those customers are the most generous with their tips.

Moments later, in the pink and purple lights shimmering over the large club, you can make out the shadowed figures of three men piling into the booth.

You hook your leg around the pole and gyrate while they get seated, ready to start your show.

Rafe settles in the cushioned booth and is immediately captivated by you. You’re so smooth with every slow roll of your hips.

He glances around, seeing the other dancers, but there’s something about you that’s magnetic. It’s like his eyes will only allow him to look at you.

You’re in a sheer skirt and a scant bra; in his opinion, too many clothes are covering your body. He watches while you sensually sway, the lights hitting your planes and curves.

When you arch your back to pull the string holding your bra together, baring your tits, you bra falls to the floor in a bunch. You dip your head back, chest uncovered and so fucking perfect, as you hold yourself up on the pole.

You’re left in nothing but a mini-skirt, lace panties, and six-inch heels.

He’s in awe.

“Dude!” Topper shouts over the music. Rafe looks over at his friend and the waitress leaning over his shoulder. “Drink?”

Rafe realizes they’ve probably been trying to get his attention for a while. He was just too damn distracted by the silhouette on stage.

He laughs, ordering an old fashioned, and turns his attention back to you.

“Acting like you’ve never seen tits before,” Topper chides him, shoving his shoulder and making Kelce crack up.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe chuckles.

You hike yourself up on the pole and slowly spread your legs apart, twisting and rolling. Goddamn. He’s already so fucking worked up just from watching you dance a few feet away from him.

You wait until their drinks arrive and let them get a few sips in before you sink to the glossy floor and swing your legs over the stage.

“Hi, boys,” you say over the music, turning on the flirty, confident identity you always take on while on stage. “Having fun?”

“It’s his birthday,” one of them shouts and points to the man in the middle.

“Oh, yeah?” you say with a smile. You slowly drop onto the carpeted floor and start to close the distance between you and the three men.

The way your hips swing is making Rafe’s groin get tighter. He can’t believe this is his first time in a strip club. What the fuck took him so long?

You freeze for a second when you realize you know these guys. Kind of.

Even though you live nowhere near Figure 8, you’ve befriended enough wealthy people on the island to get invited to their extravagant house parties. And you’ve definitely seen these men before.

You know Rafe best out of the three. He sells the purest coke you’ve ever tried and he somehow gets hotter every time you see him. You’ve talked to him maybe twice, buying a couple of grams off of him.

It’ll only be awkward if you make it awkward, so you place your hands on the edge of the table in the middle of the booth and lean forward, arms pressed against your sides to push out your tits.

Rafe’s eyes dip to your naked chest immediately, then back up to your face. He’s met you before. He thought you were hot then, and he thinks you’re hot now.

“I know you,” you tease. He finds it sexy how you’re completely unfazed by this, not embarrassed at all to be half-naked like this in front of them. “Happy birthday.”

His friend, who you’re pretty sure people call Topper, holds out a folded $50 between his fore finger and middle finger to you.

“First dance is on me, man,” Topper slurs, patting Rafe’s chest with his other hand. By the lazy smiles on their faces, you can tell these aren’t their first drinks of the night.

You lick your lips and smile as you take the bill and tuck it in the waistband of your skirt. You know these guys are loaded. You’re going to make a killing tonight.

You look back at the stage, spotting another dancer and cocking your chin to silently gesture to her to join the table and keep the other guys entertained while you focus on Rafe.

You slowly make your way towards him, the erotic, bass-heavy music surrounding you. You typically let your mind drift away while you give a customer a lap dance, but you’re actually attracted to this one.

The sight of your thighs spreading as you kneel down to straddle him makes Rafe’s heart start pounding even harder.

“Hi,” you say with a sweet smile. You settle and hover over him, mostly supporting yourself on your knees, but sitting on his lap just enough to feel his firm thighs beneath you.

You’re a little nervous, which takes you by surprise. This must be what happens when a customer is someone you have a crush on.

His cologne smells crisp and expensive as you put your hands on his broad shoulders, rubbing over the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Hi,” Rafe says with a stunned grin, his dimples deep. You feel his hands settle under your skirt, fingers splayed over your ass. Even though the rules are strict against touching the dancers, and you’re sure he was told that when he arrived, you let him.

It feels so damn good to be wanted like this by him, to have him touch you. Besides, he seems like the type who thinks he’s above the rules anyway, so telling him not to touch you would be a waste of breath.

“How’s your day been?” you coo, palms sliding down to his chest. Rafe’s blue eyes trail from your mouth to your half-naked body, the handsome angles of his face shadowed under the lights.

“Better now,” he says, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. You giggle, leaning to speak into his ear.

“They don’t let you touch the dancers here,” you mumble to him, “but I’ll give you a pass tonight.”

You pull back to see him clench his defined jawline as he squeezes harder.

“Yeah?” he rasps, the sharp smell of bourbon on his breath. “How come?”

“It’s my birthday present to you,” you say, starting to writhe on him.

“Bullshit,” he smirks. “It’s ‘cause you want me to touch you.” You can admit to yourself that his ego is kind of charming. And yeah, he’s right. His hands on you do feel good.

You sit up to prop your chest right up to his face. Rafe breathes in the smell of your perfume, revelling in the feeling of your tits inches away from his face.

“Are you always this cocky?” you ask. You rake a hand up the back of his head, his hair soft between your fingers.

“Yeah,” Rafe says simply, his careless shrug adding to his charm. You start to gyrate against him, feeling his firmness in his jeans. You dip your head, your cheek pressed against his as you grind.

“That feels good, huh?” you hum.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice deep as he says your name. “I didn’t know you were such a bad girl.”

Damn. You’re actually getting wet right now. This never happens. This is supposed to be work.

“Now you know,” you reply. Your hand slides down his chest, over his firm stomach, landing at his groin. Damn. He’s big.

“Shit,” he groans. You pull back, seeing Rafe’s drunken smile, and seamlessly sit up to swing your leg off of him, backing up to shake your ass on him.

The way your skirt is bouncing with every recoil makes him feel like he could go crazy. You look back at him to see him digging into his pocket, taking a wad of cash out.

He tucks a bill into the band of your skirt, his bottom lip trapped under his teeth as he watches you lustfully.

The way you shake and sway and bump on his lap is making the tension in him tighten, closer and closer to snapping by the second. It’s not enough. He needs to see you fully naked.

The next time you look at him, Rafe impatiently wags his fingers to beckon you to turn towards him again. You obey and kneel over, your faces only inches apart, your hands on his thighs, your ass in the air.

“You gonna get naked or what?” he mutters impatiently. You’re flattered that he’s so into you.

“I can, here,” you say, eager to upsell, “or we can go up to a private room.”

“Yeah?” he says. “What else can we do in there?”

“Did you come here to talk?” you hear a man shout. You realize Topper’s giving him shit, smiling as one of the other dancers grinds on him.

You honestly like that Rafe is talking to you instead of silently watching you dance for him, but you giggle, trying to keep the atmosphere light and fun.

Rafe doesn’t like you laughing with his friend. Or smiling at him. Or even looking at him.

“Let’s go,” Rafe says resolutely. You turn to gaze at him again, his eyes gleaming in the flickering lights.

“It’s $100 for a room-” you begin, but he interrupts.

“Let’s go,” he repeats. You have a feeling you could tell him any price and he’d agree.

You smile and take Rafe’s hand, leading him upstairs to one of the VIP rooms. A bouncer standing in the top level hallway nods to you and motions to a free room.

“No touching, buddy,” he warns Rafe, who only replies with a mocking nod. This man has no respect for anyone or anything. And he makes it look so sexy.

The small space offers an upholstered booth, a pole, and a table for drinks. The dim red bulb on the ceiling seems to casts more shadows than light, making Rafe annoyed that he won’t be able to see you better.

He settles onto the booth as you shut the door behind you. His legs are spread wide, his cock stretching his jeans out in an impressive bulge.

The music is muffled, but still loud enough to dance to in the private room. You toss the bills that are sitting under your waistband onto the table, then position yourself between his knees to writhe for him as you pull down the zipper on the side of your skirt.

The skirt pools around your heels. Rafe drinks in the vision of your lace panties, the way the fabric hugs your lips. He has never been more turned on.

“Damn…” he groans with a disbelieving scoff, his hands sliding up your thighs. When he runs a thumb up your middle, you tremble.

This feels unreal. You’ve given every other man who merely tried to touch your hand a firm reminder of the rules. But here you are, letting Rafe touch your pussy, loving the feeling.

“I knew you were fine, but shit,” he mutters.

You can’t help but wonder if he was attracted to you before he laid eyes on you tonight, when you were fully dressed at the parties you’ve seen each other at.

Rafe’s lips curl into a smirk as he digs into his pocket to pull out his wallet and a clear baggy of white powder. If you weren’t sure that he couldn’t give less of a fuck about rules before, you are now.

“Want some?” he asks.

“I’m working,” you laugh.

“What’s a little bit gonna do?” Rafe asks, pulling out a credit card. “Lie down.”

Intrigued, you follow his orders, settling on the booth onto your back.

“Stay still,” he mutters. You laugh to yourself in disbelief when you realize he’s setting up a line on your chest, right between your tits. He’s almost too much.

Rafe loves the way the powder looks sitting on your skin. He taps the edge of his credit card against the line of coke, evening it out, before he leans down and snorts through a rolled up bill.

Euphoria hits every one of his senses immediately. His lips are right by yours and he gives into his impulse like he always does, leaning down to kiss you.

