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c00kieguy · 3 days

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𝔻𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕌𝕡

relationships: afab!Aventurine x amab!gn!Reader summary: Fucking Aventurine in his boss form cw: oral (Aventurine receiving), face sitting, face fucking(a bit), cum eating (Reader), piv, creampie and a bit of aftercare. Ratio mention at the end too i guess? a/n: I wanted to get this done before his banner but oh well. This was a bit of a challenge to finish since I haven't written smut in over a year lol wc: 3k masterlist

“Keeping your mask on?”

After having begged your boyfriend for hours on end, he finally gave into your whims. Ever since you got a peek at his alternate form (you weren’t even aware he had one!) you couldn’t get it out of your mind…

“Of course, you wanted to see me like this right? Gotta enjoy the whole package.” He says while sitting on your lap facing towards you. He has his arms wrapped around your neck, his coat and hat long forgotten on the couch so you could better slot into each other’s bodies while cuddling.

It was really fascinating how different he was in this form. Sure, he was still your same old lovely boyfriend, but with a more confident vibe (if that was even possible). You find it adorable how even his voice, now muffled by the mask, sounds a little different, more gruff, and yet so familiar.

“Mmm, but I miss your face.” You say with a fake pout, he finds your exaggeration amusing. You supposed you did ask for the whole package and the whole package is what you shall get. Wrapping your hands around his waist you pull him closer, your chests now touching. This moment felt all too perfect to you. Burying your face in his neck you let out a content hum, Aventurine finds the subtle buzzing on his skin almost therapeutic. However, he was getting a little curious on why you were so infatuated with this look.

“I’m starting to think you like this version of me better.” He says teasingly. You reluctantly pull away from the comfort of his neck to look at him.

“Of course not, I love both versions equally.” The black and turquoise mask stares at you and you could almost feel the deadpanned look he was giving you through it.

“If you had to pick, which one?”

“Are you telling me to choose between you and…yourself?” You ask with a small laugh.

“You know what I mean.”

“No, no I don’t.” He sighs at your reply. Why did you have to be so difficult?

“What do you like so much about this anyway?” Aventurine himself didn’t see anything special about this outfit, afterall, that’s all it was. The cornerstone had nothing to do with the way he looked. He put so much time and effort into meticulously piecing together this outfit that he almost looked offended when you suggested it was the cornerstone doing all the work.

“Hmm, well. Your everyday outfit is more on the cute and handsome side I’d say, while this…it’s more…” You trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence without looking too desperate.

“Flamboyant? Flashy? Extravagant?”

“...sexy.” He has to do a double take because what did you just say? Did he hear that right? You’re really embarrassed to have admitted it but he’s not letting you off the hook.

“Oh-ho? Why so?” You feel really flustered now so you bury your face in his shoulder.

“Just that it really uh…” You pause, trying to word this the best way possible. “Accentuates you.” Aventurine leans back with his hands resting on your thighs behind him to give you a better view of his body. Your hands still rest on his hips.

“What part of me?” When you don’t reply he continues. “Aw, suddenly shy, are you?”

“Well, I can’t just say ‘your ass looks so plump I need to eat you out’ now can I?” He barks out a laugh and leans into you.

He places his hands over yours and guides them down to his ass and you give it a little squeeze, drawing out a soft sigh out of him. “Well? What are you waiting for?” You don’t think twice before sliding down to lie on your back as Aventurine crawls up to you and sits on your chest with his thighs on either side of your head. You feel the gold plating on his legs poke at your cheeks a little but you pay it no mind.

“Does this thing have a zipper…?”

“No need.” He uses his sharp claw like nails to tear an opening right where his hole is. Hot.

“Might wanna keep those away from my face haha…”

“Why? Scared- ahh~!” He sucks in a shaky breath when he feels you run your thumb over his slit.

“Me? Never.” You lick his slick off your fingers, taunting him. Aventurine shudders as he clenches around nothing in anticipation, he feels so empty all of a sudden, his desire to be ravaged by you taking priority over all else. Carefully he supports himself on his knees and positions himself in front of your face, his legs start to tremble at the feeling of your hot breath right on his entrance. Aventurine takes your words to mind and so instead of having his fingers tangled in your hair, he resorts to resting them against the wall in front of him.

You haven’t even started yet and he’s already putty in your hands. Just the thought of you eating him out was enough to get him so incredibly wet. You take the time to savor the view for a while, just Aventurine practically sitting on your face and his hips twitching in excitement. His face may be hidden behind his mask but you could almost imagine the lewd expression he’d have on him when you shove your face between his legs. Mouth slightly agape as soft moans spill out of them and eyes so hazy and clouded in pleasure you’d wonder if he could even see. Guess you had to just make do and use your imagination for today.

“ooHh! mMm-hgnHn…!” Aventurine whimpers, desperately trying to steady himself against the wall right as you start licking his slit and oh he felt so close to losing his mind. He for one was very glad he still had his mask on. It was embarrassing enough to be moaning so much at the slightest touch, but if he had to make eye contact as well, he might just evaporate on the spot.

Your hot tongue laps at his hole like someone who’s been starving for days, and with how sweet he tasted you might as well have been. With the way Aventurine bucked his hips into your face in desperation, it didn’t take long for his delicious juices to start dribbling down your chin. The blonde was in such a daze he didn’t even realize that he’d started moving his hips until you placed a firm grip on them to stop him.

“Try not to move M’kay? I’ll make you feel good, I promise.” And with that you slowly start to push your tongue inside him. Aventurine stutters out a loud moan at the sensation, your thick, hot tongue spreading him open and plunging inside him repeatedly. You made sure to give some attention to his clit as well by fondling it with your thumb, alternating between pressing the sensitive nub and rubbing circles around it.

All the attention you’re giving him keeps dragging out moan after moan from the pretty blond. His whole body twitches in pleasure at your greedy caresses, knees going so weak that he’s scared he might suffocate you if he went any lower. Desperately he claws at the wall he tries to keep his legs steady, his nails leaving large scratch marks on the surface that you’ll deal with later. Seeing as he was struggling to hold himself up you tug at his waist.

“Sit.” He hesitates so you nudge his thighs apart to urge him on. “What? You won’t kill me.” Reluctantly he spreads his legs a bit more and lowers himself on your face. In this position you seem to have better reach. Not stopping for a second you continue to repeatedly push your tongue into his warm hole.

Feeling so close to cumming, Aventurine puts his hand on your head and you have to remind to be careful. You’re not sure if he heard you since he starts mindlessly rutting into your face again. This time though you just let him do as he pleases, it was clear he couldn’t focus on anything outside of the pleasure he’s feeling. You felt the gold plates on his thighs scrape your cheeks slightly but choose to ignore it.

“AhhH-nGh! so c-close…ha…please, don’t stop, please please pleasepleaseplase-” He blabbers on shamelessly into his mask. It only takes a few more licks of your tongue to make him cum as he presses his pussy flush against your face. Arching his back he lets out a loud moan as the orgasm hits him, nearly going cross eyed at the waves of pleasure flowing through his body.

Panting heavily, Aventurine slowly comes down from his high. You support his thighs as he lowers himself to sit on your chest. He haphazardly tosses his mask to the side to breathe more easily and catch his breath. You were happy to be able to finally see his face and you admired his puffy lips, the way his hole pulsed as the orgasm slowly wore off was tantalizing..

“Ha..ha, hng…Is that all?” Your eyes shoot up to meet his own at the taunt. “Come on, I got all dressed up just for you.” Raising his knees he displays his wet cut to you. What an invitation, how could you ever refuse?

“I was just waiting for you to recover, but since you insist-” You quickly roll over so you’re on top of him, arms holding him down and your clothed bulge pressing up against his needy hole. “I’m sure I won’t have to prep you, right?” Aventurine shudders at the sudden change in your demeanor, he found it really hot whenever you took charge. Something about being taken by someone larger than him really hit all the right spots. He tries to wrap his hands around your neck but you grab his writ to stop him. “Turn around, I don’t want you shredding my back to ribbons.” He just gives you a cheeky grin.

“Why? I thought you weren’t scared-” Not letting him finish you flip him over and press his face into the mattress, he lets out a whimper at being manhandled by you. Just thinking of what you were going to do to him made him wet.

Not wasting a second more you quickly undo your pants and take your shaft out. Then slowly you line yourself up with his hole, making sure to rub your tip along his slit and coat your length in his wetness, he sighs at the feeling, just wanting you to fuck him already. You deliberately take it slow anyway, knowing with how little patience he had you’d soon hear him complain. Just as you thought, you felt him push back into you, desperate to be filled up. “Hurry-” you immediately shove your full length into him.

Aventurine lets out a loud moan as you suddenly stuff him to the brim, he swore he could see stars dance across his eyes at the sudden intrusion. He felt so full, but you don’t give him time to adjust and start hammering away at his pussy. Still wet from you eating him out, there’s barely any friction as you slam into him. The sound of skin slapping and loud whorish moans echo around the room as your hips continue to snap against his ass. You lean down over his figure and press down on his body, the new angle allowing your dick to penetrate deeper. He lets out a gargled moan at the new feeling. “You like that?” He shudders at your husky voice right beside his ears.

The way you push him down into the mattress, face buried in the sheets as you fuck him from behind. The amount of pleasure he was feeling was so overwhelming that he couldn’t think of anything else but the way your length stretches him out. No matter how many times you’ve had sex he could never get used to your quick hard thrusts. Every time you have him on his stomach it inevitably leads to you rutting into him like an animal. He just looked so cute in this position every time, face down, ass up, all spread out just waiting for you to devour him.

You admire the way his ass jiggles every time you plunge into him, the black fabric wrinkling with each of your thrusts, slowly getting damp around the edges as it gets covered in your sweat and cum. Aventurine claws at the sheets as he feels himself getting closer, his nails ripping away at the fabric trying to hold onto something. You felt yourself getting close too, and the way he kept clenching around you definitely wasn’t helping.

You thrust into him one last time and fill him up, your hot load filling him up so well. Just the feeling of being stuffed itself is enough to push him over the edge as well. The blond cums with a muffled moan covered by the mattress as he creams around your length, his vision goes blank for a second with how immensely good it felt.

It takes a while for you to calm down, so you stay there in that position, you buried deep inside him, just for a few more minutes. Once you’re done regaining your composure you slowly pull out of him and he whines at the loss of the warmth. You take in the view of your cum oozing out of his cunt, and you had half the mind to just fuck it back into him but you let it slide, maybe some other day. Aventurine rolls over on his back, letting out steady gasps trying to catch his breath.

But you weren’t done yet. “Let me clean you up.” All he could muster was a small ‘huh?’ before your mouth is on his pussy. Aventurine arches his back mewls as you lick up all the cum leaking out of his still sensitive hole. He twitches and writhes under you at the overstimulation, hands gripping at the torn sheets to steady himself and legs sliding against the mattress. Luckily you’re done before he has a chance to crush your head with his thighs, a prospect that would normally be appealing but with the new armor on him you didn’t fancy the idea too much. You lift yourself up to his face again.

Aventurine just stares at you in a daze, small pants escaping through his mouth, still not having fully recovered from his second orgasm. But when you kiss him he doesn’t pull away. He moans into the kiss as your tongues slide against each other, a mixture of both your cum and his slick still lingering in your mouths. He slides his hand over your back to hold you closer but accidentally scratches you making you pull away from his lips as you wince at the small nick.

“Careful…” He gives you an apologetic look. “Why do you even have those? They don’t seem to be serving any purpose” That made him perk up all of a sudden.

“It’s called fashion.” He says with an exaggerated posh accent. “It doesn’t need a purpose, as long as it looks cool.” You laugh but you had to admit, it did look really cool. You loved this, just lying next to each other, talking about random things, just being so open with each other. You brush a small strand of hair aside and place a kiss on his nose, you loved him so much.

“I feel so sticky and disgusting...” Aventurine suddenly laments.

“Cute, sticky and disgusting.” You correct him. He just scoffs at your comment and asks you to help him undress.

“There’s a zipper up here.” He points to his upper back. And you start unzipping it. “One in the front too, but they’re small, so it’ll be a tight squeeze.” He handles the one in the front.

“No other zips then?” He hums in agreement as he struggles to remove his sleeves. “So, kinda like a wetsuit.” Interesting. “Where does the cornerstone go?”

“Oh I just absorb it, and” He points to the teal upside down heart on his chest. “This starts glowing.”

“Absorb it like…into your bloodstream…?” He gives you an amused look at your absurd take.

“Not exactly…? I’m not sure where it goes but it’s definitely inside me.” He finally manages to yank off the top part and you can’t help but stare at his bare chest. Aventurine catches you in the act and laughs.

“You should look at yourself right now, your cheeks are bright red.” He brushes his hand against your face but you grimace. “Did that…hurt?”

“Just a little…?” Even you’re confused now. He takes a closer look at your face and notices the small reddish bumps forming on your cheek and it hits him. He did this, the sharp ornaments on his outfit, they hurt you, he hurt you.

“I’m so sorry I-”

“Don’t.” You cut him off. “I’m the one who asked you to get all dolled up for me.” Taking his hand in yours you place a small reassuring kiss to his palm. “And I loved it, wouldn’t have done it any other way.”

“But you’re hurt, I..I hurt you.” Really, he worried too much.

“They’re no different than hickeys, now are they?”

—————————

“I suppose at the end of the-” You stop in your tracks. “Everything alright? You’ve been staring at me an awful lot, Ratio.” He really was. You were just sharing a funny story from last week but the doctor just kept looking at you as if you had a brick for a face.

“How are you lately?” He asks tentatively. “Has anyone been causing you any trouble?” OK, that’s definitely an odd question.

“No…? Why do you ask?”

“I was merely curious, seeing as you seem to acquire a new band aid every time we meet.” He points to the new one you put on today on your neck. Oh. You had completely forgotten about that.

For every day after that fateful night you’d find a new tiny scratch on you. Be it on your back, shoulders or neck, you swore you even had a few on your thighs (how??). Every time you did find one you’d go to Aventurine immediately and report it to him in amusement. Almost like a Look! We fucked so nasty I can still feel it! They were all tiny scratches but still really itchy, so you kept adding a band aid over each one just to alleviate the discomfort.

Ratio clears his throat to drag you out of your thoughts, you completely forgot he was there for a second..

“Oh that, it’s just ….heh, uh…” The bashful look on your face is enough for Ratio to get the gist of it. His face immediately scrunches up as if he’d just taken a generous bite out of a lemon.

“Ugh, please spare me the details. And to think I worried for you.”

a/n: I think it should be mandatory to have Ratio in any Aventurine fics and vice versa, even if it's for a small gag at the end.

masterlist

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vroomvroomcircuit · 3 days

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From all four corners of the world comes my love 4 you

(A/N): This has been written with the inspiration @foreveralbon brought me. I love you and your incredibly mind, honey

Summary: Lando's girlfriend is a seamstress working at a tailor shop. She is repairing his clothes, he is cutting holes into his sleeves. Together, they release the cutest merch

Pairing: Lando x fem!reader

Warnings: None, this is so fluffy, I'm crying myself to sleep. I need a Lando like this

Wordcount: 2.9k

🏎Masterlist🏎 __________________________

(Y/N) thinks she is about to go crazy. Manic even.

Over and over again she patches up holes in her boyfriend’s long sleeves.

And over and over again new holes appear. It’s like this is her Sysiphus task. Just repairing Lando’s clothes day in and day out.

Don’t get her wrong. (Y/N) does this for three different reasons.

The first being that she is a seamstress, working in a tailor shop. This craft is how she pays her rent and food.

The second reason is that she really can’t have her boyfriend go out looking like he just got picked up at the side of the road begging for a warm meal and shelter.

The third reason may be less obvious than the previous ones. Acts of services is (Y/N)’s love language. She is not particularly good at letting people around her know of the appreciation she holds for them. Verbally at least. It’s not the way she grew up. She learned that actions speak louder than words can. So patching up her boyfriend’s clothes gives the young woman the opportunity to prove how much she loves him. She just hopes that Lando understands the meaning as it is intended.

Little does (Y/N) know, Lando really appreciates her patching up holes. What he isn’t a big fan of is when she repairs those that are intentional. The ones in his long sleeves are put there on purpose.

While (Y/N) is meticulously sewing, Lando goes snip snip in the other room with a pair of scissors. He just loves having sleeve paws, but it’s annoying when his thumbs are jailed in.

“Lando, have you seen my scis- What are you doing there?!” He turns around, looking at his girlfriend like a child being caught with their hands in the cookie jar. “Freeing my thumbs?” He tries to explain in a small voice, scared that she is about to go off on him for ruining his clothes.

(Y/N) sits down next to him on the ground. “If you have told me you want thumb holes, I could have done it for you. I would hem them for you, so they won’t fry. If you want me to, can I take some of your shirts to the shop tomorrow and work on them during slow times?” The way Lando’s eyes light up makes her wish for a camera to keep the memory of it.

(Y/N) not only fixes the holes in his sleeves.

“Love, would you put another patch on my jeans?” Lando saunters into her little crafting room. When she moved into his apartment in Monaco, he insisted on transforming a guest room into her own sewing cave. It was only fair. He got his gaming room as his hobby room, so his girlfriend needs her own territory too.

The room is filled with different sewing machines, one wall is decorated with threads of all kinds, colors and thicknesses. Several shelves are overflowing with different fabrics of any kind imaginable. Every shade, pattern or reflection that any crafter would kill for. Lando really spoils her and happily let’s (Y/N) run loose in a craft store, draining his credit card to her heart's fullest content.

(Y/N) would feel bad, if it wasn’t for the big difference in salaries they sport. Also, it is Lando’s way of treating his girl. Instead of flowers or a bag he buys her a new Bernina B 325, which is not something she is exactly complaining about. They share most of their expenses, but still, working at a tailor shop will never make you a millionaire.

Currently working on her own project of making a quilt out of scrap fabric for Max’s upcoming birthday, (Y/N) barely looks up to her boyfriend. “Yes, of course, sunshine. Just put it over there and I’ll have a look at it in a bit. Do you have any preference for the new patch? I ordered city themed ones a few days back and they arrived today.”

Without having to be pointed into the direction, the Brit already goes through the drawer that is solely dedicated to the patches (Y/N) accumulated during the last few years.

If he is being honest, that kind of work of hers is his favorite. Lando is just amazed by the different shapes, colors and themes her collection entails and how her delicate efforts bring a new individual mark to his favorite pair of jeans.

“I think I want to go with this one,” he mumbles after sifting through the drawer. Lando places a small rose next to the currently used sewing machine for her to not have to search for it in the midst of the chaos that is going on on the several desks in this hobby room.

