#studied for ten fucking hours for probably a goddamn f

[bardicbeetle]

Character Rambles - Jesse Addison (part 1? Probably?)

I've been doing some little book-bible exercises so here is some background on Jesse. From long before the events of SitD. Mild content warnings for homophobia and the f-slur and the use of Queer as a slur. And also for the vague implication of emotional abuse.

The thing about Jesse Addison is that he lives for other people for the longest time.

He’s a well off kid from a wealthy family, he is intelligent and determined and he’s going to go to medical school (he’s known this since he was ten) and he’s going to make his parents proud of him and he’s going to be the best goddamn big brother you’ve ever seen. Sure his parents are strict but that’s just because they have high expectations, his father is busy running for governor again, his mother is the lead editor for the biggest paper in town (which to be fair isn’t huge but it’s nothing to sneeze at).

Sure, Jesse works too hard to have friends, that’s fine, his English teacher is close enough.

Sure, he’s slowly crumbling under the realization that all of the choices he’s ever made aren’t really his own.

Yes, he spends a little too much time sitting between the eaves on the roof outside his bedroom window.

But he hasn’t fallen off it in years, and what’s a few broken ribs in the long run anyways.

His mother calls him Bird and reads every story he puts under her nose with a mix of well placed praise and plenty of criticism. His father doesn’t have much time for either of his children but does give the occasional appreciative nod at his grades and choice of extracurriculars (“We won’t tell him about the writing workshop Bird—I’ll take care of it.”) Always makes time during those godawful boring dinners with all the city council members and their children to talk about how bright Jesse is, about how far he’s going to go—

—It’s nice.

Sarah treats him like a superhero.

He swears he spends more time watching her than the nanny does.

He doesn’t mind.

Jesse likes giving people something to be proud of. Maybe that’s why it takes so long to realize how fucking miserable he is. How lonely.

He writes more. Writes more than anything else. His grades slip—not enough to be bad, but enough that they are no longer celebrated. For a time, he thinks this is better. If he can slip under the radar, if he can coast through until school is done, if he can plan out a convincing enough argument for avoiding medical school, for—

—it won’t happen.

Charlie is the first friend he makes in high school, in junior year.

Charlie is also the only friend he makes in high school.

Charlie is the one who whispers that they should steal one of his father’s bottles of bourbon and watch the sun rise from the roof.

Charlie is the one who tells everyone and anyone who will listen that Jesse tried to kiss him.

He didn’t.

Wanted to.

But didn’t.

Never would have.

Nobody really seems to think that matters coming from him. Including his parents when the whispers and the bruises and the screamed words finally make it back to them after months of silent endurance. Neither of them had questioned his sudden disposition towards clumsiness, he blamed it on staying up late hours studying, said he was too tired, tripped over things, depth perception had him walking into doorframes and countertops. He figured he could hide it well enough. He’s not a fighter, he’s a deflector, he’s a let-the-blow-ring-out and walk away. Fighting would make it worse. Fighting would give the idea he’s got something worth hiding.

But there’s only so much shit he can take. And it’s when he starts fighting back that the stories make it home. When he starts taking the hurlings of faggot and queer with a smile and putting the inheritance of his mother’s sharp tongue to work. When words stop being words and turn into fists—

It’s Charlie again.

The thing that breaks it.

An eye for a nose is a fair trade, Jesse thinks.

He doesn’t go through the front door that day when he gets home. Climbs over the fence and crawls through Sarah’s bedroom window. Hears the argument his parents are having before it’s ever meant to reach him. Maybe… maybe another time would have been easier, better, less. But it’s campaign season. There will be no fighting back. There will be no goodbyes. There will be plenty of shouting. There will be the packing of a bag and the barely successful attempt not to cry until he’s out of their sight, earshot, and house.

Jesse Addison finishes his junior year of high school sleeping on his middle school english teacher’s couch, promptly drops out to get his GED, and doesn’t look back. Mr. Silas is more than happy to write him any reference he needs, offers to try and talk to his family which Jesse refuses point blank every time he brings it up.

By the time summer is waning, Jesse is working on enrollment at Berkeley.

If he’s going to leave, then he’s doing it right.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir /

[verystressedcollegestudent]

when you probably failed your IEA exam, took an accidental nap bc you were literally working from 8am-3am the day before except dinner BUT wake up from said accidental nap just in time to make your 2pm class

[hotdamnhunnam]

Stop Fucking Around, Cunt

A/N: Title is a quote from Charlie’s character in Guy Ritchie’s The Gentlemen. Anyone else obsessed with Raymond and the way he says ‘cunt’... all the time... Just imagine him calling you one while he dishes out punishment, spanking you raw and then fucking you hard from behind.

