#not my number one face john pairing but they are sweet

[badlydrawnjohn]

roxygen dance...

[novemberheart]

{overview} The two alphas in the pack are warming up to you and you can't help but feel the same

{warnings} a/b/o dynamics, fem reader, a bit of reader backstory, poly 141 x reader

Chapter 7 <- Chapter 8 -> Chapter 9

“Sweetheart, I want you to promise me two things.” John began as you started your walk back home. “Number one, if there's a question on this thing-” he nearly growled, holding up the envelope he was carrying for you. “that you don't want to answer, don't. Nobody's business if you don't want it to be, understand?”

“Yes, Alpha.” the title slipped from your lips out of instinct. You were so focused on your own embarrassment to notice the sudden rise in his body temperature, or the way he began holding the envelopes lower. “I’m sorry-”

“Don't be,” he insisted. “You can call me whatever you want, whatever feels comfortable to you,” he assured, causing your heart rate to slow. The title ‘alpha’ certainly fits the Captain. It also felt more personal- more intimate than John. You hoped the outside air would be enough to waft away the growing sweetness in your scent.

“What was the other thing you wanted me to promise?” you reminded.

“That you'll seriously think about getting chipped. If it's a hard no, I'll understand, but it's important to me- to all of us that we set you up to be safe should anything happen.” he requested.

The butterflies in your stomach were fluttering around at lightspeed. The alpha was close to you as you walked. The overwhelming urge to just tuck yourself under his strong arm so he could make good on his promises. A whine left your throat at the understanding that you couldn't touch him yet.

Alpha's were built to keep their omegas warm. Your omega was throwing a temper tantrum at the denial.

“I’ll stop pressing you, sweetheart. I apologize.”

You quickly realized he was referencing your whine. The sound made his stomach flip.

“No- I wasn’t whining at that. I'm not sure where that came from, to be honest.” you lied. “It's probably a good idea actually. It'll help me feel safer too.” you didn't know who had taken over your mouth. Maybe it was desperation. If you got chipped that would be one step closer to being his.

“Come on, pup.” You poked your head outside your door, peering at Simon as he shut the TV off and stood up from the couch. He winced a bit as he tested how much weight he could put on his leg. He stood still watching you with dull eyes. You quickly got up and trotted over to him.

“Do you need something?” you pondered.

“Time for your walk,” he smirked down at you, making his way over to the kitchen, where he grabbed his key card and a pack of cigarettes out of the drawer. He then grabbed a black balaclava and tugged it over his head. Your brows furrowed at the tease in his voice, but you complied heading back towards your room to grab a pair of shoes. “Need to get you walking shoes.” he ‘tsked’ eyeing your flats. There was a subtle limp in his walk and you could tell he was trying to downplay it.

“Do you need a cane or something?” you poked. He shot you a look, but his hand reached up and rested on the back of your neck, causing you to erupt in goosebumps.

“This’ll do.” he shot back, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“You like being outside don't you?” he observed, watching the way your breathing deepened and a glow appeared on your face as the sun hit it. You nodded your head.

“I grew up in a crowded city. Every summer break my parents would take me to the countryside to be with the rest of our pack,” you explained.

“Split pack?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you affirmed softly.

“That’ll serve you here.” Simon commented. “You already have experience being away from the majority of your pack, along with knowing how to manage the emotions that come with it.”

“For when you guys have to do your jobs?” you clarified. He sucked air through his teeth, then hummed in agreement. When you were at the Omega house you would lie awake thinking about it, growing anxious even though you had no relationship with them. Now the thought of them leaving wasn't an entirely negative one. You hoped that they wouldn't all leave at the same time. It would give you a chance to bond with those who stayed and miss the ones who left. “How often do you leave anyways?” you questioned.

“Eager, huh?” he gave the back of your neck another squeeze. “We never know. Sometimes we’ll go a few weeks without being called away, other times we’ll just be here a few days out of the month.”

“Do you all leave at the same time?” you held your breath.

“Sometimes.” he drew out. “That might change with you though, at least in the beginning.” he sighed. He guided you behind a large building, releasing your neck. He leaned against the side of it, pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, rolling his mask up, and placing the cigarette between his lips. “You don't smoke do you?”

“No.” you nearly spat.

“Good, nasty habit.” he praised, lighting it. All was quiet between the two of you and you focused on trying to listen to the birds between the distant sound of gunfire, whirling machines, and shouting. “How’d you end up in an omega house?” he asked suddenly. He watched as you frilled up like a spooked cat.

“When I was fifteen my mom left us.” you began. You avoided Simon’s gaze even though you could feel the burn of it. “My dad reclaimed shortly after and along with that came a new pack. I didn't adjust too well.” you trailed off.

“Their fault or yours?” he questioned. You paused for a long moment mulling it over. You finally lifted your eyes from the tree line, merging with Simons. Cold and unreadable.

“I'm not sure. Mix of both,” you whispered. He got the last bit of cigarette he could before putting it out against the lid of a trash can.

“Tell you what.” he started. The grip on the back of your neck returned, as he headed back towards the pavement. “I’ll let you know whose fault it is after I get to know you a bit better.” he offered. You rolled your eyes, ignoring the slight sting in your chest at the memories.

“Hey, Peaches.” an instant smile appeared on your face at the familiar voice.

“Hi, Johnny.” you smiled up at him. You had just gotten back from your walk with Simon when John and Kyle came back to swoop you up for lunch. After they dropped you back off you were determined to finally finish unpacking.

“Need any help?” He asked, taking a seat in your doorway.

“Not really.” you sighed, looking over your horrible wrinkled clothes. “Thanks though, Johnny.” You smiled. He smiled back, getting himself comfortable by leaning against your doorframe. “Can I ask you something?” you asked hesitantly.

“Course, bonnie,” he replied instantly.

“How come you don't have an omega yet?” his smile remained on his face as he shrugged.

“I always wanted one, and I know Kyle has been thinking about it a lot lately, well, ever since Laswell had brought it up. I think the Captain was putting it off because he's a worrier. Simon is just a prick.” he whispered the last part, his eyes snapping over to the couch where Simon had passed out. You giggled, following his gaze. “I hope we didn't hurt your feelings, bonnie. I know Laswell wanted to pair you up with us sooner and we”-

“Rejected the idea?” You finished for him. He nodded his head- regretfully.

“Didn’t know it would be you though.” The smirk returned to his face, as his eyes drifted up and down you playfully.

“I don’t think Simon’s a prick.” You defended softly, wanting to change the subject. “He’s been quite nice to me. Well- all of you have.” You sighed happily.

The words he wanted to say were at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back. The truth was you seemed rather oblivious to your impact. The closest way he could describe you was addictive. Your scent, your eyes, even the way you scowled when you didn’t approve of something. You had flipped a switch in the brains that had been dormant their whole lives. It wasn't just him either. He watched the way John eyed the clock and practically sprinted out the door when it was time to pick you up for lunch. He noticed the way Kyle picked out a deep, forest green shirt today because you had absentmindedly shared you had liked the color. Just the idea that you had been chosen for them. You had been selected with the intention to be theirs. And even though you still hadn't bonded with them or been marked, the prideful beta in him rumbled at the thought.

Instead of saying all that he settled with:

“Give him some time, Peaches. He’ll come around.” he snickered.

“If you say so.” you huffed.

“We should throw your things in the dryer, Bon. Can't have you walking around like nobody’s takin’ care of ya.”

It was dark out before you knew it. You had already eaten dinner, orange chicken with white rice. They didn't have a dessert, but Kyle quickly raced to the vending machine to get you a candy bar. You smiled, curling yourself deeper into your blanket.

All of you were together, for the first time since you had arrived. John is at the very end of the couch, with his feet up on the coffee table. Kyle lying next to him, his feet nearly on his lap. Johnny was also sprawled out, he and Kyle sharing a pillow. Simon sat stiffly next to him. His pain meds must be starting to wear off. You could always tell because an annoyed scowl would appear on his face. You were curled up on the other side of Simon, and you took it upon yourself to slowly inflate your scent. You weren't sure if he knew you did it on purpose, but you felt giddy when you saw his tense muscles begin to relax.

It was John's turn to pick what to watch- although he offered to forgo his turn if there was something that caught your eye. You politely shot him down, already feeling your eyelids grow heavy. He had settled on a ‘How It's Made’ episode about kayaks, safety boots, electronic signs, and cereals.

All in all, it was the perfect recipe for sleep. A pack that you were beginning to feel comfortable with, a calm voice on TV, a full stomach, and a soft blanket.

John watched as your eyelids began to droop. You were comfortable. He was pleased with how easily you had adjusted to their pack. He knows the first day wasn't easy- or what you had hoped for. If he could do it all again, trust him, he would. But here you were drifting in and out of sleep, the smell of warm peaches and vanilla filling the air. It made his own restless mind slow, and the ache in his temples dissipated.

“She asleep?” Johnny whispered. It was then he realized the show had ended. “Should we move her back to her room?” The Scot questioned, peeling himself off of the couch. He stretched, his back popping loudly.

“Best leave her out here with me,” Simon said all too quickly. Three heads snapped in his direction. “Fuck off,” he growled. “You want me to get better or not?” he reminded. They all agreed, not voicing any other theories about why he wanted you there with him.

Hi friends! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'll see you in two days for chapter 9! 🧡

[syoddeye]

the warren part three - trouble

price x f!reader | 4.6k words part one/prologue - bait | part two - fix tags: alcohol, animal death (mentioned), animal sterilization (mentioned), weird and unsettling vibes. while this part is fairly tame, this is darkfic. a/n: it's been 84 years. banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

“Car trouble?”

You barely miss braining yourself on the hood, swiveling to catch John lumbering up the drive from the hill, pairing a smile with a concerned look. 

“You’ve...” he trails, head dipping in appraisal.

Looking down, grime and grease blotches your dress and skin. “Shoot.” You mutter, throat achy with suppressed, frustrated tears. “Yes. Car trouble.” You wipe your palms on your thighs. The outfit’s ruined anyway.

John’s brow furrows. He stares at the engine and hums a ponderous noise before procuring an archaic brick of a phone from a pocket. Punching a number, he jerks his head toward the cabin. “Clean up and I’ll phone a friend.”

You hesitate, thinking of money. “Friend? Like a mechanic? Listen, John…”

“Nik? Got a minute?,” John stares, listening to whomever this ‘Nik’ is on the other end, nodding at the door again as if to say hop to it. Embarrassingly quick, you do.

Inside, the soiled dress goes into the tub, and you furiously scrub your arms and hands in the bathroom sink. The filth stubbornly clings to your arm hair, your nails gumming up with sludge. Over the tap, you hear John call from the front door.

“Mind if I come in? The house, that is.” 

You check the lock in the mirror, and shout through the door. “Yeah, sorry. Stuff doesn’t want to come off.”

John’s heavy footsteps announce his path. “My friend Nik’s gonna pop by while we’re out and take a look.”

You rake your nails in small circles over a thick patch of muck. “I hope he’s only looking. I can’t uh, exactly pony up for a repair right now.”

He doesn’t immediately answer, and over the water, you listen to him move around the kitchen. “He won’t do a thing without my say so. Try this.” 

Beneath the door gap, you see John’s shadow. This is the second time he’s in your house, first time invited, and you’re in your underwear. You grab a towel to cover up, and, with a breath, crack open the door. A green-blue bottle knocks into the jamb, his hand attached. Dish soap.

You take it, stifling a laugh.

“Heard it works on ducks.”

You glance at the side of his head. It’s sweet he’s looking away. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Mind stepping into the bedroom and grabbing the orange dress? Should be on the corner of the bed, might be a few things on top of it. Don’t judge the mess.”

There’s a smile in his voice. “Back in a jiff.”

A minute later, the gauzy cotton appears pinched in his fingers.

“Thanks. I’ll be quick.”

“There’s no rush, not like we have a reservation. When you’re ready, we’ll walk down and take my truck.” His footsteps ferry him away, and you hear the swing and slam of the front door.

Despite his reassurance, you hurry, grabbing your bag and smoothing the dress when you emerge. John leans against your dead car and pushes off with a growing smile, clearly taking you in. He lets out a low, appreciative whistle.

“Think I like this one more.”

“Yeah?” you ask, adding a smidge more honey to your voice. It’s been a long time since a man’s admired you, even longer since one’s treated you kindly. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn't mean it. Sunset suits you.” John’s gaze takes its time arriving at your face. “And don’t fret yet. Nik’s got a way with machines.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Early evening birdsong serenades the journey downhill, the slap of your sandals on asphalt punctuating it. The adjustment from living in the thick of it to the middle of nowhere was difficult at first, accustomed to the white noise of sirens and mystery booms, but here, silence prevails.

“How’re the kittens?”

John cracks another smile. “Bigger. Clumsy, but movin’ more.”

“Will they be fixed when they’re older? I saw the veterinary office. I was thinking I’d reach out regarding some of my feline neighbors.”

He huffs, the noise emanating deep from within his chest, as if your question is a personal affront. “They’re not hurting anything, are they?”

A nervous titter of laughter escapes. “The local bird and rodent population.”

You turn onto the road, his store within view. “Sounds like pest control and the natural order of things.”

He picks up the pace, approaching an older, red Chevy on a mission. You’re gobsmacked, with a few butterflies in your stomach dropping stone dead. Growing up watching Price is Right reruns over your mother’s shoulder, a woman who all but canonized Bob Barker, you’ve never met someone against animal sterilization.

Breathe. Not weird, just different. 

“I suppose,” You wince at the angry creak of the door as he yanks it open, the sound too familiar. “I’m tired of scraping their work off the step.” You spare a parting glance at the makeshift shelter where the kittens live and climb in.

John snorts and starts the truck. “No reason to permanently alter the creatures. Hunting, killing, breeding. It’s all part of life.”

The certainty with which he says it gives you pause, the seatbelt’s tongue poised over the buckle. Your face burns, thrown by the shift in conversation. Reaching for the pleasantness from earlier, you remind yourself that John’s rough around the edges. You knew this when you accepted, or rather, suggested, the date. Gruff and blunt, yet possessing a homespun charm impossible to feign. You hope it shows itself again. He pulls out of the shop’s row of parking spots as you buckle in. It’s probably fine you’re in his car, not like you have a choice at this point.

You muster a belated response. “Natural doesn’t always mean correct.”

The notion diffuses John’s tension. He chuckles, shaking his head. “You say that now. Few months in the woods will set you straight. I used to think the same. Being out here changed me.”

You watch him search for a station between working the stick shift. “You said you’re retired, but you’re a little young for that, aren’t you? What did you do before running a store?”

“Military, medically discharged.” He says plainly as if that explanation’s enough. 

And you suppose it is. Another sensitive subject, one he does not owe you divulgence. It’s not as if you don’t harbor your own secrets, but politeness doesn’t overrule curiosity.

“Right. How long have you lived in Grouse Bay?” 

“Years. Where were you before this?”

It’s fair he returns the question. It’s why you rehearse. “Iowa.”

“Field of Dreams?”

“Yessir.”

“And what work lets you spend a summer holed up in a cabin?”

You briefly debate telling the truth and how much. John alluded to Kate’s loose tongue and hasn’t given reason for it not being a reciprocal feed. “I’m between things, but I’m a penny pincher.” You bite your lip to stop yourself from elaborating, taking a page from his book. A shiver of guilt still wracks you whenever you think about money.

“Is that why you haven’t been back to the store?” 

“I paid the invoice for the light, didn’t I?” 

“By giving Kate the–”

A big, defensive smile curves your mouth, placating in anticipation of anger. “She said she was going to see you.”

“Don’t interrupt.” he scolds. “I meant that you haven’t stopped in since you arrived.”

The way John speaks toes the line between kind and patronizing; maybe with practice, it’d be easier to put your foot down. If he only knew the amount of groundwork you put into this ‘vacation’. The nights spent car camping in parking lots. Rummaging for coins abandoned in vending machines. Sneaking small bills from the offering plate. “I brought some groceries with me. I’m not completely helpless.”

“I didn’t say that. It’s a small town. I’m worried about our newest resident.”

“Guest.” 

“Guest. Which reminds me,” He lifts off his seat to fish out a billfold. Without averting his eyes from the narrow and winding road, he pries the old leather open and roots something out. “Been meanin’ to return this, found it on the floor of the shop the other day after fixing the light.” He pinches the corner of a card and holds it out.

Your face stares back at you, and your stomach draws to your spine in a deep, terrified breath. When did you lose your ID? Whatever ounce of pride you felt moments ago dissolves. Rationing your supplies and avoiding town to save money meant you hadn’t opened your wallet in days.

“Thank you.” You take the card, biting your lip at the last name printed next to your first. John must’ve seen it, and if Kate’s given him one name, he knows you by another now.

Worry thrums in your chest, settling into place like one would collapse into a favored armchair. You can hear it practically groan in relief, reclaiming its monopoly on your person.

“Know much about Ponderosa?” 

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “The basics.”

Before the move, you dug into the town across the lake and learned very little. Although founded roughly at the same time as Grouse Bay, Ponderosa’s the bigger, wealthier sister. The population drain following mine closures impacted both locales for the greater part of the century, but the cheap sale of land in the eighties led to a boom in tourism and development. You waffled between the towns, ultimately choosing Grouse for the lower rent and smaller population. Less chance of being found.

“Ponderosa’s a fine town, though folks are cowing more and more to greed. Greedy shits buying up and bulldozing pristine land to build mansions they call ‘cabins’.” He rants, chewing his words with a pinched expression like his teeth found the gristle. “Very few are decent. Though, you’d be hard-pressed to find better people than those in Grouse.”

It paints a picture you’re familiar with. Decades of architectural character and history replaced by boxy houses kissing property lines. It underscores John’s apparent, deep-seated opinions and judgment. How he wields them as a cudgel and gavel all in one. You’ve never felt strongly about one place or another, at least positively.

“Like vultures, huh?”

“Vultures have their use.”

The rest of the car ride, John fills in the gaps. When there were still children in the Bay, they attended school across the lake. He drives over weekly to retrieve inventory for the store. The single helipad for a hundred miles resides at their medical clinic, also the only one of its kind. It leads to a story. Last year, a hiker went missing for forty-eight hours from Ponderosa, but popped up on the summit of Mount Grouse. Dehydrated and delirious, claiming to have met angels. 

“He scared the shit out of a hunter checking on traps,” John chuckles. “But he was alive. Got airlifted to civilization and last we heard, he’s recovered.”

You laugh uneasily. Once, as a kid, you were separated from a babysitter—but that was at the mall for half an hour. Alone in the woods, on a mountain? You shudder at the thought.

Eventually, the road evens out into well-maintained asphalt. A sign crops up around a corner, Ponderosa sticks out in big gold letters, flanked by meticulously carved trees. John turns the dial down, the crackling rock and roll station fizzling into silence. He cranks the manual window down and drapes an arm out. Not for the first time, you admire the muscle beneath his slightly tanned skin and hair.

The view of the main street steals your attention. John slows to cruise down the block. Like the vantage outside Grouse, downtown Ponderosa looks like a postcard, albeit hedged by construction and development. It’s the July spread in a calendar celebrating Americana. Barely June and ribbons and banners decorate pristine storefronts for the Fourth of July. Sunset paints the promenade in sherbert oranges and pinks while old-fashioned street lamps buzz to life.

If John finds your gawking amusing, he doesn’t mention it.

The sign for The Echo Diner gleams, a fresh coat of crisp white paint stylized with red highlights to make it pop. The building’s pristine, too, with symmetrical flower beds along the walls. It's nothing like The Foxhole, beyond its glory days. Ponderosa, it seems, is as moneyed as John described.

The entry funnels into the fairly crowded restaurant, a sea of capped heads and wraparound sunglasses tilt in conversation or up at the big screens mounted above the bar. A woman hunches over a jukebox. Nobody pays you any mind until John steps into the small space behind you, his hand finding your shoulder. It takes a gentle nudge for your feet to move, wary of the several sets of eyes suddenly pointed in your direction. 

“John, good to see you.” A man cracking open a couple of light beers nods as you pass, attention bouncing off you as if you aren’t worth seeing.

“Likewise.” John rumbles, the single word breaking the spell, allowing the other patrons to return to their conversation and game.

He’s a regular. Ambling for an empty table beside a porthole-style window, you angle toward the side that looks out into the restaurant, but John’s hand flexes on your back. 

“I’ll sit there. Can’t eat comfortably unless I can see the door. Old habit.”

Who are you to argue? You’re the outsider, and with the awkward tension brewing since you left for dinner, you’re eager to make nice with John. You take the opposite seat, offering a placative smile as you bump knees. He manspreads, bracketing your legs with his own. You try not to think of how much space he fills.

The familiar nostalgia you felt riding into town resurfaces. The diner is charming, from the tacky checkered floor to the billiard lights over the laminate tables. Classic. Not a hint of intentional curation. Even the cracked, boomerang-pattern vinyl booths inspire a strange fondness. It all speaks to its age, its lived-inness. What it’s seen and weathered. The name of the feeling arrives with the single-page menu John hands you.

Homesick. You’re a little homesick.

It’s ridiculous, the notion. There is no main street to recall. There isn’t a house to miss. What you have is a series of cheap apartments that run together in your memory, with leaky pipes, roaches, and thin walls. Yet you relish the borrowed sentimentality. It’s a balm. Raised on a diet of neglect like a dandelion pushing through cement, you reach for whatever good thing comes your way. It’s how you ended up in—

The waitress interrupts to take your order, just yours. She knows exactly what John wants, boredly reciting the tab, minding a crossword instead of the ticket. As she shuffles behind the counter, the bartender approaches, placing a pitch-black pint glass on the table in front of a pleased John.

“The usual.” The bartender hovers, his grin beaming beneath his mustache.

John’s eyes flick between him and you. “Thanks. Get my girl the cherry cider.”

You stiffen, automatically reaching for the bartender, and blurt a correction. “Wait. No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. Water’s fine.” Your fingertips graze the stranger’s elbow, and he jerks away as if burned.

The immediate vicinity falls quiet. You didn’t raise your voice or stand, but doubt blooms when the bartender freezes in place. The men at the counter closest to you peek over their shoulders, and another waitress stops refilling a napkin dispenser, watching sidelong. You scan the odd bystanders, whom you notice are not looking at you. They look to John. So you do, too.

That same intensity from earlier is plain on his face. Mouth drawn tight in a line, blue eyes flat but focused. You think he means to insist until he nods. “Water it is.”

The bartender’s chipper grin reappears. The others go back to their business. 

“Great. One minute.”

The unease returns tenfold, smothering whatever daydream you entertained. The smile you offer is conciliatory. “Sorry, I don’t drink on first dates.”

It softens him. “First, huh?” John smirks. “That a hard and fast rule, the drinking?”

It is one of the only things your father taught you. Shy of fifteen, mistakenly mumbling a hope of attending a school dance. Sadie Hawkins. There was a boy, you don’t remember his name now—another blur, a collage of faces—who introduced himself on your first day and tempered your latest bundle of new school nerves. Your father set upon you like the Spanish Inquisitors you’d read about in history. You were in shock, too stupefied by his sudden interest in playing parent to remember anything beyond: Girls don’t drink on first dates, makes them loose. Surely, it came with a postscript, but that, too, is lost to time.

“I’m afraid so.”

John huffs a short laugh, the sound enough to flip your belly. 

Heat spreads across your face, which makes the bartender’s timing especially helpful. Your requested glass of ice water appears, and relief creeps through palm-first. John introduces you, prompting a polite smile, only for it to swiftly fall. “...and she’s staying at the old Warren place. Darl, this is Alex.”

You nearly kick his foot. Telling a stranger, another man, where you’re staying?

Above, Alex finally acknowledges you, eyebrows lifting as if you suddenly materialize. “Really. Did you meet the cats?”

“The cats?” You blink, annoyance quelled in an instant. “Are you…Are you familiar with the property? Do you know how many there are? I’ve counted–”

“He’s heard stories from Kate. Isn’t that right, Alex?” John interjects, staunching the conversation.

Alex smiles sheepishly, already moving toward the bar. “Yeah. Stories. Heard it's pretty as a picture.” 

You pivot to John for a follow-up, but he steamrolls ahead into a different topic entirely: The mystery of what you do all day.

“Nothing interesting.”

He hums, disbelieving. “You’re new meat. Everything you do is interesting.”

You search the ether for words, knowing he’ll badger something out. “I read, though I’m running out of books. I draw, poorly, so don’t ask to see anything.” A grin splits his face and jumps to yours, infectious. “I rockhound, swim, write, apply for jobs…”

“Any luck with work?”

Aside from filling out surveys for pennies and cobbling together speeches for strangers online, no. You tell him as much, leaving out the fact you spend hours each day, digital hat in hand.

John glances toward the door, focus stolen for a second before inhaling deeply through his nose. He straightens, arms folding over his barrel chest, puffing up. “Y’know, I could use an extra pair of hands at the store. Busy season’s here.”

You know you ought to jump at the offer, considering the state of your account. How difficult would it be to help mind a tiny store? Yet, the idea of working with John sparks concern. As an acquaintance, as a date, he’s—assertive, though that feels too weak a word.

“I don’t need an answer now, but if you’re interested, I’ll need to run a background check, given I sell ammunition.”