He actually loves spending some down time here, especially when his girlfriend is working on her own projects. Lando hides under one of the desks, sometimes scrabbling away on pieces of paper for the next helmet sketch, sometimes answering some important emails on his laptop and other times he lies down between different piles of fabric and takes a nap. Having (Y/N) hack away with the machine, occasionally cursing under her breath when she pinches herself sewing something by hand or the music playing on a low volume brings Lando great comfort.

Spending quality time this way is secretly Lando’s happy place that he visits mentally during stressful patches when he is away.

A couple days later the door to the tailor shop (Y/N) works at rings the bell, alerting her of a new customer. “I’ll be with you in a second!” She calls from an adjoining room, cleaning up her work space from the trims that have been left by the jeans she just shortened.

“How can I hel- LANDO!” The young woman exclaims, rounding the register to jump into his arms. “I thought you’ll return from Australia tomorrow”, she murmurs into his shirt. The thumbs are, of course, able to escape through the holes she recently cut and hemmed like promised.

He laughs into her hair. “I wanted to surprise you and pick you up from work like the good boyfriend I am. I also got you something from ‘Straya.” Out of thin air (his back pocket actually) Lando procures a small stack of Australia themed patches.

“Oh, honey, they are perfect. Thank you so so much!” She kisses him all over the face until finally putting her lips onto his. “Just let me close the shop and we can go home and enjoy our evening.” Lando presses another kiss onto her lips, “Hurry up, I can’t wait holding you in my arms again.”

While (Y/N) packs her things up, Lando goes through a stack of different fabrics. One in particular catches his eye.

“Hey love, where did you get this heart patterned fabric? What do you have planned with that?” (Y/N) pops her head in to see what her boyfriend is pointing to. “Oh, that one. The owner was negotiating a deal with a new supplier and wanted to check out the quality. We wanted to see if this one is durable enough to make shirts out of it.”

An idea is forming in Lando’s app, that he quickly puts down in the notes app on his phone.

She emerges from the side room with her back and something else. “Would you try this on for me?” (Y/N) asks innocently, handing Lando a jean jacket. It is a bit oversized on him, just the way he likes.

“It’s pretty nice. What do you need me to model this fo- This is one of the patches I just gave you!” Lando admires the kangaroo that looks like it’s taking a jump on the sleeve. “I thought this would be a fun little project for the season. After every race I’ll put a patch from that country on the jacket. I can also stitch some additions onto it as well for when you get a podium or win or are voted as driver of the day and so on. Just, I thought this could be something cute.” (Y/N)’s face heats up the more she talks about her idea.

Lando pulls her into his arms, squishing his girlfriend as close as possible to his body. “Thank you, you don’t know how much I appreciate the work and thought you put and are putting into this.”

Like the proud trophy boyfriend he is, Lando loves modeling whatever his girlfriend sewed, patched up or created and pimped up in some other way while entering the paddock. Just as he predicted mentally, the fans are going crazy about his jacket online as he wears it on Wednesday for media day.

“I see, (Y/N) loved the patches you bought her. At least dragging me through every craft store in Melbourne that I know of has paid off for you”, Oscar remarks dryly as he watches Lando hanging up the jacket in the hospitality.

“Yeah mate, she sewed it on immediately. It’s her newest project, putting on a patch for every country we race in during this season after the race. She also wants to add a bunch of things for special occasions during the races.” Lando explains fondly the thought process behind the jacket.

As he is leaving the paddock later that day and signing several cards, caps and other merch, some fans ask him where he got the jacket from. “Oh, that old thing? I’ll gatekeep this one. Good luck on finding the store.” He answers a young woman while putting a bracelet she handed him on his wrist.

He hasn’t gone public with his girlfriend yet. The people know that he is in a relationship with Lando having started an already several months long soft launch, that includes their socked feet during movie nights and her backside in beautiful sunset scenes. So nobody knows what she does for work and the two of them want to keep the little bubble of secrecy they have so far going for a bit longer. Out of the public eyes without the pressure of fans and media.

It felt like a scavenger hunt going online and seeing fans and other media outlets trying to find Lando’s particular jean jacket. For the two of them it becomes their evening entertainment, reading up how everyone and their mother are losing their minds from not being able to detect where it is from.

“The chat is asking about that dumb cloth again. Just tell them where you got it.” Max groans, even his own chat during the stream isn’t safe from the assault. Lando, who chills on his bed while waiting for a message from his girlfriend about her being done with work, just smiles. “Come one, please lift the secret. I can’t even roll my eyes often enough times, that is how annoyed I am by this whole thing.”

The Brit loves the suspension around the subject, but gets up and saunters over to the monitors. “Ok Chat, I will only say it once and never again. Get your pens and papers out and write it down. So, this jean jacket with the patches is a designer piece. You can’t get it anywhere else, it was custom made and no, the designer doesn’t want to go into mass production with that one. But I am cooking something up. Just be patient, I feel like I will be able to make a deal for you. I just need to work my magic, but that takes time. My name is not Tinkerbell.”

His little sass tirade is broken up by the ping of his phone, making Lando scramble for it to see his love’s text. “Chat, do you see how down bad that man is for his girlfriend?” Max ridicules Lando, giving him payback for all the teasing against himself.

While the chat is going insane, with the certainty that this moment has been clipped and will be used for edits by the fans, Lando just smiles at his phone, shooting a quick reply of picking her up. After that he packs his stuff and throws a quick goodbye to Max and the stream, onto the way to the tailor shop.

There she stands, his love in all her glory in front of the closed store. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the building for me? It’s dangerous to be out alone, especially for such a beautiful person like you!” Lando scolds her lightly when he reaches her, taking her bag from her shoulder, throwing it onto his own back.

But (Y/N) presses a kiss to his lips, trying to soothe him. “It’s all ok. When I saw the headlights of your car, I stepped out and closed the shop behind me. I knew that my Tinkerbell was close by in case I needed saving.”

Lando wants to reciprocate the kiss, but stops mid air when he processes her words. “You watched the stream?” That shocks him a bit, because (Y/N) usually keeps out of this part of his life. It’s not really her world, streaming and gaming. So that’s one of the hobbies they don’t share, being the healthy couple, without a horrible codependency, they are.

“No, a friend sent me that clip a few minutes earlier”, she snickers, “Were you talking about me? About wanting to work a deal out?” Lando throws his arm around her shoulders, leading the young woman into the direction of where he parked his car. “I did. Originally I planned on woohing you by a nice candle light dinner and after that I wanted to ask you if you were open with making a few designs for LN4. The fans are going crazy over the pants and jacket. You also have the eye for the details that I love on clothes. It would make me so happy to hold something in my hands that we both worked on, to know that people in the whole world will wear it.”

(Y/N) looks up at her boyfriend, watching his side profile while he is rambling about the meaning of a collab between the two of them. How he can’t stop smiling over the excitement of the prospect of their merch line together, the way his eyes light up, his free hand gesturing while explaining a few ideas he has saved on his phone. She can’t help but press another kiss onto his cheek, effectively quieting him down.

“I will make that collab with you happen. I already have a few things drawn out in a notebook, I was just too scared to show you the sketches, not wanting to intrude or impose myself onto your business.”

Instead of saying anything, he just picks her up and throws them in a circle. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He repeats over and over, both laughing about his childish antics.

A couple of months, several trial and errors as well as creative differences later, they stand in a studio, overseeing the photoshooting with the new collection.

“Wouldn’t this be the perfect way to launch our relationship to the public? With your face visible in the pictures?” Lando muses out loud while looking over a rack with hoodies. (Y/N) throws him a shocked look. “I mean, we can take a couple of pictures together with a few articles and also take a few of you individually too. The world needs to know the mastermind of these designs. You need to take credit for all the hard work you have done.” He explains, taking her hand and gesturing to the set up with the other.

She lets the idea rummage a bit in her head. It would be the perfect way to go public, especially since this is the first time her designs are commercially sold. (Y/N) breaks out into a smile, nodding rapidly. Lando can’t help but also smile, getting infected by his girlfriend’s happiness.

Weeks after that the new merch drop gets released to social media. The press and fans are eating up the couple's pictures, finally having a face to the woman, who is able to fluster Lando through text messages alone.

The clothes itself also get the best feedback.

A variety of the jean jacket and patched pants are now available for fans to buy, being able to kind of replicate Lando’s paddock look, coupled with a heart patterned hoodie from the collection.

But nothing gets close to the original with the many hand sewn details on Lando’s jacket, even when fans try to imitate them. A nice side effect is seeing other people picking up the craft of hand sewing and stitching.

Many people swoon over the long sleeves with cut out thumb holes. They especially love the heart shape of the holes.

It’s a perfect detail to the name of the new line.

‘From all four corners of the world comes my love 4 you’ is printed in one way or another on every piece.

Because no matter the distance between Lando and (Y/N), they can feel the love for each other over any distance.

#lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #lando norris x fem!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #reader insert #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff

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merlucide · 2 days

Note

PLEASEEEEE CAN YOU WRITE HEADCANONS WITH RIN, KAISER, SAE, OTOYA AND REO AND A SHYREADER WHOS SHY AROUND PEOPLE SHE DOESNT KNOW BUT CRAZZYYYY AROUND PEOPLE SHE DOES KNOW PLSSSSS

BLLK BOYS WITH A SHY BUT CRAZY S/O

Notes: OFC WIFEY. Also… this scenario, seems, a bit self insert don’t you think…. 👀 ALSO LMAO I MADE READER UNHINGED?? SO- SORRY LMAO?

characters: Rin, Sae, Kaiser, Otoya, Reo

wc: about 300ish each

warnings: nb reader, cursing, randomness + cringe lmao😭

ITOSHI RIN

Well tbh, y’all probably had to have been friends for a loooong time for him to ever considering dating you 😭😭

So Rin had a good understanding of your personality, as you had known each other pretty much since the beginning of time.

He never understood how your personality went from 0 to 1000 whenever you two are alone.

He prob thinks ur on drugs tbh

He’ll be your voice for you if you can’t seem to communicate with strangers, though he might not be the friendliest no shit.

he thinks it’s dumb that you’re shy tbh

He’s small minded about these things okay 😭

He never ever will get used to your bursts of crazy energy.

he swears he’ll turn around and you’ll have a horse mask on with a tutu around your waist

ITOSHI SAE

lmao you give him terrible whiplash.

He too, also thinks you’re on drugs.

You and Sae would like be at the airport on the way to Japan, his manager would be going over the details and precautions for going to Japan (yk fans and press or whatever etc etc).

His manager looked over to you and asked if you were alright, since you literally hadn’t spoken a word since he introduced himself a two hours ago.

You nodded and followed Sae and his manager onto the private jet(cus he’s rich-rich😌🤭)

Once y’all were settled, his manager closed you and Sae’s cabin door.

Sae looked over to see if you were alright, since traveling and yadda yadda can be overwhelming.

You were fucking giggling like an underwater hyena (that’s a thing I bc I fucking said so bitch).

You grabbed his hands and pulled back and forth giggling about how stoked you were rn.

LMAO HE WAS TOTALLY LOOKING AT U LIKE THIS

KAISER MICHEAL

lmao he was disturbed at first 💀

like “wtf happens to my shy, sweet, s/o??”

He’ll like be getting a glass of water at night and in the corner of his eye, you hold a flashlight at your face with a blanket wrapped around you. Staring into his soul, inches behind singing.

“hello darkness my old frienddd~”

He just blinked at you for a while.

“Y/N what the fuck is wrong with you.”

ANYWHOOO!

He thinks it’s funny af though

Like how nervous you get around his teammates and then when y’all are home you start cartwheeling.

You sure keep his life ✨spontaneous✨

OTOYA EITA

LMAO A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN

YOUR RANDOM AF.

HES RANDOM AF.

= SOULMATES

he thinks it’s so cute how shy you are

He loves that bc ur shy around strangers you cling/stay close to him. He feels so sigma male bc he’s ’protecting’ you🐺🐺🔊🔊🗣️🗣️😏😏

Someone humble him please.

LMAO HE’LL GO LIKE:

“Babe watch this😏” and ninja pose really fast LIKE A LITTLE KID DABBING

And you’ll be like:

“Nah watch this😌” *does the worm*

Y’all T-pose at pidgend together 💕 #couplegoals

MIKAGE REO

LMAO HE’LL BE DAYDREAMING AND LIKE-

“My dearest Y/N! Oh they’re such an angel! They’re so pretty and kind and perfect! And amazing- is that them in a dinosaur inflatable doing the WAP in 6 inch heels?”

lmao kinda how it goes

He never really gets used to the switch up.

It makes him so happy that you feel comfortable to be yourself around him, even if that means painting yourself pink and putting googly-eyes on while blasting the Peppa Pig intro💗

He loves hearing people talk about you too.

“Oh y/n is really shy, but they’re nice I guess?” Like hah okay..

Pretty sure they weren’t crab walking in a tuxedo with a kazoo in their mouth playing Sinfonia N°9 Coral in D Minor, Op. 125: 1. Allegro ma non troppo, un poco maestoso by Beethoven 🙄🙄

LMAO I HAD NO IDEA WERE I WAS GOING WITH THIS. I WAS LIKE “wtf am I gonna do😦”

made April 21st 2024

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mclennonlgbt · 3 days

Text

Paris in John and Paul’s life

30th September 1961:

“John and I went on a trip for his twenty-first birthday. John was from a very middle-class family, which really impressed me because everyone else was from working-class families. To us John was upper class. His relatives were teachers, dentists, even someone up in Edinburgh in the BBC. It’s ironic, he was always very ‘fuck you!’ and he wrote the song ‘Working Class Hero’ – in fact, he wasn’t at all working class. Anyway, one of John’s relatives gave him £100 for his birthday. A hundred smackers in your hand! That was a real windfall. None of us could believe it. To this day if you gave me £100 I would be impressed. And I was his mate, enough said? ‘Let’s go on holiday.’ – ‘You mean me too? With the hundred quid? Great! I’m part of this windfall.’” - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“We planned to hitchhike to Spain. I had done a spot of hitchhiking with George and we knew you had to have a gimmick; we had been turned down so often and we’d seen that guys that had a gimmick (like a Union Jack round them) had always got the lifts. So I said to John, ‘Let’s get a couple of bowler hats.’ It was showbiz creeping in. We still had our leather jackets and drainpipes – we were too proud of them not to wear them, in case we met a girl; and if we did meet a girl, off would come the bowlers. But for lifts we would put the bowlers on. Two guys in bowler hats – a lorry would stop! Sense of Humour. This, and the train, is how we got to Paris. - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“And Paul and I also did the same thing, once. We just cancelled. We’d made it, in Liverpool. We were making good money, for those days. I can’t remember what it was – maybe a couple of hundred dollars a week – but enough that you’d have a little extra. You’d have it in your back pocket. And Paul and I just— A relative of mine gave me a hundred pounds, for my birthday, which I’d never seen that much money in me life. Paul and I just canceled all the engagements, and left for Paris… And George was furious, because he needed the money – to work, you know. But that was another time when the group was in debate as whether it would exist or not.” - John Lennon, 1976, an interview with Elliot Mintz

“Last night I heard that John and Paul have gone to Paris to play together – in other words, the band has broken up! It sounds mad to me, I don’t believe it…” - Stuart Sutcliffe, Anthology

“We’d never been there before. We were a bit tired so we checked into a little hotel for the night, intending to go off hitchhiking the next morning. Of course, it was too nice a bed after having hitched so we said, ‘We’ll stay a little longer,’ then we thought, ‘God, Spain is a long way, and we’d have to work to get down there.’ We ended up staying the week in Paris – John was funding it all with his hundred quid.

We would walk miles from our hotel; you do in Paris. We’d go to a place near the Avenue des Anglais and we’d sit in the bars, looking good. I still have some classic photos from there. Linda loves one where I am sitting in a gendarme’s mac as a cape and John has got his glasses on askew and his trousers down revealing a bit of Y-front. The photographs are so beautiful, we’re really hamming it up. We’re looking at the camera like, ‘Hey, we are artsy guys, in a café: this is us in Paris,’ and we felt like that.

We went up to Montmartre because of all the artists, and the Folies Bergères, and we saw guys walking around in short leather jackets and very wide pantaloons. Talk about fashion! This was going to kill them when we got back. This was totally happening. They were tight to the knee and then they flared out; they must have been about fifty inches around the bottom and our drainpipe trousers were something like fifteen or sixteen inches. We saw these trousers and said, ‘Excusez-moi, Monsieur, où did you get them?’ It was a cheap little rack down the street so we bought a pair each, went back to the hotel, put them on, went out on the street – and we couldn’t handle it: ‘Do your feet feel like they are flapping? Feel more comfortable in me drainies, don’t you?’ So it was back to the hotel at a run, needle and cotton out and we took them in to a nice sixteen with which we were quite happy. And then we met Jürgen Vollmer on the street. He was still taking pictures." - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“Jürgen had a flattened-down hairstyle with a fringe in the front, which we rather took to. We went over to his place and there and then he cut – hacked would be a better word – our hair into the same style.” - John Lennon, 1963

Interviewer: I heard you took a trip to Spain before once, didn’t you? On Holiday? Paul: I didn’t go to Spain, no. I tried once to make Spain but… and John and I were gonna hitchhike. We hitchhiked down from Liverpool… We didn’t hitchhike. No, we got the train down from Liverpool ‘cause we thought we won’t hitchhike down the first bit. And we got the boat over to Paris. Then we got the train into Paris ‘cause we thought: “Well, it’ll be too hard to get a hitch here”. And we just stayed in Paris all week. And eventually… I mean, all the time trying to get out of Paris and make Spain! We never made it, we just flew home at the end. What a lazy hitchhiking Holiday!

“The thing was all the kissing and holding that was going on in Paris. And it was so romantic just to be there and see them even though I was 21 and sort of not romantic. But I really loved it, the way the people would just stand under a tree kissing. And they weren’t not mauling at each other, they were just kissing.” - John Lennon

As was written in this post: That last picture is one Paul took of John sleeping in Paris. From what I remember of a performance he did of ‘Here Today’, and earlier comments, this picture hangs framed on a wall in Paul’s house.

Unconfirmed quote (may or may not be true):

"He must have been fond of me to spend that money. He let me have all the banana milkshakes I wanted.” - Paul McCartney

In January 1964, only a few scant weeks before the Beatles took America by storm, the band mates settled in for an extended stay in Paris. For the group, the Parisian visit proved to be a magical experience, with the Beatles playing 18 shows at the Olympia Theatre between Jan. 16 and Feb. 4 (source).

The photo Paul took of John (in the "Eyes Of The Storm" book):

1969:

Hoping to get married in France, John Lennon and Yoko Ono flew to Paris on this day [16th March].