Pairing: Raymond Smith x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, spanking, punishment, dom!Raymond

Word Count: ~1.7k

“What the fuck are you talking about, love?” he asks as he strips off his coat.

You watch him and try not to choke on the puddle of thirst in your throat. Bite your lip, quite embarrassed at what you’re about to admit. “I just—I don’t know, Ray, it really just... gets me all hot.”

Your impeccably dressed and impossibly gorgeous boyfriend just stands there a second, broad shoulders and buff chest bursting at the seams of his buttoned-up vest, still unsure what you mean to suggest. “What?”

So you spit it out, then. “The way you say cunt.”

Raymond blinks. Lifts his brows. Blue eyes speaking in silence—well, now... that was blunt.

And you’re not even done. Clearing your throat again, you bravely carry on. “I was wondering if you might, um... call me one?”

That shit certainly calls for another long pause. Raymond studies your face with a barely perceptible clench of his jaw. Slowly pushes his glasses up, curious just how you got so corrupt. “Love, you do know that’s an insult? Frankly not a name that a delicate flower like you should be called.”

Fuck. This is not going how you had hoped. Not at all. 

You reply with a roll of your eyes and a frustrated sigh. “Yes, I know. When I hear you get pissed off at someone and call them a cunt, though...” your voice trails off briefly; you notice the smug bastard smirking at you now, all cocky and cheeky. “Are you fucking judging me, Raymond? You shouldn’t. This isn’t my fault.”

He braces his pinstripe-sleeved arms on the countertop by which he’s standing, here in his meticulously—fucking ridiculously—well-maintained kitchen. Every damn thing Raymond touches falls under his competent hand and his total command, which includes you; the moment you met, you were smitten. He knows it, too. “Not your fault, Y/N? Whose is it, then?”

“Yours, of course,” you respond. “Strutting around town with that spiffy vest and those scholarly specs and that stupid blonde beard and this whole fucking... thing that you’ve got going on. You can’t keep spouting filth from that mouth and then wonder why this so-called ‘delicate flower’ is desperate for you to treat her like a whore.”

Something shifts within him, at those words. Like he doesn’t wonder anymore. He approaches you slowly now, voice smooth and soft and yet somehow, so... rough. “Well, why don’t you run off to our bedroom, love. Take all your clothes off. And wait for me there on the floor, bent over on all fours... with that sweet little cunt of yours facing the door.”

***************

Never have you obeyed an order any faster; Ray has always been a master of exerting power. Now that you have done as told, eagerly slipping into your submissive role, of course the bastard makes you wait for what feels like a goddamn hour. Maybe more.

Of fucking course.

It’s probably been less than ten minutes, if you’re honest, but however long it’s been, you’re fucking sick of it. It’s torture, though you must admit some part of you does love it. 

Ray’s not even here yet and already he’s pushing your limits. Here you are on your hands and knees down on the floor, just as he’d ordered, stark naked and so fucking horny it’s starting to hurt. 

Just before you’re about to give up and shift out of your shameless position of abject submission... in that exact moment, the bedroom door slowly swings open. So you stay in place then, all shaking and soaking. Even without turning and looking, you can feel the force of his gaze on your skin, no doubt focusing on your bare ass and exposed pussy.

It must be fucking glistening, you think, given how wet you’ve been ever since Raymond let this game begin. Feels obscenely fucking juicy.

His voice as it comes from the doorway is rich, husky, laced with all manner of lust and expensive whiskey. “Now, isn’t that a sight to see...”

The waiting game has made you more than just a little grumpy. So you turn back toward him now, turn down the corners of your mouth into a bratty princess pout. As if you’re in any position to be bossy. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

Ray is clearly quite amused by that, as you knew he would be. “Well, we both know that’s what you want...” he taunts, crossing the room to stand before you so that he can admire the view from the front. He looks straight down at you with the statement that he utters next, each word off of his luscious lips dripping with sex. “...but that’s not what you’re going to get. Not yet. You greedy little cunt.”

Oh God. Oh God. You’d always dreamt that hearing this from him would be insanely hot... but the effect now as it finally fucking happens far exceeds your filthy thoughts.

He crouches down, propping your chin up in his grasp to keep you from pathetically collapsing to the ground. “Who would’ve guessed my precious little princess is just nothing but a dirty fucking slut?”