The world rapidly contracts. The one time you shopped, you focused on necessities. Tunnel vision. You didn’t see the entire inventory. The sip of water you take burns off fast, throat drying and excuses evaporating.

John’s face softens, reading your obvious panic. “Regardless of what turns up, the job’s yours if you want it.”

“That’s not–I don’t–John…” You try to focus on a break in the laminate, on the music drifting from the jukebox. A rich laugh from the bar about turns your head, but John’s hand darts, snatching yours in an unyielding grip. It’s like a bear trap, palm almost completely enveloping yours. It might as well latch into bone.

He lowers his voice, steadily pulling you to lean over the table. “I’ve got an eye for runaways.” His fingers squeeze gently when you flinch. “Sympathy, too. So whatever it is you’re running from—” He ignores your tug. “—you’re safe with me.”

John’s eyes shift, yours follow. A man stands at the bar, a holstered firearm on his hip, a business card proffered in hand. Clearly some type of law enforcement. Your heart stutters, a rock skipped over water, plunging when he, sensing your staring, glances over. You pretend to check the game, swallowing when the bartender takes the card and reclaims the man’s attention. The man dips his head, then wordlessly exists.

Air expels from your lungs in a full-body shudder. 

“Skittish thing. Wonder what that was about.” John teases, rubbing a circle into your wrist before releasing it with a quiet chuckle.

There isn’t a chance to catch your breath as the waitress returns with a tray. Your face tightens with forced niceties, accepting your meal with a murmured thank you. 

You eat in relative silence. A mercy. There’s more than food to digest. 

John focuses on his meal, giving you time to think. Losing your ID was sloppy. Not checking your wallet sooner was sloppier. Yet if John’s kept quiet with his suspicions, maybe you are safe with him. It may not keep him from looking into you, but perhaps the job is worth the risk. He clearly likes you. You can’t bite every hand.

“I’ll take the job. If you meant what you said, about sympathy.”

He dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn't mean it.”

“Then what would the schedule be?”

John’s eyes crinkle with a grin. “Thursday through Sunday. Noon to close.”

The uneasiness settles some, but not entirely. A lesson yet another man taught you echoes from the recesses: No kindness is free. Everything has a price. You feed him his own line. “And the background check? Is that…a hard and fast rule?” If your worthless car won’t take you anywhere, you hope flattery will.

He polishes off his beer with a contented sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Better than outright refusal. John’s proven stubborn. He doesn’t bend, he gives. Your thoughts flit to the armed man at the bar. It’s probably nothing, probably just the local sheriff making rounds. Despite your mistakes, it’s too soon for the trouble you left across state lines to find you. 

John excuses himself to settle the bill with Alex and tells you to get some air. You rest against the passenger door of his truck, mulling over the evening, too distracted to notice the man until a hand plants itself above your head. You jolt, clutching your bag.

“Pardon me miss, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” A voice drawls. 

Sandy hair and blue eyes, paler than John’s. A short, straight scar on the cheek with a notched ear to match. His smile is a practiced thing, like he’s had to rehearse it in a mirror. “Name’s Phil. Couldn’t help but notice you inside. You new to town?”

Your expression naturally mirrors his, eyes going big as saucers, but the hair on the back of your neck stands. It takes control to not peek at the weapon on his belt. “Hi, um, yes. I’m new.”

His cheek bulges from his tongue, his stare jumping from feature to feature. “Thought so. Just visiting or are you the newest Ponderosan?”

“She’s with me,” John answers in your stead, coming off the short walk in front of the diner. “Across the lake, that is.”

Fingertips dance on the metal over your head. “Grouse, huh?” Phil smirks, chewing his lip in assessment. “And how’re you, sir?”

“Swell. Darling, get in the truck.” It’s the same tone he used when discussing the cats. It brooks no argument, an order tied with brittle endearment.

You tear your eyes away from John to meet Phil’s gaze, who, after a moment, chuckles and slides his fingers down the car. The tinny squeak of flesh on metal shoots down your spine, then tunnels to your stomach, churning dinner. Your body moves automatically when Phil opens the truck door, forcing you to duck his arm to climb inside.

“Have a nice night.” Phil says as he shuts you in, pivoting to dig out and offer a card to John.

The men exchange words, their voices too low to be audible through the truck’s solid frame. Phil rocks on his heels, enjoying himself; John’s stiff and humorless. The former isn’t small, but he’s dwarfed by your date. The card hovers between them in Phil’s knuckles and remains there when John peels off to join you.

John hoists himself into the driver’s seat, grumbling. You stare at Phil, who shoots winks as he pockets the card. He remains on the curb until The Echo is firmly in the rearview.

“Who was that?” You manage as the lights of Ponderosa disappear beyond trees.

“Haven’t a clue.”

It’s a warning. You’ve heard the line before from another mouth. Different tone, different voice—but the edge is the same. Don’t push it. Keenly aware of where you are, in the sticks with a man scarcely a hair above acquaintance, you don’t. You talk about nothing, instead.

The rest of the conversation is stilted, swimming upstream against a mighty current. John is firmly lodged into the silty creekbed, unmoving regardless of your idle chatter. The source of his ire isn’t clear, so you default to keeping things light. As your new employer and the town’s resident Jack of all trades, the last thing you want to be is on the outs.

By the time the truck swings slowly up the hill to your cabin, it’s pitch black outside. A dozen cats scatter as the headlights shoot over the short drive, landing on the familiar red walls. John idles the truck.

“Thank you for dinner, John.” You linger in your seat, uncertain if you ought to kiss him. It’s been so long, you don’t know the protocol, especially for dates you’d consider middling at best and turbulent at worst.

“My pleasure.” John makes the decision for you. A compromise. He plucks your hand from where it fidgets with the hem of your dress, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. His mustache tickles and his lips quirk at the sight of your squirming. “I’ll let you know what Nik says about the car.”

“Right. My car.”

“And I’ll sit here ‘til you’re in.”

A second thank you ekes out of your mouth, and you hurry out. From the door, you wave, blinded briefly by headlights, as John turns around. His silhouette raises a hand in goodbye, and then he’s off, the truck disappearing into the dark.

You make quick work of readying for bed. Both dresses go into the laundry to be washed in the morning, and you hunt for your book with your toothbrush still in your mouth. The living room and bedroom turn up empty, leaving the screened porch.

Poking your head through the door, you hum, frowning as you cannot recall where you put the thing down. Just as you pull inside, you freeze at the sudden, low snarling of cats poised for a fight. Your blood turns to ice.

Gravel crunches across the yard, past the exterior light’s range. Your eyes bulge in your skull, trying desperately to adjust to the dark. The toothbrush slips out from between your teeth and clatters to the ground. Another crunch spurs a renewed chorus of hissing and growling, primordial fear straightening your spine. Then, something kicks up rock and dirt, skidding and charging across the crushed stone. The sound propels you backward, scrambling to throw the bolt.

Even through the walls, the sharp, sudden yowling chorus of cats pierces the air. Nails on chalkboard. Earsplitting. You hit the lights and shelter behind the couch, palms pressing to your head until the commotion tapers off.

The ensuing silence beckons like a siren. Tries to entice you back to the front door for a peek. But instinct prevails. You flee.

Only when you're shaking in a ball under the sheets, having barricaded the bedroom door with the dresser, do you remember your cell phone.

Which you left in your bag on the kitchen table.

Outside your window, something scratches at the cabin's walls.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

OH GOD YOUR REQS R OPEN, i would rlly like to request something, could you write an one shot of price with a little daugther reader? just like, him coming home and spending some time with his little girl, she tells him about her school, he tells her some funny stories that happened while he was at work, he cooks her favorite meal, just a big fluff, i love this man more than anything and i just need some paternal love LMAO, feel totally free to deny! do everything in your time and remember to take good care of urself!

Memories of Youth

Pairing: Father!John Price x F!Daughter!Reader

Synopsis: It was hard being away from his little girl, but warm mornings spent in each other's company were blessings - even if they were far and few in between. It didn't matter the form.

Word Count: 4.5k (short and sweet)

Warnings: Angst (just a little cuz I can't help myself), a lotta fluff, banter, just good platonic/paternal relationship in general, etc.

A/N: Didn't specify if the reader was adopted or blood-related, so that's really up to you! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

He got the call at the halfway point of crossing the English Channel, Northern France behind him and Southern England just on the horizon line as the sun began to spread its orange glow over the waves. Sitting high above the water in a slick black Heli, John Price’s hand snaps to his side pocket, fingers deftly peeling back the layers as the overwhelming sound of helicopter blades shakes the hull. 

The rest of Task Force 141 watch with varying interest, only Gaz taking notice of the sudden frown that mars his Captain’s face; the furrowed brow, and the spark of concern in his eyes. A call was unusual. The Sargeant tries not to intrude, but can’t help the way his body lightly shifts so he can have a better view.

John doesn't bother to look at the contact when he takes the device out, rapidly pressing the answer button and slotting the phone at his ear, tilting his head so his opposite rests at the junction of his shoulder. It only stops a fraction of the noise, even so, it would have to do for now. But with how his ears were already straining to find a sound over the line, he may not need to force out the jarring racket after all. 

Inside his chest, John’s heart is racing – confusion laces his mind. This was abnormal. 

I told her only to call if it was an emergency. What could she have gotten herself into now? I said to stay out of trouble…

“Where are you?!” The Brit has to shout down the line, his familiar deep accent loud and guttural. 

His mind flies through every possibility. An intruder had broken into the house, you had broken your arm falling down the stairs again, or a fire had broken out in the kitchen. Fuck…he was too far away to help if anything bad had happened. John’s jaw clenches, eyes looking out over the water as the bucket hat on his head flops in the wind. It was only a product of his job that made him think like that; years of intuition and thinking on the fly leading to his mind making up the worst scenarios. 

Especially when you called on a secure line when he told you it was only appropriate for life-and-death situations. Especially when it was his little girl.

I told ‘er about the Pistol in my office, yeah? The Captain asks himself with a steel-like resolve. And gave her Laswell’s number?

John’s fingers tighten over the phone when he hears your breath over the line, a shuffling of clothes, and a deep exhale.

“Sunshine!” He tries again, sitting up straighter as his pulse gets faster. Why isn’t she answering me? “Where are you right–”

“We don’t have anything for breakfast.” Your voice is heavy with sleep; fatigue drowning the syllables and holding them under the very waves that rage under John only separated by thin sheets of metal. 

The Brit stops. His body freezes, and as the tense minutes go by his panic falls away and leaves a thick stain of annoyance resting behind his eyelids. Of course. John brings two fingers to his nose bridge, digging into the skin until tiny crescent moons are left behind; he has to take a deep breath before answering, but his tone leaves nothing to the imagination.

“...Breakfast…?”

“Yeah, Old Man, you need me to spell it for you? B-R-E-A-K-F-A–”

“Enough!” John barks stiffly and has to hold back his anger as you laugh from the other side. Ever the jokester – did you not realize how serious this was? How fast your father’s heart was racing with adrenaline? 

Fuck, he had just about been ready to radio the cockpit and force the pilots to fly faster.

Across the way, Ghost locks eyes with the man, and with a tilt of his head and a loud call he asks, “That the Mutt?”

The Captain’s eyes slip back into a firm blank slate.

“Affirm.” John tilts the phone away from his mouth, ignoring your sarcastic comments to catch his sanity for a moment and respond to his Lieutenant.

Simon blinks as Johnny perks up at his side, looking in from the view in favor of the Captain with newfound interest. A bright smile forms over his scruffy cheeks

“She all good?” The skeletal man asks, and Gaz smirks lazily tapping his fingers over his knee, immediately noticing your shenanigans and the way the Cap was so worked up. 

But anyone would be when they had a daughter thousands of miles away.

John simply nods once with an exasperated expression to Ghost. MacTavish snorts out a laugh, knowing the context of the situation without having to think hard.

“Is that Uncle Simon?” You ask, and with a scratch at his beard, your father hums in confirmation, letting the sound of your voice put him more at ease. She’s just fine. “Tell him I want him to come over and play Mario Cart with Gaz, Johnny, and me again! He wiped the floor with ‘em last time!” 

There’s a clinking of pots and pans as you move throughout the house. 

“Sweetheart,” Your father grumbles, sighing through the call. His voice takes on the authoritative tone that works for both soldiers and teenagers – but it rarely works on you, despite that fact. Took after your dad too much, is what John would say. Never listened until it was absolutely necessary. “What did I tell you about callin’ this phone when I’m away from the house?”

He hears your scoff and raises a warning eyebrow, though you can’t see it. You know your dad enough to know he’s doing it despite being separated. It was pretty common.  

“Not to, unless it’s an emergency…But I’d say food is a big enough reason, y’know? Unless you want me to eat the leftover cake for breakfast – which I haven’t thrown out as a possibility yet, honestly.”

“You’re not eatin’ bloody cake for breakfast. You’ll get sick.” Gaz snickers, turning his face away to hide the amusement at the comment. 

It hadn’t been a surprise that the Captain’s daughter was such a familiar creature – they saw traits reflected every time the two were together. Everyone had expected her to take after her old man in nearly everything, and when she had they had bumped fists and prayed for the brown-bearded man. But it was funny nonetheless, considering they got along better than most fathers and daughters; practically reading each other's minds when everyone was playing poker. Johnny was still pretty ticked off about that – he’s a good deal deep into the sweets debt he owes you because Price helps you win. But where they really shined was with the shared deadpan attitudes, bottom-of-the-barrel sarcasm, and knowing how to command a room without even trying. Safe to assume that the rest of the team would do anything for you.

“Will not.” You grumble in retaliation, and John’s lips threaten to tilt into a grumpy smile when he hears you put the cake plate back into the counter. 

Letting the tension fall from his shoulders, the brown-haired man takes a glance outside, watching the waves go bright orange as they lap and writhe like great sea serpents. 

“How long have you been up, eh? The sun’s barely risen. Thought Sunday was when you always slept in?” 

There’s a pause in what John believed were fingers digging through a cupboard, and he narrows his eyes in confusion as the silence grows long. He frowns when you speak again, words so quiet he has to place a hand over his other ear to hear properly. Having half a mind to go and tell the pilots to hurry up and go faster so he can just talk to his little girl in person, he refrains, knowing that’s not how this works. But something was wrong – it had been laced in your previous words, as tiny and unnoticeable as it may have been. Only a father would notice it.

“You said you were gonna be home last night. I stayed up.” It takes a moment of halted breathing before John’s eyes widen, blues full of realization.

Oh. 

…Damn it. He lets out the tense breath of air from his lips, shifting in his seat as the gear around his body weighs him down. His gun digs into his chest. 

He hadn't seen you for over a week – leaving you in the care of a close and trusted neighbor, Mrs. Lilly, just as he always had when he needed to leave for work on short notice. But seeing as you were older now, it became apparent that, with your learned independence, staying at the house by yourself was alright as long as you checked in with the neighbor every morning and night. You had been waiting for him to come home. All alone. In the dark. 

Fucken’ hell, John thinks in a deep layer of guilt as wrinkles overtake his forehead, I did tell her I’d be back yesterday. I forgot to call and tell ‘er. Shit! He didn’t want to imagine the stress that had been put on your shoulders. God, what’ve I done?

Not checking in was something he had never missed before – he always told you when he was about to come back. What had gone wrong this time? How had something that important just slipped his mind? Sure the Op had been tedious, but he was trained to handle it. It was no excuse. 

“Sweetheart,” John starts and then pauses the soft and gentle endearment, knowing that an apology didn’t fit into what you were looking for. You didn’t want an ‘I’m sorry’ right now, you wanted your father. Flattening his lips into a line, he continues, wishing he was with you more than ever so he can press a kiss to your forehead. “...I should be back before 1200. How about when I get back I’ll cook you up somethin’ myself, yeah? Or we can go to that Cafe you like down on Newman Street and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“...When do you have to go back?” You don’t answer his question, and yours makes his heart hurt. 

John clears his throat.

“None of that, now. We’ll talk more when I get back, Darling, alright?” You don’t respond, but he hears you sigh and quietly scoff under your breath. “Alright?” He tries again, head tilting forward and eyebrows rising as if you could see him. Maybe you could.

“Fine. But you better make me pancakes. I don’t care if it’ll be noon.” 

“Pancakes it is.” The Captain looks up in time to see Johnny mouthing words to him, and with a blank face and stiff lip, your father mutters with a grunt, “Johnny says ‘hello.’” 

Your shocked snort makes him feel better, but a layer of guilt still stays. You were awake all night waiting for him, and he never showed up. Did you sleep on the couch? Damnit, he hoped you didn’t…but in his rattling chest knew you had. He found you like that every time he came back from a long stay away. Huddled under blankets, no pillow under your head. Sometimes you steal one of his shirts and hold it like a stuffed bear to your chest, shoving your face into it. 

How could I forget to fucken’ call her?

Your voice takes him out of his growing self-resentment. 

“Tell him to watch his back – I’m getting better at Rainbow Road. Soon enough I’ll be able to beat him in a 1V1!” John can’t help the slow chuckle that bounces in his throat, mind, for the moment, at ease as long as you continue to speak to him.

“I’ll be sure to pass it along. But, eh,” The Brit makes sure he speaks slowly, letting you hear every syllable of his next words. “Promise me you’ll stay at the house until I get there. No goin’ out with friends, yeah? You know how I worry.” John ignores the teasing look from Gaz and peeks out again to see how close they were to the mainland with narrowed lids. “‘Specially when I’m not there.”

Getting back to the Base wasn’t the problem, it was the damn reports coming in that would wring his neck before he could get out the door. But he’d push it off for however long he could; call in favors from Laswell to get him more time with his little girl so he can fix his mistake. As a dad, the only thing that counted was seeing his daughter after a seemingly unending Op that he didn’t want to relive. The hardest part wasn’t the blood or the guts – it was being away from you. Nothing would ever change that, even if he was the one on the ground gritting his teeth at the bite of a bullet.

“Scout’s honor, Old Man.” The happiness in your voice makes him smile to himself. 

“Stop calling me that, Muppet.” John grumbles affectionately, rolling his eyes, “I’ll give you a call when back I’m in town, Sunshine. Make sure the door’s locked–”

“--Locked, the windows too, plus, if someone knocks on the door I need to look through the peephole and if I don’t recognize them don’t open it…Am I missing anything?”

“Mind yourself, now you’re just being cheeky, you are.” John teases, scoffing, but proud that you remembered his rules. It made all of this just a bit more manageable.

“Who do you think I got it from?” You laugh, but it tapers off sullenly, “Just…get home safe, okay, Dad?”

John’s beard pulls back into a soft close-lipped grin, eyes crinkling as his heart warms. He so desperately wanted to ruffle your hair. 

“Of course, Hun. But, eh, take a nap. It’s still early, and I know you’ve got schoolwork to do later. You sound like you’re about to keel over where you stand.” You scoff before agreeing with a muttered grumble, most likely already stumbling to the living room couch, and then the line goes silent and is replaced once more by the whirring of the helicopter blades. 

The man peels back the phone and pockets it, hand unconsciously brushing his breast pouch where a picture of the two of you always sits. It was a baby picture, with your little form held in his grip delicately; looking down at you with soft eyes and an easy smile on his lips that always formed when he was with you. From under a soft blanket, your tiny hand reaches out to try and brush his stubbily cheek. 

It never failed to bring him ease when he realized the photo was there. A reminder that if everything else in his life went horribly wrong, you would still be looking up at him with those eyes of yours. At the very least, he had managed to do one thing right.

“She’ll be fine. She’s a good kid.” Gaz calls at him, and John spares him a glance out of the side of his eye with a raised brow.

“I know she is. I’m the one who raised her.”

—

You remember eating a piece of toast before you made your way over to the couch, throwing your phone to the coffee table haphazardly before tossing yourself onto the cushions. Still in your pajamas, you can’t find it in you to go and grab the homework in your backpack this early. The sun had only just risen, and the bags under your eyes reminded you how late you stayed up last night. 

But your father had never shown up.

Frantic was too light a word to describe the feeling you had when your eyelids had peeled back to the empty living room and the TV still playing. It had been second nature to snatch your phone and call the secure line – half of you had said it was better to call Laswell, just in case, but your adolescent brain had wanted nothing more than to hear your father’s voice.

He would make it better. But you needed to hear his voice. 

Dad, you remembered pleading to yourself as the sound of the dial tone echoed in your ear, please answer the phone. Please. Answer the fucking phone. 

Your heart was pounding; hands shaking. He never just didn’t show up when he said he was going to. Never. Your dad was punctual – always on time no matter what – and he had ingrained the same sentiment in you as well. 

When his deep voice finally bounced in your eardrums you nearly started to cry, missing the first hurried and concern-filled inquiry of where you were. Hearing his voice put you at ease, and after a week of missing your father’s strong presence and his warm hugs, it was hard not to take a shaky inhale when he seemed so close.

You just wanted him home; you wanted him to make you pancakes and help you with your schoolwork. You wanted him to read a book to you on this couch like you were a toddler again while his old record player was on in the background. 

It was childish, getting so worked up about it, but your dad meant the world to you. Not having him here felt wrong. 

Sighing, you rub at your eyes and revel in the darkness before letting out a strained yawn, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and pulling it over your body. It didn’t take long before your eyes were flickering shut, a calm quiet settling over the house as cars passed by outside in the street. You pull the blanket closer and breathe, inhaling pine needles and ash. 

You don’t know how long you were there, twitching in your sleep before the scent woke you up – it makes your nose scrunch, eyelids blinking away fuzz. There was a pillow under your head, the blanket wrapped tight around your neck to keep out the London chill, and a clanking of pans in the kitchen. Scraping spatula over cast iron, you knew, the sizzling of batter. 

The haze of that in-between state, sleep and consciousness fighting in the back of your skull and under your hairline, stays even as you try to force it away. It was like a wave – it constantly pulled you under when you thought you were getting to the surface. Your eyes would blink open and closed; comforted back into sleep by the deep humming, the waver of an old record player. Feet over hardwood and the smell of fresh pancakes. 

Dad’s home. 

A delirious smile slides over your sleep-hot face. That was why you were so content. This was what home sounded and smelled like. 

Dad’s home. You repeat it once more, nuzzling farther into your father's travel pillow he brings to and from Base. Pine needles. Ash. Cigar smoke.

Dad’s home! Your eyes snap open wildly, your body shooting up from the cushions as the blanket falls to the floor. Angling your head to the separated kitchen, you swipe the drool from your mouth with a heavy hand and listen. 

Your dreams had tricked you before, but no. Not this time. 

He was humming along to some old tune under his breath that mirrored the record player behind the couch; the antique turned low so it wouldn’t wake you. Blinking in shock, your mouth morphs into a rich smile instantaneously. 

Throwing yourself off the couch, your feet slam to the floor, rushing and almost tripping over the blanket on the floor as your body slants forward. Giggling, you push on, righting yourself with no second thought other than welcoming your dad home the same as you always did. Zipping around the corner, a shadow is already turning your way, a plate of pancakes ready to be put on the table and devoured. 

“Dad!” You yell loudly and launch yourself at him, hearing his chest let out a grunt and his hands splay around you so he won’t drop breakfast food all over the floor. 

A velvety chuckle is wrung from his body, and his free digits go to rest heavily on your head as you shove yourself into his hold. Gripping his shirt tight between your fingers, you try not to cry when that scent that had been fading from the house comes back tenfold. Your eyes burn, but you only let one tear out when your dad’s finger begins stroking your hair just like he did when you were little.

You had been so worried. 

“There’s my girl,” His voice whispers out, “I’m here, Sunshine. Easy now.” 

“I thought you died,” You can’t help the helpless gasp that rips from you. Your father’s hand freezes; body going rigid around your smaller, desperately grasping frame. The atmosphere of the room flips. Digging into the fabric of his shirt the full flood of tears finally comes forward. “W-when I woke up and you weren’t here I… I thought you were never coming back home, and that I would have to go and live with the neighbors and I’d have to bury you in the cemetery. I don’t-don’t wanna have to put you in the ground.” You’re rambling, but you can’t stop the words. “I don’t want you to leave me alone, Dad. Please don’t leave me alone.” 

At some point, the plate of pancakes had been tossed to the counter without care for if the porcelain cracked from the force, and both of your father's arms hand scooped you into his hold effortlessly. Your breath was hiccuping violently, tears making his shirt wet and sticking to his skin. 

But John didn’t care. 

He wrapped his arms around you and curled his body in, taking you into a hold so warm and tight you couldn’t leave it even if you tried.

What’ve I done? The man feels his lips tense, blinking down at your shaking body with guilt as you sob. Oh, my Little Girl, I’m so sorry. What’ve I done to you? 

Had he never noticed the toll that this job was taking on you? John asked himself this in disgust as he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, whispering words into your hair under his shaky breath. He hated when you cried because of him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Love, alright? Look at me.” You don’t move your bruising grip, face still held away from sight as you gasp down frantic breaths. John’s voice gets firmer, “Sweetheart, I need you to look at me, yeah?”

Your tight fingers stutter, and your head barely shifts to the side, one red eye peeking up as he looks down at you with all the love he can muster without looking incredibly broken. He never wanted to see you cry again but knew that would be an impossible feat to accomplish – but he’d do his damndest to try.

“There she is.” John’s hand goes to your cheek, brushing away the saltwater with a calloused thumb as you sniffle. “Just keep those eyes on me, Little One.”