The couple had decided to marry on 14 March 1969, two days after the wedding of Paul McCartney to Linda Eastman; whether it was in response to this event on some level is open to conjecture.

On McCartney’s wedding day Lennon and Ono were travelling to Poole in Dorset, where he introduced her to his Aunt Mimi. During the journey he asked his chauffeur Les Anthony to go to Southampton to enquire about the possibility of the wedding being held at sea, on the cross-channel ferry to France.

(source)

“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible” - Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life (2008)

"We chose Gibraltar because it is quiet, British and friendly. We tried everywhere else first. I set out to get married on the car ferry and we would have arrived in France married, but they wouldn’t do it. We were no more successful with cruise ships. We tried embassies, but three weeks’ residence in Germany or two weeks’ in France were required." - John Lennon

1974:

“After a late lunch, Linda launched into a long paean to the joys of living in England. When she was finished, she turned to John and said, “Don’t you miss England?”

“Frankly,” John replied, “I miss Paris.””

— May Pang, Loving John (1983)

1978:

Wings album "London Town" is released. It includes the song "Cafe on the Left Bank", the lyrics of which clearly refer to John and Paul's trip to Paris.

Late 1970s: John is singing to Paul about Paris in a home recording.

1994 - Paul inducting John to Rock and Roll Hall of Fame:

“And then on your 21st birthday you got £100 off one of your rich relatives up in Edinburgh, so we decided we’d go to Spain. So we hitch-hiked out of Liverpool. And we got as far as Paris, and decided to stop there for a week. And eventually got our haircut, by a fellow named Jürgen, and that ended up being the ‘Beatle haircut’.”

I also remember watching an interview with Paul about his album "Memory Almost Full" (2007). Interviewer: There is a very beautiful song called "The End Of The End", the way you talk about your whole ending, and the lyric goes: "It's a start of a journey to a much better place." You mean, better than England? Paul: It's basically a start of a journey to France. Or Spain through France. Yeah, that's what it is. It's a much better place, Paris. (unfortunately, I don't have a link)

Also worth mentoning:

"All You Need Is Love" begins with La Marseillaise.

"Picasso's Last Words (Drink To Me)" contains French-language speech by BBC broadcaster Pierre Le Sève.

#mclennon #mclennon is real #mclennon anthology #paris #frankly i miss paris #may pang #yoko ono #linda eastman #the beatles #gay #bisexual #france #insane #compilation #master post

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featherandferns · 10 hours

Text

guilty as sin? (fic - part 1/2)

jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader | largely inspired by the bible

content warning: sexual content; mentions of parental abuse (physical abuse) | any questions for trigger warnings, feel free to inbox anonymously

word count: 14k.

blurb: when you, John B's half sister, return to Kildare after over two years of living in Colorado, your adolescent crush that you harboured for his best friend comes screaming back. Because you and JJ can't be together in real life, what's the harm in a fantasy?

“And this is your room.”

The syrup-coloured wood is the first thing your eyes meet when John B pushes open the bedroom door. There’s the vague lingering smell of teenage boy which he’s tried to air out, the window open ajar, and the clutter of his belongings has been moved to make space for your own. As you drop your duffel bag and step into the room, you take in the walls. There’s posters and prints stuck above his bed, dotted around on slats of wood separating windows: someone surfing; a rockstar smashing his guitar. An old skateboard deck is nailed into the wall alongside a license plate. The sheets are bright blue, the bed freshly made, and a clean towel is folded up at the foot. It’s well-lit with plenty of daylight flowing through the many windows. Homely and inviting.

“Is it, uh, alright?”

You turn to find John B leaning against the doorframe, hands in his short pockets. Smiling, you nod.

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “I’m honestly chill with crashing on the couch, though.”

It’s pretty obvious this was his room: you feel guilty kicking him out.

He shakes his head and gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “I moved into my dad’s room anyway. This has been the spare for a while.”

“Well, thanks,” you smile.

He nods, mirroring your content. “I’ll let you settle in and stuff. I moved all my crap out the closet so you can put your stuff in there, and the top bedside drawer is empty.”

“That’s perfect,” you say. You lift your bag with a grunt and dump it on the bed.

“I gotta go to work but call if you need anything. Shouldn’t be back too late.”

Unzipping your bag, you look to him. “Where’d you work?”

“Got this gig helping out at Ward Cameron’s. Don’t know if you remember him?”

“Course I do,” you snort. “The kingpin of Kildare, and your dad’s treasure hunting buddy.”

There’s a tense silence as your words catch up with you. You press your eyes shut, embarrassed.

“Shit, sorry. That didn’t come out how I meant it to.”

“It’s cool,” John B says, graciously gliding past it. “Anyway, he pays pretty good so can’t complain. Mostly just handy-man odd jobs.”

“Very noble work,” you joke.

With a quiet laugh, John B nods and backs out the door. He lingers another moment, contemplating saying something else. “Look, uh, I know it isn’t ideal circumstances, you coming back to Kildare and stuff, but I’m glad you’re here. Really. It’s nice having you back, sis.”

Your mood sobers, smile turning solemn.

“Thanks,” you quietly reply.

He nods once more and pats the doorframe in farewell. “Right, I’ll let you get unpacked. See you later.”

“See ya.”

When John B leaves – the front door shuddering against the house as it slams shut – you’re overcome with quiet. In Colorado, where you lived with your mom in the city, there was little nature. You forgot how peaceful Kildare is. Through the crack in the window, birdsong and cricket chimes accompany the sound of your unpacking. You turf out your clothes and take to putting them in the closet. Shoes and bags and bikinis. A jacket and a few sweatshirts. It was easy enough to plan for your outfits considering you’re only staying the summer. You remember the weather in Kildare well enough from when you used to live here.

Once you’ve unpacked your clothes, you find your paints. A box of watercolours which have seen much use and love, the hinges rusted and the inside of the palette smeared with dried mixed paint. Turning to the bedside table, you pull open the bottom drawer on accident. You come face to face with corny porno magazines, a box of tissues, two wrapped condoms and a half empty bottle of painkillers.

“Gross,” you mutter, slamming it shut. Yep, this was definitely a dude’s bedroom.

The top drawer is empty, like John B promised. You fill it with your paints and sketchbooks and pencils.

As the day ploughs on, the room becomes increasingly saturated with your personality. Postcards from Colorado, of the towns and cities you visited, photographs from school of your friends and classmates: you scatter them along them wall, amongst John B’s. Some of your favourite paintings, alongside artists which inspire you, join the mix. On the desk you add a few of your own books to the haphazard stack of abandoned homework and school reports.

At the bottom of your duffle bag is your penny board. You look around the room, searching for empty space to slot it without adding to already cluttered surroundings, and opt to slot it under the bed. Ducking down, you come face to face with a collection of empty beer cans. Clearly the spring cleaning only went so far. It’s noisy as you drag them out, but you’re certain you hear someone shouting. Pausing, sitting back on your haunches, you turn to peer out the open bedroom door. It’s silent for a moment, and then you hear footsteps.

“Yo! JB, you home?”

It’s a guy shouting. His voice sounds vaguely familiar. When he comes into the corridor, he glances into Big John’s bedroom (now claimed by your older half-brother) first. Blonde messy hair and well-worn combat boots instantly name him. JJ. He turns to the spare bedroom and stops short the moment his eyes land on you, sat amongst a pile of trash.

“You’re not John B,” he says.

“What gave me away?” you reply with a lift of your brows.

There’s a long awkward moment where he stares at you. You can practically hear the cogs turning as he takes you in. When you lift your arm up to scratch the back of your neck, realisation dawns upon him. You imagine your scar on the outside of your elbow gave you away.

“Holy crap! Little Routledge?” he gapes.

You laugh. “Haven’t been called that in a minute.”

JJ steps into the room and you get to your feet. He tackles you into a hug. It’s too short, too sudden, and then he’s stepping away from you again, leaving you dizzy on your feet.

“The fuck? You’re, like, grown now,” he says.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “well, I am sixteen.”

“The fuck!” he repeats. He then takes in where you’re standing, and the state of the room, and frowns. “Wait, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Colorado with your mom?”

“I was,” you say. You kick one of the cans out the way and fold your arms over your chest, shrugging. “I came back for the summer.”

“Oh, that’s sick!”

You laugh. It’s a nice reaction to have from someone who you haven’t seen for over two years.

“John B gave you his old room then?”

He walks into it as if it’s his own. You watch as he studies the new additions to the wall that you’ve added. Lingers on one of your paintings.

"Yeah, he’s moved into his dad’s, apparently.”

“Yeah, he moved in there a while ago,” JJ tells you. “I’ve been sleeping in here most of the time.”

Your mind flashes back to the bedside drawer stocked with teenage boy necessities. Ah, makes sense. You remember how JJ was when you were a dorky thirteen-year-old. At the ripe age of fourteen, he had girls fawning after him. He was shameless in his reputation. The conversations you overheard between himself and John B as he’d brag about his escapades are seared into your memory, as you felt your wasted preteen heart splinter with every tale. It’s no surprise now that he’s probably just as unruly. Especially considering how he looks. There isn’t much time to ogle though because he’s looking away from the décor, meeting your gaze again.

“That explains all the empty beer cans, then,” you say.

He cringes. “Yeah, uh, sorry ‘bout that.”

You shrug. “It’s cool. I need to toss ‘em out but I don’t know where the trash bags are…”

“Oh, right,” he says, breezing past you. His cologne lingers in the air when he leaves. There’s the smallest moment for you to catch your breath as JJ bangs around in the kitchen, and then he reappears with a roll of black bags. Tosses them to you and you catch. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

You begin to shove the cans into the bag and JJ starts to help. His black button-up gapes open as he leans over and it takes everything not to glance down his shirt like some pervert.

“How come you didn’t want to stay in Colorado for the summer, then?”

“Change of scenery,” you vaguely reply. It isn’t a complete lie, but it isn’t the whole truth either.

“Well, you chose the best summer to come back. Our mission this year is to have the best summer of all time.”

“Pretty lofty goal to set,” you chuckle.

JJ glances up at you, flashing you a grin. “Nah, we got it in the bag.”

You find yourself smiling back, held captive under his stare. When he takes the now full trash bag off you, tying it off, you snap out of it.

“So, where’s your brother at then?” he asks, heading out the room. You follow.

“At work. Said he does jobs for Cameron now.”

“Oh, yeah. Cameron sorta took him under his wing after his dad…went missing,” JJ replies.

You have a feeling that the way people talk about John B’s father is rather doctored.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” you tell him, referring to Big John.

As you step on the porch, the sunlight warms your face. The floorboards creak as you make your way down them, to the garbage can outside.

“It was insane,” JJ says to you. He tosses the trash away. “I mean, we all knew Big John was a bit too into the whole royal-merchant thing but…we never thought it’d go that far, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Scary.”

JJ looks at you a moment longer. Then, he laughs to himself and shakes his head. “Can’t believe you’re sixteen now.”

“Can’t believe you’re seventeen.”

“What? I look good or something?”

He does a small spin on the spot, arms held out by his sides. You roll your eyes, acting as if you’re unaffected. It’s hard to swallow the reflex reaction of yes.

“Or something,” you say.

JJ takes it in stride. “Well, you look pretty cute yourself considering you’ve been in the mountains for the last three years.”

“I don’t live in the mountains,” you snort. The word ‘cute’ rattles around your head like a pinball.

“You’re taller now too. Practically come up to my shoulders. I remember when me and John B could pick you up by your ankle like a marlin.”

“Yeah, I remember that too,” you not-so-fondly recall.

JJ grins and steps over to you. Despite both of your growth spurts, you still have to look up at him, and him down at you. His eyes are just as dreamy as you remember them. When you first left for Colorado, you hardly had time to pack. In the midst of chaos, taking a picture of your brother’s best friend didn’t seem all that important. Cut to you spending endless nights trying to remember his eyes, the exact colour and the exact shape. Trying to remember the dimples that popped out when he smiled. The pure joy in his laugh. The way your heart felt like it might explode whenever he looked at you, even if it were for a second.

But when JJ pats your head, your chest deflates.

“Well, see you around, little Routledge,” he says, stepping away. “Tell your brother I was looking for him.”

Because even after all these years, you’re still just John B’s little sister in JJ’s eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You stare into your can of cider. In the night, the only light being that from the bonfire John B started up in the backyard, you can’t make out the colour of it. Just the swirling of liquid. You’d spent the last three days working on a watercolour of the marsh side to John B’s house, but you couldn’t capture the movement of the water quite right.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Pope frowns.

“What’s there to be confused about, Pope?” JJ sighs, seemingly exhausted from the questions. There had been an influx of them the minute John B brought you out of the Chateau. “His mom shagged her dad and boom, here she is.”

“Charming mental images there, JJ, thanks,” John B cringes.

You laugh into your drink.

“No, I get that. But…You used to live here, right?” Pope asks you.

You nod.

“But then you moved to Colorado?”

“Yeah?”

“But now you’re back here?”

“Apparently,” you say.

Pope’s frown deepens: apparently that cleared nothing up for him. You’ve never known someone so analytical. “This is complicated,” he observes.

“No shit,” Kiara quips.

It was complicated. Families usually are. Your mom had split from John B’s dad when he was three years old. She ran off to Raleigh, in North Carolina, and met a guy pretty quick. That’s when you came into the picture, born almost a year behind John B. Their relationship was rocky, to say the least, and at some point your mom decided that it may be best for you to get to know your half-brother whilst her and your dad “figured things out”. What was meant to be a short stay at Big John’s house became a four-year affair. Then, at thirteen, your mom decided to flee the state, away from your dad, and she was taking you with her. It all came out of the blue. You weren’t exactly thrilled to go to Colorado. You liked Kildare, and North Carolina, and John B and his friends. Kiara was always nice to you. She never talked down to you, despite you being seen as John B’s little sister. You bonded over turtles and Bob Marley. JJ was different. He’d prank you with John B and tease you about your dolls, but he’d also patch you up if you fell and calm you down after a nightmare. Your crush on him evolved naturally over time. What started as childhood infatuation with the supposed delinquent of Kildare became real. You liked JJ. He was funny and rambunctious, but he had a kindness and tenderness that he kept hidden below. He was often at the house as his own family situation was far from perfect, so having him around became as familiar as John B’s presence. When you left, JJ gave you a hug that you wished would last a lifetime.

But you drifted away in Colorado. You didn’t have anybody’s phone number, save for Big John’s (which your mom refused to let you use), and you were too young to remember addresses to write to them. Social media was never something you latched onto and eventually it all faded away into a strange, dreamlike memory. Being back here is almost proof that you didn’t imagine the whole thing.

“We’re half siblings,” you say, whittling down your family history into a simple statement. “That’s all you really need to know.”

“Damn straight,” JJ whoops, downing the last of his drink. He crunches the can in his fist and heads to the cooler for another.

“You’re staying for the whole summer then?” Kiara asks.

You nod. “I’m tryna get a job at this restaurant in town to keep me busy.”

“Screw that. Just come smoke and surf with us all day, that’ll keep you occupied,” JJ grins.

He’s comfortable in himself, relaxing in a lawn chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. His t-shirt represents one of Kildare’s small-town establishments and his shorts are stained with dust and dirt from riding his bike.

“She’s the good one out of us lot,” John B announces, gesturing to you. “Out of all the Routledge offspring, she’s gonna go places. You’re not gonna taint that, JJ.”

“And by ‘all the Routledge offspring’ you mean yourself and her?” Pope checks.

John B nods fervently. “I’m telling you! She’s madly talented.”

“You’re drunk; it’s giving you beer goggles,” you dismiss, finishing your drink.

“You were always the creative one,” JJ remarks. Everyone looks over to him. “Me and John B would be out on the water and she’d be drawing it.”

“Maybe you can show us some of your stuff,” Kiara says.

You laugh and shake your head. “Maybe not.”

The alcohol wizzes up your body as you get to your feet and you take it as a good time to call it quits.

“I think I’m gonna head in.”

“What?”

“No!”

“Come on!”

You laugh, shaking off the group’s disputes. “I’m tired!”

“Lightweight,” JJ teases. You flip him off as you pass, ditching your empty can in the garbage as you go.

“Night guys!” you holler as you head back into the house.

“Night!”

The bedroom John B offered you is starting to feel less like a guest house. You shrug off your cardigan – it stinks of smoke from the fire – and close the door. Through the window, you can hear the group chattering.

Pope seems nice. He hadn’t been around when you lived in Kildare, but you recognised his name. Heyward was a legend on the Cut; you could see his dad in his eyes. Kiara was just as you remembered her, if not more consumed by her environmental activism than before. JJ was the most staggering change of all. He’d grown into his looks, matured around the face. Any puppy fat that you remembered from childhood had vanished. Lithe and lively, he was an American heartthrob, through and through.

As you do your skincare, you glance out the window. You can make out JJ, sat with his back to you. His arms are flailing around as he tells a story. You can’t make out the details through the window but the looks on everyone’s faces tells you it’s pretty damn entertaining. He was always the joker, humour hiding whatever was happening underneath like he was arming himself with a grin. The unexplained bruises on his face and the painful batterings on his body were never explained whenever he’d stay at Big John’s, when you were younger.

The moment he shifts in his seat, you dart away from the window, scared to get caught, and finish getting ready for bed.

A bad dream rouses you awake. It was about Colorado. The warped memories keep you from falling back asleep, no matter how hard you try. Sighing, you stare at the ceiling. The room is bathed in moonlight, cosy in the wooden interior, and you contemplate sitting outside for a bit. The same cardigan from earlier gets pulled on over your vest top and you slip into some crocs.

You head for the front door, creeping past John B’s room, and step onto the porch. There’s a warm, humid air in the night. The crickets and owls harmonise with the faint buzz of mosquitos who surround the porch light. That’s when you realise that it’s already on, and you’re not alone. JJ’s on the porch, laid out on the sofa. He’s smoking a joint. The smell of weed merges into that of the dying embers from the abandoned, extinguished bonfire. You rap gently on the wall as you approach, hoping not to startle him.

“Hey,” he says, looking up at the sound.

“Hey.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“No,” you say. “I thought everyone went home.”

“They did. I’m crashing here tonight. My dad’s…”

He falters, glances up at you, and shakes his head.

“Don’t need to bore you with it.”

“You’re not boring,” you hear yourself tell him.

Smiling, JJ offers the joint to you. You take it, sitting down in the red armchair at the foot of the sofa. The weed consumes your senses when you take a drag, hitting the back of your throat and dulling your thoughts.

“Haven’t smoked in ages,” you say.

“Big smoking community out in Colorado?” JJ asks.

You laugh. “Not where I live, no.”