He takes you by surprise when he captures your lips in his. You smile beneath his hot mouth, enthralled by his spontaneous passion, feeling him suck on your bottom lip. When he pulls back, he’s smiling.

“You sure you don’t want any?” Rafe asks, pupils blown.

“Fuck it,” you laugh. This night has been crazy enough. “Just a bump.”

You sit up, leaning against the cushion of the booth and you hold out your finger, watching as he carefully tips some coke out of the baggy. You rub it over your gums, purposely sucking your finger as you pop it out of your mouth.

Everything about you is driving Rafe crazy in the best way. You’re so fucking carefree and self-possessed.

He shifts to hang over you, his fingers looping around the band of your panties. Rafe pulls them down your legs and sharply inhales when he sees your bare pussy.

He needs you. A dance isn’t enough.

“I’m supposed to do that part,” you breathe a chuckle.

“How much to fuck you?” He meets your eyes, his hair hanging over his forehead.

“We can’t do that, baby,” you laugh, although you desperately want to. You’d get fired in a second. “Not here.”

“It’s my birthday,” he whines with a heartbreaking grin. He palms his dick in his pants, eyes drifting down your body hungrily. “How much? I’ll give you whatever you want.”

You’ve already broken so many rules, and you would love to fuck him, but the risk of getting caught is just too high. You decide to compromise.

You put him hand on the hard swelling in his pants and rub.

“How about this?” you ask, looking up at him through your lashes. “You sit down and I touch you.”

That way, you think, if anyone walks in, your back will be to the door and you can hide what you’re doing, making it look like you’re just giving him another lap dance.

Rafe nods, glad he has the promise of a release, and sits back down where he was before.

You shuffle to straddle him, feeling his hands on your ass again. You unbutton and zip down his jeans and he frantically bucks his hips up and slips them down.

When his cock pops out of his boxers, you nearly gasp at how big it is.

“I got hard the second I saw your tits,” he laughs, feeling drunk and high out of his mind.

“Yeah?” you purr. You spit on your palm then put your hand around his base. He groans, the pressure sending a roll of pleasure through his body.

“Yeah,” Rafe shudders. “You have really nice fucking tits.” Wow. He’s talkative when he’s high. You love it.

His hands move up to capture your breasts, squeezing the flesh.

“How the fuck am I not supposed to touch you? That’s a stupid fucking rule,” he mutters, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples. You shudder, arching your back at the sensation.

“Damn, you like that?” he rasps with a smirk.

“Yeah,” you breathe a laugh. You start to run your hand up and down his cock, arousal pooling in your gut.

“You’re telling me you don’t want this dick inside you?” he teases. You bite your bottom lip and twist your wrist as you stroke him.

“We can’t fuck in here,” you tell him.

“But we can somewhere else?” Rafe asks, tilting his chin towards you so you’ll kiss him again.

The coke is starting to hit your system as your tongue rolls over his, your palm wet against his cock.

“Yeah, we can,” you say shakily when you pull away.

“Shit, you’re good at that,” he grunts, looking down at your hand working him. All you can hear is the muffled music and your combined breathing and the sound of your wet skin rubbing over his.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Rafe’s head is spinning. He takes in the sight of his hands on your perfect tits, the way you’re jerking him off, the smile on your pretty face. All this combined with the liquor and coke rushing through him is fucking paradise.

“You wanna cum on me?” you impulsively ask. He’s still partly dressed, but you’re fully naked. It’d be easier to clean up. And, if you’re being honest, you want to feel his cum on you.

“You really are a bad girl,” Rafe laughs. You meet his eyes. He’s so depraved, but hell, so are you.

You put your other hand on him, rubbing his thick length in a faster rhythm. He rolls his head back as he groans.

“I’m gonna… oh, fuck…” His deep voice unravels into mumbles.

You aim his cock towards you, watching the white ropes of his cum spurt out of him, his body twitching beneath you. The hot liquid splashes over your stomach and your thighs, making you smile in satisfaction.

When he comes down from the high you gave him, he hands you his entire wad of cash.

You didn’t expect your night to take this turn, but it was so much fucking fun. And you have no idea if Rafe will remember any of this. But you hope he does.

{ part two }

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

#my enemies/rivals to lovers fic took a little pause just bc i love this concept sm hehe #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #obx smut #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron and reader

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thewintersoldatt · 7 months

Text

SORRY, NOT SORRY -RAFE CAMERON

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x fem!listener

Summary: Rafe can be a “good” boyfriend when he wants to be… with a sprinkle of manipulation of course.

Warnings: Naughty language, Fluff low-key from our toxic daddy, ft. JJ being a chaotic mess.

notes: This audio is set during 1x05. Instead of it being midsummer's, it's the listeners birthday! I've been working on this all week and I'm tired of listening to it on repeat, so if something doesn't add up, it's because I got lazy. And I wish Rafe told me he loved me. 😭

word count: Its audio, my panties are wet and so are yours.

Scene one

JJ: Ah, would you look at this! It's our birthday girl!

You: What are you doing here?

Our cutie patootie rambles on then walks off with the security guard.

During this pause count to about 6 or 7.

You: What the hell did you guys do to his face?

Rafe: We didn't do anything… his face was like that when he…showed up.

You: Well, why did you guys corner him in here?

Rafe: We were just making sure... he knew his place. And that he's not allowed here. If anything, we were doing you and your parents a favor, I mean, god knows what he already took.

You: You promised me you wouldn’t start anything tonight, Rafe.

Rafe: Can you give us a minute? I'd like to talk to my girlfriend... alone, so get out. Alright, um, can I speak first since you wanna do this right now?

You: Go ahead.

Rafe: How long have you lived here?

You: I was born here.

Rafe: Yes you were born here, but where - where did you grow up?

You: Figure 8.

Rafe: Yes, you grew up on Figure 8. And where did... our pal JJ grow up?

You: The cut.

Rafe: The Cut. and that's exactly my point, baby. We're kooks. And... what is JJ again?

You: Jesus, Rafe don't start-

Rafe: Come on, you wanna talk, let’s talk. What about communication? Isn’t that what we're supposed to be working on?

Count to 3 during this pause.

You: He’s a pouge.

Rafe: See that wasn't so hard, now was it? Now, let me make something clear, and stop me if you get a little confused - you and me. We’re practically royalty on this island. We’re together for a reason. And before you saying, yes I do love you. I always have and I always will. You’re mine. You’re it for me, sweetheart. And… you’re a kook. So, start acting like one before I do something about it, mkay?

You: God, you’re a dick you know that? How about you leave too.

Rafe: Ugh, look I’m sorry, alright? It’s just… it’s just when I saw him on the patio talking to Sarah I lost it. This is supposed to be your day and I didn’t want him ruining it. Kind of like when… uh… we switched out the coke with flour and gave it to Top because he ate your cupcakes.

You: And how is that relevant to this?

Rafe: It’s sorta the same thing. You - you worked hard on those. Uh, he ate them. I was pissed because they were for me. And you were upset because I wanted to punch him in the throat. Tomato, tomahto. Blah, blah, blah. See you’re smiling, I love it when you smile.

You: You’re such a sap.

Rafe: I love you.

You: I love you too.

Rafe: And again, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a scene, I just didn’t know how else to get him to leave. You know how JJ and his friends are. All of them are drawn to us like a moth to a flame. Now, uh, can we put this behind us and get back to the party?

You: Thats the smartest thing that’s come out of your fat mouth all night, baby.

Rafe: By the way, I really do think he took something from your bedroom.

You: What?

Rafe: I saw him come down from the hallway, unless he took something from your dad’s office?

You: You’re serious?

Rafe: As a heart attack.

You: But… I’ve never done anything to him.

Rafe: That’s what they do though. You should know this by now. They butter you up, just to take whatever they can right from under our noses. It’s sick, if I’m being honest.

You: So much for trying to be civil.

Rafe: I know, yeah, I’ll talk to your dad, and um, see what we can do. But for now, let’s go celebrate. It’s not everyday someone turns 17.

@rafesapologist @rvfecamerons @sadfury @rafesthroatbaby @rafesaddiction @hockeybabe87 @rafeinterlude @starkeyisthelastname @secretly-tumb1r @kingkylie444 @stayonmars @maybankswhore @barbiiecams @princessmisery666 @ilovebarrykeoghan

If you would like to be tagged, I gotchu sis.

#drew starkey #ai generated #rafe x you #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #i’m in love #my original post #my original writing #enjoy the audio

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perlelune · 7 months

Text

Happier Than Ever | Rafe Cameron

Loving Rafe was a rollercoaster you could never get off of. Sometimes thrilling, but mostly terrifying. And some way, somehow, he always found a way to draw you back in for another ride.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Drug Addiction, Drunk Driving, Kook! Reader, Toxic Relationship, Abuse, Emotional Blackmail, Suicidal Talk

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

You smile as Marissa tells her story once more. No matter how many times you hear it, it never gets old.

“Who does that? I mean he didn’t even have his driving license. I was so embarrassed-”

The rest of the girls in the circle you formed in the living room gasp. You nurse your beer before taking another sip. You take a bite of the birthday cake, humming in appreciation of the cinnamon and pineapple undertones. For a minute, you soak it all in. The soft pop pouring from the speakers in your friend’s living room. The casual chatter between friends.

You fold your legs beneath yourself, enjoying your cake in a corner of the couch.