“Ray...” you cry out, his name escaping from your mouth, though you really have nothing to say.

“Did I tell you to speak?” he chides, hand shifting up toward your hair, thick fingers tangling through your locks and gripping tight, holding your head in place right there. God, how his strength is making you weak. “Listen, cunt. You are going to stay still and shut up while I give that naughty ass what it deserves: some good hard punishment. You’re not going to sit right for weeks.”

You nod and bite your tongue, high on the big dick energy that’s radiating from your dom. So fucking strong... in all this time you’ve been with him, it’s honestly just what you’ve wanted all along.

“That’s a good little slut,” he says, masterfully petting your head, and then shifting to suddenly lift you up off the floor so that he can position you elsewhere instead, with your body bent over the bed.

Ray manhandles you effortlessly, like you don’t weigh a thing. You don’t, really, to him. He could probably bench press a dozen of you at the gym. His whole life is a hustle, so he knows that it benefits him to build muscle... which certainly benefits you in the bedroom.

You know that you’re meant to stay still, but you want him so badly it kills. It hurts that you can’t turn to watch him behind you as he gets undressed. The sound of this absolute sex god unbuttoning his tailored vest, then loosening his tie and removing his shirt and revealing his rippling abs and his smooth sculpted chest, then finally unbuckling his belt... you’re not sure if you can help yourself...

“Don’t you dare fucking move,” he abruptly commands, owning you though and through. “Understand?”

Yes, of course you do. Of course you know the command that he told you to follow. And yet that doesn’t mean that you can... how can you resist turning to look, to behold such a beautiful god of a man...?

Before you can try pushing your luck to defy his command, Ray swiftly takes a fistful of your messy hair in one hand, rough and dominant. He knew exactly what you were about to do. Promptly forbids you from ever attempting something so damn stupid again. “Stop fucking around, cunt.”

Holy mother of fuck—and that is when the punishment begins.

You shudder and gasp, with a sharp jolt of shock, as his palm comes down hard on your bare naked ass. “Let’s see how much this delicate flower can take before you earn this big fucking cock.”

Ray has spanked your ass more than a few times before, but this... this shit hits different. The biggest difference being that, with each smack, he aggressively pulls your hair back and leans in to whisper the same word in your ear, the word you have for so long been dying to hear...

“That’s it, cunt. Take your punishment. This what you want? Know it is. Fucking live for this, don’t you. You know you do. Damn filthy cunt.”

You lose count, soon enough, as his hand on your ass gets increasingly rough, and as both of you come ever closer to explosively getting off. Before you’ve even taken his cock. As your body trembles from the impact of each smack, you feel his enormous shaft, hard as a rock, rubbing up on your sex, from where he stands behind you, in perfect position between your spread legs. That, combined with the absolute filth that he says, and the force of his savage attack on your ass, is enough to make you fucking climax...

But Raymond knows better than to let that happen. Once he is at last satisfied that you’ve learned your lesson, he dishes out one final smack and then presses his hand to the small of your back, while the other grabs hold of his cock to align it with your dripping pussy and then... finally pushes in.

“Unghhh...” he grunts, in rhythm with your own mind-blown groan of complete satisfaction. The next words that fall from his sinful mouth, then, take you straight up to heaven or somewhere beyond. “Such a good... fucking... cunt.”

Just like that, on the instant, when he’s been inside you for barely two seconds... you’re honestly done.

Both of you end up coming harder than you’ve ever come, sanity shattered to pieces, all your senses starstruck and numb.

You are sure that it’s bound to be hours—days, weeks, even—till you manage to come down from this heaven and somehow recover from such a next-level orgasm.

Till then, you are more than content to just bask in the afterglow with him, knowing that whenever you’re craving a visit to heaven again... you now have a quick ticket straight up there with Raymond. 

All he will ever have to do, to take you to the fucking stars, is call you what you are: his dirty little slut... and filthy fucking cunt.

***************

... Continued in this sequel fic!

Thank you for reading!! Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

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[ridleymocki]

But I Was Rapt, Without A Name

Written for Pynch Week 17, Day 6. Prompt:  Fireflies // Language // Elements

Summary: There are some things about Adam Parrish that are still mysterious, even to his boyfriend. The way he can look at a mass of cards and find some sort of deeper meaning is among those things. Ronan's happy to learn, though.A cute hang out fic featuring guest appearances from the Gangsey, and entirely too much coffee drinking.