He takes the joint back when you lean over to him. Tilts his head back as he takes another hit. He’s in the same clothes as earlier, hasn’t even taken off his boots; his hair is tousled like he tried to sleep but couldn’t. You’re caught in the act of staring at him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a joke. Instead, he holds your gaze. It’s almost like a silent challenge: who’ll break first?

“Can I say something kinda inappropriate?” he asks.

“I feel like you have to, now.”

JJ grins at that, amused. “You’re way cuter than I remember you.”

“Oh? You mean sweaty thirteen-year-old, chalk-highlight-pink-hair wasn’t cute?” you joke.

Shaking his head, he adds, “No. Well, yeah, but not in the way you are now.”

Your stomach tightens and heart constricts, and you wish you had the joint to have something to distract yourself with. You hope you sound calm and collected when you say, “thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” JJ jokes. He takes another long, deep drag. “Is it nice? Being back in Kildare?”

You glance off to the marsh. You forgot to check the time when you got up but judging from the endless navy blue of the sky, it’s still late.

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

You look back to him. “It’s better than Colorado.”

“So, you’re not missing home then?”

The blunt is passed back to you. Taking a drag, you ponder his question. “I don’t think I know where home is right now. I don’t think it’s Colorado, but I don’t know if it’s here either. Maybe I don’t have one.”

JJ doesn’t say anything and you remember yourself. Laughing self-deprecatingly, you shake your head.

“Sorry, think this joint’s going to my head. That was dramatic.”

“No, no, I get ya,” JJ assures. “I know what you mean.”

“You don’t like Kildare?” you ask him.

His expression darkens like a shadow has cast over him. “It depends.”

“Hm,” you say. Nothing more is said on the matter. You get the sense that JJ was vague on purpose.

Pulling your legs into your seat, you glance around at the clutter on the porch. A surfboard is lent against the nett lining of the porch; a rusting duck ornament balances on one of the beams. What looks to be a broken radio sits beside a half-full bottle of rum on a small table by the couch.

“I think it’s good for John B, having you back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JJ smiles. “He sorta spun out when his dad disappeared. You’re kinda the only family he has left.”

“You’re his family too. Been around longer than I have,” you tell him.

JJ’s smile softens. He glances away from you, fiddling with the paper of the joint, almost as if he’s flustered. “Thanks.”

“So,” you say, “you got some poor girl on this island falling after you?”

“Rude of you to assume there’s only one,” JJ grins wickedly.

You roll your eyes.

“What about you? Some West Coast jock waiting for you back in the home state?”

The sarcastic ‘har har’ that he gets has JJ frowning, bemused.

“Definitely no guy, and definitely no jock.”

“Now that I find hard to believe,” JJ says.

Before you can ask what he means by that, or spiral out by thinking too much about it, JJ’s getting to his feet. He puts the blunt out on the window ledge, ditching the empty butt in a filthy dish. Stretching his arms over his head, sighing, you watch as his t-shirt rides up. The tensing of his abdominal muscles is like torture. God, to run your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, tangle them in the salt-soaked strands of his hair…

“Right, night Little Routledge,” JJ says.

You blink away from his chest and meet his gaze. There’s a strange expression on his face, one you don’t recognise, and you want to scrutinise it and find out what it means. But it’s gone in a flash, as is he as he heads back into the house. You watch through the window as his silhouette drops onto the pull-out sofa.

It takes a minute to regain your composure.

You can’t think of JJ like that. He certainly doesn’t think of you like that, and that childhood crush has long been put to bed. Shaking it awake is the last thing you need right now. Besides, he’s John B’s best friend. Your brother’s best friend. The same brother who’s taken you back into his house, offered you a room, free of charge, without complaint or question. And it seems like John B needs as many people around him as possible right now. But it’s hard to maintain that line of thought, when as you lie back down in your bed, desperate to get some sleep, you can vividly picture the slit of JJ’s chest that you were privy to just moments ago when you close your eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You follow Tom through the restaurant. He’s the supervisor, eighteen and a fresh high school graduate. It’s hard to keep up with him as he points things out: waiter’s station; kitchen; storeroom…You’d forgotten how overwhelming job orientations can be.

“And this,” he pushes a door open, “is the staff room.”

You glance in and take in the messy pile of shoes, the overflowing trash can, and the three coat pegs overwhelmed with bags and hoodies.

“Love what you’ve done with the space.”

Tom laughs. He closes the door and leans against the doorframe. Broad shouldered, he stands taller than you by a couple inches.

“So, what made you want to work here?”

“I’m really interested in not being broke,” you reply, making him laugh.

“You new to the island? Feel like I haven’t seen you around?”

“This island that small?”

“Or you’re just that unforgettable,” he smoothly returns.

Your face fires up. Laughing nervously, you shift your stance. “I just moved in with my half-brother for the summer. Need something to keep me busy for a few months.”

“Ah, sweet. Anyone I’d know?”

“Dunno,” you say. He starts back into the main restaurant building. They haven’t opened yet. It’s void of life. “John B Routledge?”

“Oh shit, yeah. JB,” he says, flashing you a grin.

He’s charming in a disarming way. The kind of face that a modelling agency would swipe up because of his easy marketability.

When the two of you approach the bar, there’s a girl stood polishing wine glasses. She looks to be about your age, maybe a couple of years older. Her smile is sweet and welcoming like warm hot chocolate on a winter’s night.

“Hey, Lizzy. This is the new starter,” Tom introduces.

“I’m guessing I got the job then?” you ask him. He nods. With that, you offer a hand to Lizzy.

“Nice to meet ya,” she says, shaking it. “Could do with more girls around here.”

“Happy to help,” you reply.

“So, you think you can cover a shift tomorrow night? I figured cause you’ve waitressed before it shouldn’t take too long for you to learn the ropes here,” Tom says.

You nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says.

You bid farewell to himself and Lizzy, seeing yourself out the front door. The restaurant is in the heart of the cut, surrounded by other small businesses and hipster start-ups. You begin the journey home, plugging in your headphones and submerging yourself in Reggae music. Children play in the local park and preteens chatter as they speed past you on their bikes. There’s a warm breeze that brushes past you; it smells of sea water and fried fish. You’re passing the harbour. Eyes land on Heyward’s store, the logo just as you remember it from all those years ago. It’s surreal being back.

When your phone buzzes, you pause your sightseeing to check it. It might be John B asking after the interview. Your throat closes up when you see your mom’s contact pop up. A text. ‘Call me back.’

Just like that, you’re dragged out of Kildare and are back in Colorado.

It’s impossible to ignore the text, but you do your best either way. You don’t even remember half the journey to the Chateau as you walk through the door. JJ is home. He’s sat at the messy dining table, eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. Tugging out your earbuds, you give a small wave hello.

“How’d the interview go? That was today, right?”

“Smashed it. Got the job,” you say.

“Oh, sweet. Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

You ditch your bag by the door along with your phone. Taking the seat opposite him, you sit cross-legged on the wooden chair. The sketchbook you’d abandoned earlier lays dormant. Opening it up, you flick to your latest piece of the marsh. It’s coming together rather well. You’d decided to add the H.M.S Pogue, sat harboured on the grass. JJ peers over his bowl to the painting.

“Holy shit. That’s sick,” he says through his mouthful of Captain Crunch.

“Thanks,” you smile. “I’m pretty happy with how it’s come out, considering how old these paints are.”

JJ watches as you crack open the aforementioned watercolours. The smell of artificial paint teases the air. Dampening a thin brush in the mason jar of water, you dip into the blue.

“They bad quality or something?”

“A little. They best ones are Winsor and Newton, but I can’t justify spending over twenty bucks on paints.”

“Why not? You’ve clearly got a gift,” JJ says.

You hate how casual he is when he says things like that to you. Like it doesn’t knock the breath out of you like a sucker punch to the chest.

“S’just practice,” you mumble.

You can feel his gaze as you paint. Resting your chin in your hand, you work at the water under the jetty, trying to perfect the shading. You want to feel as though you can walk into the painting; like you could drown in the crystal clean waves.

Painting had become an escape when you were in Colorado. Whatever you could remember of Kildare, you’d paint. When that well ran dry, you began to paint places you wished you could go. Anywhere but the dilapidating family home you’d found yourself in. Secret gardens made of twisting ivy and crumbling, ornate statues hidden amongst orchids and rose bushes. Cosmic planes with make-believe ice cream stations snuck onto Mars and Venus; whales which bathed in the stars and caught a tan in moonbeams. Underwater societies full of sea kelp and multicoloured coral reefs, with octopi hiding amongst crabs and shellfish.

You glance up to find JJ transfixed on the painting. There’s a crease between his brows as if he’s the one concentrating. It makes you laugh, quiet and under breath, and he looks up. Holds your stare.

“That’s amazing, that you can just do that,” JJ says, remarking to your work.

You swallow the sickly rush that his words give you. His tongue dampens his lower lip, tantalisingly slow. You feel it hit somewhere deep inside of you. Something in the air shifts.

Then, so quiet neither of you can be sure he really said it, he utters, “you’re amazing.”

“Yo!”

The door swings open with your brother’s arrival. Your head spins over your shoulder to the front door. John B stands holding a bag of takeout burgers in the air beside his head.

“Y’all hungry?”

“Hell yeah,” JJ says.

When you look to him, it feels as if you could have imagined the whole interaction had just moments ago. JJ’s sat in his seat as he was before, unfazed.

He abandons his cereal and follows John B into the kitchen like a starving dog, begging for food. You place your paintbrush back into the water and join them. John B unpacks the burgers and fries onto half-clean plates. You watch JJ toss a fry into the air and catch it, whooping in celebration. A plate is handed back to you, over John B’s shoulder.

“Beef burger with cheese, no pickles.”

“Thank you,” you sing-song, taking the plate off him.

JJ turns around and looks at you with faux disgust. “No pickles?”

You shake your head, heading back to the table. JJ and John B join you with their own quick dinners, and the three of you eat. You tell John B about the summer job you secured, and he tells you and JJ about Sarah Cameron and her new boy-toy Topper. JJ says he’s “biceps without a brain” when you ask which one Topper is.

“That can’t be his real name,” you snort.

“Oh, it is,” John B replies.

“His name is almost as dumb as he is,” JJ sniggers.

There’s the sound of chewing and swallowing.

“Two official weeks into summer,” John B randomly announces.

You quirk a brow. “Two weeks since I came back to Kildare.”

JJ holds his cup of soda up in a toast. John B wipes his mouth and raises his own, as do you. The three of you clink cups, smiling at the stupidity. As you bring your cup to your lips to drink, you find your eyes meeting JJ’s across the table. He holds your gaze as he sips, swallows and licks his lips of the sugar. You feel it hit somewhere deep, deep inside of you. JJ looks back to John B and starts recounting his tales of the day fishing, leaving you stumped.

What the hell was that?

~*~*~*~*~*~*

As your days in Kildare stretch on, your imagination becomes your most loved and loathed place all at once.

The Pogues had taken you under their wing without a second thought. It felt as if it wasn’t just because you were John B’s younger sister. Kiara would spend hours talking to you about music and star signs. Pope would discuss books and artists that he’d read about, falling into a huge debate about whether Andy Warhol is as legendary as everyone makes him out to be (the answer is, of course, yes). You and John B connected as brother and sister, filling that hole of ‘family’ that had been taken from both of you within the past year. Movie nights sharing popcorn and critiquing corny horror films, and mornings spent tending to the yard and fishing at the jetty: you felt yourself coming back bit by bit, in the company of the brunette.

But spending time with the Pogues came with spending more time with JJ. That little childhood crush that you’d claimed had succumb a long, undisturbed slumber…Oh, she had been awoken. Him staying over more and more on the pull-out when him and his dad ‘got into a thing’ meant the throw pillows smelt like his cologne and soap. He’d offer you his sweatshirt when sat around the bonfire on evenings drinking, and the warm distinct smell of him would consume you, drown you in the pheromones, affecting you like some pathetic animal in heat. Days spent surfing and sunbathing at the break gave you space to shamelessly ogle his bare chest, splattered in sea water, scorched and tanned with sunlight. The ripple of his lats when wearing his useless muscle tees as he waxed his board in the surf shack. His jawline strong and steely when annoyed or focused, with faint blonde stubble a week after shaving. But you swear he knew how it affected you. Swear he knew it drove you crazy whenever he’d fleetingly touch your back, brushing past you in the kitchen to grab a drink, or adjust your grip when helping him fix up his bike. When sharing a blunt on the porch (as you often did when sleep couldn’t come), he’d take his time passing it to you, fingers brushing. Innocent, incidental touches that felt calculated and planned. The way his eyes would gaze into yours, like he could read your thoughts and decipher your wants. A vague, barely-there smirk to his lips, constantly tortured by his tongue and teeth…

God, your whole body feels as if it has been on fire for the past week.

You blame your overactive thoughts of JJ on your boredom. Working at the restaurant hadn’t been sufficient distraction from the mess that is your life right now. Even now, as you stand before the till, typing through an order for the kitchen and bar, you feel your mind wandering. To thoughts of the Chateau, and to a certain blonde-haired guy sprawled on the pull-out sofa, shirtless, back on proud display…

“You gonna be much longer?”

“No, I shouldn’t be,” you say to Tom.

You hope your embarrassment doesn’t read on your face. It’s not as if he could hear your thoughts, so you’re not sure why you feel caught in the act. You finish selecting the sides for table 16 and press ‘store table’. Stepping to the side to grab some side plates, Tom takes over the till.

He’s nice. Makes you laugh a lot at work, as you slander rude tables and gush over those that tip an extra twenty.

After depositing the side plates at the table, you head to the bar to run the drinks you put through. Lizzy is mixing the cocktail you ordered. She pours rum into a shaker and then passionfruit puree.

“Can I ask you something?” you say to her.

She glances over. The two of you had gotten closer at work. You were hoping to hang out with her one time down at the beach, or maybe grab lunch after a morning shift. She runs a hand over her buzzcut hair style and nods.

“Do you think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?”

“Bit deep to be asking that at eight o’clock at night, don’t you think?” she smirks.

You roll your eyes. As she goes on making the cocktail, you elaborate. “I have this dumbass crush on this guy which I know I shouldn’t have…I just feel bad for thinking about him so much.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” she snorts.

There’s the loud rattle of ice against stainless steel as Lizzy shakes the cocktail. Then, as she strains it into a martini glass, she looks up at you once more.

“Who’s this guy? Do I know him?”

“Maybe.”

Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Is it Tom?”

And, no, it isn’t Tom, but maybe saying it is means she won’t keep digging. You’d rather keep your embarrassing years-long infatuation with your brother’s best friend close to the chest. So, you do your best to look meek as you nod.

“Holy shit! Well, if it makes you feel better, he’s totally into you,” Lizzy tells you.

“He is?”

“Hell yeah. Guy practically ogles you across the room,” she says.

You glance over to Tom. He’s stood before a table, talking away, scribbling down their order on a notepad. At the feeling of being watched, he looks up and meets your gaze. You flash him a small smile and he mirrors it quickly before returning his focus to the task at hand.

“So, do you?”

“Think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?” Lizzy checks. You nod. She ponders the question whilst garnishing the cocktail. “No. No, I think only actions talk. I mean, I think bad things all the time about customers who are dicks. I could put glass in their drinks: that’d show them sort of thing. But I don’t actually put glass in their drinks, so I’m off the hook. Nobody’s the wiser.”

It’s a somewhat extreme example but it gets the point across. You take the tray and nod.

“I mean, maybe fantasising about it might be cathartic. Get it out your system, you know?” Her sly wink speaks volumes as to what these ‘fantasies’ are about. You roll your eyes.

“Thank you for your advice, Lizz. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Anytime sunshine.”

With that, you walk over table 16 and deliver their drinks. The rest of the shift passes by rather quickly. You end up making a bet with Tom that you can sell more pints of larger than him and come up victorious, leaving work with an extra ten dollars in your pockets.

The streets are painted sunset purple, orange and pink. You spot John B’s campervan, known as The Twinkie, in the parking lot; he’d promised to pick you up after work tonight. But as you walk up to the passenger side, you realise it’s JJ behind the wheel. You’re not sure if the feeling of your organs shrinking is a good thing or a bad thing.

“Where’s John B?” you ask, climbing in beside him.

“Nice way to say, ‘hi JJ, it’s so good to see you!’”

“Okay, hi JJ,” you say, rolling your eyes. He starts the engine. “Now, where’s my brother?”

“He had to go do something for Cameron.”

“At ten at night?”

“Dude, I just work here, a’right? I do as he says so he lets me stay on his sofa,” JJ says. You laugh.

The radio kicks on and ‘Downtown Lights’ starts to play. You look out the window as he drives, watching the houses fade into overgrow and trees.

“Hey, you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“We can swing by a Wendy’s on the way home, if you wanna,” JJ says.

You smile as you look over to him, nodding. With that, he takes the next left and the two of you make your way in comfortable silence to the drive through. At the worker’s request, JJ recounts his order: two hamburgers, both with cheese, one without pickles. Oh and a large Pepsi.

As he pulls forward to pay, you say, “you remembered I don’t like pickles?”

He glances over to you like you’re stupid for even asking. “Course.”

Food secured, Pepsi in the cupholder for you both to share, you start the journey to the Chateau.

“Feed me a fry?”

You laugh and oblige. It’s the least you can do, considering he bought you takeout, after all. You turf one out the brown paper bag and hold up to his lips. His breath fans against your fingers as he takes it. Chews and swallows. You managed to tear your eyes away. That man could yawn and you’d be mesmerised, you swear. It’s pathetic.

“Thanks.”

“Course.”

The ride back is over way too soon. You take what’s left of your food and your bag, opening the door. “You staying over tonight?”

JJ contemplates a moment before shaking his head. He studies his hands as they run up and over the steering wheel when he says, “no. No, I gotta go home sometime.”

“Right,” you quietly say. The last fight him and his dad got in was ugly. He came over, shaking with anger, a purple bruise forming under his eye. It scared the shit out of you to let him go back there alone. “Well, thanks for the food.”

JJ looks up from the steering wheel and takes you in. His lips move, like he wants to say something, but he seems to abandon the thought. You take it as your cue to leave.

“See you soon.”

“Yeah. See you soon, Little Routledge.”

You hate that nickname. The resentment is thick to swallow as you say goodnight, stepping out the van.

John B isn’t home when you walk into the Chateau. The lights are off, dirty dishes piled up in the sink. The sofa bed is unmade from the last time JJ slept on it. You contemplate crashing on it for the night, just so you can feel as if you’re near to him, but you know that’s insane. If John B were to find you there, he’d only be concerned that something was wrong with your own room, either way. So you trundle back to your bedroom and strip out of your uniform. Makeup rinsed off and teeth brushed, you crawl into bed and drift off easily.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

His lips are hot and wet on your skin, kissing down your stomach. Your breathing’s laboured like you’re fighting an adrenaline rush. He seems to notice, laughing darkly against your tummy.