“...M’ not little anymore.” You grumble out, your cheeks heating even as your pulse slows as you focus on your dad's eyes. So soft the edges were nearly liquid; water that held your attention as they lapped across your form. 

“To me, you’ll always be little. Can’t change that I’m afraid.” The man grunts out, tilting his head down at you and letting his eyes travel from concern to comfort. But that doesn’t change the present. 

“I’m so sorry, Love,” Your father mutters, eyes flickering away from yours in guilt so rarely shown to others. He always prided himself on being strong, you knew, bearing the brunt of the weight. Apologies weren’t often verbally said until it truly mattered. “I should have called you. That’s all on me, that is. Bloody stupid to forget about, knowin’ how you wait up for me.” 

Your lips thin to mimic your dad's, brows pulling close. But in your chest, your heart couldn’t be larger. You didn’t hold it against him, but you wished he could be here more often; not put himself in dangerous situations. Knowing as little as you did about your dad's actual job, you still knew it wasn’t entirely safe. 

Maybe the two of you protected each other from the things unseen. 

Your chest aches.

“...You’re funny lookin’ when you have to apologize. Like a kicked bear.” Pulling back your lips, a tiny smile lighting your face, and you look up at your dad with a sniffle in your nose. 

His visage snaps to yours, eyebrows going high on his head in surprise, and hooded blue eyes widening. It takes a moment, but a smirk pushes back his beard when he sees the tears have stopped falling. 

“Yeah?” John asks you, a grumble reverberating in his chest, “Now, y’know, that is just bloody rude, Sunshine. Thought I raised you better…And after I made you pancakes.” 

Laughing, you pull back, stomach rumbling and nose twitching at the prospect of the nearly forgotten food. Slithering past your father, you snatch the plate and fork before rushing into the living room. Jumping on the couch you begin to cut into the carbs, piling pieces into your mouth and smiling at the taste. No one else could make them as your dad could. 

The Brit comes not seconds later, a cup of tea held in his hand before he sits down next to you with a groan, stretching out and laying his socked feet on the coffee table next to your tossed phone from hours earlier. You giggle, suddenly leaning to his large frame and hearing him grunt in retaliation. 

“Tell me a funny story,” You demand, listening to him sip his drink in the mid-morning glow that spreads outside the house and leaks in through the opened curtains. Birds sing outside, heard from the street. 

Your dad hums, his beard tickling your scalp as he leans into you in turn, making you chuckle before he nuzzles against you kissing your head; leading to a larger exclamation of glee before you elbow his gut. 

He laughs and answers with a smile in his voice.

“Hm, did I tell you ‘bout the time Gaz fell out of the Heli?” 

You laugh, eating the rest of the pancake remnants; feeling incredibly happy and warm. There were many memories you loved of your dad and his recounting of stories fit many of them. He always kept out the gory bits – promising himself that he would never lead you down that path no matter what – and always opted for the many downright hilarious situations the rest of the 141 always seemed to get into.

“Yes, but tell me again. It’s funny, especially when you describe his face afterward! Like he–”

“Like he had shit his pants and didn’t want to tell me,” John chuckles, eyes squinted, looking down at you as you snuggle into his side. He wraps an arm over your shoulders, taking your empty plate with one hand and putting it on the side table before pulling you close and making sure his tea won’t spill. He feels your tiny, bird-like, heartbeat on his ribcage and knows that nothing could ever take you away from him. You would always be his little girl.  “Yeah, Love, I remember that one. Now, let me start from the beginning…”

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[cal-flakes]

hey angel, I love your fics!!!

please could you do something with protective rafe?

I don’t mind what storyline as long as it has a happy ending, tysm🫶

THANK YOU LOVE YOU XXX of course i can! I LOVE protective!rafe.

╰┈➤ more protective!rafe

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence. short fic.

summary: rafe steps in when a overly-confident jj maybank attempts to hit on you.

“man, look at her, theres no logical reason for me to not go over!” jj argued, looking at his friends for an answer.

“i can think of one..” pope stated, eyebrows raised.

john b lightly elbowed him in the side, earning a look of disdain. “what?”

i kinda wanna let this one play out..” he smirked, sharing a knowing glance with pope.

“see! this is what i’m talking about, you don’t believe in me! you guys just wait til i come back with her number!” jj beamed, leaping from the table.

“he’s gonna get his ass beat isn’t he?” pope chuckled.

“nah, we won’t let it get that far, i just wanna see the look on his face”

the girl sat alone in the booth, tapping her manicured nails on the phone screen in front of her as the breeze in the bar left a trail of goosebumps on her cold skin.

“hey there! mind if i sit?” jj slid into the cushioned seat opposite from her. “um, sure i guess?” her face twisted slightly as the blonde failed to wait for an answer.

the shrill taps of her nails against the table signified her boredom as the boy stared at her, struggling to find words.

“so…you new around here?” he perked up, hoping to break the ice. she shook her head in response, instead turning her attention to the alert sounding from her phone.

“oookay, uhh, you got a boyfriend?” he pried.

“oh shit..kook prince, eight o’clock” pope muttered, pointing discreetly towards the door of the bar.

looking up, john b watched in amusement as rafe cameron closed in on the pair in the booth. his blue flannel shirt swayed in the breeze, revealing the gun tucked in the back of his waistband.

the pogues observed the scene before them, jj talking away to the bored girl opposite him, completely unaware of the man about to turn the corner.

“are we bad friends?” pope mumbled under his breath. “ohh..absolutely” john b answered, breaking into hysterical wheezes.

“yes, i do have a boyfriend..” she smirked, spotting the tall man now looming over jj.

taking notice of sudden sweet smile, unfortunately not directed at him, he turned in his seat.

“yeah. she does a boyfriend, pogue. get the fuck out of my face..” rafe sneered.

“well uh, lovely to see you guys, hope you have a splendid day!” jj rushed out of his seat, stomping back over to his friends like a kicked puppy.

y/n giggled at the sound of obnoxious laughter erupting from the table over, where john b and pope were sat.

“you okay angel?” rafe soothed, taking her hand in his as he sat in the warmed seat. “im fine baby, i knew you were coming” she cooed, a playful glint in her eye.

back at the table, jj shot daggers at the others as they continued their hysterics. “you guys didn’t think to mention that rafe cameron was behind me?!”

[grxmreaperx]

YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD AAHHH 🥰🥰 If you’re still taking requests, could I get something for Hoffman x Female reader?? You can decide the main plot points, I’m just looking for something with maybe a hurt reader and fluffy ending and smut, if you’re okay writing that of course!!

I’m so glad there’s more people writing for Saw and Hoffman. 🫶🏻

Of course, lovely, you’re so sweet!! Y'all get to eat good tonight, fic writing has become my way of winding down at the end of the day, so the Hoffman stans get two smut fics in one night!

Also, I am working my way through my replies! If you have submitted a request, I promise I will get to you (don't worry Strahm babes, I haven't forgotten about you <3)

I wrote this from Hoffman’s POV, just for funsies.

Nurse Hoffman

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x female reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: canon violence (gas house trap), hurt reader, Mark being angry and protective; smut 18+!! Mark making the reader feel better in more ways than one; oral sex (f! receiving), p in v penetration, Mark being filthy and cocky as fuck

Summary: You and Amanda go into the gas house to make sure the game goes smoothly. When Xavier goes on a rampage looking for everyone’s number, he gets a little too close to you for Mark’s comfort.

--

“Let me in the fucking house, John!” Hoffman yelled, slamming his fist against the table.

“Not until the game is finished. We need the recording for the police.”

The two men were watching the security cameras as the women made their way through the house, Amanda trying to protect Daniel, and you looking for something, anything to stop Xavier.

“This wasn’t part of the plan! Let me in the fucking house!” Mark felt like he was going to explode, watching the tank of a man stumble after you through the house of death. He paced around the room, fists clenched tight, eyes not once leaving the screens.

The toxin had started to show its effects on you: Mark could see the sweat coating your face, the blood you retched up into your hand. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He had told John not to pick Xavier, he was too much of a liability, too big of a wild card. But no. The fucking game.

He saw what you were doing. You lured Xavier away from the starting point, away from your point of escape, so Amanda and Daniel could have more time. He watched as you backed yourself into the needle pit room, Xavier moments behind you, and pried one of the broken floorboards off its final nails.

He knew they needed Daniel for the plan, they needed something to lure in Matthews. But he’d give everyone in that godforsaken house to have you sitting safely in that room with him.

His breathing stopped as Xavier entered the room, that taunting smile spreading across his face.

“You think that piece of wood is going to stop me, huh? Cmon sweetie, I just need the number on your neck. It’ll be quick, I promise.”

You stood, knees slightly bent, eyes boring into the man in front of you. Hoffman watched as you backed slowly closer to the pit of needles, plank raised in front of you. “Come get it then.”

Xavier lunged at you, knife swinging through the air. Mark’s heart stopped when he saw blood blooming on your shirt sleeve. Oh, he was going to kill him. He was going to kill him, and he was going to make it hurt.

You dropped to the ground and for a moment, Mark was ready to raise Hell and bring it into the abandoned house. Until he saw you slide between Xavier’s legs, jumping up behind him, and taking your shot.

He didn’t breathe again until he saw the blow land on the back of Xavier’s head, knocking him off balance just enough for him to teeter into the pit of needles.

“You bitch! You fucking bitch!” The man swam around, trying to get a grip on something besides the sharp point of a syringe.

You fell to the ground as, on another camera, Amanda and Daniel made their way into the old bathroom. Game over.

Mark hurried toward the door, ready to tear down the walls of that house if he needed to.

--

When Mark saw your eyes flutter open, it felt like the world began to spin again.

“Hey there, Detective,” you said softly, voice hoarse. “How long have I been out?”

“A couple of hours. I gave you the antidote and had to bandage up your arm.”

You looked down at your left arm, almost as if you had forgotten Xavier had even come close. “Ah, shit. Motherfucker.”

Mark let out a small laugh. “How you feeling?”

“Better than ever. You been here taking care of me?”

He gave a shallow nod and watched as you looked around, trying to get your bearings, before realizing you were safe in your apartment.

You looked over at him. “How did you know where I hide my key?”

He laughed. “I thought a smart woman like you would know not to hide her key under the mat.”

You rolled your eyes at him. You slowly sat up and before he even knew what he was doing he was right by your side. Your eyes met his as a smirk spread across your lips. “What, you worried about me or something, Hoffman?”

Pulling his gaze from your eyes, clearing his throat, the only words he could conjure were “I’m gonna get you something to drink, you need to rehydrate.”

He felt you reach up, wrapping your hand around his shirt collar. “I’m fine,” you muttered, before pulling his face down to meet his lips.

Something snapped deep in his stomach and suddenly he was on you, caging your body under his own, careful to avoid your bandaged arm. Your lips crashed together, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. He felt your hands reach up, burying themselves in his hair. He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, dragging his down to your neck.

“You sure you’re up for this?”

You nodded, running your hands over his chest. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them down on either side of your head, lips making their way over your throat.

“You want me to make you feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathed, wrapping your legs around his waist.

A growl rumbled in his throat as he ran his hands down you body, pulling down the sweats he had dressed you in and your underwear in one tug. His eyes flicked to your shirt. “Take it off.”

You quickly complied, sitting up just enough to slip the shirt over your head and unhook your bra. His eyes roamed over your body, watching your chest rise and fall with each breath. His hands squeezed your thighs as his lips brushed over your stomach. “Tell me what you want, princess.”

You let out a soft sigh. “You, I want you.”

“Cmon, sweetheart, you can do better than that. Tell me what you want.”

“I want your fingers. And your tongue.” He felt your breathing speed up as his lips moved lower, gliding across your hip bones.

“Much better.” He buried his face between your legs, savoring the whimpers that fell from your mouth. His tongue drew circles around your clit as he slowly slides two fingers inside you, pumping them deeper each time.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed, legs clamping shut around his head.

He pulled his lips away, drawing a whine from your mouth. “Spread your fuckin’ legs for me or I’ll stop.”

You forced your legs apart, sliding a hand behind each knee to keep yourself from closing them again.

He could tell you were already close by the way your legs were shaking, your breathing heavy. He began pumping his fingers faster, sucking on your clit harshly. “God, baby, already gonna cum for me? How long’s it been since someone’s touched you like this?”

“Too long,” you said softly, feeling the tension build in your stomach. “God, please don’t stop.”

He curled his fingers and felt you arch underneath him, legs shaking violently as your orgasm washed over you.

“Good girl,” he growled as he pulled away from you, making his way back up your body. He sat up, slowly unbuckling his pants, watching your face for your reaction. You were watching him intently, eyes clouded from pleasure.

He pulled his dress pants down just enough to free his dick, a cocky smile crossing his face as your eyes took him in. “You see something you like, baby?”

You nodded quickly, letting out a chorus of soft whimpers, begging him to do something.

Normally, he would force more out of you, teasing your cunt until you had tears in your eyes, but he figured you had already had a long enough day. He’d be nice, just this once.

He lifted one of your legs onto each shoulder, lining his cock up at your entrance before slowing sliding in. He savored the feeling of you pulsing around him, the look of euphoria on your pretty face as you took every damn inch. “So good for me, such a pretty whore, huh?”

Your moans were music to his ears, eyes drinking in the sight of your body bouncing with every stroke.

“God, you look so pretty, full of my cock. Such a good girl.” You cried out, throwing your head back, rolling your hips to meet his. He smiled, the only words falling from your lips were “please,” “fuck,” and moans of his name.

You were his.

He felt your legs shake against his shoulders as you rode out your second orgasm, so cock-drunk you couldn’t even form words. He grabbed your hips, picking up speed before his own euphoria rushed over him, emptying himself deep inside of you.

He stilled, both of you trying to catch your breath, before pulling out and lying down next to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you to him and laying your head on his chest.

“Well, Detective,” you said softly. “You have to be the best nurse I’ve ever had.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, and pushing your hair off your forehead. “Dumbass.”

--

When Xaiver next opened his eyes, all he could see was the outline of a television.

He was painfully aware of each and every puncture in his skin, now soaked in citric acid.

The TV clicked on, a white doll with black hair staring at him through the screen.

“Hello Xaiver. You thought you were done after your little performance in the house? Oh, no.”

“I’d like to play a game.”

[juvenillia]

~ second death ~ Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x fem!reader [hurt fic]

summary: Johnny has to prepare himself for a special day, that he never believed would come.

a/n: what can I say? I read this quote and had to get those broken feelings out of my system sorry not sorry we like to suffer

cw/tw: angst, hurt (no comfort), mentions of loss, death, petnames, there is some fluff in between

worcount: 1.8k

》Read on AO3《 》Master Post《

"There was before you and there was during you. For some reason, I never thought there would be an after you." - Colleen Hoover

The look in the mirror, nothing more than a tired reflection of him, staring in the distant. Johnny always knew that his job was hard. That it was full of vicious events repeating one another. But he always came back, especially after he found a reason to which to return to.

"Can I help you?", you asked him with your sweetest smile. He only stood there, literally staring at you. When he was on leave, he always dropped by the traditional bakery in his hometown. Mr. Kringle would already know what he ordered. It was always the same, a pair of the fudge brownies with white chocolate inside and a regular coffee. He didn't expect to be greeted by a new face. "Uhrm. Can ye recommend something?" He suddenly sounded so insecure. So, unlike his physical appearance. Your eyes trailed over the different things separating the two of you behind the glass. "I do fancy these. They're sweet but not to over the top and go perfectly with a black coffee." You explained softly pointing at the baked goods. He didn't even look at them, his eyes are pinned at your soft features. Trying to burn every feature in his brain and he only nodded. "Would you like anything else?", you said soothing while packing his order with such a careful and lovely manner. "Yer number." He was so straightforward, his voice much more confident and you couldn't help the blush growing on your cheeks. Of course, you gave him your number.

He changed; the last mission was harder. Harder than he ever thought, because for the first time he had the feeling, the fear, of not returning. And somehow, he didn’t. A part of him stayed there. A part of him died in Las Almas. That was the first time John MacTavish died. His glance flashes to the bed of your shared bedroom. Well folded sheets, silky in a wonderful olive green. They still hold your scent. It is the only thing that keeps him sane. It is the only thing that lulls him to sleep. He wasn’t able to change those sheets since he returned.

"I like the green ones. They complement the lights when the sun rises.", you chimed while holding the fabric in your delicate fingers. "Whatever yer want, mo ghraidh." [my love] he placed a soft kiss onto the crone of your head. "Johnny.", you exhaled jokingly annoyed. "What?" - "It's gonna be your home too, you can't let me decide everything.", you said while placing the sheets in the shopping cart and hooking your arm around his. He only smiled at you. "Whatever makes you smile, makes me happy."

His eyes return to the image in the mirror. He adjusts the bow tie around his neck. Smoothing out some wrinkles in the suit he wears. He hates suits. Especially this one.

"Bloody ‘ell, MacTavish. It isn't that hard to pick a damn suit.", Simon exhaled annoyed while Johnny puts on what feels like the millions suit. "It has to be perfect. Alright?!", he yelled from the changing room where he just fought with those tight pants. Maybe he gained some muscles again and should buy a larger one. You definitely wouldn't mind. "She isn't marrying the suit; she is marrying ya. And that is already a miracle itself mate.", Simon explained while scrolling through his phone. Johnny paused his movements and grins like a mad man. Bended over he looked in the tiny mirror in front of him, but not at himself. More like in the distant. " 'm gonna marry her.", his voice is filed with pure sincerity.

His fingers run over the side of the bed where you always slept. The mattress still having an imprint of your figure where you were lying all the time. The spot he now sits down and would just love to be swallowed by the soft mattress.

"Love...", you exhaled only above a whisper. He only pushed him closer into you, his head resting on your chest and counting your heartbeat while trying to steady his own. You absently let your hand play with the strand of his hair. "It’s alright. I’m here with you.", you chimed in your sing song voice. He only nuzzled his head further into you while squeezing your sides. "I love ya, bonnie." You only kissed the top of his head. “I love you too.”, he closed his eyes again and drifted away once more.

His eyes trail over to the window. Showing a little garden. It was neatly organized. Flowers blooming everywhere. The ones right in front if the window, they were your favorites.

"MacTavish, you're an unbelievable idiot.", you cried out while cleaning the mud from your face. He wrapped his arms around your waist, hands full of dirt. "And all yours, my dear.", he chimed while picking you up and swirling your around. Holding you close in his embrace. "Forever, yours.", he repeated softly before letting your lips meet his. You cupped his cheeks, but mostly to get revenge. Greasing the mud all over his face, just like he did a few minutes before. "Ya gonna regret that." He snickers, while you pulled out if his embrace and started running away from him. The laugh never ending while he chased you and pulled you down into the still wet grass and planted kisses all over your face. It was his favorite melody.

He pushes himself up from the bed and goes downstairs. Simon is already here, as well as Kyle. He looks at them, wearing those suits he knew too well. They look back at him. Their faces wear a weak smile, and Johnny only nods before his eyes drift over to the kitchen to the right.

"Bonnie, we have guests.", Johnny yelled out while entering your house. You walked downstairs to greet his teammates. "Nice to see you again. Tea?", you chimed while heading over to the kitchen and pulling the kettle down from the shelf. "I still think ya don't deserve her, Soap.", Kyle said while following you. "When yer hold hostage blink twice.", he said looking at you, and Johnny just pushed him gently in the side. "Ya can always call, when he does something stupid.", Simon assured you. Pulling out their usual mugs from the shelf above you. "So, you mean like all the time?", you asked jokingly. You all laughed. During these times the world seemed alright.

It's silent. The two men only look at him, nodding silently. Johnny swallows hardly before heading outside to Simon's car. The taller man taking the driver’s seat. Johnny sinks int the passenger seat and closes his eyes.

"You won't drive. Please you're way too battered, love.", you pulled him away from the driver’s seat and he lets you. Simon gently took the keys out of Johnny's hand. "Aye. But you dae wanna make out with me still. Eh?", his walk was sloppy as you helped him in the backseat, still wearing the smile you fell in love with in the first place. Kyle took the passenger’s seat in the front. "Always." You placed a quick peek on his cheek while securing the seatbelt before moving into the car next to him. Reaching out for his hand.

The men climb out of the car and head right into the church. With every step forward it grows heavier. Johnny wants to run away. He wants to turn away. Simon and Kyle are right behind him. Simon’s hand lingered on his shoulder. His face is serious, but never cold.

"Finally satisfied?", Kyle asked in a mocking tone. "I hope so.", Simon exhaled quite annoyed. They wore the suits Johnny picked out and they stood in front of a mirror. Johnny nodded. "She's gonna love it.", he beams in happiness and even Simon couldn't suppress the smile growing at his lips.

They enter the church you loved so much. Everything seemed so pretty. Too pretty. The place is decorated in your favorite flowers. Your friends and family are all gathered together. A man walks up to the front and starts a speech.

"I just can't put all my feelings for her in a minute speech. How is this supposed to work?!", he panicked and Simon scoffs. "Just imaging what you really want her to hear. A few things you always wanted to say to her but never found the right time to.", he stated calm. Kyle and Johnny looked at him in disbelief. "That could actually work." - " That’s why I am yer best man..."

So, he stands up straight and starts his speech. Hands gripping tight on a little paper in his hands. Every word is heavy on his tongue, but he manages to push through and holds the tears back. "I never realized how lost I was in this world until I looked into your eyes. In those pretty eyes I found my home. And when I heard your voice for the first time, I heard my future. I committed myself completely and only to you, and I would do it again and again. Forever yours.", his voice goes quiet. Nobody of the guests would really understand his words, but you would. That is the only thing that matters. His heart is shattered into pieces as he places a ring down into the earth. A ring you was meant to wear. A ring he got long time ago because he was sure about it. Sure, about you.

"Yer lost mate.", Simon exhaled shocked while looking at the little box Johnny held out to him. "Why?" - "Ya know her for a month, went to yer first date like two ago and yer already got 'her a ring??" Johnny chuckled, his eyes lingering on the box. "I know she's the right one Lt. I just know." Simon only shook his head, but a soft smile was on his lips.

This was the moment all the people around him witnessed the second death of Johnny MacTavish. There was before you. A time Johnny can't remember at all. Because you changed it all for him. The time during your shared life was everything he ever wanted. Everything he never thought he could have. And somehow, he never thought there would be time after you but here you were. He always supposed he would leave way before you, but that wasn't the case. Here is he standing surrounded by people that love you, but nobody could understand what you meant to him. Nobody of them would understand the love he's holding for you. Nobody would understand that with your leaving you also took him with you.

[bbangsuns]

all the things we tried to forget | r.c

requested?: no, but it’s been over a year since i put anything out and decided i needed to start writing again. there will be a part two!

part 2

pairing?: rafe cameron x gn!pogue!reader

warnings: angst, mentions of rafe’s drug addiction, i think that’s it? i also tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible. there’s not a lot of dialogue either

a/n: english isn’t my first language so i’m sorry for any grammar mistakes or any issues with the way it’s written. i used bee as the nickname because it’s something my childhood best friend would call me, but you can change it to whatever you want!

word count: 1.2k

you couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment everything changed and started falling apart right in front of you. one moment, he’s your sweet, patient, and loving boyfriend, the one you fell in love with when you were 14 years old; the next, he’s temperamental and distant, constantly making up excuses as to why he can’t be with you. but the worst part? you knew exactly what he was doing, yet you stayed by his side and shook off every excuse with a small smile and a quiet ‘it’s okay baby, i love you. we can always reschedule.’

this situation was taking such a toll on you that you often spent the nights alone sobbing quietly to yourself in rafe’s room or at the château, venting to the pogues about everything that was haunting you—whether rafe still loved you, if he still wanted to be with you, if the relationship was worth it at this point. that last one was what hurt the most because you had been hopelessly in love with the boy for the last 5 years, and you couldn’t stand to lose him, but you also couldn’t stay in a relationship knowing he would inevitably choose drugs over you once again.

“bee, what happened? are you hurt?” jj and kie had asked you one day when you showed up to john b’s house in tears, not knowing where else to go or what to do. you had rushed over after a nasty fight with rafe, with him spewing some of the nastiest words that have ever been said to you.

— at the cameron household —

“god i wish you would leave me the fuck alone! do you know how annoying it is to have a girlfriend clinging to you like some fucking leech? do you know how embarrassing it is when kelce makes fun of me for it? no you don’t!” rafe had practically screamed in your face. his words didn’t end there, though.

“i wish i would’ve listened to kelce and topper’s suggestions of just fucking you and ditching you afterwards. at least that way i wouldn’t have to deal with someone being up my ass all the time and trying to control my decisions. or maybe, i should date one of the many little kooks that have given me their number.”

that last comment made you freeze, looking up at rafe with anger, hurt and disbelief written all over your face and in your eyes. he knew just how insecure you could be sometimes, especially because he was constantly criticized for dating a “dirty pogue”, causing other girls, especially kooks, to try and get him to leave you, to get with someone ‘better’ and prettier. all you could do was scoff at him and push him out of the way, rushing out of the cameron household and to your car, speeding off to the chateau knowing it’s the only place you could go to.