It’s been a while since you’ve been able to enjoy a night like this. Quiet and calm. Not since your breakup. Spending time with your friends always fell to the wayside in your previous relationship, your ex finding issues with how much time you spend with them instead of him. It wasn’t uncommon for you to drop everything whenever he called. Girls’ night outs. Sleepovers. Even birthdays, like today.

He was the sun around which your entire life orbited and he couldn’t stand anything or anyone stealing your attention away. It took you a long time to leave. More than you’re comfortable admitting.

It’s not like things were bad all the time. In fact, most of the time, they were good. Not just good. They were great. So great you easily forgave and forgot. Forgot about the tears. Forgot about the rough hands on your skin. Forgot about the cruel words. Forgot about the screaming and nights lying awake, wondering what you did wrong for him to be so angry at you again.

He was a magician. With the right words and that twinkle in his ocean gaze, he could make all the hurt vanish. Like none of it was ever there to begin with. The same eyes that made you feel small could make your stomach flutter. The same mouth that would praise you could tear you down as easily.

Your heart was never at rest, as you never knew which version of him you’d get on a particular day. The sweet and kind version. Or the paranoid and volatile one.

So many little things could set him off. A throwaway comment from his dad. An argument with his sister. Some stranger's gaze resting on you half a second too long.

Nothing you did could ever get that chip off his shoulder. No amount of care, patience or love could ever reassure him enough. It was exhausting, which is why you left. Well, more like…ran away. Avoided his side of the island. Ghosted him. Hid away really.

It’s been a few weeks now. You are slowly retrieving some semblance of peace in your life. It’s easier when he’s not around. Easier to breathe. Easier to move around.

Marissa turns to you.

“I’m so happy that you could make it.”

You beam at her. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She pauses, her fingers tapping the side of her beer bottle.

“You did last year,” she points out.

You tense. Last year. You never even told her what that was about. You were dressed up and ready and he stopped you on your way out, questioning why you were looking this good for “just some chicks’ get-together”. You shudder as the memory flashes through your brain. Needless to say you never made it to your friend’s party.

“Yeah…sorry about that,” you mumble, scratching your arm.

She smiles in reassurance, squeezing your arm.

“It’s okay. But no more missing my birthday, okay?”

“Okay, promise,” you reply, nodding.

The conversation is halted by the buzzing of your phone. Your chest clenches at the sight of the familiar name across the screen. Marissa steals a glimpse from across the couch and tilts her head in disapproval. The two of them were oil and water, never getting along. In fact, she got in his face quite a few times. And he seemed to enjoy riling her up even more.

“Don’t answer that.” She nudges your shoulder. “I already told you, you need to block him.”

In theory, you know you should sever all ties. But you haven’t found the nerve to cross that bridge yet. Sending him straight to voicemail and leaving him on read is the height of what you can achieve right now. Besides, you shudder to think how he’d react to you blocking him. He damn near broke your door down the day after you texted him that you two were over.

“It could be important…” You get to your feet, stepping away from the couch and your friend’s critical stare. “I’m just gonna tell him to stop. I’ll be right back.”

You head to the balcony. You inhale a lungful of courage before swiping to accept the call.

“Hey, angel. Miss me?” Rafe slurs drunkenly.

Your brows knit. “You shouldn’t drive when you’re like this, Rafe.”

He barks out a derisive laugh. “You hear this shit, bro? Acting like she cares about me all of sudden.”

Your chest twinges, his words hurting more than they should.

Another familiar voice faintly echoes in the background.

“Is that Topper?”

Your frown deepens. They both sound too inebriated to be driving anyone home, let alone themselves.

As you ponder if you should call Sarah or Ward, a crashing sound echoes through the phone, the boys’ laughter dying. Your stomach drops.

“Rafe?” you call.

You frantically text him. When you get no response, you try Topper. He doesn’t pick up immediately.

At least twenty minutes slog by in terrifying silence.

Chewing on your thumb, you wait for the call to reach him.

When you finally hear his voice, relief seeps through you. If he’s fine, then Rafe must also be, right?

But your hopes are swiftly pulverized when he informs you that Rafe is being transported to the hospital. Panic flutters through you. You don’t want to care. You and him aren’t together anymore. It’s not your problem…Except it is. You can’t quell the worry pooling in your gut, the racing of your heart at the thought that Rafe could be hurt. Or worse.

Anxiously rubbing your hands, you head back to the living room. Marissa won’t like what you have to say, but dread has wrapped its fist around your heart since you heard that horrifying sound on the other end of the line, and hasn’t eased up since. The not knowing is worse than anything.

Noting the contrite pinch to your face, your friend heaves out a deep exhale.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to see him,” she says.

You chew on your lip. You know how this looks. Like you’re that girl who picks a guy over her friends again. Still, you remind yourself it’s not like the other times. You aren’t together anymore. You’re over him. You’re way past that. You’re just making sure he’s safe.

“I think something happened. Something really bad.”

Marissa shrugs and takes a swig of her beer. You try to ignore her and your other friend’s pointed stares. Their quietness speaks volumes, the weight of their judgment bearing heavily in the room.

“He always does that. Who knows if he didn’t do it on purpose.”

“You mean crashed his car on purpose? Marissa, come on…”

She tosses her head backwards, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“Whatever. I’m used to you bailing.” She glances at her freshly painted nails. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Her accusation aches but you shove it aside. You bid everyone goodbye and grab your keys from the lobby.

The entire drive your heart is in your throat, your clammy hands tight around the wheel.

The worst scenarios keep playing in your head like a horrible nightmare. The picture of Rafe, a white sheet draped over his unmoving body, won’t stray from your raging thoughts. Why do you feel like this is your fault? He always had troubles with overindulging in liquor and other party favors. It’s something the two of you often argued about. But he had gotten better about it lately, before the breakup. He’d thrown away the drugs, eased up on the drinking. He was better. It’s part of why leaving felt okay.

Your eyes well up with tears. You wipe them in frustration, focusing on the dark road ahead.

Sucking a wide breath, you remind yourself. You’re not responsible for Rafe. None of this is your fault.

Still, as you pull into the hospital’s driveway, guilt lingers within you.

Thanks to Topper’s instructions, you find Rafe’s room quickly.

You’re a breathless mess when you arrive, having raced through the white corridors. Sarah and Wheezie hug you as soon as they see you. You return it, having missed them in the last few weeks. You had come to think of the youngest of the Cameron siblings as the little sister you never had. You often went out to have ice cream while she told you of the gossip from her school. As for Sarah, the two of you go way back. While not the closest, you’ve been in the same circles since kindergarten. The puffiness of her brown eyes doesn’t escape you. While there’s no love lost between her and her big brother, she seems as shaken as you are.

Ward greets you with a nod. Meeting his gaze is difficult. He always told you you were a good influence on his son. A good girl from a good family. That you were exactly what Rafe needed to set himself straight and finally grow up. You can tell from the way his blue eyes are trained on you that Ward is a little disappointed, that he expected you to stick it out through the storm with his son. The people-pleaser inside you shrinks a bit at that.

Rose at least appears to empathize with your plight, flashing you a quick smile. She too seems to have cried, which stuns you the most. It’s no secret she and Rafe have never gotten along.

The Camerons make space for you to tiptoe further inside the room.

You take shaky steps towards Rafe. It hurts seeing him like that, hunched over at the edge of the bed in a hospital gown. While he’s not attached to tubes and wires, your chest seizes as you note the sling around his left arm, his busted lip and the long cut running across his brow.

“We’ll leave you two alone,” Ward says, gesturing at his daughters to vacate the room.

Silence hangs for a while after the rest of the Cameron clan leaves, giving you and Rafe privacy. Eyes clinging to the floor, you girdle your breath until he speaks.

“You came.”

You look up, Rafe’s cool tone startling you. You approach him.

“Of course I came.”

The muscles of his jaw clench.

“You didn’t have to,” he says curtly.

You cup his cheek, “Rafe-”

He slaps your hand away, his eyes rolling back as he unleashes a heavy sigh.

“Don’t,” he snaps. He sniffs and chuckles but it lacks humor. “I don’t even know why you’re here. You don’t give two shits about me.”

Disbelief strikes you. How could Rafe utter such words after everything you’ve been through together?

Your brows furrow as you graze his arm, whispering softly,

“That’s not true, Rafe and you know it.”

“Do I?” He taps his temple with his healthy arm, stammering angrily, “C-Cause I had so many thoughts in my head when you left…”

“Rafe-”

“I know we weren’t perfect but I thought we were pretty happy, y’know?”

A surge of tears presses beneath your lashes.

“We were.” You pause and take a deep breath. “Sometimes. But you weren’t…” Your lip quakes as you’re hit with the remembrance of how bad his mood swings were. You rub your neck, the phantom sensation of Rafe’s fingers squeezing it tight sizzling your flesh. Your voice comes out small. “We weren’t good for each other, Rafe.”

He bites his bottom lip and slowly releases it before sneering, “Bet you’d have preferred if I died tonight, get it all over with.”

“What? How can you even say that?” you say, your pitch spiking with shock.

“Y’know maybe I should…Maybe I should just get my dad’s gun, blow my fucking brains out and stop being such a burden to you.”

He mimics the gesture of shooting a gun through his skull and tears spill over your cheek.

You cradle his face.

“Don’t say things like that, Rafe. Please…” you sob.

“What else am I supposed to say, huh? You left me. Bet you think I’m a fuckup too. Just like my dad.”

“I don’t think that.”

“I wanted to die.”

“Rafe.”

His watery gaze dives into yours.

“When you left, I wanted to fucking die.”