“So wound up already and I’ve barely touched you,” JJ croons in his southern drawl.

Your eyes slip shut, fighting back a whimper as his fingers dip teasingly into the waistband of your panties. A moan finally lets slip at the sensation of his lips pressing against your crotch, over the cotton.

“You want it?”

“Please,” you whisper.

“Yeah? You want my mouth?”

“Yes, JJ, please.”

It’s embarrassing to beg but you don’t have much left in your mind other than thoughts of him to even care.

Fingers knotting into his hair, you try and coax him lower still. And he obliges. Drags your panties down your legs like time is a luxury. You wonder if he likes teasing you; if it brings him pleasure like the feeling of his hands on your body does for you. He leans back on his haunches and runs his palms up and down your thighs, staring at you exposed pussy. His shark tooth necklace sits against his toned chest and you’re jealous of how close it gets to be to him.

“Fuck,” JJ groans as you open your legs.

He leans back down and nuzzles your inner thigh, pressing a sharp kiss with his teeth, sucking in the skin and relishing your pleasured yelp. It feels as if he’s marking you as he leaves the hickey: mine.

“Been dreaming ‘bout this.”

Before you can let out another pathetic plea, JJ situates himself between your legs and goes down on you. Eats you out like a man who’s been lost at sea, like a man starved. Sighs at the taste of you on his tongue, kissing at your thighs as if to catch his breath, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. The damp of his tongue laps at your clit and your legs lock around him in a vice. He’s indefatigable, insatiable and…it’s too much.

“I can’t,” you whine hopelessly. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, eyes clenched shut.

“Come on,” JJ preens. “Wanna see you come.”

He leans close to your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth, and slips a finger into your seeping hole. Your orgasm comes like waves crashing over splintered rocks; breathing jagged and vision blurring behind eyelids. Somewhere in the euphoric haze you cry out his name. Flashes of colour blending into a mercurial high as he works you through your ecstasy, unrelenting.

You gasp awake.

Had you been sleeping?

Your forehead is damp with sweat, throat parched and chest heaving. Anyone would have thought you’d have just sprinted three miles. When you sit up in bed, you register the pulsing between your legs and the telltale stickiness of your thighs.

Shit. Good thing there’s no such thing as bad thoughts.

Wiping at your face, your skin feels red hot. You venture to the bathroom and drink water from the faucet. Making eye contact with yourself is too hard right now, considering you just had the most incredible wet dream about your brother’s best friend. Now that the high is passing, you’re overcome with shame and guilt. You’re delusional. Maybe you should submit yourself to be sectioned. Would be a good way to kill some of these summer weeks…

Heading back to bed feels like returning to the scene of a crime. Instead, you head out onto the porch, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. John B’s a deep sleeper, you’ve come to learn. You’ve never heard him get up in the night, in all your moments of insomnia. There’s no risk of crossing paths with him out here.

Stepping out onto the paint-peeled floorboards, you notice he forgot to turn off the porch light when he came home. Great, I guess I know where my wage is going. But as you head to your favourite red armchair, ready to gaze out at the marsh and watch the waterside plants dance in the breeze, you freeze.

JJ’s on the sofa. And he’s awake. You can tell just from where you’re stood.

Before you can flee back to your room, the floorboard creaks. JJ jolts up and looks around, eyes landing on you. You swallow. The moment you lay eyes on him, part of your dream comes screaming back to you. The way your voice cracked as you cried out his name, tumbling over the edge. You quickly shun away the thoughts, slamming them closed in a box, before your body can lose itself to the fantasy once more. Please God tell me that I didn’t actually scream his name.

“Hi,” you dumbly say.

“Hey.”

“I thought you were staying at your place tonight,” you say.

JJ shrugs. “Change of plans, I guess.”

“Oh.”

He looks back ahead at the armchair, back to you, and you can’t help but pull a face akin to holy shit what the fuck do I do? When he holds up a joint, you decide to stay. Panties are just the same as a bikini anyway, and he’s seen you in those. You make sure to wear your cutest ones when he’s surfing with you. The ones that are tight in all the right places and hug your figure in a way that you wished he would. Oh my God, shut up. You wordlessly take the joint as you quickly step past him, planting yourself in the armchair. You pull your legs up and sit atop of them, taking a long drag to try and calm your racing mind and heart. Inspecting the floor seems a good thing to do, suddenly. The divots in the wood from worms and the strips of paint. Looking up, you find JJ’s eyes trained on your legs. His gaze diverts when you lean forward, offering him the blunt again. As he lifts himself to take it, you see him wince, and now in the light of the porch, fully taking him in you, you can make out the bloody cut beside his eye.

“Jesus Christ, JayJ.”

“It’s fine,” he reflexively says. He takes another hit. “Just need some self-medication.”

“Bullshit. You need to clean that thing ‘fore it gets infected.”

“Be my guest,” JJ scoffs.

With that, you get to your feet and head back into the house. The first aid kit is under the bathroom sink. It’s probably the least dusty thing in the whole room. Returning to him, you forget all about the reason that you got up in the first place and shove it to the back of your mind. This was more important than worrying about some dumb dream. Shoving his legs off the couch, you force him to make space for you. You place the first aid kit on your lap and open it. JJ keeps smoking. The smell of weed clouds your senses. Picking out a disinfectant wipe, you turn to him.

“This’ll sting,” you say, opening the packet.

“That’s what she said.”

You frown. “What kind of kinky ass sex are you having?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he grins.

For a moment dread drops down your body, chilling your spine. Did he hear you? No, no he couldn’t have. You probably didn’t make a noise. He’s just being his usual, salacious self.

You take his jawline in hold gently between your fingers. The bone is hard beneath the soft of his skin; fine stubble scratches your fingertips. Leaning up, you try not to get distracted in his eyes as you dab at the cut. You apologise as he hisses. It doesn’t look as intimidating when clean of blood, which is more than a relief. You dip back into the first aid kit and offer up two band aids. One is plain nude and the other Hello Kitty.

“Take your pick.”

He rolls his eyes with a small smile and grabs the Hello Kitty one, holding it out to you. You shift onto your knees, bending over him to plant it over his cut. You notice a bruise forming on his cheek bone on the other side, and a cut lip. You should have insisted he stayed over when he dropped you off. He looks up, as if he can hear your thoughts, and meets your gaze. You can’t seem to find it in yourself to move away.

“It’s not your fault,” he quietly says.

You swallow. It’s scary how easy he can read you. Makes you worry what other thoughts he can tell from your face. “Wished you just stayed here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hate the thought of you going back to that house.”

“That’s sweet,” he smiles. “But if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t have you here taking care of me.”

“Oh, was it all part of your masterplan?” you joke, finding your smile again. His seems to grow at the sight.

“Something like that.”

When his lips press to yours, you’re taken aback. It feels like fire, searing hot, and you flinch like you’ve been burnt. You gape at him, wide eyed, and it seems to register what he’s just done. You both move to put as much space between you as possible, as if trying to keep the blaze from spreading.

“Shit, I—”

“I should go back to bed,” you hurry out.

JJ nods. “Yeah, yeah. Course.”

In your scramble to get back to your feet and back in your room, the first aid kit falls to the floor, the contents spilling out. You cuss and drop to your knees, rushing to retrieve all the clutter. JJ joins you, passing you gloves and bandages. You find some nerve to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says. The sincerity in his voice…It’s painful.

“It’s okay. I don’t…It isn’t…”

You sigh. Your speech is just as messed as your mind. Closing your eyes, gathering your words, you take a deep breath. Looking back to JJ, you shake your head.

“We can’t.”

“I know,” he replies, almost sadly. Nods once more. “Yeah, I know. I’m just…high. And tired.”

“Right. Course.”

And whilst his excuses should sting, they don’t, because you don’t believe them. JJ smokes enough weed to not be affected all that much by half a joint. But you don’t argue. Instead, you close the box and go to head inside. You stop in the doorway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say.

You spare him one last glance. He’s on the floor, head hung and back to you, and you consider staying. But you don’t. You go straight to bed, acting as if a fresh start tomorrow will reset the entire thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the morning, JJ’s gone. John B doesn’t seem to have even realised he’d stayed over. You find your older brother in the kitchen, washing up the dirty dishes. Swiping up a towel, you come to help.

“Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “You?”

“Like a rock,” he grins. “You still up for that keggar tonight, at the boneyard?”

“Oh shit, that’s tonight?”

“Yeah. All the others are going,” John B says.

“Yeah, I’ll go. I think I’m catching a ride with Lizzy from work.”

“Alright. Just stay safe.”

“I will,” you drawl. He smiles at you before turning back to the washing up. “Hey, John B?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For letting me stay here.”

“Yeah, course,” he says. He pauses his handy work, turning his attention to you. “You’ve always got a bed to crash on here, even if child services are up my ass.”

“I appreciate it. I really needed to get out of Colorado.”

The seven missed calls from your mom slip into your mind. Her texts go unanswered, but she knows you read them. You don’t want her to think you’re in danger. Talking to her is just too much right now.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I needed you back too,” he says. “Things have been kinda messy since my dad…disappeared. I don’t know what I’d do if I was on my own.”

“You’re never gonna be on your own, though,” you smile. “The Pogues would do anything for you. It’s actually kinda scary.”

John B laughs at that. “Yeah, yeah, they’re, uh, not the smartest.”

“Apart from Pope,” you point out. He nods, smiling as he looks back to the soapy water.

“Yeah, apart from Pope.”

“JJ cares about you a lot,” you feel the need to add. His voice last night, apology ready, after your kiss, echoes in your mind.

“I know. I feel like you two are the best things in my life right now,” John B admits. The guilt multiples by tenfold with that. You fix your face when he looks to you. “So, thanks.”

“No worries, big bro,” you reply, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He laughs. “Thanks, little sis.”

With that, you both continue cleaning the pots. The shame from last night gets shoved down into the deepest, darkest pit of your stomach, and you try to go about your day without sparing another thought to JJ.

On the way to the keggar, Lizzy grills you about your ‘crush’ on Tom. “He’s gonna be there tonight, I think.”

“Oh, really?” you say. You know you don’t sound enthused. It’s too much effort to pretend.

“Everything good?” she frowns, glancing away from the road.

You nod and plaster on a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired, I think.”

“Couple drinks in you and you’ll be wide awake, I promise,” she assures.

Nodding, you shift in your seat and look out the window. Your skirt rides up in the processes. It’s a little short but it’s so ridiculously hot tonight, you can’t seem to care. A crotchet style crop-top dresses down the outfit. You don’t want to seem like you’re trying too hard for a beachside keggar. As you pull up closer to the boneyard, cars line the roads. Lizzy finds a spot and parks. You grab the crate of Budlight and her the box of White Claw, and you hop out the car towards the beach. Her stories about work and school have brightened your mood.

She’s tall and remarkably cool in a way that you never will be. She has stick and poke tattoos on her knees and elbows, and nine piercings on one ear. Her nose ring and snake bite piercings are far from intimidating on her cherub like features. The buzzcut has been dyed neon blue, standing bright against her dark skin. As you pass groups of teens, she shouts hello to those she recognises and shares the odd bro-hug.

You add your drinks to the pile of booze before grabbing a can, cracking it open. A quick scan of the scene tells you that the Pogues are still pre-drinking at the Chateau. You’d managed to dodge JJ so far.

“This is a pretty decent turn out,” Lizzy tells you, swigging from her can.

“Know a lot of people here?”

“Sure,” she says. She points to a gaggle of polo-shirt wearing pretty boys who look like they could snap you with one finger. “Those are the gym rat kooks. That tall blonde Topper is with the princess of Figure Eight, Sarah Cameron.”

JJ was right: biceps without a brain. You watch as he shotguns a drink and cracks the can on his forehead. Sarah Cameron, blonde hair straight flowing down her back, does not look impressed.

“And her brother Rafe. That guy’s all kinds of whacked out,” Lizzy mutters. You follow her finger to spot a tall, short haired guy. He looks unapproachable, even from far away.

“Yo Lizzy!”

You both turn to find a crowd of girls and guys. One of them is waving at Lizzy and she waves back.

“Come on, I know these guys. They’re cool,” she tells you, taking your hand and guiding you over.

You’re introduced to everyone and soon enough are roped into beer pong and shots. It’s fun though. Everyone’s having a laugh, cheering each other on. You hear about some good spots to grab food and learn Michael, Lizzy’s closest friend, can drink you under the table. A few hours in and there’s a comfortable buzz to your bones. You haven’t thought about the Pogues, or JJ, or the fleeting kiss all night. As you laugh along to one of Michael’s soccer stories, someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around to come face to face with Tom.

“Hey,” you smile, squiffy.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Yeah, I came with Lizzy.”

“Hey, Tom,” she smiles before sending you a more than suggestive look. Oh, shit. The lie. “Hey, why don’t you go get my girl a top up?”

Before you can contest, she’s taking your half full can out of your hand and coaxing you away with an assuring smile. Tom takes it in stride and walks with you to the coolers. He grabs two cans of beer, passing one to you, and you cheers him.

“How you finding Kildare?”

“Good.”

“Yeah? You been hanging with John B’s crowd, right?”

“Most of the time, yeah,” you smile, nodding. He makes a face before taking a drink. You frown. “What?”

“Nah, nothing. They’re just kinda…well, I mean, some people think they’re bad news.”

“Some people, huh?” you say cautiously.

“Just reputations and all that. Like that JJ guy. He’s got slippery fingers, if you know what I mean,” Tom says, wiggling his own in demonstration.

Suddenly this conversation is very unappealing. You glance off to Lizzy and the others. “I should probably get back to them. Thanks for the drink, though.”

“No, hey, no,” Tom says. He grabs you by the wrist. “Come on, I was being a dick. I’ve had one too many. Let’s just hang, alright? I really wanna get to know you.”

You look between him and Lizzy and sigh. Taking a swig, you shrug. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tick you off.”

“I like the Pogues. They’re a good group,” you feel the need to defend.

“No, yeah, they are!” Tom agrees. You can smell the stench of liquor on his breath. “I just don’t want you to get corrupted by them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just, you’re new here—”

“And so I’m clueless on how to judge people?” you finish sardonically.

Tom rolls his eyes and it makes your anger tick. “Come on, you don’t gotta be a bitch about this.”

“What did you just call me? You know what? Forget it,” you scoff, snatching your arm away from his hold. “Have fun drinking on your own.”

But you don’t get very far before he’s grabbing at you again. “Calm down, would you? Just gimme—”

“Let go!” you demand.

His grip only tightens. The strong front you’re putting on begins to crumble under the panic of this guy is way bigger than me.

“Just quit bitching and we can talk,” he says harshly.

“I don’t want to talk. Now please let go of me,” you firmly return.

He doesn’t let go. Keeps chattering away, insisting that you have to hear him out.

“Let go, Tom!”

“Everything good here?”

Your wide eyes look away from Tom and land on JJ, and your whole body relaxes. He’s looking at you and the panic must read clear on your face because his demeanour changes in a split second. Jaw tight, he turns to Tom.

“I think you should let go, man.”

“You think I’m gonna listen to you?” Tom scoffs.

JJ takes another step towards him. He towers over Tom by enough to be intimidating. “Think you should listen to her.”

“Oh, I get it,” Tom snarls. He lets go of you and you can feel your skin breathing. You rub at the pink marks, easing the sting. Tom gets into JJ’s face, undeterred from a fight. “You wanna keep John B’s sloppy sister for yourself, huh?”

JJ’s fist flies at Tom’s face, making an ugly, visceral sound as it lands on his left cheek. You gasp. Nearly knocked off balance, Tom stumbles on the sand. The commotion has drawn in somewhat of a crowd. Before you can intervene, Tom’s throwing hands. He aims an upper cut to JJ’s jaw but he’s quick to dodge, landing his own punch instead by Tom’s eyebrow. That one seems to deter him. He trips backwards. The chanting of the crowds egging it on makes you feel sick. You’d just finished patching JJ up last night, and you’ve seen his anger before. It takes control quickly and blinds him to reason. The last thing he needs is to wind up in a cell. So, before he can land another hit, you’re stepping forward and grabbing at his arm, stopping him.

“Come on, let’s just go,” you say pleadingly.

His chest is heaving with anger, breathing short and jaw heavy set and tense. He hesitates, looking between yourself and Tom. He’s still cradling his last hit, trying to regain his composure. Sighing, JJ lets you lead him away. Tom’s heckling is laced with slurs directed at you, and you have to keep a steady grip on JJ to keep him from going back.

“He’s not worth it, JayJ,” you mutter.

“You’re so wrong,” JJ darkly returns, but he doesn’t go back.

Away from the beach, back on the road, you let go. He paces for a moment, trying to calm himself. Tugs off his cap and rakes his fingers through his hair, breathing deep and slow. You don’t speak: just let him go through the motions. Babying him through this isn’t going to help anyone.

Whilst violence isn’t the answer to anything, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for JJ’s help.

Letting him cool off, you take a seat on one of the fallen tree trunks.

“Hey.”

Looking up, JJ walks over. He’s mostly back to himself.

“You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No. Just freaked me out a bit. He’s not usually like that. He’s just drunk.”

“Like that’s an excuse,” JJ scoffs. He takes the spot next to you, sitting worryingly close.

The culmination of last night and tonight makes your head spin. The effects of the alcohol vanished the moment Tom took a hold of you. Now you just want to forget the whole thing.

“Wanna get out of here?” JJ asks.

You turn your head to face him and smile smally, nodding.

“Come on. I brought my bike.”

His red bike is parked beside the Twinkie. He climbs on first and offers a hand to help you onto the back. Your arms slot around his middle, circling around his taught chest, pressing yourself against him. Face resting on the middle of his back, you try not to inhale the smell of him. It might be too much for tonight. His calloused hands on yours have you shifting your hold, ensuring your tight against him like a backpack.

“Good?”

“Good,” you quietly reply.

He kicks off the stand and starts up the engine. You pull away from the keggar and up the road, zipping down the isolated streets. There’s nobody around at this time. Not a soul in sight. It feels so right, wrapped up against him like this, safe in his presence. Tom was wrong: JJ wasn’t bad news. Sure, he was a klepto, but he was the same guy who learnt how to sew to fix your favourite pair of shorts when you were little. The same guy who stepped up when some dirtbag was harassing you. The same guy who remembered you don’t like pickles on your burgers. Who looked at your paintings as if they were Picasso.

Somewhere along the ride, one of JJ’s hands comes to rest on your own. You don’t ask why and don’t pull away. Just let the reassuring weight of his hand on yours stay there and ground you to him like an anchor. Here, flying through the night, you can pretend like all the other shit doesn’t matter. It’s just you and him.