Notes: Guuuuuys, I’m really starting to feel the strain of this challenge, this was so goddamn hard. But when I think of ‘Elements’ I think of tarot cards, and how reading TRC actually finally made me study them and how to read with them, after years of idle fascination. Add the need for some actual plot and you get patient tutor Adam with hopelessly in love and attentive Ronan. Title is from 'Sirensong' by The Cure, which is an awesome freaking song and an awesome band, honestly.Thank you a whole great big awful lot for reading! And I hope you enjoy it <3

also on ao3

“You bring those everywhere with you now, Parrish?” Ronan stepped onto the back porch and smiled down at Adam where he sat, legs crossed on the wooden decking. Around him were cards. Lots of them. It wasn’t quite the multi-deck spread that could take over a whole table at 300 Fox Way, but it was complex in a way Ronan couldn’t understand, arcing around where Adam sat.

 “Yeah, pretty much” Adam said. He returned Ronan’s smile, so at least he knew he wasn’t intruding. “They help. It’s like free therapy.”

 Ronan quirked a brow and dropped down to sit next to him, handing over a coffee cup, its steam catching the yellow light from inside. “Sounds weird.”

They heard Blue yell out from inside the house, “Hey losers! You watching with us or what?” Adam snorted and shook his head.

 “No,” Ronan called back. “Don’t do anything gross on my couch!” And quieter he grumbled, “they probably will now, damn it.”

 Adam chuckled lowly, “You gave them ideas. Rookie mistake.”

 After Ronan had updated the living room to include an obnoxiously large television and home cinema system, and after the threesome of ambiguous relationship that was Blue, Gansey, and Henry had returned from South America, movie night inexplicably became a regular occurrence. They’d been watching the same show for four hours – some quirky sci fi thing that made Gansey happy because it was set in Wales, and made Blue happy because it had a female lead – but Adam had ducked out twenty minutes ago, and with him went half of Ronan’s interest.

 “So how’s this supposed to therapise you?” Ronan nudged his chin at the cards spread before them. He could see Adam physically bite back the that’s not a word, and smirked.

 “Do you really want to know?” Adam said, and Ronan nodded, immediately giving him his full attention. Adam was sometimes reluctant to go on about things that genuinely interested him, worried that it gave other people too much power. He preferred deep conversations on topics from which he was personally detached, because then at least if someone disagreed, it didn’t feel like rejection. But Ronan had been sure to show him from day one of their relationship that he didn’t have to worry about that, here. Adam gave him a small smile. “Well, tarot cards don’t always show the future. They show you possibilities. You ask them a question and they give you one possible answer. It’s when you analyse the answers the cards give you, and how they fit with you and how you react to them, that you get insight. So like–“ he reached out and tapped a card at the top, at the far edge of the spread– “the Three of Cups. I asked what I needed to focus on and this is what they said.”

 Ronan leaned over and looked at the card. Three women in long dresses seemed to circle around each other, each had a goblet in her hand that was raised joyously above their heads as though making a toast. “They want you to focus on getting drunk?”

 Adam punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Asshole,” he said to Ronan’s grin. “Look, to me anyway, it’s referring to stuff like tonight, with everyone here.” He looked at Ronan uncertainly, but was encouraged by whatever he found in his face. “There are hundreds of interpretations of every card. For a lot of people they’re as subjective as Rorschach paintings. But for me the Three of Cups has always been about the three women being friends, you know? They’re together, they’re in harmony. And they’re happy. They’ve reached a point where things are good and they can celebrate. So I see it and I think of all of us here, of how good things are. So I should focus on that, on friends and hanging out together. I agree with that card being there because it feels true, for me. But maybe I wouldn’t have made that conscious choice unless I did the reading.”

 Ronan nodded, but honestly he was surprised. “That’s a hell of a lot more rational than the way the witches do it.”

 Adam grimaced. “Yeah well, they’ve got a better connection to time than I have. When they get an answer it’s definite. But with Cabeswater gone it’s harder for me to do it like that.”

 “So you’re just going to be a nerd about it instead?” He nudged Adam’s shoulder, going for levity to get that sad little frown off his face. Cabeswater’s absence was something they all felt. Ronan was working on it. Gratifyingly, Adam stuck his tongue out at him, and laughed into his coffee cup.

 “You wouldn’t think it, but yeah.” He said eventually. “You can actually nerd out about this stuff. Tarot is… complicated. Systematic.”

 “Yeah?”