— with the pogues —

“bee? are you okay, bub?” sarah was now standing in front of you, her hands on your shoulders as she softly shook you to get you out of the memory of what happened just a few minutes before.

you shook your head vigorously, not knowing how to get the words out without your voice breaking the entire time. you walked into the house and sat on the pullout couch, your hands tugging at your hair harshly as you laid your head in them. kie quickly rushed over and wrapped her arms around your shoulder, shushing you and pulling your hands away from your head while pope grabbed some water and tissues for you. eventually, your breathing calmed down and the pressure from your chest lifted, allowing you to finally speak, albeit hoarsely.

“our relationship is completely falling apart and i don’t know how to stop it. he’s not the same boy i fell in love with” you had confessed so quietly that your best friends would’ve missed it if they weren’t listened so intently. you couldn’t look up at them, fearing that they’d have that look of pity that would send you into hysterics again, so you stared at your hands, playing with the ring on your thumb, the one that rafe had bought you for your birthday 2 years ago. staring at the ring, you wondered how things turned sour so suddenly, if there was a way to prevent the last few months from happening. maybe you weren’t good enough for him to confide in you, maybe he was tired of you and your nagging and decided that drugs were better comfort than you could ever provide, maybe—

you were pulled from your thoughts by john b sitting next to you and kie squeezing your hands, making you turn your attention to them. john b was the first to speak, his words shocking you lightly.

“look y/n, i know rafe isn’t the greatest person, especially when it comes to pogues. but with you, you’ve always been able to get through to him and make him realize what he’s doing is shitty. i know this isn’t exactly the same as picking a fight with jj or pope, so that may be why he hasn’t come to his senses yet. maybe you have to approach this situation a little more aggressively.”

kie nodded her head to john b’s words, adding her own thoughts at the end.

“you might have to provide an ultimatum to really get him to see how badly this has affected you: he either chooses you or the drugs.”

at her words, your heart dropped and you felt the pressure in your chest coming back ten times stronger. however, you pushed that to the side as best you could and swallowed harshly, knowing that they were right. you felt your lower lip trembling and your eyes filling with tears once again but you blinked quickly, not wanting to cry anymore.

“i know, i know it’s what i have to do. i’ve tried talking to him, telling him he can always open up to me about what happens between him and ward but he always blows up on me. god, you should’ve seen him right now at his house. it’s like a completely different person was in front of me.”

you’d always despised saying things like that, especially about rafe but it was the simple, ugly truth—he simply wasn’t the same and he desperately needed help.

“i think deep down, the rafe that you fell in love with is still in there. he might just need that big push to start showing him again, and hopefully this does that because if i’m being honest, i miss my brother too.” sarah whispered to you on your left side, making you smile sadly and lean into her, knowing that rafe’s behavior has taken a major toll on her as well. you spoke up again, your voice stronger this time.

you know what, you’re all right. i’m gonna talk to him tomorrow when he’s sober and hopefully more levelheaded. i can’t stay in a relationship where i’m just an afterthought, because no matter how much i love him, i will not allow myself to be hurt this way anymore.”

you were determined to get your old rafe back, but if he decided getting high and drunk was more important to him than you were, then you’d have no choice but to walk away from your relationship and him, despite the fact that it would absolutely kill you inside.

[codfanficedits]

Christmas - Part 3/4

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Summary: John during Christmas :)

Wordcount: 2307 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: A little bit hinting to NSFW, I think? A lot of fluff :)

A/N: I need me a man like this :(

You don’t really know how it had happened, but it just happened. Instead of two eggs, you used four, you know, so then the carton would be empty, John would be bringing home new eggs anyway. And all you had to do was add double flour, extra butter, and a whole lot of chocolate chips, and somehow you ended up with sixty-six cookies. Well, sixty-five, since you had to taste one. You triple check the recipe you used, and sure, after you’ve read the author’s life story, it says clearly that is a recipe for just fifteen cookies, and you’re still not sure how you ended up with sixty-five after doubling your ingredients.

You look at your countertops, it’s filled with baking sheets full of cookies. Which wouldn’t be such a hassle, if the cookies would be the only thing you had baked. On your right are countertops filled with chocolate cupcakes, topped off with a buttercream of vanilla and some chopped up walnuts, and to your left there were blueberry muffins with a cream cheese drizzle. Your eyes shift to the clock, knowing that John will be home soon, and you let out a sigh. Who would let a stressed out person who likes to bake loose in a kitchen anyway?

Your hand reaches for your phone and you look up the number for the homeless shelter not too far away. You and John had donated to them a few times before, and what would be a better use for all these sweets that you had baked?

The lady who answers the phone is a little weary at first, and you can’t blame her, how many people treat the homeless shelter as their personal dumpster, dropping off spoiled food, dropping off food laced with who knows what. She asks you to identify yourself when you drop the goods, and you have to sign a weaver. It all sounds fair to you. Just as you end the call, you can hear the front door slam close.

John

With a loud groan he enters the kitchen, his eyes lighting up when he sees all those bakes goods. Was that the reason your shopping list was so long?

"Sweet baby Jezus." He complains, setting the heavy bags down on the counter. “Is this just for me?” He teases as he reaches out to the cookies. “Hey!” He protests when you swat his hand away. His joyful attitude wiped away the peace and quiet you had yourself surrounded in.

Your eyes flickered between the cookies, and the cupcakes you had been baking. "Maybe I did go a little overboard." You giggled. "A little?" he chuckles as he catches sight of the mountain of baked goods. All of that looks like it had to have taken you ages to make! He has to wonder who could eat that many sweets. Maybe he could help you get rid of them.

His arms snake around your waist and he presses a kiss on your forehead. “What’s on your mind, love?” Your shoulders slump at his question. “Just a little stress.” You mumble at his question. John doesn’t buy it. “You’ve been baking enough to feed a whole army, something is bothering you.”

“Just a little nervous to see my mom again.” You mutter eventually, there would be no use in hiding this from him anyway. John chuckled softly at your words. “Is she nagging about grandkids again?”

“Mhm, while calling me fat in the same conversation.”

He kisses your forehead again, his lips lingering against your skin. “We’re not going.” You want to look up at him, but he keeps your face in place with his kiss. “What?” “I refuse to let you ruin your own Christmas because your mother can’t shut up. We’ve told her countless times that our decision on children is not up to her to intervene with.”

“Yeah but what if…” Your voice trails off, you know your mother wouldn’t take lightly to this news.

“I can talk to her.” John muses, as he looks at you. “You are the love of my life, I’ll be damned if I let your mother make you miserable, just because she refuses to go to therapy.”

You gave him a quick peck on his lips. "Thank you lovie." The idea of not seeing your mother for Christmas gave you some room to breathe, maybe a year without judgement would do you good.

His hands go to your waist again, squeezing you softly as he pulls you in closer. "You're welcome, love," he whispers softly. "You look really beautiful. More so than usual."

Your arms go around his neck, and you kiss him softly, a smile on his face when he looks at the baked goods again.

"I want to drop a few off at the homeless shelter." You whisper against his lips. "Want to help me?" You ask him.  "I'll let you eat a cupcake first."

"If I do help, am I allowed to sample one of your cupcakes beforehand?" he asks, a playful, mischievous glint in his eyes. While he jokes, he knows those cupcakes of you are to die for. Even having one before helping you deliver the rest would be enough to make this a grand day.

"Please? Just one?"

"How can I say no to you?" You chuckled softly. "I have chocolate ones, with a buttercream of vanilla and walnuts. Or blueberry with a cream cheese drizzle." You mentioned.

"Which one would you like, love?" You asked him, turning around to the cupcakes. He is completely torn over which one to choose, and the more he debates it, the harder it is for him to pick. "Do I pick the chocolate? Or the blueberry? Hmmmmmm..."

He glances back at you, unable to hide the adoration in his eyes. "You know what? I like surprises. Surprise me." And to really make you work for it, he kisses you again, stealing one last taste before it's time to choose.

Your eyes light up and you grin. "Close your eyes!" You order him. He closes his eyes as you say, eager to see if he can guess which is which without seeing.

You take a chocolate cupcake, the blueberry cupcake and your cinnamon sugar cookie.

You smile as he closes his eyes, and you can't help but kiss him. You place a small piece of the blueberry cupcake in his mouth. "Guess which one this is."

Once it's in his mouth, it's clear that it is most definitely the blueberry cupcake. There's no mistaking that flavour of blueberry and cream cheese.

"Blueberry," he answers confidently. And he opens his eyes to see you grinning triumphantly.

"Correct." You chuckled, before you placed a piece of her cinnamon sugar cookie between his lips. "Guess again!" You giggled before you pressed a kiss on his jawline. "If you guess all three right." You whispered in his ear. "I'll go on top tonight."

"Cinnamon sugar? It has to be that delicious cookie. But if I'm wrong, then I'll never hear the end of it." And he takes a bite, revelling at the sweetness of the dough. "This is absolutely incredible," he smiles.

At what you mention next, his eyes snap wide open. Not even a millisecond of hesitation passes by before an excited "YES!" crosses his lips. "Okay, the next one has to be chocolate. There's no way that's anything but chocolate."

You laugh at his enthusiasm. "There is only one flavour left and that is chocolate.” You chuckle, as you feed him the piece of chocolate cupcake. “So it seems I’ll put in the work tonight.”

"Let’s drop off these cookies and cupcakes at the homeless shelter. And when we get home, I'll show you why I should be on the nice list." You added with a soft chuckle.

"I can't wait," he whispers, leaning in for another kiss. "But first, I'll be a good boy for you."

"And I really can't emphasize how much I love you for making all of these for that shelter," he chuckles. "They deserve the best Christmas possible. And these, I can assure you, are the best." He gives you an affectionate squeeze, before grabbing your hand to head towards the door together.

"Being with you has made me realize how lucky I truly am." You smiled. "And I hope these cupcakes bring a little bit of hope to other too." You added, as you brought the cupcakes and cookies to the car. You took place in the passenger seat. "Drive carefully please." You pleaded.

"Yeah, lucky is definitely the word to describe it," he teases with a smirk. "I think it'll do more than that," he replies. He knows how big of an impact your delicious baking has had on him, and he has no doubt it will be equally as meaningful to them.

At your concern, he nods. "You know I'm not some speed racer, love," he chuckles, turning the car on and beginning your trip.

You pressed a kiss on his cheek before you puts your seatbelt on. "You're a delight." You chuckled softly. "I am so happy you were granted leave for the holidays, John."

"It has been a while since we celebrated Christmas together, and I'm looking forward to it." You add quietly.

The kiss warms his cheek, the sensation of your lips on him bringing an easy smile to his face. "You know I've missed you desperately, love," he whispers back, his attention turned to the road in front of him. "I've been counting the seconds until I had you back in my arms again. You'll never know how much I look forward to being with you on Christmas."

The smile on his face grows as the two of you ride along together. There's something heartwarming and magical about spending the season with the one you truly love.

Of course you had missed him too, more than he would ever know.

You get excited when you arrive at the shelter, and you get out of car, making sure to get to the person who you talked to on the phone. You bring them the cupcakes and cookies before, showing them your ID and signing the weaver. It doesn’t need to be bombastic, you don’t need the praise, you just want to do a little something for others.

"Let’s get back to home, love." You said, as you got in to the car again, before you pressed a kiss on his lips.

Seeing you get excited is always endearing. The way your eyes light up with joy never fails to captivate him. And your eagerness to help those in need is one of the many qualities he loves about you. He wraps an arm around your waist and gives you a comforting squeeze.

"Yes, yes. Let's go home. I can't wait to snuggle up with you again," he says with a smile. And he begins to drive home—where you both belong, where this Christmas season is meant to be spent.

You had missed him, you knew what you got yourself in to when you married a soldier, but it was hard at times. Having him home for Christmas really was a delight.

"I have a good Christmas present for you this year." You hummed content. "I'm really sure you'll like it." You watch the Christmas decorations when you pass the houses in the neighbourhood, and you adore it.

His curiosity is piqued. "I'll like it, you say?" he asks with a wry smile. "Why do I get the feeling you enjoy watching me squirm in anticipation?"

He doesn't mind the torture. In fact, he loves it. It makes the big reveal that much more special. "I have something for you, too, love," he says in turn. "I put quite a bit of thought into it." He winks as he turns the corner, heading towards the driveway.

Oh you love this, the anticipation, the giddy feeling it gives you. It had taken you a while, but you had managed to order his favourite cigars from Cuba. You had to keep it for yourself for so long now, and it made you feel like you could explode any moment.

"Come on!" You urged him as he parked the car. "I know it’s not Boxing Day yet, but i really want to give you your present."

He chuckles at the thought of your excitement.

"Alright, alright, you've won. We don't need to wait another day." With that, he helps you get out of the car. And now you both stand before the front door.

"Okay, love, you would need to wait a little more, I will have the stage first.” He smiles.

He is gentle as he drags you towards the tree. He had a whole day planned for this, but he can't wait any longer. So John goes down on one knee, holding your hand, a black velvet box in his other hand. "Would you do me the honour to renew our vows?"

The question catches you off guard, almost like a swift punch to the gut. Your mind, in the heat of the moment, flashes back through all the time you’ve spent together—all the beautiful memories you've made.

"John," you says softly, wrapping your arms around you in an embrace. "Of course I will."

With the words spoken, there's nothing he wants more than to feel your warm, loving embrace. You could be married a thousand more times, and it would never get old.

“I love you so much, and the time we have to spend apart only makes me realize it more." John whispered in to your ear. "And every day that's spent away from you is nothing but torture. I'm just glad I get to have you back this Christmas. I look forward to tonight and to the coming year."

[lemoncrushh]

Wild Horses - Six

Summary: Amber Crosby didn’t end up with the life she’d expected, but that didn’t keep her from following her dream. A young, up and coming country recording artist, she and her band set out to do just that. Trying to leave her past behind, it wasn’t until meeting Harry Styles that she realized just how her life could take a turn and alter her future forever.

A/N: Please note all portions in italics are meant to be flashbacks :).

Warnings: This chapter is very angsty. Some physical violence, heavy drinking and mention of teen sex in a flashback.

STORY PAGE

Chapter Six Word Count: 5.8k+

“I guess it’s gonna break me down, like falling when you try to fly…” - Carrie Underwood; Starts With Goodbye

“This is pretty, no?” asked Clare as she held up a blue turquoise necklace.

Amber and Harry’s keyboardist had been spending most of the morning wandering in and out of stores and boutiques, not so much as shopping as just looking and browsing, neither of them yet to have purchased anything.

“Ooh, that’s gorgeous,” agreed Amber. “I’m a sucker for turquoise.”

With a smile, Clare held it up next to Amber’s face. “Same color as your eyes.”

Amber couldn’t help but laugh. “Not quite.”

“But close.”

Reaching for the small price tag that hung from the necklace, Amber cringed when she saw the numbers that followed the dollar sign.

“Not quite in my price range, either,” she remarked with a frown.

Clare smiled as she replaced the necklace on the counter atop a chenille scarf. As Amber turned toward a rack of tops, she heard a tiny giggle.

“What do you think?” asked Clare.

Amber looked over her shoulder to see a bright yellow pair of cat-eye sunglasses framing Clare’s pretty face.

“Oh those are so you!” exclaimed Amber with a chuckle.

“I don’t know if they’re me,” Clare grinned as she removed the glasses from her eyes, “but I might get them anyway. Harry would probably like them.”

“Harry?” Amber raised a brow, joining her new friend beside the sunglasses display. “Really?”

“Yeah, he’s got a small collection going of...unusual glasses.”

Amber snorted. “Like Elton John?”

“Not that many,” Clare laughed. “Or that wild. But I think he’d like these.”

While Clare went to the register, Amber decided on a pair for herself, a little less extravagant than the yellow ones. She hoped they would help disguise some of the hangover she’d been trying to hide since she’d left the hotel. The pounding in her head had been nearly enough to call off the shopping trip, but she hadn’t wanted to disappoint Clare, so after a quick cup of black coffee, she’d met the chipper keyboardist in the lobby.

After paying for her glasses and putting them on, Amber couldn’t help but let out another giggle.

“What?” asked Clare.

“I was just picturing Harry wearing those glasses. And for some reason, it doesn’t seem that outlandish.”

“I know, right?”

“He’s got a good sense of humor,” Amber added as they left the store and headed down the sidewalk. “Plus, he doesn’t seem to give a shit what anyone thinks. I wish I could be like that.”

“Give it time,” Clare commented. “It tends to rub off on people.”

“You think?”

Clare nodded. “I know. And with you, it shouldn’t take too long. He seems quite fond of you already.”

Amber tried to hide her blushing as she smiled. “I’m fond of him too.”

“I can tell.”

Amber’s eyes widened. How much had she revealed?

“Um...sorry, what?” she stumbled. “I mean...what can you tell?”

“I just mean that you seem to care about him as a person, as a friend, not just that he’s Harry Styles. But I can also tell that you look up to him. You seek his approval.”

“Oh I do,” Amber muttered. “Very much.”

“It’s understandable.”

“He’s such a sweet guy,” Amber continued. “He seems to see something in me that...even I don’t see myself. I really want to be his friend and get to know him better, but I don’t wanna let him down either.”

Clare nodded again, pursing her lips. “I know. I would just keep in mind that he wants to be your friend too. And Harry’s a true blue friend, as they say. It’s really a wonder how trusting he is after all he’s been through. But if he lets you in, it’s a big deal and he thinks you’re special.”

Blinking, Amber stopped at the curb and looked at Clare.

“After all he’s been through?” Amber inquired. “You mean...with One Direction, or…”

“No, I mean with…” Clare paused. Then with a wave of her hand, she changed the subject. “Would you like to stop for lunch? I think there’s a cafe down that way.”

“Clare?”

Clearing her throat, Clare shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Does it have to do with an ex-girlfriend?” Amber asked softly.

“Maybe.”

With a sigh, Amber looked around them, as though someone might be listening.

“You don’t have to tell me, it’s none of my business. It’s not like I was really following his personal life anyway. I don’t even remember who he was dating.”

“Oh,” Clare mouthed with wide eyes. “Good!”

“Let’s go eat,” Amber smiled cheerily.

“Okay, yes!”

When they reached the door of the cafe, however, curiosity had gotten the better of Amber.

“So Harry was burned, huh?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

Harry was scrolling through his phone, a steaming cup of coffee at his lips when he heard a raucous. It was just after nine on his first day off so far on the tour. Seeing as the only other people staying on his floor were his and Amber’s band members, he was curious, if not a little concerned who’d made the noise. Setting down his cup and phone, he strode across the room and pulled open the door to his suite. He saw a shirtless Carter standing just outside his room, a service cart in front of him. He seemed to be struggling between the decision to push the cart inside his room, or leave it out in the hall.

“Hey mate, need some help?” asked Harry.

Carter raised his head, his clearly bloodshot eyes meeting Harry’s.

“Naw man,” he grumbled. “Just need some coffee.”

Picking up the scalding hot coffee pot with his bare hands, he nearly dropped it before cursing and setting it back down on the cart.

“I can see that,” muttered Harry with a set jaw. “Well, have a good day.”

“Where’s Amber?” Harry heard Carter call out before he shut the door.

“Sorry?”

“Amber. Have you seen her? She’s not in her room.”

“Um...I reckon she’s gone shopping today,” Harry replied. “With Clare.”

“Oh yeah,” Carter ran a hand through his greasy hair. “Forgot.”

“Right then.”

As Harry shut the door, he heard Carter curse again before his own door slammed shut. With a sigh, Harry leaned against the wall. He wondered for a second if Amber was in as rough of shape as Carter was in, but since she’d seemed to have gone on her shopping trip, he figured otherwise.

He also wondered if she’d stayed the night in Carter’s room.

With another sigh, Harry returned to his seat at the table to resume his breakfast. He refused to let that possibility conjure up an unwanted image in his mind.

Amber and Clare decided to browse a few more shops after lunch before heading back to the hotel. By then, Amber’s headache had faded, but she was ready for a much-needed nap. As she sat with Clare in the backseat of one of the cars Jeffrey had arranged for them, she was surprised once again by her new friend’s question.

“So how are things with you and your band?”

“Oh! Um...they’re great,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Well...it’s none of my business, I know,” said Clare. “I just seemed to notice something...a spark maybe...between you and your drummer?”

Clare said it as a question, the inflection rising at the end, possibly to keep it less accusatory. But it didn’t make Amber feel less embarrassed.

“Oh. Uh...Carter and I...we’re just friends.”

“Really? I mean, I’m just asking because when we arrived at the hotel last night, I noticed he had his arm around you. And that wasn’t the first time.”

Amber groaned. “Well, we...kind of have a past I guess. He doesn’t wanna let it go, but I do.”

“Oh no. I’m sorry.”

“It’s been hard to let it go though, since we’re in a band together and trying to make it,” Amber added. “And it’s like he...has some kind of control over me that I can’t escape.”

“That must really be difficult,” remarked Clare.

Amber turned to Clare then, suddenly feeling like she could confess things to her. Clare didn’t seem judgemental in the least, and Amber found that refreshing.

“I just don’t feel...those feelings towards him, you know? It’s probably completely contradictory to what it looks like, because I do care about him. He’s an amazing drummer, and when we’re on stage together the chemistry is there. But…” Amber sighed, running a hand through her hair, “I don’t think I want what he wants. And I definitely know he doesn’t want what I want.”

“And what is that?” asked Clare, her head tilted slightly as she looked at Amber.

“Real love,” she confessed, dropping her shoulders.

A soft smile spread across Clare’s features. “That’s what most of us want.”

The driver pulled up to the rear of the hotel then, and the two girls climbed out, heading for the elevators. Amber wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to even get up that morning, and the memory of the night before made her cringe as the elevator opened.

Keeping her eyes peeled, she said goodbye to Clare and walked down the opposite end of the hall toward her room. She was relieved not to see another pair of eyes before she shut her door behind her.

She hadn’t seen Harry very much since the night of his show in Wilmington. In fact, that night was mostly a blur. All she remembered was a lot of booze and a great performance by her band, followed by more booze and dancing. Somewhere around the end of Harry’s set, she’d found Carter’s arms around her, then his hands roaming to dangerous places, turning her on. After that, her memory was fuzzy. She was certain she’d followed Carter up to his room at some point, though she didn’t remember the details, only waking up next to his sweaty body as he snored and a pounding in her head.

She’d slept in the back of the van the next day while someone else drove, either Brendan or Johnny as she was certain Carter was in a worse state. When they’d arrived at their hotel, Amber was surprised to find that both bands were all staying on the same floor. Still drunk from the night before, she’d allowed Carter to carry her to her room. She hadn’t been aware at the time of any eyes on her, but after hearing that Clare had noticed, she worried Harry had as well.

After a sandwich and a few beers that she’d foolishly hoped would cure her hangover, she’d pushed Carter out of her room, insisting he sleep in his own bed since she had to get up early to meet Clare. She barely remembered Carter putting up a fight, telling her that he was sick of her game playing, but she was too tired to argue. She swore to him that she wasn’t playing games, she just needed sleep - alone - before closing the door in his face.

Gazing around her room now, she saw no remnants of the night before except for Carter’s jacket on the arm of the chair. Frowning, Amber pulled down her bed, got undressed and washed her face, prepared to sleep this time until sundown at least. Just as she was about to crawl in, a knock sounded at her door. She groaned, wishing she’d hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob, not that it would have stopped him.

“Who is it?” she called out.

“It’s me,” replied Carter.

“Um…hey, Carter, um…” she cleared her throat. “I’m not feeling so good, I’m about to take a nap.”

“Can you open the door?” Carter asked, oblivious to her comment.

“No, I’m not decent.”

She heard Carter chuckle which made her stomach turn sour. “So what? Lemme in, babe.”

“No, Carter, I’m serious,” Amber argued, trying to keep her tone soft. “I didn’t get enough sleep last night, and I feel...kinda sick. I’ll catch up with you later, alright? Maybe dinner?”

Carter let out a long sigh, and for a moment Amber thought he might have walked away without saying anything else.

“Fine,” she finally heard him mutter. “Lemme know when you’re up.”

“Okay!” she called back in a fake cheery voice.

Amber counted to ten before opening the door just a crack to make sure Carter had gone. Seeing that the hallway was empty, she sighed with relief, hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle, and climbed into bed.

Picking up her phone to check the time, she noticed she had a new text. She nearly gasped when she realized it was from Harry.

Hi Amber, I hope you enjoyed your shopping trip with Clare. She just gave me the glasses and said you helped pick them out, so I wanted to thank you. I was also wondering if you’d like to meet for drinks tonight, or perhaps dinner.

Biting her lip, Amber pondered Harry’s request. She felt bad for skipping out after his concert. She felt bad for a lot of things, actually. She was avoiding her drummer, but truthfully she was avoiding Harry too. She was ashamed. She had to smile at the image of him trying on the glasses, however, and wondered why Clare had said she’d helped pick them out. Probably just to be nice.

Hi Harry, she decided to text back. Glad you like the glasses. I’m actually about to go to sleep, I’m exhausted. I’m not sure what time I’ll be getting up, I’m not setting an alarm lol. I don’t want to make you late for dinner or anything, but we can get together later if you like.

Setting her phone aside and turning out the lamp, Amber heard a buzz immediately.

No worries. We’ll play it by ear. Have a good nap.

Amber was sitting on the steps with a book when she saw Faith’s truck pull into the gravel parking space next to her trailer. She wasn’t really in the mood to talk to Faith, but she wanted to tell somebody, and seeing as Faith was her only real friend, she’d waited outside for her to get home.