Your breath falters.

“Being without you is hell, angel.” Desperation oozes from his voice. “I just wanted to feel…I don’t know, anything else.” He buries his face in his hand, mumbling under his breath, “I-I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take.”

Your heart sinks. You never imagined breaking up with Rafe would send him in such a state. A wave of guilt consumes your insides. Perhaps it was selfish, taking your distance the way you did.

You place your hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t know things were this bad for you. I’m sorry.”

He snorts. “I mean, how could you? It’s not like you answer when I call.”

The air chills around you. Your lips clamp shut at that, your head lowering. You did ignore all of Rafe’s calls. And now you find yourself wondering if there were cries for help, if he was drowning and needed you to pull him ashore. If you had picked up, just once, maybe he wouldn’t be here right now.

The doctor comes in and you step back. Rafe is thankfully cleared, presenting no concussion or major injuries besides his broken arm. You meet Topper outside and are relieved to find him in much better shape than your ex. Outside of a nasty scrape on his cheek, he’s completely unharmed.

“Were you drunk too?” you can’t help but ask him.

“I…Yeah, but I wasn’t the one driving.” Topper hesitates, nervous as his eyes meet yours. “Rafe, he…he took some other stuff at the party.”

“I figured,” you sigh.

“He just kept driving faster the more he ranted about you.”

Your chest clenches. You glower at him.

“You’re supposed to be his friends, you and Kelce. You’re supposed to look out for him.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies.

Your gaze darts around the hospital corridor.

“Where’s Kelce, anyway?”

Topper scratches the back of his neck.

“He…passed out in a bush at the party.”

Your shoulders sag. Typical Kook shenanigans. Not one of those boys could actually behave responsibly. All they ever do is enable each other and egg each other on to do stupid shit. Then they let someone else clean up their mess. Fatigue settles over you. You’ve been here before.

You glance at your phone. It’s beyond late. You walk up to Ward.

“I should probably go back home now. I only wanted to check on Rafe, make sure he's okay."

Crossing his arms, the Cameron patriarch astounds you when he utters, “Why don’t you stay at Tannyhill tonight?”

You flash a nervous smile.

“Mr. Cameron, Rafe and I-”

“I know you two are broken up, and I get that.” He heaves out a weary sigh as he considers Rafe. “I know my son has…issues, sweetheart, but he always did better around you.” His piercing gaze travels from Rafe to you. “He hasn’t been doing well since you left him.”

You recline into silence. It’s been a while since you’ve seen Rafe look this defeated. It worries you. You have no desire to give him the wrong idea but you also don’t see yourself just going home after hearing the things he shared with you. While you don’t plan on getting back with him, you can’t just abandon him.

“Okay. But just for tonight,” you specify.

Ward beams at you. “That's all I ask, sweetheart.”

You end up getting into a car with Ward, Rose and Rafe. Wheezie trails behind Sarah, as you let her borrow the keys of your truck to drive Topper back home. She promises to return them to you in the morning. A heavy quiet coats the air as you share the backseat with Rafe, his stepmom sitting in the front with Ward. He’s not even looking at you, his blue eyes glued to the window. Dejected, you twine your hands in your lap. You’re used to that, Rafe ignoring you when he’s upset. But tonight it stings even more, fueling the guilt simmering inside you.

As Ward’s car pulls into the long alley of the Cameron’s mansion, nostalgia tugs at your heart.

Tannyhill was practically a second home to you this past year. Your parents travel a lot for work and Rafe used to coax you into staying with him most nights, just so you’re not alone.

You don’t even think as you follow Rafe to his bedroom, your feet carrying you absently since you’ve done it so many times before.

You inspect the room. Nothing’s changed since the last time you were here.

He grimaces as he struggles to remove his clothes while wearing the sling.

“I can’t get this fucking shirt off,” Rafe grumbles.

You trudge up to him.

“Let me help you.”

Rafe observes you, falling strangely quiet while you slip off his shirt for him. Your cheeks heat when you do the same for his pants.

When you’re done, you try to head for the door.

Rafe’s hand clutches yours, halting your departure.

“Stay… please, angel? You can wear one of my shirts like you used to.”

A forlorn expression decorates his features. Despite your best efforts, it tugs at your heartstrings.

You gnaw on your lip. “It’s probably best if I stay in the guest room.”

His thumb sweeps over the inside of your palm.

“I won’t try anything funny, I swear…if that’s what you’re worried about.” His brows draw together. “I’m just in so much pain, and I can barely move my arm.”

You unleash a resigned breath.

“You promise to stay on your side of the bed?” When a playful smile creeps on his lips, your tone sharpens. “Rafe, I’m only here as your friend. I’m serious.”

His gaze narrows, suspicion sneaking in his tone. “Why? You’re like seeing somebody now or some shit?”

“No, I’m not.” You pause before adding cheekily, “And even if I were, it’d be none of your business.”

His cheek pulses.

A flicker of jealousy ignites his gaze, indicating that, in Rafe’s opinion, who you're seeing now is still very much his business. But his features smooth over quickly, his voice mellowing.

“I’d just feel better if you slept next to me, angel. I don’t feel like I’m asking for much, am I?” He pauses before sneering, “Or do you hate my fucking guts so much that I can’t even ask for a little favor?”

“I don’t hate you, Rafe.”

He cocks his head, hope lacing his deep timbre.

“Really? You don’t?”

“I don’t think I could even if I tried,” you admit.

A wide grin blooms on his face at that. He curls his hand around your waist, pulling you a little closer.

“Then prove it. Stay with me tonight.”

His blue eyes are honest, pleading. Your resolve thaws like ice in the summer heat.

“Fine,” you yield. You gear yourself to leave, announcing, “I’ll go change in the bathroom.”

The hand on your waist tightens as he teases, “Why not here? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before-”

“Rafe,” you scold, prying his fingers off your waist.

He snickers, lifting his hand. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

A pang of melancholy pierces your chest when you pick one of Rafe’s shirts to wear in bed. It feels a little weird sharing a bed with him when you’re not together anymore.

When you step out of the bathroom, you steal a glance at him. The blanket only covers half of his body, exposing the bare, suntanned muscles of his chest. You ignore Rafe’s smirk as he catches your lingering gaze. Averting your eyes, you make your way to your side of the bed.

You slip under the covers, reassured that he’s respecting your wishes by giving you space. But it doesn’t last.

In the middle of the night, you’re forced to berate him for breaking the boundaries you set.

His good arm snakes around you, his broad chest draping over your back.

“Rafe…”

He nuzzles your neck from behind, humming as he basks in your smell. “Please, just let me have this,” he begs.

You sigh. You don’t have it in you to deny Rafe tonight. Not when he could have died. Not when you feel some responsibility for that.

“Okay, but no wandering hands.”

He nods and snuggles even closer to you. You can’t help but grow a bit dizzy as the familiar scent of Rafe’s cologne clogs your senses.

You close your eyes and drift into sleep.

In the morning, you wake up to Rafe dragging his fingertips along your cheek, an entranced expression etched on his features.

“I missed waking up like this,” he rasps.

For a while, as you get lost in how bright and blue his eyes look in the soft morning glow, you forget. Remembrance settles over you however when Rafe’s thumb travels to your bottom lip. This is the kind of thing you can’t allow anymore.

Clearing your throat, you sit up and remove his hand from your face.

“Well don’t get used to it.”

Rafe’s brows crumple. “Ouch. When did you get so mean, angel?”

“I learnt it from you.”

He actually seems taken aback by that, speechless as he gapes at you.

His surprise allows you to make a beeline for the bathroom.

“Dibs on the first shower,” you chime, slamming the door closed before he can make another comment that sends your heart in a frenzy.

You use Rafe’s time away in the bathroom to focus on another task. A very important task. One you call the post-bender sweep. It’s a little tragic that you even have a name for it, or that you’ve had to do it so often. So you roll up your sleeves and begin rummaging through all of Rafe’s drawers. No corner of the room is left unchecked.

It’s how he finds you as he steps out of the shower, damp blonde locks grazing his forehead, the towel hanging low on his tapered waist.

Confusion fills his cobalt eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I know you weren’t just drunk last night Rafe. Topper told me everything.”

“Fucking snitch,” Rafe hisses. He inches closer to you. “Look, I’m gonna get it together, alright?”

You crouch near the bed and reach under the mattress. Rafe’s face goes taut as you feel between the wooden slats. “Angel-”

Your fingers dislodge a plastic bag between the slats. You examine its insides.

“Coke, expected. Well that…is new. Is that meth?” you list sourly. You wish you could say you were disappointed. Instead, you’re just exhausted and vaguely angry. This is a step back. A huge one. “This is poison, Rafe.”

You get to your feet and dash to the bathroom. As you empty every ounce of powder, crystals and every single pill into the toilet bowl, Rafe grips the side of his head. Panic flickers on his face.

“That’s 10k down the drain.”

“Well, Barry can go through me. I’m not letting you do this to yourself again.”

You flush the toilet and meet his eyes. Their intensity has you shifting in discomfort.

“What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

His lips slowly curve upward.

“You still care about me.”

Your heart skips a beat. You blink and shuffle away from the toilet. False hopes, you recall, you weren’t supposed to give them to him. You decide to steer him away from that line of thought.

“Of course I do,” you reply. “You’re my friend.”

Rafe’s smile vanishes. His tone becomes clipped. “Friends, huh? Okay.”