 “Mhmm. I mean, look.” He pointed to a card labelled ‘The Fool’. “This is the first card in the deck, but it’s an outlier, that’s why it’s marked with a zero. From there you get the twenty-one majors. They show what the Fool has to go through and deal with in life, the kind of stuff everyone has to deal with; fear, imbalance, moral principles. Tarot is a universal narrative, that way. Then you have four suits, all with their own meanings and elements, all with ten pip cards and four court cards. The Aces are the pure energy of the element of that suit, the rest of the pips are different possibilities, and the courts are like characterisations for how those elements work.” Adam turned to check he was still listening, and caught Ronan looking at him heavily.

 Ronan listened alright, thought that if he were in a room crowded with raucous people and Adam began to talk, he’d still hear it. But he loved Adam like this, loved his brain and the way it worked to push him ever forward and above everyone else. When Adam let him have a glimpse inside his mind, it was only understandable that Ronan would take a long look. The way his eyes sparked with knowledge pulled at him more than Ronan could explain.

 Adam raised a judgemental brow at him, smirking, and Ronan cleared his throat. “Elements?”

 Adam frowned for a moment before recalling what he’d been saying. “Oh. Yeah. Wands are fire, and represent creativity–“ he pointed to a card, then another, each one featuring the symbol he explained– “Swords are air, and represent the intellect, rationality. Cups are water, they’re about emotions; how you contain them or how they overflow. And pentacles, or coins, they’re earth. That’s about resources, usually material ones.”

 “Right, okay. And that all makes sense? When you do a reading like this?” he gestured to the general sprawl of cards before them, probably half the deck laid out on the wood.

 “More or less.”

 Ronan hummed, and drank his coffee, aware that Adam was watching him, mouth turned up at the corners. He didn’t know why so many of their conversations felt like this; like resting something on the edge of a table and watching it teeter. They were always on the edge of something. “Am I anywhere down there?” He nodded to the spread.

 He’d meant it teasingly, but Adam suddenly looked a little nervous. He waved at a set of three cards at the lower right edge of the layout, set side by side. “Well, this is your bit.”

 “I get a whole bit? What about me don’t you know, Parrish?” He tore his gaze away from Adam’s face and actually inspected the cards. Ronan felt something unpleasant unfurl in his stomach when he saw what must have given Adam that look. The cards in the middle and on the right seemed unassuming enough. Blue skies in the background, just ordinary scenes. But on the far left–

 “The Devil?”

 Two nudes were chained to a post, demonic tails curling beside them. Above them sat a rotund, goat-horned demon, wings like a bat’s and an inverted pentagram upon his head. The background was black and the demon wielded a lit baton like a bludgeon.

 “Don’t freak out.” Adam rested his fingers against Ronan’s wrist, curling them against his vulnerable veins. “It’s not bad.”

 Ronan looked at him skeptically. “It fucking looks bad.”

 “No, okay. I laid out those three cards to mean past, present, and future. The Devil’s in the past–“

 “Great. So I only used to be Satan.” If he sounded childish he didn’t care. There were some nights he wondered about he and Adam, the intrusive whisper in his thoughts that Adam could do better, that Ronan was bad for him at best and downright corrosive at worst.

 “Fuck. No.” Adam scrubbed a hand through his hair. “The Devil isn’t literally the devil, or any devil. It’s just– It’s temptation... Pure freaking temptation.” He was avoiding Ronan’s eyes. On impulse, or maybe just intuition, Ronan reached out and passed the back of his finger down Adam’s cheek. Adam startled, turning to him in confusion, but not quick enough. His cheek was hot. “I wanted you for a long time,” Adam said lowly, after a moment. “Even when I didn’t realise. And then when I thought it was dangerous for me.”

 Ronan didn’t know what to do with that, the words ‘a long time’ rang again and again in his head and he wanted to throw something. “What changed?” Because something had to have changed.

 Adam shrugged. “Eventually I knew better.” He smiled when Ronan just raised a brow, uncomprehending. “You’re an asshole, but you’re good for me. I like being with you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

 When Ronan had stepped out the back door earlier and joined Adam out here, he hadn’t been counting on this. He would’ve been happy to lie down nearby and hear the buzz of summer’s insects, leaving Adam to do his thing. Now that he’d heard those words pass Adam’s lips, he couldn’t go back. The sense that he was on borrowed time evaporated, the future spreading out instead.

 As he stared, struck dumb, Adam’s smile grew wide and he leaned forward to press their foreheads together. Ronan let out a long breath. “Fucking hell.” Adam just hummed.

 “Do you want to know the rest?” Adam asked after a minute. Ronan nodded, and Adam kissed him softly for a moment before pulling away and downing the rest of his coffee, long since cold.