“Hey,” Faith greeted as she climbed out of the truck, her tone still bitter, letting Amber know she wasn’t over their little spat they’d had the last weekend.

“Hey,” Amber echoed, sliding the bookmark into her book and setting it aside. Then rising from the stoop, she walked over to her cousin. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Sucking in her cheek, Faith looked at Amber before shaking her head. “Forget it. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” argued Amber. “I said some mean things. And I apologize.”

“You were right, though,” said Faith. “I do act like I know everything. I don’t know Jack Shit. I just like to pretend like I do because it makes me feel better.”

“At least you can admit that,” Amber said with a smirk.

“C’mon,” gestured Faith. “I’ll pour us some sweet tea, and you can tell me all about it.”

Amber raised her brows. “About what?”

“Your date with what's-his-name. Didn’t you go out last night?”

“Yeah, but how did you know?”

Faith rolled her eyes as Amber followed her into the trailer’s small kitchen. “I live next door to you, doofus! I saw him drive up last night.”

“Oh. Well, yeah we had a...date,” Amber confirmed, the last word leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

“How’d it go?”

Amber was grateful that her cousin's back was to her as she poured the tea.

“Fine,” she said. “I did it. I mean...we did it.”

Twirling around and nearly spilling tea all over the counter, Faith’s jaw dropped. “What? Oh my God, you did?”

Her mouth a straight line, Amber nodded.

“Ambs! Holy shit, tell me every detail!” Faith pulled out the chair next to Amber at the table. “Was it amazing?”

“It was...okay,” admitted Amber. “Kinda hurt a little.”

“Oh yeah, it always hurts the first time,” said Faith. “Or...so I’ve been told.”

With a shrug, Amber took a sip of tea. It wasn’t like she had anything to go on either.

“So like, what happened exactly? Did he just come out and ask if you wanted to or…”

“Um...not exactly. We went to his house. After the movies.”

“Did you make out during the movie?” asked Faith, wide-eyed.

“No. We just...watched the movie.”

“Oh. What movie?”

“Does it matter?” Amber rolled her eyes.

“No, I guess not. Go on.”

“Um...so we did start kissing in the car, and Dallas asked if I wanted to go to his house. I said sure, it was still early. His mom was there and-”

“His mom was there?!” Faith shrieked. “Oh my God!”

“Yeah, she seemed kinda nice I guess. But they have a finished basement in their house, so we went down there and played video games for a while until…” Amber gave another shrug.

“Ugh, you’re leaving out the good part!” exclaimed Faith.

“There’s not much to it, Faith. We started kissing again, he put his hand up my shirt. Before I knew it, I was lying on the couch naked underneath him...and we did it.”

“With his mom upstairs?”

“She couldn’t hear us, Faith.”

“But what if she’d walked in!” Faith gasped.

“I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t thinking about that.”

Blinking, Faith glared at her cousin. “So...how do you feel?”

“Huh?”

“Like...do you feel different?”

Amber chuckled. “No.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I’m not saying it wasn’t a big deal. I’m not a virgin anymore, so that is a big deal. It’s just...I guess we’re made to believe your first time is supposed to be this amazing thing, but it wasn’t.”

“Bummer,” Faith frowned. “Maybe the amazing part is supposed to come later when you have an orgasm.”

Amber laughed again. “I guess so.”

“He came though, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Lucky bastard.”

Amber blinked and rubbed her eyes. Her throat felt dry, her tongue like sandpaper. Reaching across the nightstand, he grabbed her phone. It was already half past seven. Astonished that she’d slept so long, she turned on the lamp and made her way to the bathroom, stopping for a glass of water. She felt bad that she might have kept Harry waiting, while also relieved that Carter hadn’t bothered her once during her nap, not even with a text.

Harry, she texted, I’m so sorry, I just woke up. Did you still want to meet?

Dropping her phone on the bed, she unzipped her suitcase for a change of clothes. She’d just stepped into her jeans when her phone buzzed again.

How was your nap?

Blushing, Amber sat on her bed.

Divine!

Good :). I’m actually having dinner with Jeffrey. We’re across the street. You’re welcome to join us.

Oh no, that’s fine. I think I might just order a burger from room service.

Alright then. Drinks later?

Amber’s mouth watered at the prospect of a drink. She knew she shouldn’t. So far it had only led to trouble. But...this was with Harry, not Carter. And she missed his company.

Sounds great.

Meet you in the bar at 9.

See you then!

Just as she was about to put her phone down again, another text came through, but not from Harry.

Are you awake yet? texted Carter.

With a sigh, she replied, as she promised she would.

Yeah, just woke up. I’m starved. About to order a burger.

Awesome, order me one too?

Rolling her eyes, she scolded herself for being too agreeable. But she knew what the alternative outcome would be.

Ok.

Carter wasted no time and was at Amber’s door by the time she finished ordering the food. Hesitantly, she let him in her room, eyeing the ice bucket under his arm as he made a beeline for her mini bar.

“What sounds good, babe?” he asked. “Jack or Stoli’s?”

“Neither,” Amber replied. “Just a Coke.”

“For real?”

“Yeah,” she mimicked in a dumb sounding voice. “For real.”

“What’s with you?” asked Carter as he opened a tiny bottle of whiskey and poured it over ice.

Breathing through her nose, Amber crossed her arms as she watched Carter sit down at the small table in the corner. “Nothing. I just had like a four hour nap. I need food.”

“Aw, baby’s grumpy,” Carter mocked.

“Shut up,” Amber scoffed.

With a laugh that sometimes made Amber weak, but this time only made her scowl harder, Carter beckoned her. “C’mere.”

“I’m fine right here, thanks.”

Carter rolled his eyes and took a sip from his glass. “So d’you buy anything?”

“What?”

“On your little shopping trip.”

“Oh. Yeah, I bought some sunglasses,” said Amber.

“That’s it? I thought it was supposed to be some big fun shopping day.”

“You don’t have to buy a lot for it to be fun, Carter.”

With a scoff, he lifted his glass. “Whatever.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Coulda had a lot more fun with me,” he winked, giving a sly grin.

“God, is that all you think about?” Amber dropped her arms, letting her hands slap against her thighs.

“Well what do you expect, babe?” asked Carter as he leaned forward. “The other night was fucking amazing. Don’t think you’ve ever made me come so hard. And right now...just looking at your ass in those jeans…”

Amber watched him lick his lips, and for a second she felt her resistance start to crumble. She was saved by the bell, however, or rather, a knock at the door. The intoxicating aroma filled the room as soon as the cart was pushed inside and the plate covers lifted.

“Enjoy,” the man smiled and left before Amber could even say thank you.

“Hell yes!” shouted Carter, grabbing his plate first and bringing it to the table.

Opening a can of Coke, Amber made sure all the things she liked on a burger were there before picking up her plate.

“Oh babe,” mumbled Carter with a mouthful of food. “Bring the ketchup!”

Rolling her eyes, Amber set down her plate and soda before reaching for the assortment of condiments.

“Who the fuck puts this on a burger?” asked Carter, holding up the horseradish.

Amber shrugged. “Some people.”

“Yeah, but who?”

Ignoring his question, Amber bit into her burger, letting the juices run down the sides of her mouth before dabbing it with a napkin. Somehow, it tasted like her first meal in days. It was so good, she didn’t even mind it when Carter picked up the TV remote to turn it on. At least then, maybe he’d stop making stupid comments.

Amber ate her burger and fries in silence while Carter watched an episode of some show she’d never seen before. When they’d finished their meals, she took the plates back to the tray and pushed it out into the hall.

“Thanks babe,” smiled Carter when she returned.

“For what?”

“For ordering the burger.”

“You told me to,” Amber said flatly.

“Yeah, well still. Thanks.”

Shaking her head, Amber sat on the bed. At least he’d thanked her. That was more than he’d done in a while. Picking up her phone, she noticed it was barely eight-thirty. Not time to meet Harry yet. She looked over at Carter who was still nursing his whiskey, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d planned to open another bottle.

Trying not to rock the boat worse, Amber made a trip to the bathroom to freshen up, hoping she could come up with an excuse as to why she had to leave, or more, why Carter had to leave. Coming up with nothing other than the truth, she returned to the bedroom, prepared to bend that truth just a bit.

“What are you doing?” asked Carter, noticing her grabbing her purse and room key.

“I’m supposed to meet Harry,” she said honestly.

“Harry? What for?”

“Don’t know exactly,” she shrugged. “He wanted to talk to me about something. I think he said something about the venue…”

“The venue,” Carter mused. “Hmm, well, I go with you.”

“No, it’s fine,” she waved her hand. “I’ll just see what he wants and I’ll let you know. Why don’t you go find the guys?”

“What the fuck, Amber?” spat Carter, rising from the table.

“What?”

“Is something going on I should know about?” Carter walked around the table, his hands on his hips.

“No. I’m just going to meet Harry. He texted me.”

“Just now? Is that why you got lipstick on?”

“No. He texted me before you got here,” she admitted a little too quickly, worried lying might have been a better response.

Stepping closer, Carter hovered over her. “What kind of hold has he got on you?”

“Excuse me?”

His eyes narrowing, Carter scoffed. “I knew you liked him.”

“And you’re jealous.” Amber hadn’t meant to say it, but the words blurted out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Glaring at her for a moment that felt like eons, Carter shook his head before anger grew on his face and he lurched forward, grabbing her arm.

“Ow!” Amber cried. “Let go of me!”

“Take it back,” he growled.

“What?”

“Take it back, you bitch!”

“Please let go of me, Carter,” Amber whimpered, suddenly afraid.

Twisting her arm, Carter let his power and strength force her to the bed. Pinning her down, he cursed in her ear.

“You fucking slut! I knew you were playing games. I give you my bed, but you want someone else’s.”

“Please...you’re hurting me!” cried Amber.

“Oh, you’ll be doing a lot more pleading and begging by the time I’m finished with you. Do you hear me?”

Amber sobbed, praying whatever Carter had planned would be over soon. She was surprised when she felt his weight lift off of her and he rose from the bed.

“I’ve done all I know to make you believe we belong together, but you just wanna make me look like a fucking fool. This is your final warning, Amber.”

Her entire body continued to tremble long after she heard the click of the door.

Harry sat at the bar, checking his phone every minute or two. Amber hadn’t shown yet, and it was already twelve after. Deciding to call instead of text, he let it ring until it went to voicemail. Considering that she might have been in the loo, he waited a bit before trying again. When she answered, his heart jumped.

“Amber, love, I’m at the bar, where are you?” asked Harry, his tone concerned.

“Sorry, Harry,” she replied, clearing her throat. “I lost track of time. I’ll be right down.”

“You sure? We could do it some other time.”

“No, I’m sure. Be there in just a few.”

Amber disconnected the call before he could reply, but Harry set his phone down in front of him and took another sip of tequila. He pretended to watch the football game on the large screen behind the bar, although he hadn’t even bothered to pay attention to which teams were playing.

“Sorry I’m late,” he heard a sweet voice say during a commercial.

“Hey,” he grinned when she took the stool next to him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just…” she rolled her eyes, “stupid stuff.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Harry raised a brow.

“Yeah,” Amber beamed. “Buy me a drink.”

Harry laughed, happy to oblige. “What’ll ya have?”

“I’ll take one of those,” she pointed to Harry’s nearly empty glass of tequila, then shook her head. “No, actually, gimme two shots of 1800 and a margarita on the rocks, no salt.”

Harry stared at Amber, surprised at her bold choice, but figured something must have been bothering her, and she needed to unwind. When the bartender placed the two tequila shots in front of her, Harry watched her throw them back like it was water, gently sucking on a lime wedge after she’d swallowed them both.

“Feel alright?” Harry couldn’t help but smirk, liking the way her lips looked around the lime.

“Mmm,” Amber nodded, her eyelids already heavy as she popped the lime from her mouth and bit her lip. “So good.”

After the bartender mixed Amber’s cocktail, Harry gestured to a booth in the back of the bar that was a little more private and offered more room.

“So you had a nice time with Clare today?” asked Harry when they’d slid into the booth.

“Yeah…” Amber nodded. “Wow, that was today? It’s funny how sleep breaks up your pattern and you feel like it’s the next day.”

Harry chuckled, “I know what you mean.”

Harry's eyes locked with Amber’s and he swore she was trying to silently tell him something. Then she blinked and lifted her glass.

“But yeah, Clare’s really nice. I like her a lot.”

“I’m glad,” Harry smiled.

Resting her glass back down on the table, Amber turned towards Harry. “So, what did you do today?”

“Oh, besides have dinner with Jeffrey...I worked out, read for a bit, checked my emails, took a nap,” he chuckled, making Amber smile. “Talked to my mum.”

“Oh, that’s nice! How is she?”

“She’s wonderful,” Harry beamed.

“Of course she is, she has you for a son,” Amber remarked.

Feeling himself blush ever so slightly, Harry found himself sharing family stories with Amber, telling her about some of his favorite childhood memories and the craziness after his now widely-known X-Factor audition.

Soon enough, their drinks were in need of a refill. As Amber sipped on her second margarita, Harry wondered how much she’d already had to drink before she’d arrived. He knew it was none of his business, and he’d obviously seen her in her element while intoxicated and she’d pulled it off beautifully. But the look in her eyes when she’d greeted him at the bar was not one of someone completely sober, he was certain.

Once, she excused herself to the ladies room and when she returned, her face was flushed, her pretty cheeks a rosy pink. Sliding into the booth beside him, she shrugged off her sweater, complaining she was warm. That was when he noticed the bruise.

“Bloody hell, what happened?” he inquired, his accent stronger now that he was buzzed as well.

“Oh!” Amber gasped, trying to quickly cover the bruise on her arm with her hand. “It’s nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing.”

Amber sighed. “I’m so dumb. When I got up to pee this morning, I didn’t turn on the light, and I ran into the wall.”

“Shit, love, you could have really hurt yourself!”

“I’ll be alright,” Amber gave a soft, reassuring smile, but Harry wasn’t sure he was convinced.

Changing the subject, Amber asked what book Harry was reading which led to a lovely conversation about their favorite books. Harry promised he would check out Amber’s choices, and he meant it, not just because the look on her face as she described them was enchanting...but that was part of it.

“I have to say, Harry,” Amber said low, a slight slur to her speech but sexy at the same time, “it’s so refreshing to talk to a man who reads actual books. Not just Playboy or some other girly magazine, or something to do with video games.”

Harry threw his head back laughing. “Well thank you...I think.”

Amber reached out her hand and patted the back of his on the table. “It’s alright if you like those, too. I won’t hold it against you. But just so you know…”

“I got you,” he smirked.

Harry stared at Amber. She was sitting so close to him, her blue eyes sparkling so brightly despite her heavy eyelids that it almost scared him. God, she was pretty. Her plump lips looked so inviting, he found himself licking his own in anticipation. Amber seemed to notice, taking it as a cue to move closer. Placing her hand on his denim thigh, her face nearly touched his.

“Well…” she whispered, almost like a question. She raised an eyebrow and Harry felt the electricity pulse through his veins.

“Well, what?” he asked.

Amber’s lips curved up into a small smile, one that had she not been so close, Harry might not have recognized.

“Are you gonna kiss me, or not?” she asked.

Swallowing hard, Harry continued to stare at her lips. He wanted to. God, he wanted to so badly. But...she wasn’t in the right state of mind. And if he was going to kiss her, he wanted to do it when she knew that was what she wanted too.

“Maybe some other time,” he replied.

Amber’s face fell immediately, and for a second Harry regretted his words. He didn’t want to reject her, but he had to. At least this time.

“Oh,” she mouthed, sitting back. Grabbing her purse and sweater, she started to slide out of the booth. “I should go.”

“Don’t,” Harry insisted, reaching out his arm, but she’d already risen.

“Yeah,” she nodded, her eyes glassy. “I’m so embarrassed. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Don’t be, love, c’mere.” Harry slid out of the booth and ran to her, catching up with her at the bar entrance. “I’m sorry, Amber. I really am.”

“Forget it. I made a fool of myself.”

Harry could tell she was already crying, so he pulled her into a hug.

“Shh,” he cooed. “No you didn’t.”

Amber’s shoulders shook as she tried to control her tears against Harry’s chest.

“C’mon,” whispered Harry. “I’ll take you upstairs.”

They made it up to their floor by the time Amber had stopped crying. His arm still around her, Harry stepped off the lift with her and walked her to her door. As she fumbled trying to find her key in her purse, Harry heard a voice behind them.

“What the fuck is this?”

Harry felt Amber freeze as he turned his head to see Carter.

“Hey mate,” he said. “Amber here has had a little too much to drink, so she’s gonna try to sleep it off.”

“With you?” Carter accused.

“Um...no...I’m just helping her to her room.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m sorry, do you have a problem?” Harry turned around. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get into a brawl with Amber’s drummer, but he was really starting to get on his nerves.

Just then, Harry heard the click of the lock and turned to see Amber was already inside her room, the door shut.

“You alright, Amber?” Harry called through the door frame.

“Yes. Goodnight, Harry. Thank you.”

Turning back to face Carter who still had a scowl on his face, his arms crossed, Harry held out his own arms and shrugged.

“Seems she’s okay now. You can go back to...whatever it was you were doing.”

His jaw tight, Carter sauntered off down the hall until he disappeared inside his room. Narrowing his eyes, Harry wondered if there was more to Carter than just what he considered his own disdain. With a sigh, he turned and faced Amber’s room once more.

“Goodnight, love,” he said softly, knowing she hadn’t heard him.

tagging: @freedomfireflies, @daphnesutton

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: R.E. Seraphin

Whether kicking out raucous, throaty garage jams with Impediments a decade ago, or exploring power-poppier terrain with Talkies and more recently under his own initials, Ray Seraphin tells his stories in the radiance just above the fuzz. Sung low and hoarse, his lyrics blink in and out of reality, propelled by the instruments’ lively buzz and echo. Ruptured by an explosive guitar lead here or punctuated by a tidy, melodic bass riff there, this music doesn’t sit still. It’s familiar but captivating, a potent rock and roll fusion of lo-fi attitude and sweeping hit-record moves. Alex Johnson called his latest release, Fool’s Mate, “dynamic and buoyant… a bright, powerful album with lurid desperation creeping in from the edges.”

Here are 10 of Seraphin’s formative records, books, and movies:

Outrageous Cherry — Out There in the Dark

When I was 17, my bandmate’s partner loaned this CD to me and I held onto it for a number of years before she was able to pry it back. I loved the pairing of Matthew Smith’s arch wordplay and Larry Ray’s mercurial guitar work. They are one of the classic vocalist-guitarist duos to me — up there with Bowie-Ronson, Ferry-Manzanera, Rollins-Ginn. All of their albums are great. Not to sound trite but they really should be better known!

Ralph Bakshi — Wizards

When I was fired from my first job at Arinell’s Pizza, the manager gave me a 1/2 pint of Ancient Age, a CD copy of Butthole Surfers’ Independent Worm Saloon, and a VHS copy of Wizards as my severance package. He proceeded to drink the whiskey with me (at 9am) but, mercifully, stopped short of insisting we watch Wizards together. The film is lifted into classic status by Bakshi’s signature crude and wild animation style despite a fairly ho-hum future-fantasy plot. Still visually arresting.

John Barth — The End of the Road

I was an English literature major in college and, because I fancied myself a Serious Person, I read a lot of books I didn’t understand in my extracurricular time. I’ve read a few of John Barth’s more celebrated, metaphysical works but this early, "realistic" story is the one that stuck with me. There’s a bleakness and ugliness to the book that feels really transgressive — albeit not in an edgy, cornball way. Plus, as someone who probably suffers from some form of executive dysfunction, I somewhat relate to the protagonist Jake’s crisis of self.

The Real Kids — Outta Place

Over the years, my music has largely been referred to as power pop. I chafe against the term a little bit but can't say I’m entirely allergic to it. The Real Kids likely represent my first real interest in the genre. Their self-titled album is their best, most complete work; however, I more frequently listen to their New Rose-era.

Flamin’ Groovies — “Whiskey Woman”

Growing up, the Flamin’ Groovies were the consummate rock group. They represented band-ness to me in a way few others did. In my mind, it’s The Replacements, NRBQ, The Faces, maybe Cheap Trick, and the Flamin’ Groovies. Their early records have this cartoonish, shambolic post-Stones vibe I love — the Roy Loney effect. That said, I was drawn to this somewhat atypical ballad sung by their guitarist, Cyril Jordan. I think this is the song that made me realize you could end a song with something other than a double chorus.

Tommy James — “Ball and Chain”

My record collection did and does consist almost entirely of dollar bin records. I bought this record on a whim at a garage sale and became enamored of James’ weird, Christian bubblegum world. The fuzz guitar (maybe played by Tommy himself?) on this song is absolutely psychotic. Big fan.

Kirsty MacColl — “They Don't Know”

I discovered Stiff Records through a CD box set my mom owned. Initially, I was lured by the rockin’ entries in their catalog: Nick Lowe, Wreckless Eric, Larry Wallis, The Damned, et al. I also adored Rachel Sweet and Kirsty MacColl, though. A perfect song that contains the most affecting use of the word "baby" in the history of pop music.

Thee Headcoatees — Girlsville

I vaguely remember being stoned at a friend’s house when I was 16 and getting introduced to this Headcoatees album. I nicked a riff for one of my first songs, "Pig Out," which I licensed to a vegan pork rind company 10 years later. To this day, I don’t know what song I ripped off and it may not have even been by Thee Headcoatees. But Thee Headcoatees are cool, so here you go!

Flannery O’Connor — Wise Blood

I attribute my interest in American fiction writing to Flannery O’Connor. The atmosphere in her stories is so suffocating and anxiety-inducing — in a good way. I think reading this was the first time I understood the emotional impact great writing can have. I have a slight preference for her short stories now but, keeping in the spirit of this list, Wise Blood was my first, most enduring exposure to her work.

Zero Boys — Vicious Circle

I grew up in Berkeley, home of the Gilman St. Project, and I think a lot of my peers in high school expected me to be into hardcore. The Zero Boys are probably the one the clicked with me the most. They were melodic and seemed still tethered to rock n’ roll. Could be because they cited The Dictators as an influence. I was wearing a Vicious Circle t-shirt the first time I was dumped but I don't hold that against them.

[gooseghoul]

ty ty @i-hate-zucchini for the tag!!

about me

NICKNAME: filch

SIGN: gemini

HEIGHT: 5'5.5"

LAST GOOGLE SEARCH: "raccoons". just wanted to look at their dumb little sweet faces

SONG STUCK IN YOUR HEAD: dance macabre - ghost

FOLLOWERS: 1362 but i have yet to do my daily/weekly bot cull

LUCKY NUMBER: 17

SLEEP: i am an old man. if i could be i'd be in bed my 9pm and alseep by 9.03pm. accidentally tricked myself into being a morning person, can no longer stay up all night. i wake up around 7am most days.

DREAM JOB: i would love to work with animals (preferably cats), or in a museum/gallery/archive. alternatively if no such thing as a fish/qi is looking for a researcher hmu, bc i enjoy deep diving into nonsense.

WEARING: a ghost shirt and a pair of really really old blue skinnies that i only keep for when i'm running out of clothes.

FAVORITE SONGS: bible - ghost, ash wednesday - elvis perkins, gold - mauwe, figure it out - blu detiger, say so - doja cat

FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: bass ^^ but also drums r fun

AESTHETIC: lockdown comfort still has its grip on me. retired emo kid who made it thru uni. crop tops, loose fitting jeans/trousers/joggies. i dont do my makeup much anymore, but when i do it is no shit inspired by the elves in the santa clause bc they have some legit glitter highlight.

FAVORITE AUTHOR: dont really have one at the moment. some all time favourite books are the vegetarian: han kang, more than this: patrick ness, stoner: john williams

FAVORITE COLOR: pink

FAVORITE ANIMAL SOUNDS: meow meow meow meow

LAST SONG: streets - doja cat

LAST SERIES: uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh i think???????? wednesday?? maybe?? oh shit oh wait: avatar the last airbender. i really dont watch much tv bc nothing seems interesting. but i'm enjoying avatar.

RANDOM: i like watching videos about planes, bc they r neat. fucking love planes.

tagging folk in a while once i've woken up

[cryptixani]

[JDVN] No Visits After Ten

-

absolute non-proofread brainrot, hope you freaks enjoy <3

pairing: john doe x gn! reader

warnings: nsfw, dick pics, john doe learning how to work a phone

when you first convinced john doe to get a phone, it was mainly to help him combat his seperation anxiety, especially while you were at work. while it was sweet that he wanted to have you within reach every second of every day, it was also tiring and not very practical in terms of productivity.

doe was a little hesitant with the device at first. as curious as he was about the human contraption, he couldn't fathom how it could possibly enable him to have the means to contact you wherever, whenever. so you explained.

"your phone has it's own unique number, and mine does too. and i can save your number to my phone, and vice versa. then, when you type out a message, or hit the call button, it'll contact my number and i'll see it and be able to respond, no matter where i am."

it was a very basic way of explaining things, but doe seemed to just about grasp it, and you let him try it out and play around with it. he'd spam you with messages from the living room while you were in the kitchen making dinner.

hi

hello

hello

hello

hello

i love you

i love you

i love you

you glance down at your sceen and sigh, quickly typing out a response to send back to him.

i love you too, doe.

you heard an elated giggle come from the living room a few moments later, and doe ran into the kitchen to hug you.