Your plans to only stay the night are thwarted at breakfast. After sharing a copious meal with the Camerons, Ward pulls you aside, practically begging you to prolong your presence at Tannyhill for his son’s sake.

“You and I both know he needs you, sweetheart.”

At first, you’re hesitant. This wasn’t the plan. You’ve fought so hard against the instinct not to put Rafe’s needs and wants before your own. Tooth and nail quite frankly. The first week after your breakup, not picking up when he called made you physically ill.

You wept about it for days, and almost ran right back into his arms. Without your friends, you probably would have.

Now, your life’s back on track. You can breathe again. You’re happier. The crippling fear of what Rafe would say or think does not hover over your every move anymore.

When Sarah returns your truck’s keys, you consider driving yourself back home and never looking back. Your fingers curl around the keys. It’s right there beneath your palm, your freedom. But there’s just one tiny issue. Rafe’s misty eyes catch yours across the table. And in less than a second, you don’t belong to yourself anymore.

So you remain at Tannyhill much longer than you’d like, taking care of Rafe and spending nights in his arms. The ambiguity of the situation fosters doubts in your mind, threatening the fragile equilibrium you found.

So as soon as Rafe’s noticeably improved, you elect to go back home. One morning, you rise with the sun and start collecting all the things you left behind in his room. It’s imperative to create some distance between you and him again. After all, you’ve gone above and beyond. Initially, this was about checking on your friend. A blind man could see that Rafe wants more than that however. You fear things will spiral to a point of no-return if you don’t leave now. You did so well these last few weeks, getting over Rafe. Or trying to at least. Now all that hard work is on the rocks.

Displeasure paints Rafe’s features as he watches you shove as many of the stray objects you scattered in his space inside your bag. You ended things so abruptly the first time that you never bothered coming back to collect everything you left in Rafe’s room.

“Come on, you could stay a little longer,” he pleads.

“It’s time for me to go home, Rafe.”

“Then just stay the night. You can leave tomorrow.”

“Rafe, it’s been well over a week.”

He sucks his teeth, sniggering meanly, “That excited to be rid of me, huh?”

Your forehead creases.

“It’s not like that.”

Rafe scoffs, “Nah, I get it. You’ve moved on and you never want to see me again, right?”

“Rafe…”

His fingers thread through yours, drawing you back to him. Towering above you, he whispers, “It's just one night. It won’t be different from the other ones. I just want to be able to feel you one last time.”

You purse your lips. You could never say no to anything Rafe asks when he looks at you like that. Like you’re his lifeline, the only thing keeping his head above water.

It's probably not a great idea. Rafe’s been getting handsier than you’d like these last few days, and you didn’t have the heart to push him away. But what’s one more night? You’ll be gone tomorrow anyways.

“Okay,” you concede.” But I’m really leaving tomorrow.”

A victorious grin breaks out on his face.

“Of course, angel.”

At first, your last night at Tannyhill does indeed seem like the others. You slip under the covers next to Rafe, as you’ve done every other night. His light snores fill the room, his arm finding its way around your waist. Like always. You’ve gotten used to this. You don’t protest, finding comfort in the knowledge you’ll be done with everything Rafe Cameron the next day.

So you let him get close once more. His heat encases you as he nestles his head in the crook of your neck. You don’t even give much thought to the thick bulge poking the small of your back. This is Rafe. He grows hard half the time when you cuddle. Usually, you get him to back off with a frown and a light shove on his chest.

But tonight’s different.

He starts rubbing against you, his hand sneaking below the shirt covering your body.

“Rafe? What are you doing?” you whisper, your voice high-pitched from shock.

“Shh, quiet, angel,” he hushes, trailing sloppy, heated pecks along your neck and shoulder.

“Rafe, you can’t…” Your voice dwindles to a gasp when his digits creep between under your ass, teasing your folds through your panties. He pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingertips. You bite down a sharp cry.

“I said I wanted to feel you one last time, angel.”

He shoves a finger inside your panties and sinks between your walls. The embarrassing squelching of your cunt echoes in the room, Rafe beginning to pump inside you at a steady pace. Naturally, he knows exactly how to move his fingers to turn you into a panting, shivering mess against him. You try to resist it, ignore the fire rising in your core, but your skin is easily set ablaze by Rafe’s familiar touch. Your belly knots. Tingles bloom on your flesh. He sweeps along your tender spots and you choke on your spit.

Heat gathers in your face as you grow slicker beneath Rafe’s hand.

He tugs on your panties, sliding them down your legs.

Rafe shifts position. He places himself above you and shimmies out of his boxers. Alarm bells ring inside your head when his thick tip prods at your entrance.

“Rafe…”

Words wither on your tongue as he buries his cock inside you in one blunt thrust. A quiet scream flies from your mouth, your chest heaving.

“Don’t be like this,” Rafe grunts, arrogance dripping from his lustful timbre. “I know you’ve been missing how my fat cock feels inside that tight little pussy, right?”

“We’re broken up, Rafe,” you wheeze out, struggling to catch your breath as your walls strain at his size.

“So?” He pulls out of you, only to sheathe himself inside your wet heat again. Your eyes roll back, your fingers clutching weakly at the sheets.

Rafe’s half-lidded gaze darkens as he drinks you in, his tone getting possessive.

“You’re in my bed, wearing my shirt. I’d say that makes you mine.”

The protests on your tongue evaporate, your thoughts dipping into a tailspin as Rafe slams his cock inside your dripping cunt. Desperation and lust marks each of his deep, pointed thrusts. Your head tosses over the pillows.

Stars fill your sight, pleasure swirling through your limbs. Air dwindles in your lungs as he stretches you out deliciously. His thick cock brushes against your sweet spot repeatedly and your lids flutter. Rafe’s own breaths grow more ragged. His throat bobs, his hard muscles clenching with his motions. He balances his arm above your head, looming over you as sweat dots on his brow.

His warm breath grazes your face as he chuckles.

“It’s like coming home, right? Like I never left.”

“I’m gonna get my shit together. I swear to you, angel.” He rests his forehead against yours. Rafe’s masculine scent floods your senses and your mind spins. You keen as he snaps his taut hips into yours, helpless as Rafe cages you with his frame. “Just don’t leave me again, okay? Please, I need you.”

Over the next few weeks, while his arm is healing, you and Rafe relapse into old habits. First, it’s that night at his house, the one that stirs your unease for a while. Then it’s a quickie in the back of his truck after he offers to drop you off one day. Progressively, it becomes more than that. Dates and late night calls, like before.

Rafe complaining to you for hours about Sarah or the weight of his dad’s expectations. Rafe sending flowers to your doorstep. Rafe making butterflies swarm in your stomach when he tells you that you’re the only one who understands him.

The walls you erected crumble day by day, shattered by his persistence to win you back. He showers you with gifts and attention on a near daily basis now, even going as far as planning the most romantic evening for Valentine’s day. Though you had plans with your friends, Rafe is so adamant to have you all to himself that you ditch Galentine's day cocktails to be with him.

Slowly but surely, the Cameron heir weasels his way back into your heart.

Most of your friends aren’t thrilled with your decision, of course. Marissa in particular.

“Guys like him don’t change,” she tells you one night as he’s blowing up your phone with texts inquiring about your whereabouts. You fervently disagree. He’s just worried about you, you convince yourself. That's how much he cares.

Of course Rafe has changed. He’s earning your trust, one day at a time. He has his temper in check. He’s better now. He’s proven it several times.

Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?

Besides, though you struggle to admit it, there’s something intoxicating about being Rafe Cameron’s girlfriend. A feeling so heady and electric. One you shamefully kind of missed.

You trust Rafe. Those are the words that keep playing in your mind as you wait for him downstairs. You fiddle with your solo cup, taking a tiny sip of your beer. Techno music blares from the speakers in Kelce’s living room. The girls next to you gossip about a crush on some guy you don’t know. You feign interest, giving a dull nod and a smile every now and then. Lavish, hedonistic Kook parties aren’t exactly your scene anymore. Rafe practically had to drag you here.

The initial plan was to meet with your friends tonight. But Rafe closed off when you told him that. He then pleaded with you to come. You caved in, because refusing him has been incredibly difficult since the accident. So you’ve stopped trying to argue with him.

You go along with most of what he asks, even if it stirs your discomfort at times.

You glance at the time on your phone.

Rafe said he needed to go to the bathroom earlier.

That was nearly thirty minutes ago. Your brows draw together. Taking a leak shouldn’t take that long in theory, right? Or are you this paranoid now?

Still, you can’t quell the dread tickling your insides. A sense of deja vu seeps through you.

Your feet carry you upstairs, guided by your urgent need to find Rafe.

Kelce’s house is huge and you nearly get lost multiple times. Your cheeks flame as you stumble upon a couple in one of the guest rooms. You hastily apologize and slam the door shut, resuming your search. It takes you a long time of blind wandering through endless corridors before you find him.

He’s indeed in a bathroom. At least that, he didn’t lie about…unlike the line of coke he’s snorting above the sink.

“Rafe?” you call, frozen on the doorstep. “What are you doing?”

A brief glimpse of panic flits across his face before he bursts out in laughter.

He makes his way to you and tilts your chin upward.

“It’s a party, I’m just having fun. You should try it sometime.”

You scowl at him. “That’s not the point. You promised...”

Rafe sniffs, wiping the remnants of white powder beneath his nose.

“Come on, just relax.” He crowds your space, placing his hands on each side of you on the door. It slams shut as Rafe presses his body against yours, his voice sinking to a lewd rasp. “Why don’t you and I get into the hot tub downstairs and…”

“No,” you assert. “You promised, Rafe. No more drugs.”