“Alright, so in the past I was lusting after you, or whatever.” He looked infinitely pleased at Ronan’s helpless laugh. “In the present, you’re the Two of Cups.” This card looked markedly more pleasant. Two people stood opposite one another beneath a lion’s head with wings, and clinked their goblets together. It looked like a bright day, blue sky and vivid colours. “This basically means that you’ve made a connection with someone complimentary to you. Me, I would assume. It’s the card of a good beginning, a good relationship.”

 “Are you sure that one bit cardboard is telling you that?” Ronan teased.

 “Hey, that’s just what it means. If I happen to agree that’s neither here nor there.” He reached and ran his hand up and down Ronan’s thigh, a touch just for the sake of touching. “And this one, in the future spot: Temperance. I don’t know if it’s about you or about us but Temperance is all about balance. It means that you’ll get what you need but it won’t be spoiled by being too little or too much. It’s a healthy card, peaceful. That’s what you have to look forward to.”

 “Huh,” Ronan was a little surprised. “That’s oddly optimistic.”

 “Like I said,” Adam leaned into him, “the cards just show you a possibility. If you decide you like it, it’s your sign to head towards it.”

 Ronan scoffed derisively, and shifted to loop his arm around Adam’s shoulder. Even in the still warm summer night, it was comfortable. “I could have told you I wanted this to go well even without the damn cards.”

 Adam smiled. “I know. Still, it’s nice to turn over a good card and realise for yourself how much you really want it.”

 Ronan didn’t say anything. It had only been a few months, but he’d bet good money on what they had. Or at least, on how far he was willing to go to keep it as good as it had been so far. There was something enduringly right in being with Adam, and every hint he got that Adam felt the same was a clarion call to keep going. It would get difficult, of course, when Adam went away for college or when their interests pulled them in different directions. And they still had to deal with the issue of Ronan’s dreaming and what to do about their burnt up magic forest. But in the middle of it they were good. The fact that Adam had even set out a card for the future, and indirectly shown he counted on having one that included Ronan, was big enough that as they lapsed into silence, Ronan felt uncommon contentment well in his chest and settle there.

 “Are you doing gross things on the porch!?” Henry suddenly yelled out, shattering the silence, and poked his head out the living room window. “We’re going to start a game of Twister, you want in?”

 “Fuck no,” Adam called back immediately, making Ronan laugh. Henry grinned wide at him, then seemed to take in their current position – Adam’s hand on his thigh, Ronan’s arm curled around him – and his smile grew softer before he ducked back into the house.

 Ronan turned his head and pressed a kiss to his hair, his hand finding Adam’s and linking their fingers.

 The back door burst open and Blue crooked her head cheerily around the frame. “Come on, assholes. You had all summer to be all over each other, come hang out.”

 “In a minute,” Adam said airily, and Blue made a disgusted noise at them, rolled her eyes and went back into the house.

 Faintly they could hear her say, “They’re too busy sucking face and sighing. Dammit Gansey! Left foot on red!”

 “I don’t even have to say anything now,” Ronan said quietly. “You’re sending everyone away before I can.”

 Adam sighed. “We should go in. They just got back. But I don’t want to, yet.”

 Ronan rubbed his hand up and down Adam’s arm. “Then what do you want?”

 Adam sat up and looked him, his gaze dark and sparking, and Ronan had to resist the urge to swallow down his want. In a second, his empty coffee cup was being gently taken out of his hand and set aside. Ronan barely had time to look up before Adam’s lips were on his.

 This wasn’t the kiss of familiarity he’d gotten just before. This was hungry. This was a you feel too good not to touch kiss. A stay close to me kiss. An I’m not going anywhere kind of kiss. Adam’s ridiculous hands came up to cradle his face, like he needed to feel him under his palms to know this was real. Ronan wrapped his arms around him and pulled Adam close, and they fell back to lie on the wood, Adam sprawled over him as their mouths worked.

 Time must have passed but Ronan couldn’t have said how. When they parted, lips red and breaths heavy, Adam’s thumb was still running over his cheek, passing back and forth.

 Ronan cleared his throat. “So how often do you do tarot readings?”

 Adam began to laugh uncontrollably, shaking over him, and Ronan caught his face to bring their mouths together again.

 (They went back inside twenty minutes later with their cheeks red and hands clasped. Ronan carried their cups while Adam grasped the cards they’d eventually piled back together. Gansey looked at them fondly, even where he was contorted with Henry on the Twister mat. Blue threw a pillow at them, just so they knew she was happy for them.)