He starts onto a dirt track, slowing down, and a house emerges. Pastel yellow painted exterior hidden behind porch netting. There’s clutter of engines and fishing gear amongst surfing supplies. He pulls to a stop and kicks on the stand, turning off the engine. It’s quiet now, without its rumble. “Your dad home?” you can’t help but ask, staring at the front door.

JJ shakes his head. “No. He’s out on Friday nights. Kinda the only routine he has.”

You don’t ask where and he doesn’t expand. You step off the bike and watch as he clambers off too. Fixing your skirt, you wait for him to talk. He doesn’t. “I should probably head back,” you say. You’re not entirely sure why you came to his place instead. You’d assumed when you got on the bike that he’d take you back the Chateau.

“I mean, we can share a joint first if you want. Help you calm down and stuff, after that shitshow,” JJ half-chuckles.

There’s something heavy in the humid air. It’s hard to describe, hard to place, but you can feel it like static electricity. You find yourself nodding. He nods too and starts up to the house, hands in his black short pockets. You watch his feet sink into the grass and guide your eyes up his figure. His shoulders are tense, dressed under a thin t-shirt. He ditches his cap on the kitchen counter when you walk through the door. Through the house, past the neglection, and to his bedroom. He flicks on the light and clears his throat as he goes to his desk drawer.

You stand, leaning against his door until it clicks closed, and look around his room. There’s a world map pinned to the wall but no markings on it asides from one: Kildare, North Carolina. Print outs of palm trees and pressed, framed butterflies and leaves seem less innocent when placed between posters of models on the beach. The floor is a mess of dirty clothes and empty beer cans. Several dead vapes litter near the overflowing bin, and cigarette and joint buds scatter the windowsill and beside table. But the smell of JJ hangs strong in the air; it makes you smile to yourself.

“Alright,” JJ sighs. The desk drawer slams closed and he turns around, holding up a fresh joint and lighter. His initials are scratched into the metal: JJ. He sits on the bed and places the blunt between his lips, flicking at his lighter. You watch him take a drag and take it off him when he offers it over.

No words are shared as you pass the bud for several minutes. You both glance around the room, at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but each other.

“How’s your face?”

“Huh?” he asks, finally meeting your eyes.

You nod to his cheek. “Your cut from the other night?”

“Oh, right,” he mumbles. He lifts a finger and strokes it absentmindedly. “It’s alright.”

“Good.”

JJ hands you the joint again, you take a drag, you pass it back to him. That same feeling from earlier, when you first climbed off the bike, has only amplified.

“So…”

You brave clearing the distance between you. You take the spot next to him on the bed.

“We gonna talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about?” JJ deflects, studying the floor.

“Well, you kissed me,” you eventually reply, taking the joint back. “So, there’s that.”

“I already told you,” he sighs. “I was tired and doped up.”

When you say nothing, he looks up at you. "What? You think I'm lying?"

You take a drag. Shrugging, you honestly reply, “yeah, a little.”

He holds your gaze as if challenging you to back down. You don’t. Beating around the bush won’t help anything here, and its obvious you can’t go back to acting like it didn’t happen. You can’t move past it until you know why he did.

“S’just weird,” JJ mutters, looking away. “What happened last night, with me and you. S’just weird.”

“Yeah, it was weird for me too,” you agree. Swallowing, you take another hit. “But not bad weird, right?”

JJ’s head lifts once more. His eyes flash across your face like he’s searching for some kind of trap. He sucks his teeth in contemplation. “No. Not bad weird.”

Your heart stutters, breathing shaky and unsure. You feel your eyes dart down to his strawberry pink lips, and his to yours. But then he’s shaking his head. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know…” you breathe. You’re transfixed on his lips. Can’t move away, can’t bring yourself too. The blunt in your fingers is burning away, ash dropping to the floor, but you don’t care. All of it, everything but JJ, is white noise.

The moment you flit your eyes up to his, something shifts in him. His jaw ticks as he clenches it. Your brows pull in thought but there’s no time for you to ask.

“Fuck it.”

His lips are on yours within a breadth. He consumes your senses like a drug, dulling down anything else until all your thoughts are on him. He grabs for the blunt in your fingers, haphazardly putting it on the bedside table, and then his hands are sliding up along your sides, up your back, into your hair. One finds purchase on your cheek, and you rest your jaw in his hold like a bird settled in its favourite branch. The way he holds you like you’re something holy is different to how sinful his kiss is. It’s pure passion: raw, animalistic heat from weeks of build-up. And, God, it feels so right. The way his tongue brushes against yours, warm in your mouth, heavy in your head. The nip of his teeth on your lips and the fanning of his breath when he has to break for air. You’ve never been kissed like this before, not by anyone. It’s dizzying.

Until it isn’t, and he’s pulling away. His forehead rests against your own. You’re both panting. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says.

You slide a hand up his neck, tracing his jawline with your fingers. He practically melts under your touch, eyes slipping shut. “I know,” you whisper distractedly. Your thumb traces his lower lip. It’s swollen from your kisses.

He blinks his eyes open. “I’m serious. He can’t know.”

“He won’t,” you say, going to reconnect your lips.

But JJ stops you. “No, he can’t. He’d…God, he just can’t.”

You want to cry, seeing the moral dilemma weigh on JJ, feeling you share the burden. But the thought of walking away from this, of not feeling every inch of him, of never hearing him fall apart, makes you want to sob.

“Maybe just one time,” you murmur. Your finger traces down his chin, along the centre of his neck. “And we can just get it out of our system.”

“Yeah,” JJ mumbles. “Yeah, one time.”

“Yeah?”

You meet his gaze. His pupils are dilated, heavy with lust, and you feel your body ignite. “Touch me, please.”

With that simple mark of consent, JJ’s unchained. He doesn’t hold back when your lips reconnect. Somehow it becomes deeper, rougher, better. It’s such a strange oxymoron, the way he touches you and kisses you. You pull away to remove your crop top, and he takes the moment to strip off his shirt. The two of you are shameless as you take in the other. Reaching out a hand, you run your fingers up his chest in the way that you’ve imagined so many times before. It’s funny how in your head, you’ve already done it. His eyes dip down, watching your hands explore. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his left pectoral, then his right. Sighing, his chest drops up and down with uneven breathes.

“So pretty,” you say through your kisses.

His fingers tether into your hair. There’s a slight tug that sends ripples of pleasure through your body in ways that it shouldn’t as he pulls you away, guiding your lips back to him. As he crawls atop of you, you inch up the bed, skirt riding up. You settle on our back. JJ’s greedy in his touch. Strokes your skin, explores your body, like it’s his own. And in a way it is because you’d give him anything if he asked. When his fingers slip behind your back, searching for the clasp of your bra, you lift yourself onto your elbows. He holds your gaze as he unfastens it, guiding it off your shoulders, helping it off your arms.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

A smile teases at your lips. It takes a certain type of guy to make you blush at the sound of his curses. Your head rocks back, eyes sinking closed, as his lips latch around your nipple. A hand palms at the skin, teasing your breast, exploring your reactions. You sigh out your pleasure, bringing a hand up to mess with his hair. It’s better than you imagined. Tops every fantasy, every wet dream, every sinful thought. And it’s only just begun.

“So fucking sexy,” JJ groans, kissing up your body until he finds your lips.

You don’t want him away from you. He looms over you, encasing you in the safe, consuming feeling of his presence, trapping you in the smell of his cologne and soap that you’ve tried so desperately to avoid. Through the kisses and love bites marked into necks and collarbones, you feel one of his hands ghost the outline of your figure. Traces down so slowly like you might not even notice. Down, down, to your panties. It’s there that he sweeps over your cotton covered mound. You sigh against his lips in anticipation.

“I know you’ve been thinking ‘bout this,” JJ says.

His voice is just as you pictured it: deep and crooning, his Southern accent at forefront. You want to bottle it like brandy and drink it until you black out. His lips work down your neck as he lightly circles your clit over your panties and you can’t stop your moan.

“I heard you, the other night.” Your eyes shoot open. JJ meets your gaze. He’s dying, the desperation clear as day on his face. His eyes themselves could send him straight to hell. There’s the shadow of a smirk.

“Were you thinking of me, whilst you were getting off?”

You go to push him away. The last thing you need is for him to tease you about it and make fun. But he doesn’t let you. Instead, he kisses just below your ear.

“Cause I think about you. Every night since you’ve been back. Can’t jack off to anything else,” he confesses into the crux of your ear. Your only reply is a small, surprised gasp. Your body’s ablaze with his words.

His fingers finally dip below your panties, sliding between your soaking folds. He groans at the sensation and you feel your legs give way. He works at you for a while, toying with you like it’s a side hobby. You’re only half aware of the sounds you make. One of your hands has situated itself on his upper back, nails scratching at the skin. JJ can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. It’s one blasphemy after another, and it drives you deeper and deeper into the abyss. He seems to become impatient. He removes fingers to push your underwear down. You kick them off at the ankles with a small giggle.

The moment his finger sinks into you, you swear you’ve seen heaven. JJ worships you, taking his time to inch you closer and closer to the edge. Another finger, then another. The stretch is heaven. Your back arches off the bed, mouth agape, brain dumb with pleasure. He won’t be quiet. He whispers praises into your ear. Narrates his own fantasies he’s harboured about you. Know you’ve been teasing me with those tiny bikinis. I wish I fucked you on the porch the other night. The moment his thumb swipes over your clit, you know you’re close. And then he’s bending his fingers just slightly, hitting that spot. You abandon all religion: this is the only type of prayer you need.

JJ has the audacity to laugh as you climax. You grasp uselessly at his body, the bedsheets, anything. You use a shaky hand to push his fingers away, overstimulated, and he finally relents. Starts kissing at your neck like a Goddamn vampire.

“That good, huh?”

You can’t really formulate words. You just drag his face to yours, kissing him senseless. When you inevitably part for breath, JJ leans back. He pinches your chin between two fingers, gnawing at his lower lip, and parts your lips for him. Your body pulses at the submissiveness he’s placed you under. Then his used fingers are slipped into your mouth. You close your lips around them, holding his gaze as you suck them clean. The salty distinct taste is unfamiliar but not necessarily unpleasant. He gives a small laugh, like he’s in disbelief.

“Fuck. Why did we wait so long to do this?”

You pull his hand free, taking grip on his shoulders. Pushing him against his bedroom wall, you move to straddle him. His hands fall onto your hips. Somewhere in your heady make-out, you rock yourself back on him. JJ groans; his head knocks back against the wall. He’s rock hard. It must be torture. You shuffle off him to make room to pull his shorts off. They join the mess of clothes on the floor. The tip leaks precum, straining painfully. You go to jack him off but JJ stops you.

“I won’t last,” he admits, half-embarrassed.

You nod, biting back your smile. “You got protection?”

“Top drawer,” he says, nodding to the bedside table.

You lean over and dig about before finding a condom. You come back, tear it open, and gently slide it over him. He lets out a shuddering breath at your touch, eyes clenched shut in concentration. It makes you feel slightly guilty for letting him indulge you for so long, but this will pay it back.

Straddling him once more, you steady yourself with one hand on either shoulder. His find home on your hips once more, and he helps you line up. Then you slowly sink down onto him. The stretch stings despite the earlier efforts. Head hanging forward, mouth falling open in silent moans, eyes clenching shut, you take him in. JJ’s mumbling praises, eyes transfixed on where you connect, spurring you on. Taking me so good. Jus’little more. You rock against him, using whatever energy you have to ride him. He helps guide you, head resting against the wall. You love that he isn’t quiet. Love that you’re on top and can see every ripple of pleasure course through him, reflect on his face. But when his eyes slip shut, you take a hand and guide his face to yours. Pressing your forehead against him, you lean forward and steady yourself with a hand on his chest. The new angle is euphoric. You moan and whine against his lips, eyes staring into his own. It’s the most hideously lewd symphony as the two of you chase your highs. There’s only one thought in your mind. And when JJ comes unannounced, shuddering as he finishes, never looking away from your eyes, only one thought is in your mind.

If it can only happen this once, it has to be perfect...

to be continued (part 2 will be released later this week)

#jj #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #obx #outer banks #obx fics #outer banks fic #obx fic #obx preference #outer banks preference #jj preference #jj maybank preference #routledge!reader #jj x routledge!reader #brothersbestfriend!jj #brothersbestfriend!jj x reader #jj x fem!reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #fem!reader

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definedareasofuncertainty · 2 days

Note

Hi friend, how are you 😙

I have some lyrics for yooooooou 💕

They shake their heads saying: God, help her, when I tell 'em he's my man But your good Lord doesn't need to lift a finger I can fix him, no, really, I can And only I can

“Caroline, you can’t go after him! He will kill you!” Elena yelled, grabbing hold of her arm to stop her.

Her words barely registered. Not when the searing pain in Caroline’s chest kept flaring up, accompanied a perhaps inexplicable anger. How could they have done this without telling her? If they had just said something- if they had just remembered to include her for once, then she could’ve made them see reason. She could have prevented all of this.

A body was laid on Elena’s living room; it looked half destroyed and ashen. She could still recognize it as Kol’s.

She’d never interacted with him much, and, truth be told, she hadn’t exactly been planning on extending her time in his company. And yet- a knot formed in her throat anyway. Where was Klaus?

“He will be back any time to kill you all! You murdered his brother. One he actually cared about. This is not like anything else- He will not let this go, Elena. I have to- if I talk to him, maybe I can convince him to let you go. Or at least buy you time. I-“

Her voice broke off. What was that conversation going to be like? How could she convince him not to avenge his little brother’s death? But if she didn’t say anything… He would come after her friends. She was the only one who could prevent more bloodshed. Would he even listen to her? Would he believe her when she told him she hadn’t known?

Klaus knows you, a voice whispered in the back of her mine. He had always been able to tell when she was telling the truth. Had always been able to see through her, to see her entirely. It would have to be enough. It would be enough.

“Why do you think he will listen to you? He is murderous, Caroline. You can’t distract him this time. I won’t let you put yourself in danger so that-

“I will not be in danger,” she said firmly. Too firmly. With too much certainty.

Elena faltered. Eyes widening in surprise then brows furrowing. “How do you know that?”

Caroline felt her heart racing. Her lips parted and closed twice, as she tried to find the words to form a confession. Her eloquence fell short for once, and she was left in silence, staring at her friend as her face betrayed far too much emotion. Guilt at secret she had been hiding. Hurt. Anger. And something that was beginning to look a lot like love.

“Elena.” It was Stefan who broke the silence. The look in his eyes too understanding.

Elena’s face crumbled, her mouth opening as understanding dawned upon her. “Oh, no. Care. What have you done?”

Caroline squared back her shoulders. “He won’t hurt me.”

send me lyrics from ttpd and i’ll write a minidrabble 🤍🖤

#klaroline #klaroline fanfic #klaroline fanfiction #galvanizedfriend #does this make sense with the lyrics? BARELY #does this make sense at all? cant tell #but first thing ive written in literal months 🥹#there you go friend #thanks for the prompt ❤️

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hitlikehammers · 1 day

Text

time for that age old question: is love enough to beat back the apocalypse?

Because Steve's right there to protect everybody like the self-sacrificing asshole he is help Eddie make the music he's not strong enough for yet help them all put Vecna in the ground for good this time, right?(!??!)

or: what's the song for your walkman, baby? does it even matter?

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< three: sleep 🌗

🎧 🎹 four: play 🎶 🛡️

To tell the whole truth of it: it comes too quickly—Vecna’s last stand. Of course it does.

But probably, if he’s being fair: they’d never have been really ready. Not for this, and so maybe it’s best that they’re not fully healed, not at full strength when it all comes to a head, not least because that means Vecna and his petal-toothed brigade aren’t at full strength either. And that choice, for their side, is sloppy; the Party stands on the right-side-up against the attack because they have to. Vecna makes his move because—or else, Eddie’s fairly sure—because the sadistic ballsac is losing his fucking mind.

Which is terrifying, sure, but fuck if it doesn’t help their cause.

It’s actually over pretty quick, even compared to Spring Break which, while it felt like a lifetime for how much it changed Eddie’s own, it’s only been those handful of days—but it’s kinda like the grand finale at a fireworks show: everything all at once then, done. In the everything’s though: he might not like it, but Eddie’s not so foolish as to believe he’s not still too tender, still too deep in healing the finer points of being gnawed alive to be anything but a burden in the thick of it. He refuses to be sidelined, though, and he thinks it says a lot for the long-term health of this glorious impossible thing he’s…building? Yeah, he, umm, he, Eddie Munson, is building a real goddamn thing where he doesn’t even just let someone into his heart and treasures them there, no, he’s building a thing where he gives his heart and gets on new and soft and trembling in kind and they both get to work at the treasuring of something more precious than just their own vulnerable insides, but yeah, yeah:

Eddie thinks it bodes really fucking well for the hopes he has that lean hard toward forever, already, in Eddie’s chest at least when Steve looks his way as they’re planning the teams and he locks eyes with Eddie and Eddie doesn’t even get his mouth open to breathe, to plead don’t cut me out, don’t send me to Wayne to be ‘safe’ or ‘out of harm’s way’ or whatever, don’t leave me so fucking far from you my heart hurts just because it’s beating in the middle space unmoored and shaking around all bruised up with it for not knowing and I know I can’t do what everyone else can but it’ll be bad enough not being next to you please don’t push me far enough that I won’t know the moment you’re safe, just—

Steve meets his eyes, and Eddie’s breath catches before his heart trips, and then Steve speaks up—and he doesn’t, not all that often when the nerdiest among them are shoring up the battle plans—but he watches Eddie without blinking when he pipes up:

“Eddie’s on medical and audio, with Erica and Jon.”

And maybe it’s his tone—this almost wholly novel thing in Steve that’s steely and unquestionable but no one pushes, they nod and get back to work, totally seamless and, and…yeah. That’s all Eddie wanted. Best he could hope for. Just outside the gate they go through. Close enough to hold a hand on the way down, and reach for purchase on the journey back.

Steve swallows hard, and nods at Eddie before he looks away and starts gearing up, twirls his fucking nailbat so it catches the sunlight even thought the metal’s mostly rusted, now and just…Eddie hadn’t needed to say a word. And Steve wanted to send him to safety, the way his throat had bobbed made it real clear there was something heavy he’s held back but: he’d said what he said. He’d laid the line in Eddie’s favor. Eddie wants to hold him, wants to pull him close and feel him breathe, and—

Yeah. Eddie kinda feels like the way it goes is a really good sign for their future as a couple. A couple. Them. Together.

With an always on the other side of all of this that could be kinda fucking magnificent, maybe. Given the chance.