"my love, look at this! i got your message back so so so quickly, isn't that neat?! you typed this out with your own cute little fingers and sent it especially to me and now it's on my device and i can look at it whenever i want for the rest of time-"

"yes, doe, but please let go, dinner's about to burn-"

-

doe actually got fairly used to working a smartphone pretty quickly, you realized. it did kind of ease his seperation anxiety when you were at work, but you were also spammed with messages practically every five minutes. and when he learned that he could send you photographs he took? you didn't even want to count the amount of blurry photos of pigeons you received, second only to photos of your own home.

one night, when you were alone in bed, up way too late and scrolling through your socials, you got another message from doe. he hadn't messaged you in a couple hours now, so you had assumed he was asleep in his own bed, though now you had reason to believe otherwise.

can't sleep.

you frown, wondering what could be keeping your eldritch boyfriend up.

any reason why? you replied.

his response came in a couple seconds. doe was an abnormally fast typer, just like how he was an abnormally fast talker.

thinking about you, my love. you're so pretty.

you raise a brow, staring at your screen. you're unsure how to reply. sure, doe compliments you a lot, but this particular situation has never happened before. he's never been unable to sleep thinking about you, at least he's never told you so much. you're about to type out a response when he send you another message.

i love you so much. i wish i had visited you today. i miss you.

you blink. visited, as in broken into your house. you were starting to mind less and less but it was technically still breaking and entering. still, while it was hard to get him to break that habit of his, you were glad he was following your rule of 'no visits past 10pm', after the Window Incident.

you manage to type your response, hitting send.

i love you too, doe. we'll see each other again tomorrow, don't worry. go to sleep now <3

can't.

his quick, brief reply makes you more confused. you stare at your screen, face illuminated blue within your dark room. you wait for him to elaborate. instead, he sends you a photo. your eyes widen, face growing hot. a photo of his hard, flushed cock covers your screen. precum leaks from the tip. doe's hand rests atop his mess of dark pubes, holding the base, sharp black nails lightly digging into the skin.

you feel your heart quicken a little, a shift of warmth in your abdomen. you can't take your eyes off your phone screen. where did doe learn about sending nudes? your mouth is watering and your mind is racing, and it hits you that you're yet to reply.

oh.

it was the first response that came to your mind, though now that you've sent it, you're afraid it might give him the wrong idea, that you don't appreciate the photo, because you very much do-

another photo is sent to the chat, the same image, but no- you realize the little white triangle in the center and the timestamp in the bottom corner mark this as a video, doe can send videos now? you don't give yourself time to process this information before you hit play.

you're practically entranced at the sight of his shaking hand pumping his leaking cock, trying to keep a slow pace at first, but it doesn't take long to devolve into desperate and fast. his hips buck up in time, and when you turn your volume up a little you realize you can hear him panting and whining and moaning behind the shaking camera. your name is repeated multiple times, and then doe groans and squirms and mumbles "please please please please-" just before he cums. you're staring at his wildly bucking hips, having never been this desperate to feel him against you as you are now, the warmth in the pit of your stomach almost uncomfortable now. the video ends and you're left in silence, though the sound of your keyboard follows shortly after. you type your response, send it, and put your phone away to shove a hand under your pajama pants, knowing that soon enough, it wouldn't be your own.

doe stares at the message you had just sent him, wide eyes with pupils so expanded they leave only a thin ring of yellowish white. he didn't even reply, dropping his phone on his bed, screen still on while he rushed to get some clothes back on.

i'm making an exception to the no visits after 10 rule.

[mr-m-murdock]

i just saw your most recent reblog and the tags. pleaseee do m!reader i would die. well written m!reader fics are way too sparse in number! idc what it is but this is me (a desperate male) asking - :)

no one compares to you

| natasha x m!reader | part two

warnings: none

a/n: i wanna be her bf and give her everything she wants

"You look incredible." The words are out of your mouth before they've even reached the forefront of your mind.

Thankfully, Natasha smiles at you: not the blinding, graceful blessing she saves for the cameras. No, this is a grin, hidden half behind her glass. "I know," she says. "Tony knows how to pick a color." And a cut, you think, and thankfully this time your thoughts don’t get ahead of you. Her dress is royal blue, the neckline daring and the decoration tastefully extravagant. Her hair is curled and swept and pinned to one side, leaving half her throat bare and white under the brilliant lights.

You look at your feet.

“Not too bad yourself,” she says, and your head snaps up. “You pull off that suit much better than the hundred and one other men wearing the exact same thing.”

“Shut up,” you say, a smile latching careful beginnings on your face. You tug your left sleeve sharply down and her eyes follow your movement. Her glass is nearly empty. “Refill?”

She looks at her glass. “Oh. Yes, please.” She holds it out between delicate fingers and you take it dutifully, already moving off even before your eyes have found the bar.

Tony made it an open bar: you’d say he was an idiot for it, but you guess even the combined efforts of a dozen or so superheroes on the alcohol supply wouldn’t make even the smallest of dents in his fortune.

As the bartender takes your glass for a refill, you feel someone step up beside you.

“Glass of red when you’re done,” they say: deep voice, cracking hard on the low consonants. Grainy and almost unpleasant. You turn to look and find a man with a face that matches his voice: thin and sallow and pale and observing you with great interest. “Hello.” He holds out his hand to shake and you take it cautiously. “John Vermont,” he says, and you drop his hand almost instantly.

John Vermont, the journalist who’s recently made a name for himself digging up things about Tony, and where Rhodes was born, and what Steve’s mother did for a living and generally being quite spiteful about what he manages to find. You’ve never met him face to face, and never wanted to. You’re not really in the mood to be one of his next targets, although with how waterproof your identity is, you’d truly be suprised (and grudgingly impressed) if he ever did find anything worth writing about.

You introduce yourself coldly and his eyes gleam. 

“Pleasure,” he says, his voice dripping with something belying rudeness. “Another of Miss Romanoff’s handlers, are you? Or perhaps the latest...date for the evening?”

So he’s after Natasha. You can’t help the way your shoulders tighten, but you can disguise it by reaching for the glass the bartender hands you. Vermont watches your arm move at the shoulder interestedly.

You know what he’s implying.

“No,” you reply stiffly. “And no.” 

And before you can come up with a cutting rebuke, from somewhere over your shoulder - “He’s actually my boyfriend.” An arm slips through yours, pale and edged at the shoulder with that damn royal blue dress. You blink hard at the glass in your hand, registering the words very slowly. A flush begins to form at your ears and you pass Natasha her glass whilst directing Vermont a cold smile. Her fingers pass over yours.

Your ears are ringing. You vaguely register Natasha giving Vermont a few sweet, carefully chosen words. Oh, God, you have to pull yourself together. She looks over at you, and she’s chosen a pretty smile showing white teeth and a position that makes the extent of that neckline very visible to you. To save your eyes from wandering and perhaps your throat from subsequently being slit, you look back up at Vermont, who is eyeing the pair of you with great interest in his slate eyes, once again. You see his fingers itching for his pocket.

“...so if you don’t mind, we’d like to go and dance,” Natasha is saying, and she squeezes your elbow. You take the hint and wheel around, then dive into the crowd with Natasha clinging to your arm. You can feel Vermont’s eyes hot on the back of your head as the dancers close in around you. “Slow down!” Natasha insists, hiking her dress up and stumbling after you. “I’m wearing seven inch fucking heels, for Christ’s sake.”

“So that’s why I can finally look you in the eye - sorry, the forehead,” you say, earning yourself a slap on the arm. It stings. “Ouch.” You slow as a couple whirls past you, and Natasha steps on the back of your shoe. She circles you and positions herself in front of you, hands held up. Her glass has disappeared somewhere along the journey into the crowd. “Um,” you say. You squint at her.

Natasha rolls her eyes monstrously. “We’re dancing, Мудак.” She settles her arms over your shoulders, links them around the back of your neck, and looks you seriously in the eye. “Now dance. You can dance, can’t you?”

“You’re being mean,” you complain. Your hands settle uncertainly on her waist. She tilts her head.

“You like it when I’m mean.”

You lead her into a box waltz and she raises a perfect arc of an eyebrow at you. “Don’t be mean,” you insist.

“You’re the only one who’s got the balls to come back with something,” Natasha replies. She steps purposefully on your foot.

“I just had those shoes polished.” She’s warm under your hands, but not so warm as the back of your neck is, not so warm as your chest as your heart throws itself desperately against your ribs with a panicked, fast beat.

You need to calm the hell down. You’re only touching her. Holding her. Holding her by the waist and waltzing her in slow circles as her eyes follow the room lazily and her fingers play with the back of your collar. You’ve seen Tony dance with her hundreds of times, the two of them touching each other naturally, and you know that’s never meant anything because Tony’s gayer than the day is long and-

Natasha sighs as the music changes and shifts against you, looping her arms further around your neck and pressing her chin into your shoulder. “Your heart’s going very fast,” she notes casually, and you almost grind to a halt and run right there and then. You don’t, because you’re not stupid and not a coward and you’d never be able to face her again if you did. You let a few steps pass before you reply, your voice low and easy.

“Vermont’s got a face like a mad rat. It’s the adrenaline: I keep thinking he’s gonna spring up on us.”

She laughs against your ear - why?? Is she trying to kill you? You almost miss a step. “God, this is dull.”

Your heart droops like a wilting puppy. “Sorry to bore you,” you say, careful to keep the acid from your voice.

“Oh, you’re not dull, don’t worry.” She pulls back from you and studies your face thoughtfully for a second. With great effort, you raise your eyebrows at her and keep your expression otherwise neutral. “Wanna get out of here?” Fuck. What does she think she’s doing to you? “I need a couch or something. Someplace I can take off these fucking shoes.”

“Yeah, I need to bin this tie,” you say, and it’s true: your collar is uncomfortably tight. Since when was the room this hot? You distract yourself by searching for an exit.

Predictably, Natasha finds one before you do. She grabs your wrist and propels you hurriedly towards it, easily dipping between couples and groups talking and dancing until the door is looming at you and she’s leading you through it. You grab at the knot of your tie and winch it open, then pull the entire thing off over your head and drop it in a passing trash can as Natasha bears you onwards in her search for a couch. The place is all white walls and tasteful art prints in tasteful frames and indoor pot plants (not the plastic kind, not for Tony Stark) and before long Natasha finds what looks like an ante room: leather couches and soft-seated wooden chairs and a long glass coffee table.

She sinks into a seat and works her heels off with a soft groan. 

You avoid looking at her and drop down onto the couch, lie back, slipping open your top two buttons and letting out a sigh. The party’s only been going for an hour and a half and you’re already exhausted. One arm droops over the side of the couch to brush the floor. The ceiling is cream and smooth, the lights a warm yellow.

It’s silent in here save for the rustling of Natasha’s dress, the music and chatter distant beyond the walls.

When you do look up, she’s got her chin in one palm and she’s staring at you. One leg is crossed over the other: there’s a slit in her skirt and it’s falling away to reveal her thigh, tight with muscle. You turn your gaze back to the ceiling and try to count to ten in your head.

You have to swallow before you can speak again. “How are your feet?”

“They’re fine.” It’s an uncharacteristically blank reply. You can still feel her eyes on you. Unsettling.

“What are you looking at me for?” you ask.

“Well, I can’t help it, you’re just so devastatingly handsome,” she replies, and this time her voice is biting with sarcasm. But when you look up at her she might not have said it at all. Her eyes are on your shirt buttons.

She rises from her seat restlessly, tests her toes out on the carpet, and then she paces the length of the room and back, arriving at the arm of your couch by your feet. She plops herself down on it with a sigh.

She looks at you and looks at you. You’re instantly all too aware of your rumpled shirt and ruffled hair and your arm thrown back behind your head and you shift uncomfortably. Her hand descends on your knee and you freeze. “No, don’t move,” she says. “You look like...” and she trails off. She’s not one for pretty words. You know all these things about her.

Natasha slips off the arm of the couch and you expect her to walk away but she doesn’t, she keeps going down and your heartbeat keeps rising. 

All those months of stealing looks at her, of trading sharp remarks softened with amused grins, of having her back and knowing she’s right beside you. You even knew, maybe unconsciously, that she’d be right there to save you from Vermont at the crucial point.

Now the crucial point is this, is her sinking to her knees and shifting up beside your head to brush her fingertips over your hair and down the side of your face. You’re sure your lungs don’t work. All you can do is keep your eyes on hers. You’d never dared to hope. Never let yourself want.

What if she just gets up and walks away?

Natasha dips her head towards you and like a dance, like you’ve choreographed this moment, you raise yourself to meet her and she kisses you, tender like her fingers at the back of your collar on the dance floor. You can taste wine on her lips. You can taste her. You can taste your own ecstasy rushing through you as you lie prone on a couch like some lamenting Greek hero and you kiss Natasha Romanoff and she kisses you back. Soft, a hand ghosting over the side of your face.

requests | masterlist

notes: I am so doing an nsfw part two

taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @blckrwidow @ima-gi–na-tion @paryl @picnicmic  @smallestavenger @lainjupi  @d1s0nym @simpforflorencepugh1 @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115  @natblackwidow2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok @thorya22 @olicity-boo @iliketozoneout

[rafescoke]

Older ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Maybe falling in love with a Maybank wouldn’t be too bad.

Warnings: Mentions of sexual abuse!, alcohol, getting intoxicated, sexual harassment, swearing, sweet Rafe Cameron

A/N: I don’t think this is my best fic, but let me know if I should continue this mini series!! thank you so much for 500+ followers, ily <33

p.s; you know the drill.. send requests!

(Y/N) wondered if a boy like him would ever like a girl like her.

It’s the soft touches against her skin, you see, that got her all worked up at work. She had a bad day at school, getting in a fight with her brother over not washing the dishes piling up in the sink, and there he was;

In his blue plaid shirt, his hair messily parted and that beautiful smile of his. He laughed at something the girl in front of him had said, and (Y/N) felt a pang of hurt across her heart.

“Go. Table 7.”

“What? I’m on my break!” She huffed, picking up her half-eaten sandwich and motioning it to the manager. “I have 10 minutes left.”

“We’re short of staff today,” he grunted, trying to balance the tray and an iPad on both hands. “Please.”

“Do I get more pay this month?”

“I’ll think about it,” he grumbled, and handed her the tray as she wrapped the sandwich again. “Oh, can you tell your brother that he’s fired? He didn’t come for his shift again today.”

“Not my problem,” she mumbled, taking the tray into her hands before proceeding to the diners. Her eyes swept over the many tables, and stopped at the seventh table from the front.

Fuck.

She swallowed her saliva, trying to contain her nervousness as she walked towards the table. She hoped against hope he wouldn’t notice her and continue to talk to whoever she was in front of him, but she wasn’t that lucky.

“Hey,” Rafe said softly, looking up to her. (Y/N) smiled weakly, not wanting to pull any attention towards her and hurried up to serve them.

“Hey, um-” the girl before him stopped her, and (Y/N) turned to look at her with her usual server smile. She hates it. “The pasta’s cold, can I get a new one?”

“Come on, Dee, it’s not that big of a deal,” Rafe said, but (Y/N) tried her hardest to maintain the smile. She couldn’t care less about her pasta, and she wouldn’t even bat an eye if an animal had crawled into her meal.

“I’ll reheat it for you,” she smiled fakely, picking up the plate before walking back towards the kitchen. Her smile completely disappeared when she pushed through the door separating the dining area and the kitchen, and proceeded to the cook.

“Another bitch?”

“Another bitch,” she sighed, and watched as the cook laughed and placed the pasta in the microwave. “You know, John, I really wish I don’t have to work in a restaurant.”

“It gives money, so I ain’t complaining much,” he mumbled, fiddling with the buttons on the stove. “But you’re still so young, mija. Don’t stress yourself too much. Where’s the brother?”

“JJ? I don’t know. He didn’t even come to school today. I wish he’s a better brother.”

“He is,” he shrugged, watching the timer counted down to signal the end of the reheating process. “He’s just ain’t showing it. They’ll appear.”

“What’ll appear?”

“The love.”

(Y/N) laughed, flatting her tray against the metal surface to let the cook placed the reheated pasta. “There’s no such thing as love, John. It’s all made up for little girls to believe.”

“Are you not a little girl?”

(Y/N) smiled, muttered a ‘thank you’ before proceeding to table number 7. She took a deep breath and forced herself to form the most politest smile ever, and placed the pasta in front of the girl, or Dee, or whatever Rafe was calling her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, not looking at her, but (Y/N) couldn’t help but noticed the side glance Rafe had given her during their brief meeting, but she didn’t want to dwell so much on that thought, not when she needed to make an amount of money to help put food for her family.

“You’re back late.”

“Sorry dad, I was working,” she sighed, placing her house keys on the table. “Have you eaten?”

Luke swatted his hands, motioning that he’s content. (Y/N) sighed a breath of relief, not feeling like making him anything and was just asking out of politeness.

“Your pants are a little bit tight today.”

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes, the sudden wave of fear engulfing her. She bit her lips before turning to her father, “It’s the only pair I have left. The others are still in the laundry bag.”

“Hmm,” Luke hummed, his eyes still intently glued on the television screen. (Y/N) heard the soaring of a football game, and prayed it was his team that had won the match so that he wouldn’t be as cross.

“I’m going to my room, okay?”

“Wait-”

Her chest was heaving heavily now, being so afraid of her own father that she could feel her tears starting to form. She forced a weak smile, “Yeah?”

She didn’t realise how he had gotten up from his previous seat in front of the television, being so caught up with the warnings inside her head. He leaned onto her, smelling her scent, and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“You’re not out with any boys, are you?”

“No,” she whispered, and she gripped onto the hem of her work top. “Dad, can I please go?”

“Why are you so scared?” He continued, his pointer grazing against her ear to her cheeks. “I’m your dad, remember?”

“Dad?”

Luke pulled away from her and walked towards the television again when a certain blonde boy appeared from the front door, his eyebrows furrowed. JJ’s eyes followed his father’s movement, and ended at the sight of his sister.

The tightness in his body softened as he took a step closer to her, “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, wiping the hot tears away from her face and giving him a weak smile. “I’m just going to stay in my room, okay?”

“Okay,” JJ said, watching as she walked slowly towards the back of the house. He glanced at his father, silent as ever, and muttered something under his breath before making his way to his room as well.

JJ Maybank hates Luke Maybank more than anything else in the world, but he also loves him more than anything else in the world. He had wished for nothing else other than his father actually being a father figure for (Y/N), if not him. He could see how much she needed Luke to become some kind of a guardian.

Every time there was a PTA meeting, it had been John to come and see her teachers. John had joked a lot of times before, saying how he’s going to adopt her one day, and when JJ was just 14, he used to get so overprotective of his sister that he would pull a face and gesture some kind of a rude word at him.

But if that's what it takes for her to finally be safe, he’s willing to lose her.

“Hey,” JJ knocked on her door softly, and he waited quietly to hear her shuffle of movements. He waited a few more seconds, and when heard the lock unlocking, forced himself a smile.

“Do you want to go to the bonfire party tonight?” He asked, raising his eyebrows to motion how serious he was. JJ never liked bringing (Y/N) to see the other pogues, and he had tried to assure himself that it was because of how she’s a year younger, but he couldn’t deny the real truth;

(Y/N) knew about his huge crush towards Kie, and the last time she hang out with them resulted into him having to tackle her down before she could say anything to the girl.

“Is Kie not coming or something?” (Y/N) made a face, but JJ could see the happy glint in her eyes.

“Can you drop that topic already?” He sighed, “Are you coming or not?”

“Um-” she glanced at something behind her back, sighed, and nodded slowly. “Okay. I guess I could use some time off schoolwork.”

“Don’t stress too much about school,” JJ shrugged, “You’re still 17.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “Can you go, now? And oh, you’re fired by the way.”

“They love me, they’ll hire me again,” JJ shrugged, and gave her another comforting smile before making his way back to his room. “You know you can always tal-”

“No, I don’t know,” she groaned playfully, closing the door against his face as JJ laughed. His heart soared, and he swore he would do anything in his will to protect his sister from their father, heartbreak, or whatever.

. . .

“I missed you!” Kie exclaimed, pulling her into a hug and giving her a kiss on her cheeks. “God, you’re taller than me now.”

(Y/N) glanced at her brother, to which he was motioning his thumb against his neck, trying to tell her that he would kill her if she says anything to the girl. (Y/N) laughed, “I missed you too, Kie.”

(Y/N) situated herself beside Pope, watching as he flicked through his Chemistry text book, and scribbled something a note on one of the pages.

“Isotopes has the same number of protons but different number of neutrons,” (Y/N) mumbled, pointing to false knowledge he’ve written. Pope looked at her, amazed, and let out the loudest laugh ever that JJ had to scream from the front for him to shut up.

“Shit, (Y/N),” he continued to laugh, erasing his mistake and jotting down the correct information. “And you’re younger. Do you hear that JJ?”

“What?” JJ yelled back, his eyes focusing on the road.

“Maybe you should be as clever as your sister,” Pope laughed, and Kie gave him a high-five from the front seat. He turned to look at her again, “Where’d you learn that?”

“JJ’s text book.”

Pope laughed, his head shaking at the thought of JJ sleeping while his sister sneaked into his room to steal his text book. He finally understood the reason why he was always in detention for not bringing his book.

“Stay close, and don’t wander away,” JJ warned, staring straight into her eyes. She laughed at his tone, but her smile disappeared when he pulled her again.

“I mean it, (Y/N).”

“Are you seriously turning into dad, now?”

“Don’t mention his name,” he sighed, fixing his hair and walking before him with his friends. “Just stay close, okay?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, already seeing how boring her night was going to be; trying to understand the inside jokes between JJ and his friends, not being allowed to drink any alcohol and is going to be constantly asked to fix her ribbed top so not much of her skin is exposed.

She sighed, following her brother, but as soon as they got further away she felt the need to just hang out, maybe searching for her friends and getting a drink for herself. She was never a fan of alcohol, so JJ really didn’t have to worry about her getting drunk.

“You’re (Y/N), right?”

(Y/N) looked up to a pair of gorgeous green eyes, and she felt her heart sink. She looked away, not expecting her best friend’s boyfriend, and sighed.

“What do you need, Carter? I’m looking for Emily too.”

“Oh, she’s not coming,” he shrugged, standing beside her. She felt the sudden warmth and scooted further, not wanting to allow any attention towards her. “Something about a stomach ache.”

“Why aren’t you resting with her?” She pulled a look, crossing her arms. She didn’t want to talk to him or even look at him, but he didn’t seem to get that note.

“And pass up this year’s bonfire party? Nah,” he sipped on his red cup, and leaned against her. She could feel his lips beside her ear now, “Wanna get a drink?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Come on,” he expressed, throwing his arms up into the air in fake exasperation. “It’s a party. You cannot enjoy a party without being drunk.”

“Hm,” she shrugged, still not interested. She thought about what else she could say to get him away from her. “Worth trying, I guess.”

“You are damn impossible to please, Maybank,” Carter laughed, showing his pearly white teeth. (Y/N) smiled at this, taking the statement into a compliment, and made to walk away. He grabbed her wrist before she could get away, and she sighed in annoyance.

“One drink,” he smiled. “And I’ll leave you alone.”

(Y/N) thought about this, long and hard, and the sudden thought of wanting to be free for once entered her mind. She gave him a small nod.

“One drink.”

“One drink,” he confirmed, and pulled her to the drinks section. (Y/N) waited for him to get her a drink, her eyes swarming over the sea of people dancing, some talking, some already kissing and some just standing. This was her third bonfire party in Obx, and the party didn’t get any boring.

“Here you go,” Carter appeared, placing the red cup into her hands. “Let’s chug it down together. Are you ready? 1, 2, 3!”

(Y/N) scrunched up her face at the strong taste of vodka, feeling her throat burning. It felt good though, especially when you are in need to forget some hesvy things in your mind.

“What do you say?” Carter smiled, “Want more?”

“I’ll try more,” she laughed, giving him the cup as he muttered ‘I told you so’ and came back with another cup. They counted together again, and (Y/N) never felt better after drinking an intoxicating drink.

She didn’t remember why she never liked alcohol, but at that moment, she felt like drinking her money and family issues away. She didn’t even realise when Carter had placed his arms around her, telling her humourless jokes that she laughed at anyways.

“Wanna go to my car?”

“Huh?” She looked at him, half-smiling and half-frowning. She was at her 7th cup now, but being a lightweight person, she felt like she was on her 30th cup. “What for?”

“Driving around town,” he smiled, standing up and offering his hand. “Wanna drive around with me?”

“Just you?” She mumbled, closing her eyes. She could feel his arms around her, trying to help her walk, but she didn’t have enough energy to push him away. If anything, she was glad he had brought her away from the loud music that made her dizzy.

“Where’s the car?” (Y/N) whined, feeling her arms hurting from the rough grip by Carter. She could hear the crunch of twigs under her feet, and when she finally had an ounce of power to see her surroundings, she saw the empty car park near the beach.