When he tries to cup your cheek, you shove his hand away. His jaw clenches.

“Why do you always have to be such a stuck up bitch?”

An astonished breath leaps off your throat.

“I’m sorry?”

Instead of apologizing, a broad grin stretches on his lips, “I’m just saying. Maybe you’re the one who needs to loosen up.”

You note the hollowness in Rafe’s eyes and the sweat glistening over his bare skin.

Tears rush to your eyes. You’ve learnt to recognize the signs. Empty promises, like always. Why did you expect things to be different this time?

You jump back from the door, slipping beneath Rafe’s arm. Wiping irate tears, you glare at him.

“This was a mistake. My friends were right. You’re never going to change.”

You are such a fool. The depth of his deception didn’t hit you until you saw him bent over that sink. You caught him this time. Who knows how many times Rafe lied right to your face?

Once more, you allowed him to drag you into his spiral, offering no resistance and believing every sweet word and promise.

Closing your eyes, you suck in a deep breath. You think back to the last few weeks, to every time you surrendered an inch and Rafe took a mile. And you just let it happen. You land on a decision. This is the last time you let Rafe Cameron puppeteer his way back into your life.

You make a beeline for the exit. He impedes your path, towering over you as he stands before the door.

“Get out of my way, Rafe,” you hiss.

Rafe squints at you, taking slow, threatening steps towards you.

“Why? So you can leave me, again?” Something lurks in Rafe’s gaze, turning his blue eyes almost black. Chills crawl over your spine. You shrink, retreating as far as the restricted space in the bathroom allows. “No way, you’re not leaving me.”

You chew on your lip, a surge of adrenaline spiking through your veins. You try to run past him but he grabs your wrists and slams you harshly against the bathroom wall.

Your voice comes out a quivering sob.

“Rafe, don’t you dare…”

As you try to wrestle out of his hold, he bangs your head against the tiles. Sharp needles of pain pierce through your skull. You grow dizzy as your legs start shaking. Rafe uses the momentum to push you onto the floor.

“Dare what, huh? Take what’s mine?” he snarls. His broad body drapes over yours. You taste the liquor on his tongue as he steals your lips in a rough, possessive kiss. A sick laugh leaves him when you bite his lip, drawing blood. A metallic taste fills your mouth. Through your hazy sight, you watch with horror as Rafe unbuttons his pants.

He reaches under your dress, tearing your panties with one tug of his hand. Fear floods your veins. You writhe underneath him as he guides his length to your entrance.

“I think you’re forgetting, angel. You’re nothing without me.” His taunting whisper sears into your skin like a hot knife. “I made you, little Kook princess.”

Your mouth opens, a scream building in your throat. But it never makes its way past your lips, Rafe wrapping his hand around your neck as he impales you on his cock. Helpless whimpers roll off your tongue as he sets an unforgiving pace right away, ignoring each of your tearful pleas for him to stop. His scalding breaths ghost over your face. Beads of sweat drip from his skin to yours. Sobs shake your frame as you writhe beneath him, left with no other choice but to be the vessel for his anger and lust.

“I need you, just like you need me,” he mumbles hotly, trailing bites and kisses alongside your neck. The room dims around you with each painful stab of Rafe’s cock inside your bruised core.

The hand around your neck tightens, Rafe’s wrathful baritone edging on a roar.

“Don’t you ever try to leave me again. I won’t be able to take it, angel. In fact…” His lips skim over your earshell as he whispers, “I’d rather fucking kill you and myself before letting you walk out on me again.”

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron x reader #kook!reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader

702 notes · View notes

violenteconomics · 1 month

Text

riddle's birthday is coming up, so ace and deuce buy him a birthday cake from tiana's palace, a famous restaurant on sage's island — it's so insanely busy all the time, it's normally impossible to even step foot into the place.

what they don't realize is that anybody who blows out the candles on the palace's birthday cake will have their wish granted, regardless of the consequences or if they actually meant it or not.

when riddle receives the cake, he jokingly wishes that the first-years would listen to their upperclassmen. deuce laughs and ace rolls his eyes.

the next day, everything starts going very wrong.

ruggie laughs and gives jack a very non-confrontational "shut up", and suddenly, jack loses his voice. he can't speak at all anymore. he can't even growl. the infirmary nurse can't figure out what's wrong, and he has to sit out of alchemy lessons because he can't communicate with his partner.

before school, vil off-handedly tells epel to brush his hair, and now epel physically can't stop brushing his hair. it's so bad to the point that he takes his brush to class, and his brush starts pulling out strands of his hair with how tender his scalp is getting.

cater reminds ace and deuce to paint the roses for the next unbirthday party — a chore that should only take one, maybe two hours tops. trey finds them later at midnight, still outside, still painting the roses. and that's when everyone discovers that ace and deuce have painted the roses red, then pink, then green, then aquamarine, then white, then all the way back to red — and they've been repeating this cycle for 7 hours straight.

sebek, ortho, and yuu seem unaffected at first — sebek follows all of diasomnia's orders, yuu doesn't have much of a say in the matter anyway, and idia rarely ever orders ortho around — but this doesn't last very long.

lilia tells sebek that he shouldn't spend so much time with diasomnia, and next thing he knows, the entire diasomnian student body doesn't see or hear from sebek for literal days.

similarly, idia anxiously and politely asks ortho to stop attracting so much attention to ignihyde with his sheer amount of presence, and ortho just straight-up vanishes. even idia's sensors can't detect him anymore.

furthermore, trein tells yuu to take a break and, quote, "get away from night raven college for a bit". given everything that's already happened, you can probably guess what happened next.

five days after riddle's birthday, most of epel's hair has fallen out and his skin has been rubbed until it bled. jack hasn't said a word all this time, and he's been put on indefinite medical leave for not being able to participate in class (shot in the dark — the nrc system is pretty ableist). ace and deuce have had to be sedated for them to sleep almost every night. diasomnia, ignihyde, and the entire nrc staff have had constant, back-to-back panic attacks.

so in summary: everything's gone to shit.

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explorevenus · 9 months

Text

birthday girl ♡ yandere!leon kennedy x reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni or i will call ur mom

word count - 3.1k

description - after months on end in captivity, your special day arrives. leon plans to make it your best birthday ever.

tags/warnings - yandere!leon kennedy, reader is in captivity (it's loosely based in the universe of my fic something permanent), no use of Y/N, pet names (puppy, princess, etc.), daddy kink, dubcon, reader gets put on a collar and leash, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), p in v, breeding kink

a/n - a birthday gift for my chaos puppy wife @nexysworld ♡

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

"Do you know what day it is, princess?"

You were a little bit shocked that those were the first words out of Leon's mouth when he came home from work that day. He didn't ask you about your day, he didn't implore you to ask about his, he simply asked you if you knew what day it was, and of course you didn't. You had no way of knowing. It almost made you nervous that this was a test.

Warily, you shook your head. "I don't know. What day is it?"

His smile widened, more than reaching his eerily warm blue eyes as answered you, "It's your birthday."

You hadn't really thought about it. By now you'd sort of forgotten that time was even real. "It's my birthday?" You tilted your head.

Leon nodded sweetly, tipping you up by your chin so he could gift you with a barrage of soft kisses. "It is, and if I have anything to say about it, it's gonna be your best birthday."

Eyeing him curiously, you said nothing, and he didn't either. He just took your hand and brought you down to the kitchen, where you were mildly surprised to find quite the spread waiting for you. Laid out on the kitchen island was a beautiful cake decorated in your favorite colors, a takeout bag from what was once your favorite restaurant when you weren't being held captive and two small boxes wrapped in pink paper. You couldn't help but wonder when he found the time to do all of this.

"What do you think, angel?" He asked, a hand at the small of your back as he watched your face closely for your reaction.

You approached the island slowly, inspecting the cake like a piece of fine art. Based on the intricacy of the decorations alone, it was obviously not inexpensive, and now you were extra curious about what could possibly be in those boxes.

"Thank you," You responded, turning around to face him, and despite how much you hated throwing him a bone, your next words weren't entirely ingenuine, "This was really thoughtful."

You never imagined something as simple as a spontaneous birthday party would be enough to make you feel a little bit normal again, to remind you that time is still real.

Leon drew your body in close so he could plant a kiss at the crown of your head. "It's my pleasure, really. The day my princess was brought into this world is one worth celebrating."

What you weren't expecting was for dinner to feel even more normal somehow. You didn't feel like a captive as you and Leon sat across from each other in the low light, sharing casual conversation over your favorite meal from a takeout box like it was just another day. By some stroke of luck he even poured you a glass of wine.

Out of extreme caution for your safety, of course, Leon didn't light any candles on your cake before he cut you a slice, but he did prompt you to make a wish anyway. For the first time in a long while, it didn't even occur to you to wish for your freedom. You silently wished that treatment like this wouldn't be saved solely for your birthday going forward.

When it came time to open your presents, you were intensely curious. It was long since evident by now that Leon had studied your life and your interests long before he ever took you in, so there was no telling what he might have thought up for you. As you carefully untied the ribbon on the smaller of the two boxes, your heart began to race a little bit. Leon's gaze was practically burning holes into you as you opened the box.

Inside was an immaculate ring, and you didn't even want to imagine how much it must have cost. The band was lined with small glittering diamonds that came together in the middle to wind around a specimen of your favorite stone.