Point being: Eddie gets himself set up with at least a full ambulance’s supplies for first aid, definitely not acquired legally, and a stereo set up he really wishes someone had been kind enough to outfit him with in not-the-apocalypse, holy shit is it gorgeous, but since the strength in his hands is still a work-in-progress, he’s gotta be ready to crank up the noise as a distraction from arm’s-length. It’s actually driving him fucking crazy—or, was; it was, pre-active return to the regularly scheduled world ending—the whole not being able to make music, to translate the noise in his head into sounds on the strings but even that, even that’s been tolerable, survivable because of Steve—who he loves, he gets to love Steve Harrington holy fuck—but Steve’s not just there to be everything and more than the air Eddie goddamn breathes, to become the music just by existing, nope, he one ups that shit: he asked Eddie if it’d be enough to learn the chords he needs. So Eddie could match the words with the notes right, so Steve could be a—

“—kinda piss-poor substitute but,” Steve had shrugged for it with a crooked grin; “but even a bad translator gets a message across, and you’d know when it’s wrong so we can figure out how to fix it and—“

And Eddie’d grabbed Steve’s chin and yanked his mouth close to fucking consume that man like a soul goddamn starved.

“I’d be a shit teacher,” Eddie had mouthed against Steve’s lips after they were sucked well-swollen; “if I still can’t lift the fucking neck for more than a minute,” but Steve had heard none of it, just shot right back:

“You don’t think we’ve beat steeper odds than that?”

And in the face of that raised brow, those red lips parted, that pulse in that neck still a little bit visible like a tease: the fuck was Eddie supposed to do but dive back in and love on the man who’d somehow agreed to be his, and to claim Eddie of all people in turn?

Which is a whole other reason why everything’s gonna be fine: Steve’s gonna make music with him. Steve’s gonna be Eddie’s muse and the vessel for what he inspires. It’s gonna be like Greek fucking poetry, except it’s gonna be them.

So Eddie’s all stocked up, s’got everyone’s floaty-bone-breaky songs queued up on blast for immediate deployment as necessary, and Steve’s the last to go through—he always is, in Eddie’s experience, waits for everyone to be safely accounted for before he spares a thought for himself and it might kill Eddie one day but not fucking today, because it’s gonna be fine—

“Eddie.”

It feels a little like history repeating itself, the way Steve huddles him in a little. Henderson’s through, with Lucas and Hopper and the weird stray Russian, but it’s not like history repeating, because Eddie’s got different words to see him off with; so fucking different.

“Last time I didn’t have,” and Steve reaches, cups Eddie’s cheek, drags down to press on his chest as his voice strains hard: “and it almost killed me,” and Steve usually pinches between his eyes to keep his feelings in check but instead of using his free hand to hold back the tears he reaches for Eddie’s and laces their fingers as his voice cracks and he chokes out:

“Please,” and it’s for everything. For all the almosts from last time; for all the possibilities rife this time. For all the hopes Eddie thinks they share beyond how this shakes out.

“Exceptionally underqualified field med,” Eddie breathes, and squeezes Steve’s hand so, so hard like a promise, because it is; “exceptionally overqualified DJ,” and Steve chuckles, wet but real and it’s enough, because:

“I got it, Stevie,” Eddie bends his forehead to Steve’s to say better than with words that he’s not in this to be a hero, he’ll be right here the whole time, but that doesn’t mean he…that doesn’t mean he can help but to ask this time:

“Just,” and the breath in him punches out unexpectedly as he damn-near begs:

“Only bring me back the little things, yeah? That I know how to fix?”

And they both hear what’s said underneath it:

Don’t turn around and die down there, and kill me in kind..

And—if anyone’s keeping track—they turn out not to need it but: the way the kiss is a wholeass wartime farewell, man.

And then: Eddie waits, and fucks with the speakers for less than an hour before the earth shakes, and his heart drops, but then he hears it.

The fucking whooping of those shitheads echoing through the cracks.

And then he sees it, runs, grabs the first hand that’s clinging to the rope this time and pulls with strength he doesn’t have, is probably more a hindrance than a help but he steadies them each back on the ground and hugs them so tight, kisses more than one of them on the head or the cheek as he doesn’t pretend not to be sobbing through the laughter because they did it, they fucking did it, somehow it’s over and he loves these people and he’s so fucking happy they’re alive and safe and here and—

And the person he loves more, loves most, brings up the rear, a little bloodied, a little scratched up, dingy with the fucking air down there but smiling and Eddie…

Eddie falls into him so fucking hard they both hit the ground and just, just grab onto one another. Just hold and breathe and catch lips every few seconds like an afterthought because they feel each other’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed tight and it’s, they’re…

Steve’s got four broken fingers across both hands. None in a row. He’s basically giving a Vulcan salute by default for how they’re taped.

Eddie loves him so goddamn much it hurts.

And Eddie’d obviously known—once things start to settle in the days that’ve followed—that teaching Steve guitar with those Spock-y hands was on the back burner, but he does ask Steve to sit, and to rest, and to help hum back the tunes in Eddie’s head while Eddie jots lyrics with a hand that’s still shaky but steadying out more every day, and it’s kind of perfect, and Steve adds some things into the melodies either on purpose or by accident but they’re better for it every time and—

Muse and vessel, man. The light of Eddie’s whole goddamn life.

With fucking Vulcan hands still, though, so: excuse Eddie for being…bewildered when his boyfriend—boyfriend, that’s his boyfriend—but his taped-up-healing-Vulcan-handed boyfriend is propping the front door open and lugging in a long, not-recovery-friendly thing that looks close to dropping on his toes and—

“The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks with a little more panic in his voice than he’d hoped for as he rushes as best he can to where Steve’s kicking the door shut behind him, fluttering his hands around uselessly as Steve maneuvers past him, leans across for a peck at the corner of Eddie’s mouth and calls—“It’s fine, it weighs, like, nothing”—over his shoulder as he settles the, the thing down on the coffee table in the living room they’ve started actually using for, y’know.

Living.

Eddie follows him in, though, because of course, he’s half-a-dog on that man’s heels, whole-caught-in-the-gravity-of-his-everything: but Eddie follows as Steve tosses himself backward with something in his hand, rolls and rucks up his fucking absurd Hawking Middle tee across the sweet curve of his hips, the way the soft give of skin tempts Eddie to run his tongue over the trail of almost-curls, like baby-curls where they lead under the waist of his jeans: Eddie would happily volunteer to survive on the taste of that musky-delicate space until the end of goddamn time—

But then Steve’s huffing a breathless ha from behind a chair where he’d been stretched to reach and a light catches Eddie’s eye from his periphery where he’d been staring unblinking just at Steve: the big long black thing on the coffee table. It takes a genuine concerted effort not to keep at the Steve-staring—not an uncommon state of Eddie’s existence, in all fairness—and check what’s glowing on the table: something turned on. Was plugged in, right, that’s what had Steve rolling on the floor without Eddie on top of or being deliciously pinned down by him.

The something being the big long black thing that Eddie takes in for the whole of it, now: a keyboard.

“Jon picked it up for me second-hand from the place next to Fox Photo when he drove down for his camera, and Rob vouched that it’s a good brand and like, really good condition,” Steve’s raised up on his knees, now with his hands braces on his thighs as Eddie studies the keys, fingers the ends of a every few of the naturals.

“Rob helped with those, too, so I’d know the right, like, chords,” and yeah: they’re stupa of masking tape stuck to the keys with letters in blue, black, and red pen, alternating so they don’t get mixed up, some with and arrow, Eddie assumes, to indicate a sharp.

“I only remember like half of one song from when my parents thought it would look good to have me take piano lessons,” Steve huffs in whole-ass judgment; “my mom wanted the endorsement of the guy who was stepping down from city council, and his wife taught private lessons, so, y’know,” Steve rolls his eyes; “super convenient leading up to the election.”

“What song?”

Steve blinks, tips his head in askance for what Eddie recognizes very clearly as something closer to a croak than a question, his throat all tight. He tries to cough, to clear it.

“What song do you remember?”

Steve snorts at that, leans back on his palms, and fuck is he beautiful.

“Clair de Lune,” Steve grins crooked; “the one song I was allowed to pick, instead of just being assigned.”

“Why’d you pick it?” Not that Eddie doesn’t like it or anything. It’s more that…he knew Steve could more than just drum fingers on keys, if only just, and that a baby grand used to sit in the corner where there’s a stereo cabinet now, but.

But: see, there’s like a whole half of his heart that’s dedicated to collecting new knowledge about everything Steve: his favorite food when he was 12 versus the now. How his favorite color became his favorite color. The story behind all the polos. The nitty-gritties about why he’s in a big-ass house alone for approximately 360 days a year, and how long it’s been that way. Eddie’s whole heart is basically Steve’s but every day that half overflows a little, and Eddie’s only keeping it relegated to parts filled with Steve-lore so he can feel the collection break containment every other day, this grand and joyous bursting under his ribs as everything spills over again, and again, and again until it’s all just Steve, and his heart has to burst or stretch, or both.

Eddie thinks both will be amazing.

And right now, in the interest of building toward that amazing-both: he wants to know why Debussy.

Steve chuckles to himself—better music than any dead French guy by a country mile—and eyes Eddie almost slyly.

“Do you remember Claire Reynolds?”

Vaguely. Like, very vaguely. He remembers…uneven pigtails. Very actual-cult-like vibes about her family as a vague impression and now that he’s bringing it to mind he feels a new wave of indignation: those Children-of-the-Corn motherfuckers were just fine but Eddie liked a board game and he was probably a murderer.

“When we were in like, first grade,” Steve’s continuing on; “she asked me every, single, day, to come over and see her sheep.” Steve looks up at Eddie and bites his lower lip, lets his gaze dance and lets Eddie fall into it for a few dazed seconds before he spells it out.

“She had these crazy eyes about it, it was kinda unsettling,” Steve nudges, but Eddie’s doesn’t get it until:

“And it’s not like I do now, because obviously I don’t, but I definitely didn’t speak a lick of French when I was eight.”

It takes Eddie a hot second before he snorts hard enough to hurt:

Claire, da Loon.

“I was eight,” Steve protests Eddie’s laughter halfheartedly even as he joins in, reaches to slap at Eddie’s upper arm which honestly: just makes him laugh harder.

“Anyway,” Steve fights through the last of the chuckling as it peters out between them, drags himself to sitting next to the coffee table and taps his hand to the top of the keyboard.

“I know it’s not the same as learning guitar to help, and I can probably only get the top and bottom notes with these,” he lifts his Vulcan-fingers his a shrug; “but I was hoping that’d be better than nothing?”

And, like, how Eddie was talking about his heart having to swell, for all the things he gets to tuck inside of it that come with loving Steve Harrington?

He might crack a rib, just now, because—

“This is for me?”

Steve purses his lips, lifts a brow:

“Well, technically it’s for me,” steve singles his fingers, which looks absurd with the splints; “but yeah. To help you get the songs out. I mean, once these are free again, you can help me with the guitar like we talked about, until you’re—“

And Eddie cannot be blamed, see: he cannot be fucking blamed for tackling Steve to the floor and kissing him hard enough to bruise because…

“You got hurt,” Eddie half-breathes between kisses; “you got hurt and I was so afraid I was gonna lose you,” and Eddie reaches for those taped fingers and kisses them, too: so gentle and Steve’s expression softens so quick:

“I was scared, too,” he whispers between them, cups Eddie’s face with his unloaded hand; “you were as safe as I could make you within the fucking city limits but I was still so goddamn scared.”

Cue more rib-cracking for the heart-swelling, because Jesus fucking Christ.

“And you,” Eddie exhales, slow and shaky; “you’re hurt, but you went and got,” he nods to the keyboard;

“I know it’s not ideal,” Steve’s quick to, to what, apologize? For being insane and perfect and—

“Shut up,” Eddie says, voice low and watery and he’s still kissing at Steve’s fingers, holding his wrist delicate but also like a lifeline.

“You’re hurt,” Eddie maybe kinda moans it because he hates it, as much as he’s so fucking grateful that’s it’s just this, no worse than this; “and you still—”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

And that…that’s one thing Eddie’s learned beyond reproach; that even to his detriment, Steve keeps his goddamn promises.

And he’d promised to help Eddie get his words out, to place the lyrics to the notes and help unclutter his brain so he didn’t lose his mind.

Holy fucking hell.

“Steve,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, needs to find the right words. “You’re alive,” the most important thing. “You are healing,” another most important thing, for Eddie to oversee and make sure of, even as Steve keeps an eye on the last lingering threads of the long haul on Eddie’s road to recovery in kind, his beloved mother hen.

“This is,” and he runs his fingers too light to draw sounds across the keys, hopes he sounds as awed and grateful as he feels; “but you, you’ve gotta test, you have to,” and Eddie shakes his head and lifts his eyes to just fucking ask it:

“Why?”

And Steve: Steve just studies his face for a few seconds, reads what he needs before he smiles kinda exasperated, mostly fond and answers so simply, while also breaking a few more of Eddie’s ribs when he just says:

“Because I love you.”

And Eddie’s heart’s not so overfull yet of all of Steve, it’s not fair that it just bursts right then and there, Eddie propelled into Steve’s arms to kiss him deep this time, like he’s searching out Steve’s soul to taste and maybe he is, save that he needs his heart to not have exploded for feeling if he’s going to keep the memory of it safe in his chest for always, he needs to patch his heart back up first but he’s too distracted, too drowned in the way love actually fucking feels, fucking shifts his cells around and makes a new version of him, lets his heart grow bigger except it went and blasted apart with the unprecedented immensity of loving and—

And then Eddie’s got Steve’s taped up hands on both his cheeks, and he remembers that night, in the shower, where Steve ripped the seams from his shirt so taking it off wouldn’t hurt him; notices how Steve is wearing that same fucking shirt in this very moment, all in one piece, like it never split apart in the first place.

Master seamstress, tried and tested and true; truer than anything.

So Eddie just dives back in and kisses with everything in him, thinks maybe when Steve tastes the pieces of Eddie’s blowout heart under his tongue while Eddie goes diving for the sweet lick of Steve’s soul:

Eddie thinks Steve’s mouth might know how to stitch up torn things, too. Especially the kinds that are ripped at their seams wholly for the sake of loving that fucking hard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

divider credits here & here

👾 title credit here

💫 ao3 link here

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sulkybender · 3 days

Text

for a moment the world turns gold

or: a fanfic I am posting on Tumblr for some reason

tags: time travel loop as metaphor for growing up abused, canon-typical child abuse, Zuko needs a hug, Zuko needs a boat, hurt/comfort, hurt Zuko

The first time he wakes up with his old face he thinks it was all a dream, everything that came before. It was a nightmare about the way things could have gone, and a warning, and Zuko takes it to heart.

In the war room he says nothing, and when it ends his father pulls him aside.

His silence, Ozai says, was weakness.

And then he burns Zuko’s face.

—

The next time he wakes up, he feels at his face, gasping. It’s all clean skin, good skin. And he speaks with authority at the war meeting, and his father pulls him aside.

He had no right to speak, Ozai says. He is a child.

And Zuko burns.

—

When Zuko wakes up again he panics. He stays in bed for a long time, longer than he should, trying to breathe.

He remembers the feeling of his father’s hand covering his face, the heat and sting of it, then white-hot pain and then much less, as his nerves died.

And he shakes in bed, crying, and when his father drags him out and asks why he slept through the war meeting, Zuko can’t tell him the truth, because the truth is so much worse.

He didn’t sleep. He cowered.

And Ozai burns his face.

—

The next time he wakes up he goes to find his uncle, to ask for help.

He tries to stay calm, to sound like himself, even though he’s beginning to doubt he knows what that means anymore. He woke up this morning with a nervous tic, a tremor all down his leg.

“Please,” he says. “Please, Uncle. You have to help me. I can’t go to the war meeting.”

“Prince Zuko,” his uncle says. “Backing out of your duties only hours before is shameful behavior. You have made a commitment to the Fire Lord. And I put in my own word for you, you wanted so badly to attend.”

“Uncle,” he says, and his eyes burn so badly that he thinks it’s starting now. “Uncle, please.”

And he sits through the meeting, crying, and his father burns his face.

—

This time he pretends to be sick. He answers with the most wretched cough you can imagine when his uncle comes calling his name.

There’s the coolness of Uncle’s hand on his cheek, the softness of his disappointment. He knows, and shame is like ash in Zuko’s throat.

“Next time, perhaps,” his uncle says. “When you’re better.”

Yes, Zuko thinks, sick with relief. Yes, when he’s not the pathetic person he is now; when he’s braver, stronger, deserving of love. Better.

And his father drags him from bed by his hair, hissing about weakness, his weak and useless child.

Zuko doesn’t disagree.

And his father burns his face.

—

He speaks up again, because he knows what’s coming. His father tells him to rise and fight, and he rises, he fights.

The flood of fire he can’t break, seething, billowing in waves. For a moment the world turns gold. He could live in the heat of it forever.

The world is really very beautiful, even as it tries to dissolve you.

Then he feels the skin of his forearms blister and peel, and his father grabs his arms, twisting them. His vision goes white.

He falls to the ground, and burns.

—

He speaks up again, because he’s angry. He’s angry with his father; he’s angry with himself.

He’s trapped and he’s angry, and he hates what’s being done to these men, because it’s the eighth time he’s seen the generals discuss it openly and plainly, with such pleasure. And no one’s ever stood up for him, and someone should stand up for the people no one’s ever stood up for, and he knows, he knows, that if he’s forceful enough, compelling enough, his father will respect him.

What his father respects is strength. Zuko can be strong.

He speaks out, feeling the tremor in his leg, but it’s a tremor of excitement now, not just fear. He knows the right thing to do and he knows how to do it—the thing he’s never known, not just the force of his ideas but a shape—and he gives his speech with the kind of moral clarity that will make his father proud.

And his father burns his face.

—

The next time Zuko wakes up he stares at the ceiling for a very long time.

Then he goes down to the war room and his father burns his face.

—

The next days are like this, and the next.

—

After a while, waking up whole becomes more painful, almost, than being burned.

When he wakes up with his clean face, his good face. It means his suffering didn’t matter. He wants it to matter. If it has to happen, he needs it to matter.

He wakes up with his clean face, his mother’s face, and thinks she wouldn’t recognize the person he’s becoming.

—

The last time Zuko sits in the war room, he thinks he’s going to lose his mind. He thinks he already has. The flames behind the Fire Lord’s throne lick and curl, shifting colors, and for a moment Zuko is too dizzy to stand. He could fall into that gold again, the loveliness of the world as it eats you.

But he does stand. And he gives the speech, not because he wants to get it over with or because he thinks his father will love him if he just gets it right, but because he’s accepted his father will never love him. That whatever he does he will always be burned. In a thousand worlds, a thousand lifetimes, there is no outcome in which his father does not burn his face.