“Carter, I don’t feel so good,” she said, trying to push him away. The grip around her tightened, and she had never felt so panicked as she was at that time. She tried to calm down, still looking for anyone who can help her, but the parking lot was deserted.

“Carter, I can walk,” she tried again, but he didn’t let go. She understood the whole situation clearly now, and wished she had stayed with JJ and his friends instead of wandering around by herself.

“Hey, hey, hey.”

Carter stopped walking, cursing while he turned to look at the voice behind him. (Y/N) grunted, feeling her arms bruising, and she couldn’t even glance up to see who it was that saved her. She could feel her eyesight getting darker as she leaned on Carter for some type of balance.

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business,” Carter groaned, still holding her by his side. “Don’t you have anything to do? Like golf, or something.”

“Nah,” the voice replied, and (Y/N) perked up at the way his voice sounded. It was all so familiar to her. . .

“Look, Cameron, just go, okay? I’m not in your business, so stay out of mine,” Carter huffed, walking backwards slowly. “And she’s with me, right, (Y/N), you’re with me?”

“Let her go, man,” Rafe sighed, “I’m making it easy for you. Let her go.”

“Come on, I’m not letting you take her with you,” he shrugged, “Rafe. I swear. You don’t want to mess with me.”

“Aren’t you a little bit too old for her?” Rafe raised a brow, “Aren’t you my age, or something?”

“Fuck!” Carter yelled, and (Y/N) gasped from the sudden pain coursing through her veins at the jerk. “Go and fuck off.”

“You’re not leaving me a choice, man,” Rafe said, and before anyone could process, Carter was down to the ground, yelling at Rafe for him to stop as he kept throwing punches after punches, his forehead creasing and his knuckles ripping.

(Y/N) groaned from the ground, unable to get up, and she swore he had drugged her. She was never this weak, not even when she was sick, and she hated how she couldn’t even lift a finger.

“Don’t fucking touch her again!” Rafe yelled, spitting on the groaning boy as he grunted against the pain, his knuckles all bruised up and bloody.

“Hey, you’re okay?” Rafe asked, helping her to her feet. (Y/N) nodded, still so weak, and wrapped her hands around his arms as he watched her limped.

“You know what? Let me carry you,” he sighed, looking at the previous space where he had had a fight with Carter. He was nowhere to be seen now, and Rafe didn’t think he could fight him off for the second time, not when he’s tired.

“I can walk,” she mumbled, trying to push him off, but even a second after he let her go she tripped onto the road, and grunted at her burning knees. “My knees, oh my god, I’m in so much pain!”

“Let me carry you,” he sighed again, squatting to her level. She looked so sad, pouting her lips and her eyebrows all scrunched down. She shook her head when he tried to hold her, crossing her arms.

“(Y/N), let me carry you.”

“I don’t even know you!” She spat, her eyes glassy and her cheeks red. Rafe didn’t know she would be like this when she was drunk, but he couldn’t deny the amusement he was feeling.

“Of course you know me,” he tried again, slowly wrapping his fingers around her wrist. “It’s Rafe.”

“I don’t know any Rafe.”

“It’s Rafael Cameron,” Rafe rolled his eyes, cringing at the sound of his full name. He never liked the name, saying how it made him look like some type of a knight in 1823, but it was one of the only memories left of his real mother.

“I know a Rafael,” she nodded. “But he don’t look like you.”

“(Y/N), let’s just go before some creep decides to kidnap you,” he pulled her up, to which she obliged at the sound of ‘kidnapping’. “I’ll send you to your house, okay?”

“No!” She pulled him close, hugging him tightly that he was too stunned to react. His arms weren’t even touching her, stopping midway, and he only hugged her back when she cried.

“He’s gonna be mad at me,” she whimpered, tugging on his collar. “And he’s going to beat me up and-”

“Wait, wait, who?” He pulled her off, watching as she looked at him with those eyes again. Rafe furrowed his eyebrows, his chest heaving. “Does JJ do-”

“Not JJ,” she cried, and pulled him towards a random car. “Can I please just stay with you until the next morning? Please.”

“Are you sure?” Rafe looked around, and he thought about Dee who was waiting for him at the party. He shook his head at the thought, not wanting to put her first. “We can stay somewhere else?”

(Y/N) nodded frantically, and Rafe thought about the truth behind all of her words. She was never this miserable, looking all happy when he sees her at the restaurant, taking orders with that goddamn smile and laughing at the unfunny jokes old men would give her just for some tips.

Without him knowing, the restaurant by the bay became one of his top favourite restaurants, but it wasn’t because of the food. Rafe never really liked their steaks, always preferring the one closer to the country club, but he was willing to put aside his cravings for that one certain waitress.

“Okay,” he nodded, leading her to the jeep parked a few cars away. She looked so tired, her hair messily tucked behind her ears, her makeup smudged, and Rafe felt a sudden wave of relief for being there in the parking lot to grab his phone in the car.

The drive was silent, and Rafe even thought that she had gone to sleep. When he looked at her from the corners of his eyes, he was surprised to see her silently staring at the dark view outside, unmoving.

He parked outside of the hotel he usually goes to when he’s in need for some alone time, checking the time on his phone before helping her out. She didn’t say a word to him, keeping her head down, only inching closer when they were on their way up to their room.

(Y/N) never been to a fancy hotel like this, only staying in a small hotel in Spain with her aunt 4 summers ago, so she was quite bewildered when she looked around the room. She bit her lips, staring at the one queen bed, and turned to look at him.

“Are we sharing a bed?”

“Oh, no, we don’t have to,” Rafe quickly said, trying to calm her down. “I think you should sleep it off. I’ll stay on the sofa.”

“Okay, thanks.”

But she couldn’t close her eyes. Every time she tried to sleep it off, she would think about Luke with his hands around her face, forcing her to look up to his eyes and whispering sweet-nothings into her ear. JJ never knew about this, and (Y/N) never wanted to tell him out of fear and disappointment, so she had been keeping the secret for a really long time.

“Rafe?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for bringing me here.”

“It’s nothing,” he huffed, and (Y/N) heard him shift. The sound of a pillow hitting the floor blared throughout the dark room, and (Y/N) felt bad about letting him sleep on the sofa, especially when he was the one who had brought her to the hotel.

“You can stay in the bed with me.”

“Really? I can’t do that.”

“Why?” She asked, because she really didn’t mind sharing a bed with Rafe Cameron. It wasn’t like she was going to attack him.

“Just because.”

“Is it because you don’t like me?” She asked, and she heard an amused laugh coming from the sofa.

“Trust me, you’re wrong on that one,” he replied simply, and (Y/N) had to think of what he said again.

Wrong?

“Is it because I’m a minor?”

“We’re only 2 years apart.”

“So what’s the problem?” She pressed, because she couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just sleep on the same bed as her. They didn’t have to be all pushed up to each other. . .

“Because,” he sighed, “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of stuff.”

“Rafe, I don’t understand,” she closed her eyes, her mind woozy from the back and forth fight with the boy.

Rafe sighed again, licking his lips before standing up from the sofa. “Okay, but I’m not a creep, okay?”

“So it is because I’m a minor,” she nodded to herself, and she felt a sudden wave of disappointment. If only she was a year older.

“Whatever,” he breathed, trying to get the best position under the covers. He felt her fingers and quickly pulled his hand away, his heart beating.

“You’re weird.”

“I just said I’m scared,” he shrugged, and finally settled comfortably. He felt so much better now, not having to pull his legs together and crossed his arms just to fit on the sofa.

“What if I do want you to sleep with me on the bed?”

“Shut up,” he groaned.

“No, Rafe, what if I do want you-”

“Shut up before I make you.”

(Y/N)’s eyes went wide, and she thought of the many times she had repeated this exact line in a movie and how she had romanticised her own scenario to that line. She never thought of Rafe Cameron as the protagonist, only imagining Timotheé Chalamet and no one else.

“You’re still drunk, okay?” He suddenly said, and (Y/N) bit her lips at his exasperated tone. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. I’m not Carter.”

“Okay,” she said softly, “I didn’t ask for you to fuck me, though.”

“Really? You’re begging for it right now.”

“I just want you to get comfortable.”

“Hm.”

“You’re full of yourself.”

“Yeah? You should see the eyes you give me at the restaurant,” he replied simply, and he could feel himself thinking of her slightly narrowed eyes, looking straight at him.

He shifted his position, placing a pillow against his front.

“Why didn’t you act on it?”

“Oh god, we’re still on this?” He grunted, “Go to sleep.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to fuck me?”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and before she could think about anything else to say to him next, he had pulled her shoulders so that she could look at him.

She squinted against the darkness, using the moonlight as a source of light to stare into his beautiful blue orbs.

“I would fuck you, but I won’t do it when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You are, because-” he grazed his thumb against her bottom lip, and she had to hold her breath. “You’re not this open to me when you’re sober.”

“Isn’t it more fun, though? To fuck when you’re drunk?”

“I’d only do that if you’re my girlfriend.”

“So can I be your girlfriend?”

“I’ll think about it tomorrow,” he smiled, and pushed her back to face the ceiling. “Now sleep.”

“What if I want to become your girlfriend now?”

“JJ will kill me.”

“Can you kill him back?”

“(Y/N),” Rafe sighed, being so tired of going back and worth with her on this. Of course he wanted to touch her, more than anything else in the world, but he couldn’t do it when she was in a state like this. “Go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Good girl.”

“Okay.”

He waited a few more minutes, ready to answer any remarks, but what came after was only her soft snores. He sighed in relief, leaning on his arms as he stared at her. He watched as her chest heaved peacefully, feeling all kinds of emotions at once, and he finally realised the truth;

This time he wasn’t playing; Rafe Cameron would never bring a girl to a fancy hotel for nothing other than sex, but here he was; refusing her teasings, and keeping her safe. It finally hit him; he would bring (Y/N) anywhere if that’s the only way to keep her smile.

He shut his eyes, making a mental note to make fun of her drunk state in the morning.

#Part 2

-

taglist is closed atm! :(

@okayshoto @joselyn001 @onceuponateenagetrash @dyingsleeping @iwannabeapogue @meaganjm @rafesobxs @flossy2929 @unfortunatekiwitrash @scottybitch @asimpwriter @amaya124 @tommy-tommo @thatshithurted8 @fallincindy @marvelwhor3 @rafeswh0ree @kookap @supernaturallydc-blog @blank-velvet @alaniskauany @kiiim8 @witchywrter @kaitlyn2907 @heyimflo @overcookedpastasause @tsukkiswifeey @spidey-d00d @anonymousobxfan @gotmeinloveagain @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @lexi-writes @classydragonthingknight @belongtoyou-u @badbussylol @savannah-elliott @angelreyesgirl100 @haterpenny @beehappyyy @alwaysclassyeagle @maybankslut @kayleea122 @clearbolts @lovelyxtom @christianaevans @jemimah-b99 @opierdalacz @dangerdolns @wildflowerliv @classygirlything21

[raibebe]

Love Is On Air

Genre: fluff & smut Words: 8.722 Prompt: radio host Johnny x secret admirer female reader Warnings: soft dom Johnny, oral (f receiving), safe sex, dirty talk

A/N: Finally: My entry for the February event of my lovely network @neosmutcollective​. This is totally not the fic I planned on writing. In fact this was started way later after I realized I was never going to finish my original fic on time. Not that this one is on time... Special thanks to everyone who sent our lovely DJs some music recommendations @sly-merlin​, @moonctzeny​, @lenaluvs​, @lucas-wongs​, @burtonized​ and to @ncteaxhoe​ who helped me figure out this idea. I hope you enjoy this even though it’s wayyy too late.

You hurried home to your apartment after your last class of the day that was horrifically late because of whoever had fucked up your schedule this semester. Panting heavily, you busted into your room and threw your jacket and backpack somewhere onto your couch, diving straight for your laptop that was perched on your desk. Cursing the old thing, you waited for agonizing minutes until it had booted up and your browser was open. You quickly opened the familiar page of your university’s campus radio just in time to hear the familiar voice saying: “Hi I’m John-D, welcome to NCT Night Night.” After that both hosts chuckled lowly before Jaehyun spoke: “Tonight we’ll read some of the letters you wrote us over the week again and we will try our best to help you out with whatever problems you throw our way.” “Exactly. Right after we play this song that was suggested by evangelie_99 over on our Twitter, it’s Pluto Projector by Rex Orange County and she said that she loves our show. We’re glad you like it so much, darling. This one is for you,” Johnny softly said before the soft tunes of the song filled your little one-room apartment.

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair, carelessly toeing your shoes off. Listening to NCT Night Night was your escape at night from the stress that classes brought you. The two DJs that were on air every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday were your favorites though. Not only did they have great chemistry but they both could be incredibly funny as well as soothe all your nerves with their calming voices – especially Johnny or John-D as he was called on their show. You might have developed a slightly embarrassing crush on the fratboy with a heart as sweet as his voice from what you knew about him from his radio shows and your shared classes. Since they had started their weekly segment where they would read out letters that students could send them, you had gathered the courage to send Johnny little messages about how you were crushing on him and it had quickly become a running gag on the show. Jaehyun would tease Johnny about it every week while Johnny kept insisting that his secret admirer should just talk to him. But how could you do that? Johnny was everything one could want in a boyfriend. Not only was he ridiculously tall and devastatingly handsome but he was also smart, always seemingly staying on top of his classes and he also went to the gym regularly if his thirst traps on his Instagram stories were anything to go by. When he wasn’t giving out advice in a gentle voice on their radio program, he was out partying with his frat brothers on the weekends more often than not complaining about headaches on their Sunday show. How could you just walk up to him and talk to him? Right. You couldn’t. So you had to resign to sending him anonymous love letters through his radio show.

“Welcome back, hi,” Johnny chuckled once the song had gently faded out and you couldn’t help but giggle along. “That was Pluto Projector by Rex Orange County,” Jaehyun tried to stay on script but you could almost hear the grin on his face because of Johnny’s antics, “If you want your song to play on today’s show, please suggest something over on our Twitter with the hashtag,” Jaehyun paused momentarily and let out a dramatic sigh before continuing, “hashtag JohnDplaymelikeaviolin.” Jaehyun hadn’t even read the whole hashtag out loud when Johnny was already bursting out in laughter and how could you not laugh along with his melodic laughter. “I swear to god I am never letting you choose hashtags for our show ever again,” Jaehyun groaned while Johnny sounded like he was still dying in the background. “Don’t be mean to me Jaehyunie,” he whined and even though today’s episode was not viewable, you could vividly imagine how he was pouting. While the two friends were busy bickering and talking about what they had done since their last show, you pulled up your own Twitter to send a recommendation in.

“Aaaah, I see we’re already getting plenty of suggestions. Sly-merlin suggested us Sexy Dirty Love by Demi Lovato – a great song – and added ‘I wish John-D would actually play me like a violin.” After a potent silence, Johnny broke out in laughter again. “And this is why you won’t choose any more hashtags,” Jaehyun groaned again. “Baby,” Johnny rasped into his mic and even though you weren’t wearing headphones, it sent tingles down your spine, “Just come to our frat party on Friday and I’ll see what I can do.” “Stop plugging our parties on the radio,” Jaehyun scolded the elder, the slap audible over the radio, “Also sly-merlin has to stand in line. You still have your number one admirer who has sent in a letter yet again.” “She still hasn’t come up to me,” Johnny shared, “I can only keep up my chastity for so long. I am saving myself for this girl.” You know he was joking but you were just a simple woman and even in your secluded home, you felt heat rising to your cheeks, your thumbs stopping on your keyboard where you had typed out your song recommendation. Both DJs shared a quiet laugh before Jaehyun asked: “And you really don’t know who she is?” “I really don’t man,” his friend sighed, “Like I have my suspicions because she has to be in my major if she sees me in class that often. That or she’s a stalker which I do not want to think about. But for real, hit me up. I’ll take you out for a coffee.” “Now everyone is going to come up to you and claim that they’re her.” “I’ll take that risk,” Johnny laughed, “Maybe I’ll finally meet the love of my life and settle down.” At that Jaehyun snorted loudly. “The woman that can make you settle down gets free coffee for like a month from me.” “Watch me have a wife and kids at 25 Jae, just to spite you,” his friend snorted, “But up until then, let’s play sly-merlin’s song recommendation: Sexy Dirty Love by Demi Lovato.”

While the song was playing, you finished up your own tweet and hit post before you grabbed your bag that you had carelessly thrown away before to get out your notes. You actually had to start a project for one of the classes you and Johnny actually did share. The professor had announced that he would announce the pairings for a group project tomorrow and you didn’t want to seem like an actual idiot if your group would decide to already meet up and discuss after class. So while you listened to your favorite DJs discuss the questions and worries of whoever had sent them to their email address, you worked through the notes you had taken over the last couple of weeks, trying your best to organize them to remember the key points.

“Oh John-D, I have a very special letter here,” Jaehyun said, waving the paper in front of the microphone so it would pick up the wiggling noises. “What could that be?” Johnny asked with over-exaggerated interest. “It’s from your secret admirer, John-D. So I think you should read it out.” Just like every time, they read your letter, your heart began beating faster and faster in your chest until you were sure, it would break free from your ribcage. “Okay, here I go,” Johnny announced while Jaehyun was playing the same cheesy music he always played when they were reading your letters, “Happy Thursday, John-D. The weekend is almost in reach, keep up the energy for the last day of classes! – she’s so sweet, I’m holding up alright – One of my professors will announce the pairings he made for a group project soon and I am nervous. I don’t have many friends in the course and I’m praying that I will get good group mates I can work well with.” “Oooh, I get that struggle,” Jaehyun interrupted, “I once had to work with a bunch of stoners and ended up doing all the work for a presentation that made up 30 percent of my grade. Worst experience of my life, would not recommend. But we’re wishing you all the luck.” “But you know what’s more interesting about this story?” Johnny tuned in, “Coincidentally my professor for my literature class is assigning our group projects tomorrow as well. Say, my sweet admirer, are you perhaps in the same literature class as me?” In your otherwise silent room, the panicked squeak you let out was loud even to your ears. There was no way Johnny could figure out who you were, there were probably at least 20 more girls with a crush on him in that class alone, so you were safe. “Oooh, so maybe she’s a lit major so that’s why she’s writing love letters.” “Could be but lots of people from different majors are taking that class,” Johnny argued, “Anyways, back to her letter. But I won’t let that disturb me! I will be doing my best regardless! – That’s the spirit – I’ll work through my notes as I listen to your honey voice so I can be prepared. I’m glad you don’t do viewable radios on Thursday’s or else I wouldn’t be able to get anything done, you’re just too distracting John-D,” at that Jaehyun let out a fake gag while Johnny just giggled softly, “Thank you secret admirer, I do clean up quite nicely if I do say so myself. – On last Sunday’s episode you melted my heart when you hid in your hoodie for half the show. – God that was the worst hangover I had in a looong while, I was so miserable.”

“You should have seen him at home,” Jaehyun laughed, “I had to physically drag his whole 180-something-centimeters body first into the shower, then into the car and into the station. He is the biggest crybaby when he’s hungover.” “Don’t expose me like that, Jaehyunie,” Johnny whined loudly, “I was dared to drink a bunch of tequila and my mother didn’t raise neither a quitter nor a coward.” “No, but clearly an idiot,” the younger DJ laughed his deep laugh. “Let me read my love letter in peace,” the other grumbled, “I couldn’t follow for half the show because I was so focused on watching you. Not in a creepy way of course! – Of course not,” Johnny chuckled, “I hope you finished that essay you had to work on after the show in time and still had some time to relax. – I did, don’t worry.” That you already knew when Johnny had handed in his essay in another class you two shared just before you had handed in yours and he had thrown you a little smile that had kept you going through the whole day. “Take care of yourself and keep smiling your beautiful smile, I look forward to seeing you again on Sunday or in classes. And fighting to Jae-D as well of course! – I look forward to hearing from you again, secret admirer. I bet your group project will go just fine, don’t worry too much. If anyone is mean to you, just expose them here and we’ll fight them for you.” “Love that she acknowledged me in one sentence as well,” Jaehyun grumbled, cutting off the cheesy music abruptly. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a sweet admirer who sends you cute messages,” the other teased his friend. “Yeah, yeah, shut up and put that letter in the box under your bed.” “It’s in my sock drawer, thank you very much.”

Giggling, you listened to the two friends bicker, your chest warm with a feeling you were scared to put a name on. “Anyways, I think it’s time for another music recommendation you can still send in via our lovely hashtag JohnDplaymelikeaviolin. This one is from lenaluvies and she says: Please play Hurts So Good by Astrid S thank you. No, thank you for sending something in darling. This one’s for you,” Johnny announced and you couldn’t help but laugh a little pained laugh. That song title hit a little too close to home for your liking. The rest of the radio show went by smoothly and Johnny and Jaehyun tried to help a handful of more students with their problems that couldn’t be more diverse. From a boy who had fallen in love with his best friend which had send him into an identity crisis over to a girl who was failing her classes because she claimed the professor hated her to a freshman who wanted to apply for a fraternity but was scared because of the rumors surrounding them which the DJs quickly debunked since they both were in the same fraternity. In the end they had to cut themselves short, asking their viewers to vote on a poll they would make if people wanted a whole Tuesday episode surrounding fraternities.

“So.” “So,” Johnny copied his friend. “We’re almost at the end of our time with you guys. We couldn’t get through all of your submissions but we hope our team picked a few good ones and at least some of you could get some advice.” “As always you’re free to send us your own stories to our e-mail JohnJaeNNN@NCTU.com to get some advice next Thursday from your favorite DJs: John-D.” “And Jae-D. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday on your campus radio on 127mHz. On NCT-“ “Night Night,” they said their ending together and just like every night with them, you said goodnight to your computer screen, closing the tab which draped your little apartment in silence. Sighing loudly, you looked over your notes that needed a little more work if you wanted to make a good first impression on your fellow students tomorrow. Because you couldn’t stand the silence, you opened your Spotify to play the NCT Night Night playlist Johnny and Jaehyun had made with the songs that had been recommended to them, still missing the new additions from tonight.

The next morning found you in your literature class, sitting two rows behind Johnny, staring at the back of his head while doodling on your paper rather than taking notes on whatever the professor was saying. If you were to let your eyes wander, you’d see that almost everyone in the big room was paying as much or even less attention as you were; the students in different states of excitement and anxiety over the group projects he had yet to announce. “I’m sorry professor,” Johnny’s voice suddenly cut through the room, “I’m sure you have already noticed that no one is paying attention to whatever you’re trying to teach us right now. Could you please just announce the groups for the project?” That moment you swore you would be able to hear a pin drop until your eccentric professor chuckled lowly. “I like you, Suh. I was waiting for someone to mention it,” he spoke, getting the dreaded list out of his bag, “Listen closely now, you’ll be assigned in groups of four and each group will get a specific novel to work on. Deadline will be by the end of the semester and your individual paper combined with the group presentation will make up 40% of your final grade.” That made a bunch of people, including you, gasp out loudly. A group project with this much credit to your final grade was always dreaded. “I don’t want to hear any complaints, that’s how it’s always been. Now listen carefully, I won’t repeat myself but the list will be hung on our blackboard as well.” With that being said, the professor began listing names and novels in the most monotone voice he could muster. To say you were basically vibrating off of your seat was an understatement when he got further and further down the list and neither yours nor Johnny’s name had been called yet. “And lastly, an all-time favorite: Romeo and Juliet.” You didn’t even register anything else after the professor had announced that the group featured both Johnny and you along with two other students you didn’t know. Your brain was reduced to static noise while everyone else was getting up around you to pick up the books that had already been stacked in a corner, probably by a poor TA. Only when a person bumped into you, you broke from your stupor to quickly pick up your stuff as well to hurry down to steps to where a crowd of students had already gathered.

Luckily Johnny towered over most of the other students and you could easily spot him and the rest of your group that were two other boys you didn’t recognize. “Hey, you’re the last one we were missing,” Johnny smiled and handed you over your copy of the book. “Y... Yeah, sorry for making you wait,” you stuttered, clutching the small book tightly in your hands. “No big deal,” Johnny played it off, “Do any of you have any more classes today?” When everyone declined, you all agreed that you should get a head start on your project as it would be hard to make a good project out of such an overused love story. While walking over to the student center to decide on a concept, conversation flowed easily between the four of you even though you were still really nervous to be around Johnny. God, you really hoped he didn’t think you were stupid or something just because you were nervous.

The little study session went by in a blur and only further confirmed that you were so whipped for Johnny it wasn’t even funny anymore. You found yourself attentively listening to all of his ideas and laughing at every of his stupid little jokes and only mildly spacing out while looking at Johnny when the others were discussing ideas which had led to one or two mildly embarrassing situations where you would lose track of what you were actually discussing, your mind blank of any input when they asked for your opinion.