"Leon..." You gasped softly, plucking the ring from the satin it was perched in, and before you had a chance to, he gently took it from your hand and slipped it on to your ring finger. Of course, it was a perfect fit. "It's beautiful... thank you."

Brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear, Leon kissed your forehead and smiled, admiring the way the stones glittered in the low light. "You deserve it, sweet girl. You've been such a little angel for me lately."

You were a bit shocked by how good it felt to hear him say that. The more you thought about it, the more you realized how hard you'd been trying lately, and as dark as it might have been, it was absurdly validating to have him acknowledge that.

Entirely of your own volition, you drew him in for a hug, pretending for just one moment that this was all completely normal, that Leon was just your boyfriend who was being sweet by treating you to a private birthday celebration.

He granted you another kiss before pulling away, gesturing toward the second box on the table. "One more, sweetheart. Go ahead and open it."

Your eyes were mostly drawn to the shimmering ring on your finger as you pulled apart the ribbon and took off the top-- your attention, however, was quickly pulled back in to the contents of the box as soon as the lid was off. Nestled safely in a bed of tissue paper was a collar and leash, baby pink in color and noticeably high quality, possibly even custom made. Dangling from the collar was a heart shaped tag, Princess engraved in the middle. Suddenly your face began to burn and all those sweet feelings from just moments before melted away into that familiar sense of horror you'd gotten so used to.

But you knew he was waiting for an answer. Hesitantly, you looked up at him with a forced smile and said, "It's beautiful, daddy."

Leon pulled you into his lap, peppering your cheek and jaw with a barrage of kisses as he gathered your hair at the base of your neck in preparation to put the collar on you. "I'm glad you like it, pretty baby," He spoke into your ear, nibbling softly at the shell. "Gotta make sure you know you're all mine."

Your breath hitched as you felt the piece clasp into place around your neck, and only seconds later he was clipping the leash to the loop in the front and giving it a quick little tug just to test it out. Whimpering softly, you leaned back into his broad chest and rested your head on his shoulder, trying so hard now to forget about the ring on your finger.

For your birthday, he got you two presents that really only benefitted him by symbolizing your commitment. You were about to find out that he intended to make that three.

"Now, let's see how well you train on that leash, baby."

He tugged at it again, stepping around you to begin leading you toward the stairs, and it didn't exactly take a stroke of genius to discern where he might be taking you. Your throat tightened and your face burned as you were left with no choice but to fall in line behind him. You wanted to dig your heels into the floor and resist, but you also wanted to bask in how nice he was being to you, relatively speaking anyway.

At least for your birthday, you chose peace.

Leon was impressed with your behavior as he led you into the bedroom. He honestly expected a healthy amount of resistance, and to be met with none felt euphoric. Maybe you really had come around, he thought to himself, and he couldn't help but smirk.

Walking you over to the end of the bed, Leon looped some of the excess leash around his knuckles and caressed your cheek with his other hand, guiding you forward until you were standing in front of him, your back pressed against his chest. He gave you a kiss to the crown of your head before stooping down to whisper in your ear, "Get on the bed, on your hands and knees."

His tone was gentle but his words made you frown to yourself. Still, you obeyed without question, shaking limbs wobbling to steady yourself on the plush bed. You felt especially vulnerable like this, unable to see what he was doing without making a show of craning your neck, without showing your fear. He played with your hair for a moment before tracing his fingers down your spine, cresting at your tailbone where he began to greedily tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head and off the leash before finally discarding it to the floor.

He leaned in over your back to smooth his hand up and down the curves of your waist, dipping forward to cup one of your breasts and tease your pebbled nipple. You could already feel his cock against your lower back, distinctly hardening in his jeans. He gave the leash another gentle pull, as if just to remind you that it was there.

"Look at the birthday girl, behaving so well on her new leash," He mused, pressing a wet kiss to the base of your neck. "So sweet for me, letting daddy play with you and make you feel good, huh?"

You nodded, melting at his touch and praises despite your better judgment. Without having to face him, it was easier than you expected to pretend this was normal. And maybe you did deserve a treat for your birthday, to be made to feel good for no other reason than as a celebration of your life.

Your life. Lately you didn't feel there was much to celebrate, but that was neither here nor there. If you closed your eyes, it was just another day. If you closed your eyes, you were back in your apartment. If you closed your eyes, Leon was only your well-meaning boyfriend who just so happened to be into kinky shit.

Now it was your shorts and panties being yanked down in one swift movement, bunching at your bent knees, but he didn't bother to fully remove them. He didn't need to. His clothed cock rutted impatiently against your exposed sex, sparking up that familiar wet heat of pleasure to begin building between your thighs. Suddenly you were the impatient one.

Lucky enough for you, you didn't even get a chance to complain before he was lowering to his knees at the end of the bed, burying his face between your legs to lap at your slick folds from behind. You let out a quiet whine and attempted to wiggle your hips closer to his affection-- he thought about yanking at your leash to tell you 'no,' but, hey... it was your birthday. So he let it slide.

His skilled tongue lapped at every drop of you, swirling and sucking at your clit and routinely wandering back to trace over your fluttering hole, determined not to let any of your arousal go to waste. Every little gasp and whine that fell from your lips served to spur him on, and now he was tugging at your leash just for fun, amused by the way you would choke a little bit and gasp for breath every time.

"Tastes so fucking good," He groaned into your cunt, the vibrations making you squirm and want for more. "Like candy. My own little puppy girl lollipop."

Eager as he was to fuck you right then and there, he couldn't stop himself from drinking you in like ice water on a hot day. You deserved it, after all, his sweet little puppy princess. So, in spite of himself, he took his time with you.

His free hand ghosted up the inside of your thigh to tease at your dripping hole, watching in awe as his own digit sank into you, and then another. He observed with stars in his eyes as your needy cunt seemed to suck him in deeper, only solidifying to him just how badly you really wanted it. More often than not, you would shy away whenever he initiated, but not today. Not on your birthday.

Leon curled his fingers up in search of that familiar spongy spot that made you cry out and go weak, your knees wobbling on the mattress as you readjusted your arms in an attempt to hold yourself up. It was cute, he thought, just how easy it was to make you fall apart at the seams.

"Daddy," You gasped out, slippery walls clenching tightly around his fingers. "Please, please..."

And again, typically he would make you verbalize what you wanted, if it were any other day. You could have asked him for practically anything right now and he would have given it to you, so he did.

"Alright, alright, sweetheart," He said, withdrawing his fingers from you to rise back up on his feet and discard his own clothing. "Can't keep the birthday girl waiting. That wouldn't be very nice, would it?"

"Mm-mm," You shook your head in agreement, trembling and wiggling your hips without even really realizing it.

He couldn't help but chuckle lowly at this, a smirk tugging at his face as his cock sprung free from his boxers with a quiet, wet slap against his navel. Giving himself a few gentle strokes just to ease the pressure, Leon pulled you up by your leash just a little bit to surprise you and ensure your attention before lining himself up at your entrance, fucking into you with an uncommon gentleness.

Your head was spinning, mouth falling open with a slow, pleasured mewl at the feeling of him splitting you open like that, every inch of him dragging deliciously against your inner workings until the head of him bumped against your cervix, giving you a little jolt. You were already panting for breath, your hair falling in front of your face and you couldn't even care enough to move it as he stilled inside you for a moment, reveling in the warm, tight cavern of you.

Then, with a soft groan, he began to rock into you. The bedroom was blooming with the scent of sex as your arousal only continued to grow, slicking his length with your juices.

"F-Fuck," You whined, head falling forward to rest lazily on the mattress and as a result, your legs spread just a little wider to accommodate the new position, allowing him to drive even deeper into you than you were expecting. Your face went red hot and you barely realized you were drooling a little bit as he gripped you by your hip and drove into you with ardor.

"That's right, pretty baby," Leon cooed, looping your leash around his knuckles a few more times just so he could see the fucked-out look on your face. "Feels so good, doesn't it?"

You nodded dumbly in place of a more proper response, knowing you could get away with it tonight.

"Mhm, I know it does. Just look at you," He mused.

And in that moment, he decided he really wanted to just look at you. So he yanked at your leash harder than ever before, drawing you upright until your back was flush against his chest, his mouth right in your ear so he could kiss you and taunt you. The pace of his hips picked up speed as he continued to lose himself to the feeling of your plush walls and the sounds of your incoherent whining, your chest heaving for breath as the leash pressed on your throat just enough to make you feel a little tingly and weak.

His warm hand closed around your breast, kneading and playing and tugging at your nipple just to make you squirm. You were such a perfect little plaything.

“So cute… Just so fucking cute,” The words were growled out right into your ear and you clenched around him in response, face burning. “Maybe for my birthday this year, you can really make me a daddy. Give me a little baby just like you to fawn over and spoil.”

And sure, you knew it would be a terrible idea to agree to that, but… you weren’t exactly in the clearest state of mind right now. So you nodded, your head falling back to rest on his shoulder while he drove into you with a measured pace, his hand roaming down to rest on your stomach.

“Yeah? Gonna let me fuck a baby into you, sweet thing? You want daddy’s baby for your birthday?”

It was evident that he’d learned by now you could be especially pliant while otherwise distracted. You were crying out yes and please without even really thinking about it– or whole-heartedly agreeing with it, which he knew, but didn’t really care so long as it benefitted him in the end.

Your climax was fast approaching and he knew it, judging by the way you were pulsing around him and squirming in his tight hold, your breaths short and quick and your skin burning hot. With a knowing grin that you couldn’t see, he lowered his hand once more until the tips of his fingers found your engorged bud like muscle memory, rubbing tight circles with just the right amount of pressure that he knew would be enough to send you over the edge.

“There you go baby, c’mon,” He grunted into your ear, “Let go for me…”

The added stimulation had you twitching and shaking, your eyes screwed shut as you clawed at his arms for any sort of purchase. A string of curses and whines crested from your pouting lips until you began to convulse around him, a rush of arousal spilling out around his cock. The warm, wet feeling of you alone was enough to tip him over into his own end, and you were graced with the distinct feeling of his cock erupting into your waiting womb.

He rutted into you a few more gentle times, pressing a languid kiss to your cheek before dropping the leash, forcing you back down to the mattress by the back of your head. You whimpered and squirmed uncomfortably as you felt the gravity drive his load deeper into you, and it didn’t take a stroke of genius to discern he had done it on purpose.

“Better sit still like that, pup, let nature take its course,” Leon said as though it was obvious, taking a few steps back to admire the image of you. “Did you have a good birthday?”

You felt quite gross, sure, but all things considered… “Yeah, I-I did. Thank you, daddy…”

#venustext #sintext #resident evil #leon kennedy #yandere!leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #yandere!leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #yandere!leon kennedy x you

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nycpartybusrental1 · 26 days

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crazymadpassionatelove · 4 months

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Cool Fiancè

Notes: 18+ sex mentioned

Special shout-out to @ab4eva and her fabulous editing skills! This is the second installment in my cool girl saga. Read Part 1 here

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Five Things to know about Austin Butler’s New Fiance ::

Although his reps couldn't be reached for comment, sources close to the Elvis actor confirm he has popped the question to his mysterious lady love!

Butler and the stunning brunette were recently spotted at the iconic Les Puces market in Paris last Friday, and she seemed to be sporting a new accessory. Austin was dressed in a black leather jacket, a white v neck tee, and black moto boots. She was clad in a classic trench coat and vintage Dior kitten heels as she kept her head down and let the winner lead the way. His face was mostly obscured by aviator sunglasses, but his smile was very apparent according to onlookers. “Austin was holding her hand and pointing out jewelry at different booths. They were very friendly with local vendors and Austin ended up buying her a gold charm bracelet. He told the dealer the bracelet was a momento to celebrate their recent engagement,” a fellow American tourist overheard. The twosome reportedly spent the prior week soaking in the city of lights and meeting with the YSL fashion house. Austin was recently tapped as the brand's newest ambassador.

Since returning stateside paparazzi pics have finally surfaced and revealed a closer look at that ring. Montana based indie jeweler Jada Kaye has been revealed as the designer of that serious sparkler. The 5 carat, flawless emerald-cut emerald is set in solid gold and flanked by two white diamonds on either side. Inside sources told Elle Magazine that Kaye and Butler worked closely together to craft the one of a kind creation. There's even rumored to be an inscription on the inside that's significant to the couple and the ring is estimated to cost a cool $100,000. Austin's fiancè was photographed heading into a ballet studio yesterday wearing pink tights, a pink leotard, Ugg boots, and of course that ring. Her curly dark brown hair was slicked back into a bun and she seemed to be sporting a pair of the actor's sunglasses.

Here's everything you need to know about the future Mrs. Austin Butler;

She's from New England —

A, as she's known, was born in Rhode Island. She grew up splitting her time between Rhode Island and Kennebunkport, Maine. Her teenage years were spent working the local Del’s lemonade truck, former neighbors say. She attended the Rhode Island School of Design after high school but never graduated.

She and Austin met via her former job –

Whilst working at the New York location of Vibrant Vintage, A, served as the fashion archives buyer. She also happened to be on hand when Butler visited the store. Supposedly she helped him find the perfect pair of leather boots, and the rest is history. Things clearly moved quickly between the two lovebirds, with A relocating to Los Angeles not long after. According to Vibrant Vintage, she is no longer employed there but “remains a close friend and consultant,” says their PR team.

She's a hit with his friends –

She organized a birthday party for her man’s co-star and close friend, Callum Turner. Turner posted an Instagram story showing off a fairly large garden party celebration and a “homemade blueberry glaze cake” according to the post. “Huge thanks to Austin's lovely lady xx” accompanied the video footage. She and Austin were also seen dining with his other Masters of the Air co-star, Nate Mann, while in Paris recently.

They've (supposedly ) got matching ink –

An unnamed employee at the iconic Bang Bang tattoo in NYC has said that Austin and A made a late night visit to the tattoo studio. Where exactly are the said-to-be matching minimalistic tattoos? Reportedly, Austin was inked on his left hip and A on her inner left thigh.

Old fashioned love letters are her thing -

Notably social media shy, Austin and A have taken up the lost art of handwritten love notes. Sources exclusively say that custom monogrammed stationery was crafted for the duo whilst Austin was filming in England. The hand pressed, vintage inspired paper bears a unique coat of arms style symbol with intertwining letter A’s and two sparrows (Fun fact! Sparrows mate for life and always find their way back, no matter how far they fly). While separated, the couple often writes letters to one another, even having the letters sent via jet instead of mail for privacy reasons!

_______

Suddenly one morning articles begin to pour in about your engagement. It catches you off guard, that ring akin to a skating rink has been sitting pretty on your hand for a bit now. The engagement had happened so naturally as everything with the two of you seems to. In the early morning hours while his swollen, rock hard member thrusts into you repeatedly you begin to awaken. On your side, his teeth clamp down on your shoulder as his finger twirls round the curls at the nape of your neck.

His gasps and needy groans tickle your ear. “Couldn't help myself..”, he shudders as you suddenly clamp down around him, barely able to register it all. You stretch and arch, allowing him the room and space to take what he needs. It is his after all. His teeth and pillowy soft lips mark your shoulder blades and when you reach down to where the two of you are joined, you feel his very full balls. Your newly manicured fingers tease and tug the best you can, scrunched up like some sort of acrobat. “Ugh, ugh…baby… you're gonna make me -”. Then he does. Hot, viscous, cream floods you and makes you sigh in a contented whimper. “Thanks darlin’,” he pets your head and you close your eyes dreamily. That is until you hear him rustling around in the bedside table next to him.

You cock open an eye, figuring he's looking for smokes or even the book he had been reading late last night. Your hands are stretched above your head, gripping a pillow. The perfect position for him to suddenly slip the most gorgeous piece of jewelry you've ever seen onto your finger. When your eyes shoot open and you jump up, he's lying there grinning that smile that makes you weak at the knees. “Will you be my wife?” As if your answer would be anything but yes, please Daddy. You smother him in kisses, straddling him and giggling. It's the perfect moment, the perfect proposal. You were never one to want a fireworks display or heaven forbid, those ridiculous and wasteful walls of flowers other celebrities seem to have for every occasion. This private, simple moment is everything you could ask for.

You feel the sudden urge to take him in your mouth despite him just finishing. With your head hanging off the side of the bed, you take him down your throat. Choking and gagging, you really give it your all. Fighting to keep your eyes open so you can see the way his lip curls and his eyes slam shut. Talking is always your thing. This time, though, he's sputtering and rasping words of utter devotion and love. Promises to worship your body until the day he dies. My perfect, perfect wife. Soon you can't be sure if the tears are from his cock down your throat, or his beautiful words. Maybe both. Those pretty boy fingers twist and tug on your nipples and then crawl lower and flick that special spot. The only fireworks you enjoy happen, twice for you actually. He's so dutiful and charming, when you're done pulling yourself back together and fixing your hair, he's handing you a surprise glass of champagne. What a way to mark the occasion.

You decline a proper press announcement. Phone and FaceTime calls follow to those who truly matter to you both - your families, both absolutely thrilled. Then Baz, Cal, The Presley's, everyone can't stop gushing about how perfect you are for each other. That ring, oh how sweet he designed it himself. You come up with a family-appropriate story to describe the proposal and the evening that followed, conveniently leaving out the mind-blowing sex the two of you have all over the house and in the hot tub. Why do things feel so different now that you're engaged? You can't get over the way the light hits the ring as you stroke him and something in that dirty girl heart of yours feels like it's really, truly, official when you have to clean his cum off the stone.

He's due back to set for some reshoots a few days later and of course you follow. Bringing throw pillows from your living room to spruce up his trailer and plotting out how to plan the most private, under the radar wedding possible while you lounge in his trailer in a cute little dress you sew yourself from vintage scarves bought in London. Your newest hobby, that and the ballet classes. He yammers on and on about wanting to sneak in and see you dance. You're sure it's just the tights and leotards spurring his interest though, let's be real. The paparazzi are as relentless as ever, but head down with big sunglasses helps keep the chaos at bay.

You visit Disney World, a whole crew, the two of you, your families, friends with their little ones. Thankfully Disney security is familiar with celebrity guests and you can actually let your guard down for once. Which is good, because seeing Austin chase after your friend's newly toddling little ones makes your stomach flip flop with joy. You make a mental note to expedite the wedding plans, he makes it known that he's chomping at the bit to be a father. When you visit Main Street, you decide a pair of new Mickey ears are in order. Gold stitching with Mrs. Butler is what you finally decide on after Austin's encouragement, his hand on your lower back as you walk miles and miles around the park with hands full of churros and cotton candy. Sure, some overzealous fans snap cell phone pics of you with your ears and immediately post them to those ridiculous Austin fan blogs who've now decided you are the evil villain in his story. You won't allow them to burst your Disney bubble though. Your fairytale is just beginning after all.

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