Soon you found yourself parting ways with your groupmates, leaving you and Johnny alone because his frat house and your little apartment were located in the same general direction. “Anything fun you’re doing this evening?” Johnny asked, trying to make some light conversation to fill the silence. “No, I’ll just binge watch some shows maybe or listen to the campus radio,” you shrugged it off. While today’s show wasn’t your favorite, you quite liked the DJs soft and gentle voice. “You listen to the campus radio? I have a show on there,” Johnny smiled. “I like listening to you and Jaehyun,” you confessed, trying to fight the heat that was licking at your cheeks. “Oh.” “You seem surprised.” “Yeah, it kind of still seems weird that people enjoy listening to Jae and me rambling for hours on end. You know with him it just feels like I’m hanging out with my brother rather than work.” “Your voices are really soothing, you know,” you tried to explain what you were feeling when listing to them, “And your friendship is kind of adorable. Like we can feel how much you care about each other and you always genuinely try to help your listeners without making fun of them.” For a while Johnny didn’t say anything and you thought you had fucked it up, that he thought you were weird now. “Thank you,” he suddenly said. “Huh?” “It means a lot hearing that. We do lurk on Twitter to see what people think of our show but hearing it like this is something else entirely.” “It’s nothing,” you mused, playfully hitting his arm, “No need to get this soft.” “Hey,” he laughed, “I’ll have you know that I am 180 centimeters of walking softness despite what people might say about me.” Smiling softly you caught his eyes for the first time since you two had started walking and the way his honey eyes were smiling back at you momentarily took your breath away.

“I- My room is right around here, sooooo,” you stuttered. “It was nice working with you. Even though you were spacing out half the time,” Johnny teased, “Thinking about a special someone?” You. The word sat on the tip of your tongue, the low light of the afternoon sun making you bolder than you actually were and Johnny just made you feel incredibly comfortable. “No... No- I- I’m single.” “A crush then?” “Something like that,” you mumbled, your fingers nervously playing with the hem of your jacket. “Talk to him. Or her. Or them,” Johnny advised. “I really can’t,” you sighed, “He doesn’t even know I exist.” “Well you don’t need to confess your undying love for him,” he laughed, not knowing he was the boy in question, “Just you know. Casually talk to him. Get to know him.” “I’ll try?” “Is that a question?” “Yeah?” “Have more confidence in yourself,” he gently nudged you, “You’re nice and very easy to talk to.” “Nice... Wow.” “Shut up,” he laughed, “I usually give better compliments but I have yet to get to know you better.” “Would you... Would you even want that?” “Sure,” Johnny shrugged and your heart skipped a couple of beats, “I have to get going or everybody will already be drunk when I arrive. So... I’ll see you in class? And you’ll hear me on Sunday?” “Yeah sure. Don’t drink too much or you will be miserable all show like last week,” you giggled. “Don’t remind me,” he groaned, “I’m never going to drink tequila on a Saturday ever again.” “Goodbye Johnny,” you smiled, really liking how his name sounded when you said it out loud. “Bye,” he waved before going his way.

Once you were sure he was out of hearing distance, you let out a little happy squeak and jumped up and down excitedly. You did it. You had actually done it. You had talked to your crush. And managed to not make a complete fool out of yourself in front of him. Which was a win in your books. A huge win. With a little spring in your steps, you stepped by one of your favorite pizza places to treat yourself before heading home where you spend your evening daydreaming about none other than Johnny while watching reruns of old dramas.

“Hi, I’m Jae-D.” “And I am John-D. Welcome to NCT-“ “Night Night.” “John-D.” “Yes, Jae-D,” Johnny chuckled. “It’s Thursday again which means it’s time to tend to our listener’s worries,” Jaehyun read off of the script, not getting distracted by his friend’s antics, “And today is a very special episode.” “Special?” Jaehyun barely repressed to roll his eyes at his friend’s over-exaggerated acting before continuing: “Yes, since tomorrow is a day off for all students, we have decided to make this episode extra lengthy and-“ he shortly stopped to flash the camera a peace sign, “Viewable despite it being Thursday.” “Do we look okay?” Johnny laughed, checking himself out in the video that was playing on one of their monitors. “Aaaaah, the comments say we look good tonight, thank you,” Jaehyun mused.

And they really did. Not that either of them had to do a whole lot to look good but today they were both wearing white button-downs with their sleeves rolled up to expose their forearms. Jaehyun had even gone so far as to put on some fake glasses. “And if you’re following us on our Twitter you also already know that this week it’s all about love on our campus radio and our show today is no exception,” Johnny read his part of the script. “Today John-D and Jae-D are Loveholics, trying our very best to help you with your problems surrounding love,” Jaehyun completed, “You can send in song recommendations through the hashtag JohnJaeLoveholic just like taryn1026 did – I hope I said that right – but they recommended Paris in the Rain by Lauv to set the mood for today.”

The soft tunes of the song made you relax a little into your sofa where you had chosen to watch today’s episode of NCT Night Night. You had to say that you were kind of nervous for today’s episode. Just like every week you had written your letter to Johnny, telling him about your week and cheering him on for your group project. At this point it should have been pretty obvious just who exactly you were and judging by how Johnny was acting towards you, his flirting leaving you flustered after your study sessions and your group mates mildly annoyed, he seemed to already have put together the pieces. But yesterday while writing your letter you had felt extra bold (and maybe also extra riled up and horny from Johnny’s shameless flirting) and had written him a message that should confirm all his suspicions and would hopefully lead him straight to you and into your bed. But until the end of the show or at least until they read your letter, which you really hoped they did today as well, you had to wait sitting in your apartment, for once not in comfortable clothes but in a nice shirt and pants.

“That was Paris in the Rain by Lauv, recommended to us by taryn1026 through our Twitter with the hashtag JohnJaeLoveholic,” Johnny’s raspy voice filled your apartment when he leaned close to the mic, “Jae-D are you ready to make some love happen?” “I already had my love juice,” Jaehyun answered, showing his pink Starbucks drink to the camera, “And my reading glasses are on.” As to prove his point, he hiked his glasses up his nose before scratching his eye through the holes in the frame, making both DJs chuckle. For the next hour Johnny and Jaehyun tried to solve several relationship dramas as well as a very tricky friends-with-benefits situation and telling a boy to break up with his cheating girlfriend which had been a rather heartbreaking discussion. “So after this,” Jaehyun sighed, “Let’s play another song recommendation. Burtonized has sent in a very fitting song, I hope you all don’t mind a little Korean: It’s God Damn by I.M – a song about heartbreak.”

While the foreign song was playing, the two DJs stretched their backs and sipped on their respective drinks: Jaehyun still on his pink sugar concoction and Johnny already on his second iced Americano. Jaehyun must have found something funny on his phone, nudging his friend to look at him but Johnny was busy typing away on his own, only acknowledging his friend after he had typed his message. Just after that, your own phone buzzed with a message, showing Johnny’s name on the screen.

From: Johnny Are you watching our show?

To: Johnny Sure, you look good today

From: Johnny Make sure to listen closely ;)

“That was God Damn by I.M suggested by burtonized over our Twitter hashtag JohnJaeLoveholic,” Jaehyun’s smooth voice tore you from your spiraling thoughts about the winking face Johnny had sent. “Sadly our show is coming to an end even with our extended airtime.” “But John-D a very important letter is still missing before we close our show. Dare I say it could be the highlight of our show,” Jaehyun joked, already playing the cheesy music he was always playing when Johnny would read your letters. “You’re right Jae-D my lovely secret admirer has sent in another letter,” Johnny mused, arranging himself so he could read the printed out letter while being as close as possible to the mic for it to pick up the rasp in his voice, “Happy Thursday John-D, I hope your week has been more exciting than mine. I have just been going from class to class without much thought, the only high points are my group meetings for the group project we have to hand in soon – That seems very familiar, baby – But since today is all about love, I’ll tell you about a little problem I have: – get your love juice ready, Jae – There is this boy in my group. And boy isn’t really the right word to describe him, he’s a man really,” at that Johnny couldn’t hold back a low chuckle, “I’m sorry, I’ll be serious – And he is flirting with me. Has been for a couple of weeks now. And it has gotten to the point where our groupmates are kind of annoyed at us. He has also walked me home a couple of times but he never so much as touched me. At this point I am so frustrated with him. Is he just playing with me? Or is his mouth bigger than his actions actually are? He has been riling me up all day today and I was ready to let him have his way with me but he only wished me goodnight and left again, leaving me to deal with what he had done all by myself – oh wow, I,” Johnny stuttered, sharing a gaze with his friend who was only barely repressing his laughter, “Wow, okay, I hope we’re in the good for reading this out and it’s late enough,” clearing his voice and raking a hand through his hair, Johnny continued, “John-D I hope this man hears what he has done to me and will deal with the consequences of his actions. Would you play Animal by Jin Yosef and RIELL for me? Just in case this letter hasn’t gotten my point across? – Y... Yeah sure, darling. We’ll play that once our show is over.”

“So John-D,” Jaehyun grinned while loudly slurping on his ‘love juice’, “What would you advice your secret admirer to do about this problem?” “Well if I were her,” Johnny started, his gaze going straight to the camera where he knew you were watching and it felt like he was looking straight into your soul, “I’d wait for him. I’m pretty sure he can prove that his actions speak even louder than his words.” For a while it was quiet between the two DJs, safe for Jaehyun’s obnoxiously loud slurping noises but even if they would have been saying anything, you weren’t sure if you could have comprehended any words with how furiously your heart was beating. “Anyways,” Jaehyun eventually broke the silence once he was sure there was nothing left in his ‘love juice’, “I’m afraid that was it for tonight. This has been your extra lengthy episode of Jae-D and John-D and we will leave you with this wonderful song recommendation: Animal by Jin Yosef and RIELL. If you’ve liked today’s show, we’re here every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday night on your campus radio on 127mHz to listen to all of your worries on NCT-“ “Night Night,” Johnny joined in and they both waved into the camera as your song of choice started playing. The video stream didn’t cut off immediately, showing the boys gathering their things and if your eyes weren’t betraying you, you swore you saw Johnny tense up when the song turned a little more explicit. The two DJs waved to the camera one last time before the stream cut off, leaving the screen of your laptop dark.

That was when it dawned on you what you had done. Shit. With how Johnny had sounded, you probably had about fifteen to twenty minutes until he would be at your doorstep. Oh god. Shit. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you tried to ground yourself before hurriedly closing your laptop and cleaning everything that seemed messy in your little one-room apartment. That was until you heard a knock on your door.

With shaky hands, you slowly opened the door and while you knew who would be standing on the other side, you weren’t ready for how he was going to look like: Johnny was leaning against the doorway casually with his arms crossed over his chest so the tight button-down he was wearing would strain over the planes of his chest muscles but what really reeled you in was how dark his eyes looked when he raked them over your body. “Good evening miss,” he drawled. “Hi,” you breathed. “Tell me what you want so I’m not misinterpreting any of this,” Johnny all but growled, one of his hands coming up to cup your face. “I want you to have me.” If you thought his eyes were dark before, they turned into bottomless black orbs once the words had left your lips. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, baby.” “Please,” you whimpered and that seemed to break Johnny’s resolve as he pulled you close to him and all but crashed his lips into yours. The kiss wasn’t delicate in any way, shape or form with how Johnny was licking into your mouth the second a moan left your lips. His tongue was intertwining with yours messily and in no time both of you were panting into each other’s mouths. “Inside. Now,” you rasped. “All with due time,” Johnny chuckled but let you pull him into your apartment, slamming the door shut to crowd you against it, one of his strong thighs slipping between your legs like it belonged there, “If you’re a good girl and listen well, I’ll give you anything you want.” “Fuck,” you cursed before slamming your lips together again, a new neediness bleeding into the kiss as you tugged on the longer strands of hair at the back of Johnny’s neck which made him growl lowly. “Anything off-limits?” Johnny breathed into your skin as he kissed down your neck to suck a mark there while his hands were busy pulling your shirt from your pants so he could rake them over your naked skin. “Just,” you had to cut yourself off with a moan, “Don’t be mean to me.” “Never,” he promised, “You’ll be my pillow princess.” His sweet words were in stark contrast to how hard his hands were gripping your hips and how his teeth were grazing over your neck that must be littered with marks already. “Take me to bed,” you heaved breathlessly, positive your legs would give out if it wasn’t for Johnny holding you up.

Listening to your demand, he slowly started walking you backwards towards your bed until the two of you were toppling down on top of the covers, his lips never leaving your skin. Whoever had spread the rumors about Johnny being a great lover had been absolutely right, he knew just how to touch you to have you gasping for air and judging by the grin on his lips he hadn’t even started yet. “Please,” you whimpered, arching into his touch, not exactly sure what exactly you were asking for but Johnny seemed to know all the better when he freed you from your top and pants to leave you in your matching lace set while he was still fully clothed in his by now wrinkled button-up and pants. “All for me?” He chuckled and pressed a kiss right between the valley of your breasts, his big hands cupping the soft flesh to squeeze it gently. “Have me,” you gasped out and you could feel the growl he let out vibrating where you were pressed together. “I’m going to ruin you,” Johnny promised, pulling down the cups of your bra to wrap his plush lips around one of your nipples to tease the soft nub until it hardened under his ministrations, sending waves of pleasure down your spine and straight to your core where you could feel your wetness starting to seep into the fabric of your panties. “Johnny,” you mewled and arched into his every touch, his calloused fingertips setting your skin alight when he let them travel down your body to tease over your lower stomach. As if by reflex, you let your thighs fall open for him to finally touch you where you needed him the most. “Such a good girl,” he smiled, blowing cold air over your spit-slicked nipple to watch you squirm beneath him. Your remark got stuck in your throat when he finally cupped you through your panties, feeling how damp the fabric had already become. “Naughty,” he chuckled, his eyes never leaving your face as he circled your clit through the fabric, watching your eyes fluttering shut when his gaze became too intense.

“Johnny,” you sighed, forgetting all other words except for his name. “Relax, princess,” he rasped and kissed his way down your body, leaving love bites on the sensitive skin of your stomach and thighs that shook with anticipation. If you’d say you hadn’t dreamed about his lips on you like this, you would lie and you weren’t going to miss the sight of this for nothing. Fighting back the fog that had started to cloud your mind, you forced your eyes open to look down to where he had settled between your open thighs to find him staring right back at you. “Good girl,” he praised you again before pressing a kiss over your clothed sex that made your head fall back already, the anticipation of what was to come making you push up your hips which made Johnny chuckle lowly. He didn’t leave you any time to feel embarrassed by how needy you were when he hooked your panties to the side unceremoniously and licked a broad stripe up your center, tasting your arousal. “Oh fuck,” you breathed out, your hands flying down to tangle them in the long strands of his hair. Johnny worked his tongue in slow and clever strokes, leaving your mind reeling with pleasure and taking his time to take you apart piece by piece, not even paying attention to your leaking center or your aching clit. But when he did wrap his lips around your clit to gently suck on the nub, your mind almost went numb with how intense his touch was, your thighs clamping shut around him. To make it even worse, he started humming around you while prying your thighs back open, holding you down with his large hands. You felt your orgasm approach almost embarrassingly fast now that he was altering between teasing your clit with his tongue, lips and even his teeth and fucking your velvety walls with his tongue, setting your nerve endings on fire. “Johnny I’m close,” you warned him but instead of slowing down, he stretched his jaw wide to press his tongue further into you, his nose bumping into your clit in the process and with the combined sensation and his doubled effort, it took no time for your first orgasm of the night to wash over you, a scream of his name leaving your lips as you shook through it, your mind going equally as numb as your legs.

When you came back to it, Johnny had straightened up between your legs and he was grinning down at you while he was unbuttoning his shirt, his face still shiny with your arousal. “That was the first one,” he spoke darkly. “Come here,” you whined, making grabby hands for him until he took pity on you and covered your body with his before connecting your lips in a bruising kiss. You could still taste yourself on his lips but that somehow just made it even hotter.

“Want you inside me,” you panted against his lips when Johnny broke the kiss in favor of raking his teeth over your racing pulse. “Yeah?” He rasped and ground his hips down into yours, making you feel him strain against the fabric of his pants. “Need it,” you moaned at the sweet friction. “Think you can take me?” He laughed as he leaned back on his hunches to pop open the button of his pants, pulling down the zipper agonizingly slow. With wide eyes you watched him push his pants down his narrow hips, leaving him in just his navy boxers that showed the sizable imprint of his hard cock, the fabric against the head dark from where he had leaked precum. Chuckling, he stroked over the outline and just the sight alone made your mouth water. “Show me,” you breathed, spreading your thighs so he could see your needy core, clenching around nothing. “Hmm,” he hummed, dragging one of his fingers that wasn’t preoccupied with teasing himself through the mess of arousal and his saliva between your legs, only barely dipping it into you to feel the muscles trying to suck him inside. “Don’t tease me,” you whined high in your throat. “But I like seeing you squirm,” Johnny grinned but took mercy on you and sunk his finger into you up to the knuckle, gently pumping it inside you. Still sensitive from how intense your last orgasm had been, you were torn between pulling away and wanting more but Johnny made the decision for you when he pulled his finger out, wiping your arousal onto your thigh.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded and finally freed his cock from his briefs. “Fuck.” The curse left your lips without even noticing at the sight of his flushed cock, too heavy to properly stand up against his toned abs. The tip was tinted red and shiny with precum that Johnny generously spread down that whole length, his eyes not leaving yours as you watched him lazily jerk himself. “Like what you see?” You eagerly nodded your head. “Want it inside me.” “Yeah? Show me.”

Throwing all caution out of the window, you quickly sucked two of your fingers between your lips before guiding them to your weeping core to slip them inside you, letting out an over-exaggerated moan as you crooked them. “Oh you’re so naughty, baby,” Johnny groaned, squeezing the base of his cock tightly as he watched you fingering yourself and if you had even one coherent thought left in your head, you’d have the decency to be embarrassed because of how intensely he was staring. “It’s not enough,” you pouted, pulling your fingers free and spreading them to look at the slick covering them, “I’m so wet for you.” “Such a dirty mouth,” he groaned, quickly grabbing his pants to fish a condom from his wallet to roll over his hard length. “Please, Johnny,” you hiccupped, winding your legs around his waist to pull him closer to you. “Sssh, princess,” he soothed you, running his hands over your torso before bending down to press tender kisses to your stomach, “I’ll take care of you.” “Please kiss me.”

Dropping his elbows next to your head to support his weight, he covered your body with his and caught your lips in a kiss much too tender for your current situation, taking his time to explore your mouth until you were perfectly pliant beneath him. “Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered into the small space between you while he snaked a hand between your bodies to guide his cock to your core. When the head slipped in without much resistance, both of you let out twin moans of pleasure. Painstakingly slowly Johnny pushed inside you, centimeter by centimeter until his hips were flush to yours. “Breathe, princess,” he reminded you because you indeed had held your breath and had buried your nails in his biceps. “Shit, you’re big,” you cursed. “So I’ve been told,” Johnny chuckled and peppered your face and neck with little kisses while he slowly ground his hips so you could get used to him inside you.

“Move,” you demanded after a while.   “What’s the magic word baby?” He grinned. “Please, Johnny,” you whimpered, clenching down on him. “Once more.” “Don’t make me beg.” “But you sound so pretty when you do,” he chuckled, only barely moving his hips. “Johnny please,” you whined, trying your best to move on his cock on your own but the angle was just not working out. “Oh, you want to do the work?” “I want you to move,” you groaned, pawing at his chest.

“But I think you’d look so pretty riding my cock,” Johnny rasped and in one fluid movement, he had sat up and pulled you onto his lap. Shit, it felt like he was even deeper now. “Come on, princess.” Whining, you wound your arms around his shoulders and pulled your legs beneath you so you could lift your hips up to make his cock smoothly slide out, the friction just right before you slowly dropped back down again, earning you an appreciative groan from Johnny. “That’s right, baby,” he praised you as you slowly found a comfortable pace, swiveling your hips until the angle was just right. Tightening the grip you had on his shoulders to use it as leverage, you began riding him in earnest, impaling yourself on his cock over and over again until your head was spinning and your thighs started to burn. “Come on, doll,” Johnny grinned, catching one of your nipples between his lips. Whining, you rolled your hips faster until your thighs began shaking. “Need help?” He just grinned, his big hands holding onto your hips to help you move up and down his cock at a steadier pace. “Please Johnny,” you hiccupped, hiding your face in his neck to ground yourself, “Please fuck me.” “Am I not doing just that?” He chuckled, filthily grinding his cock inside you. “Do it right,” you panted into his skin, “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Then get on your hands and knees for me, baby.” He didn’t have to tell you twice, it was almost comical how quickly you obeyed his command and arched your back for him. “Hmm, that’s it,” he praised you, tracing the curve of your spine with his hands until he reached the space between your shoulder blades where he gently pushed down to make you arch even further. “So good and pliant for me, just waiting to be filled.” “Please,” you just whined again, past the point of caring about how pathetic you sounded, begging for his cock. “Say it baby,” he demanded, slapping his cock against your wet folds. “Please fuck me Johnny. Please. I want your cock inside me so badly. Want you to fuck me until I can’t even remember my own name anymore. Please I need it. I-“ your frantic rambling got cut off by the surprised moan leaving your lips as he thrust into you without any warning. “Don’t hold back baby,” Johnny rasped before gripping your hips tightly to finally fuck you in earnest, the sound of skin slapping together loud in the otherwise silent room. “God, your ass looks amazing,” he moaned, burying himself in your tight heat over and over again, mesmerized by how his cock was glistening in the low light and how easily your body opened up for him, “You’re basically made to take my cock.” You could only mewl at his dirty words and fist the sheets tightly in your hands as you tried to meet his thrusts as best as you could while you felt like you got your soul fucked right out of you.

“Feels so good,” you slurred when you felt the familiar knot in your stomach ready to snap, clenching around Johnny’s cock. “God baby, if you keep clenching like that I’m gonna cum,” Johnny cursed, grabbing you by the neck to pull you up against his chest, the pace of his hips only getting faster. “Please Johnny. Want it inside,” you whined, letting him use your body how he wanted to relish in the low moans he let out. “You want me to fill you up baby?” “Want it so bad, Johnny,” you mewled. “Then cum for me. Cum on my cock and I’ll give you anything you want.” And oh god. You had never thought that the strained sound of a couple of words could be enough to actually trip you over the edge but the rasp in Johnny’s voice had you falling apart in his arms, your orgasm ripping through you so hard it had your thighs shaking. “Such a good girl,” Johnny praised you before he let out a low guttural moan and fucked into you once – then twice – before his hips came to a halt, emptying his cum inside the condom.

For a while you two just panted loudly before Johnny gently laid you back down onto the mattress, chuckling lowly when you whined at the loss of his cock. “Shit,” you giggled while he quickly got rid of the condom, throwing it in the general direction of your trashcan. So tender you could have missed it, Johnny pressed a row of kisses down your spine until he reached the swell of your ass. “Cuddle me,” you pouted, making grabby hands at him. “We’re sweaty, princess,” he laughed but gave in when you kept pouting. “I don’t care,” you whined, fitting your head beneath his, wrapping your arms and legs around his body to cling to him like a koala. “You’re cute,” he smiled, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“For how long did you know?” “Know what?” Johnny asked, clearly confused. “That I was your secret admirer.” “I didn’t.” “It was so obvious,” you groaned. “Okay maybe I got a hunch after we started that group project. But you never said anything.” “What was I supposed to say? Oh Johnny, by the way, I’m the one who has been writing you cringey love letters for like half a year already. Please go out with me?” That made Johnny laugh, the sound melodic in the quiet of your room. “I would have said yes, you know?” He spoke lowly, “I’ll miss your letters.” “What makes you think I will stop writing them?” “Because you can tell me all that stuff in person now when we go on dates.” “We’ll go on dates?” “That’s what people do when they like each other, princess,” Johnny chuckled, “And I really like you. Both as my secret admirer and my classmate.” “Oh my god stop,” you whined, hiding your hot face in his chest, feeling shy all of a sudden while Johnny was just laughing.

“I like you too,” you eventually mumbled once it had gotten quiet again. “I figured,” he teased you. “I changed my mind,” you immediately shot back, rising from where you were cuddled into his chest but every other protest died on your tongue when you saw his dreamy expression, his honey eyes finding yours and completely ignoring the fact that you were still very much naked. “Date me,” he said. “Okay,” you answered, easily meeting his lips in a sweet kiss that wouldn’t be the last one you two shared tonight.

“Hello and welcome back, that was Middle Of The Night by Monsta X, suggested to us by raibebe through our Twitter with the hashtag JonJaeLoveTalk. We’re your DJ’s John-D.” “And Jae-D on NCT Night Night. Hello again to all of our listeners. John-D.” “Yes Jae-D,” Johnny chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Something is off today. I looked through our mail and there was no letter from your secret admirer.” “Oh really,” he feigned surprise. “Either they didn’t send anything in or our director got sick of the pining.” “I can calm you right back down Jae-D,” Johnny smiled, “Because she simply doesn’t need to send any more letters. I finally found her.” “No way. For real? And you didn’t tell me? I have to find out through our radio show? Friendship is dead,” Jaehyun sighed dramatically and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Jae-D you know you’ll always be the number one in my heart, you know that.” At that Jaehyun let out fake gagging noises that made both friends chuckle.

“No but for real. I finally found her and asked her out. It’s going great so yeah,” Johnny shrugged, “In case you’re listening baby: I’m dropping by later and bring sushi.” “This is so domestic already,” Jaehyun sighed dramatically, “Where is my secret admirer?” “Maybe you could find love as well if you stopped acting like the textbook example of a frat boy.” “What is that even supposed to mean?”

Smiling, you leaned back on your sofa and listened to your boyfriend bickering with his best friend. Boyfriend. That sounded good even though it still felt unreal. Love Letters weren’t dead after all it seemed.