And as he thinks about this, small hands clenching in his robes, he tries to imagine what it would be like to be his own person for the first time—not his father’s tool, not his sister’s.

“I’m not afraid,” he tells the generals, his father. “Whatever you do to me I’m not afraid.”

And he wakes up on a boat, face singing with pain, and his uncle holding his hand.

#atla #zuko #iroh #ozai #fanfic #atla fanfic #time loop as metaphor #finding meaning in suffering

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multifanderwrites · 2 days

Text

Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Well… Technically, Writer) Head Canons: Panic Attacks

[no one asked. I don’t care. I need this. It’s been rough. I need him. CW: panic attacks, anxiety, overwhelm, hyperventilating. Anakin Skywalker, my beloved, coming back with that sweet boy energy. Too bad he doesn’t EXIST!!!]

The first time you have a panic attack in front of Anakin, he has no idea what to do. He’s not sure what’s happening, but he’s scared that you’re dying.

And then he senses the pain and the anxiety that runs through your body. And it clicks. Immediately, he softens and puts his hands on your shoulders. “Y/N, what do you need? How can I help?”, he asks with a gentle voice.

You can’t respond, your breath getting faster and faster as the panic and fear rises in your body.

Instinctively, Anakin hugs you and cradles your head beneath his chin. He breathes deeply, trying to guide you into a calmer state. [y’all know exactly what it sounds like. YALL KNOW!] He drops soft kisses on your scalp as he rubs your back, gently rocking you from one side to the other. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. As long as I’m here holding you, everything is okay. I promise.”

You whimper and bury your face further into his chest. You can’t help but sob when you feel his hand petting your hair. “Ani-“

Anakin pulls back and takes your face in his hands, his eyes full of concern for you. He’s worried about you. Sometimes, you can’t believe how much he cares for you. “What happened?”, he asks softly.

You sniffle and take a sharp breath before you answer him. “I- I got overwhelmed. I’m sorry.”

He feels his heart shatter in his chest when he hears you say that, and then he kisses your forehead. He lingers there for a moment before kissing it again. “It’s all right, my star. You don’t have to be sorry for anything,” he replies with a slight frown. Anakin knows how afraid you are of him leaving you, and right now he can tell that this fear is extremely present. But how could he leave you when he loves you so much? And then a tear falls from your eye, and he sighs. “Oh, my love, come here,” he mumbles after he wipes away the tear. Not even one second later, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you towards his chest.

You tremble and whimper as you cling to him like he could push you away at any moment. And he could, of course. But in what world would he do such a thing as cruel as that? “Anakin… I really am sorry.”

“Anytime you feel scared, you tell me. Okay? I promise I’ll protect you, Y/N. I promise,” he says in a soft tone. And he means it. Every word he says is true.

The next time you have a panic attack in front of Anakin, he knows exactly what to do. And he’s gentle when he’s holding you, helping you breathe in and out slowly. He whispers words of love and affection, all while stroking your hair. “That’s it, sweetheart. Just take it nice and slow. I’ve got you.” As soon as you’re calm, he’ll take your chin between his fingers and just look at you with the sweetest expression. It brings butterflies to your stomach. “Y/N, I am so proud of you for getting through this. I know it’s really tough but I am so proud of you.” He kisses you softly and smiles as he pulls back. “I love you,” he whispers softly.

[no, this is totally relevant. I promise]

Those nights are so much better for you because Anakin will immediately initiate a cuddle session with you. Bonus: he’s shirtless, so you feel safe and warm. And he’s very hot. But that’s not the point. The fact is that he’s dedicated to protecting you from whatever harm comes your way. You can hear his heart beating in your ear, and his fingers running through your hair. Anakin Skywalker loves you, and that’s something that no one can take away from you.

He usually falls asleep after you. That’s exactly the case tonight. And while you’re asleep, he presses kisses on top of your head. He whispers the sweetest words in your ear, hoping that your subconscious will pick them up and bring them into your dreams. After what you’ve gone through today, it’s what you deserve.

[just know that you are loved. You have value. In the words of Patton Sanders, “You’ve got this, kiddo. I’m rooting for you.”]

#fanfiction #star wars #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #panic attack #hurt/comfort #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker whump #anakin skywalker fluff

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morgana-larkin · 2 days

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Mwahahaha hi I’m back to test your limits. I LOVED Want You Back sooo much. Can I request an alternate ending tho?? Where Mel apologizes and we’re like “oh cool thank u but I can’t believe u were willing to throw away a long term relationship without even talking ab it or letting me explain idk if I can trust u again what if something else triggers u and u just run away without making room for a conversation” and she’s like o shit ur right idk I promise never to do it again and we’re like idk bro u kinda broke my trust. And then BOOM. Sad ending. Maybe we fuck first and then decide in the end that we don’t wanna get back together w her. MWAHAHAHA

🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️. So I’ll be honest, I started writing this thinking there’ll be a whole lot of angst, turns out it only starts with angst then just becomes sad. I don’t know where it came from but apparently my brain deemed heartbreak, so I was like “ok brain” and just went with it. It starts off a bit before the smut part in the original. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: I got more prompts I’m getting through, you can keep sending them and I’m adding Marilyn Thornhill to the list of characters I write for.

Ti amo - I love you

Want You Back - Alternate Ending

Warnings: Alright where to start *checks notes*… angst and no comfort, no fluff, sad Mel, brief car accident mention, just angst and fluff, no happy ending, smut, good luck

Words: 4.1k

“Then what are you apologising for?”

“For 6 years ago, making a big mistake.”

“Wha-”

“I read your note.” She says, cutting you off. “I should have listened to you but I was just so angry that I couldn’t think.” She tells you and looks at you with guilt. “The real reason I said no to Gary is because I didn’t want to be with him because I still have feelings for you. And I felt so guilty about how I reacted and I unblocked your number when I got home after reading your note and read all the texts and I wanted to find you or contact you but I had no way of doing that.” And a few tears slip down her cheeks.

“I haven’t moved on, you know. I’ve forgiven you for that night but I haven’t gotten over you.” You say and Melissa is looking at you with wide puffy eyes. “I tried, I ended up living with a girlfriend for a year. But then she broke up with me when she wanted more and I didn’t. Said I was emotionally unavailable. Which I guess is true, you can’t develop big feelings for someone if your heart belongs to someone else.” You said and the look on Melissa’s face said it all.

“Who does your heart belong too?”

“You.” Melissa sucked in a breath. “When I saw you standing there in the break room after 6 years, I couldn’t believe it, and you still look beautiful and stunning.” She let out an airy laugh.

“You as well, you still look so damn beautiful. My heart belongs to you too.” Melissa then gets up and walks over to you and crouches next to you and holds your hand and you look down at her. “I want to be with you again, if you’ll have me.” She asks and you look at her.

A few tears slip down your face and you look away. “I do want to be with you again Mel but I can’t.” You tell her and she looks at you with wide eyes.

“What do you mean?” She asks, still full of hope that you’ll take her back.

“I mean I can’t.” You tell her and look at her. “You sacrificed a happy relationship and didn’t even think about anything or let me explain. You read my note and that’s when you finally knew you fucked up. If you let me explain that night then we might still be happily together now.” You tell her and she looks down at the floor with guilt. The hope she had fading away the more you talk. She brings your hand to her mouth and kisses it. She puts her other hand on yours and has yours in between both of hers.

“Please, let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything.” She says with tears running down her face and choking on her words.

“I really want to Mel, truly. But could you promise me that what happened won’t happen again? Can you promise that you won’t ever blow up at me and break up with me without letting me explain. I do love how passionate you are and how jealous you can be. It’s very sexy.” You tell her and you put your other hand on her cheek and wipe away her tears, she leans into your touch. “But you chose to let your jealousy take over instead of your love for me that night.” You tell her and she nods with a bunch of tears on her face.

“I’m so sorry y/n.” She tells you and she’s full on crying now. You get up and lean down to hug her. She grips onto you and puts her head on your shoulder and continues crying on you.

“I know Mel, I know.” You tell her and you rub her back soothingly. After a few minutes she calms down and leans her head on your chest near your heart.

“I really fucked up. If I were you, I wouldn’t forgive me either.” She tells you.

“I told you I forgive you Mel, but I didn’t forget. I need to protect my heart.” You tell her and she nods. Then an idea pops into your head. “When we get out of here, maybe we both need closure.” You tell her and she blinks a few times before she understands what you mean and lifts her head up.

“Are you saying we should have sex one last time?” She asks and you nod.

“It’s ok if you say no, it’s just a thought.” You tell her and she wipes away her tears.

“I like that idea.” She tells you and you nod.

“Ok, your place after school or mine?” You ask.

“Mine.” She tells you and you nod. Melissa moves to lean against a wall, legs up and arms around them, hugging herself. You on the other hand went to lean against the door. Legs up but head back on the door. “You shouldn’t have your weight on it in 2 hours or you’ll fall when they open it.” She tells you and you look at her.

“I know.” You tell her. “I’ll move before they do.” You say, except you fall asleep and you do indeed fall back when they open it. Fall back with a “ah.” Splayed on the floor with everyone looking at you. Melissa slowly moves her head to look at you.

“I told you not to lean all your weight on it.” She tells you.

“Ya ya.” You tell her and you get up and then tell them all a good night and walk to your car.

Barb looks to you leaving then to Melissa who’s still curled up on the floor. She walks over to her and bends down, Melissa shakes her head, fresh tears coming down her face. Barb wraps an arm around her shoulders and rubs the shoulder furthest from her. “She said she forgave me for that night but said she can’t get back together with me. She said she has to protect her heart.” She says through sobs.

“I’m so sorry Melissa.” Barb says and everyone looks at her with sorry expressions.

“I understand, I made a huge mistake that night that I shouldn’t have. I mean I should have let her explain why that guy was kissing her but I didn’t. I mean he forced it on her and she was trapped and what did I do? I didn’t protect her, instead I yelled at her and broke up with her.” Melissa says, so much guilt that she carries.

“Melissa, you had no idea it was forced on her.” Barb says. “I mean you were at the table when she went to get the drinks. You didn’t see anything except the kiss.”

“I know but I loved her, I still do. I should have let her explain. I mean she tried but I kept pushing her off, I’m such an idiot.” She says and cries again, this time on Barb. The others decide to leave to let them have privacy. And honestly they’re shocked, they were hoping Melissa would have a happy ending and they’ve never seen her cry before.

After a few minutes Melissa calms down then gets off Barb and wipes her cheeks to get the tear stains off. Barb lets her go and they both get up, Melissa wipes her pants to get the dust off and sniffles a bit.

“Do you want me to come over tonight? Keep you company.” Barb offers but Melissa immediately declines.

“No, I just want to be alone tonight.” She ain’t gonna tell Barb the real reason she’s declining, she might not understand it.

“Ok, but call or text me if you need anything, ok?” Barb says and Melissa nods her head. Barb helps guide Melissa to her car and watches as she drives out of the parking lot before she gets in her car to go home.

Once Melissa gets to her place, she sees your car in her driveway and you still in your car. She pulls up next to you and you see her. You both get out and you walk inside to the house. You look around while Melissa gets wine. She comes out with your favourite red wine and 2 glasses while you’re still looking around. After all, you did live here when you were together, and it changed a lot. First of all there was plastic on the couch again and you roll your eyes at that. There was more family pictures up, she must have done it when you took your pictures off the wall. And there was more on the table, behind the couch, you walk over and pick up one and look at it.

“You kept it.” You told her and she walks up and sees the one you meant, even though she already knew. It was you and her on your first anniversary, you took her to a Philly game and she asked you to move in and it happened on the same day. You were dressed up in your Philly gear and you were hugging her with a bunch of boxes behind you. You both had huge smiles on your faces. You looked at it and remembered the day, like it was yesterday, and a tear slips down your face. You put it down and you turn to her. You see her with the 2 glasses and your favourite wine, you can’t believe she remembers.

“Of course I kept it. It was one of the happiest days of my life.” She says and walks to sit on the couch.

“I see you also put the plastic back on the couch.” You tell her with an eye roll.

“Obviously, you’re the reason I took it off. So since you weren’t here to complain, I put it back on.” She says and you smile and walk over to sit down beside her.

“Are you sure you want this Mel?” You ask her and she does a big breath in and out.

“Ya, I think we both need this.” She tells you and you nod and you take the offered glass of wine. You think that maybe you’ll be able to trust her again and might get back together but for now, you both need closure.

You both down the drinks quickly and then you stop. You don’t want to be tipsy or drunk so you’d remember this. Melissa then gets up and holds her hands out for you to take with a soft smile. You take her hands and she pulls you up. She then guides you to her bedroom and closes the door behind you. She brings you to the bed and pushes you on it then crawls on top of you, knowing you like the view. She then leans down and kisses you and you grab her head to push her down more to kiss her harder.

You run your fingers through her beautiful locks of orange hair, admiring how it feels as you kiss her. You then gently start scratching and rubbing her scalp and she begins moaning. You smirk, remembering what drives her to make the noises you love to hear. Melissa feels the smirk and pulls back to look at you. “Being cheeky are we?” She asks and you nod proudly. Melissa smiles at you then goes down to kiss your neck. She really wants to suck and do small bites on your neck but she doesn’t know how you’d feel about it and you’re not hers anymore.

“You can leave 2 hickeys.” You tell her, somehow knowing exactly what she was thinking. “As long as they’re on the side enough for my hair to cover them.” You tell her and she moves your hair out of the way and goes to your neck and starts sucking. You gasp and buck your hips under her and Melissa smiles as she keeps sucking, wanting to make sure they stay there for at least 3-4 days.

You take her shirt off and you stare at her chest and stomach. You then feel her all over with your hands, on her chest, on her stomach, all over her back. When trying to feel her back, the bra gets in the way and you unclip it quickly. You take her bra off and push her back as she was kissing your neck. You look at her breasts again and you always remembered how amazingly full they are. You put your hands on them and squeeze them, you run your hands all over them and then you look at her. Melissa can tell what you want and she scoots up a bit then leans down so you can put her nipple in your mouth.

You’re still able to have a hand on her boob while your mouth is on the nipple and you’re loving it. After having a few one night stands and a couple relationships, all with smaller breasts, you love having a big chest to touch and look at. Melissa knows how much you loved her breasts when you were together, she let you have however long you wanted with her chest when you were together and she’s going to do that again right now. “Take your time and touch them all you want baby, I don’t mind.” She tells you and you hum and nod. You take your time swirling your tongue around the nipples and sucking on the skin, leaving hickeys on her boobs.

She then pulls you shirt off when you pull back and she runs her hands all over you. She unclips your bra and takes it off and runs her hands all over your chest and cups your boobs. She always loved your smaller chest, she’s able to fit the whole boob in her hand, a perfect handful. She then leans down and sucks and licks the nipple, knowing it gets you very wet. Your neck and your breasts she knows are the most sensitive on you and it gets you wet very quickly.

She then trails down your stomach with kisses and stops where the top of your skirt is. She always loved when you wore skirts, easy and quick access, especially since you loved flowy skirts instead of skin tight pencil skirts. She looks at you and you nod, then she pulls your underwear down and off of you. She takes a look at you in nothing but a skirt on, a cute skirt as well.

She then spreads your legs and sticks her head under your skirt. She places kisses on your thighs, trailing up and down until you're whining and begging. Then she places a kiss on your clit and licks a strip up your entrance. You moan as you feel her hot tongue on your entrance and going up to lick your entire pussy. She licks your pussy a few times before she goes to your entrance and sticks her tongue in. You gasp and moan as she does that, remembering how good it always felt when she did. Melissa knew your body very well when you were together, she always pays attention to what you like and don’t like. Right now she’s doing everything you like and taking her time, wanting to draw this out as much as possible.

While she’s sliding her tongue in and out of your entrance, she slides her hands up your body and land on your breasts and she cups them. You begin bucking your hips and she uses her elbows to pin you down. “Oohh Melissa, that feels so good. Oh you’ve always known how to pleasure a woman with just your tongue.” You tell her and she smiles. She then travels her tongue up to your clit and she sucks and licks it. You keep trying to buck your hips to get more pleasure but she has you pinned down and she doesn’t plan on telling you to stop moving, just wants you to enjoy tonight. Before you come however, a minute later, she pulls back and you let out a frustrated groan at her.

“What do you want me to do to you baby? How would you like me to fuck you?” She asks and you think.

“Can you lick my clip and finger me until I come then fuck me with a strap?” You ask her and she smiles warmly at her.

“Of course.” She tells you then goes to get the strap and comes back. She goes to take off her pants but you stop her.

“Wait, I want to undress you.” You tell her and she stops immediately and stands there beside the bed where you are and you get off the bed then kneel down on your knees in front of her. You undo her pants then pull the zipper down. You then slowly slide her jeans down, over her amazing hips and then down her legs, then she lifts one foot off the floor at a time to take them off. You then grip the top of her underwear and slowly pull them down off her pussy. You noticed a wet spot on her underwear and you smile when you see she’s practically dripping. You can’t resist lifting up a bit and licking her pussy.

She starts bucking her hips while you lick her and then start sucking on her clit. Her legs get shaky and she puts her hands in your hair to keep you where you are. Without pulling away from her, you gently push her and she falls on the bed in a seated position and she spreads her legs to give you more room. She still has her hands in your hair and she’s rubbing your scalp while murmuring praises to you and moaning. “Oh that feels so good baby. Oh keep going. That’s my good girl. Your tongue feels so fucking good on my pussy baby. You move your tongue so it’s now sliding in and out of her entrance and you put a finger on her clit and start rubbing circles on it. She moans and gasps and starts bucking her hips and you’re able to pin her down enough to keep going. She has one hand on the bed to keep her up and she has one on your head, buried in your hair, and keeping you exactly where you are on her pussy. “Oh baby, is this turning you on?” She asks and you nod. “Why don’t you touch yourself baby? Pleasure yourself while you pleasure me, but don’t let yourself cum.” She instructs you and you move your hand in between your legs and you start rubbing your clit and you moan. And since your mouth is wrapped around her pussy, your moan vibrates on her and sends a shot of pleasure right through her and she gasps. “Oh baby, I’m so close, make me cum my good girl.” She says and you rub her clit faster and move your tongue in and out of her faster as well. She jerks her hips and her legs are shaking, then she cums with a high pitch gasp.

You then pull your tongue out of her once you lick up all her cum then you stand up. You let her calm down as she’s breathing fast and then she hugs your waist and lays her head on your stomach. You know physical touch helps her calm down so you massage her scalp and then her breathing slows down. She then pulls you on the bed, on top of her and you fall on her. You think this might have been her plan as your pussy is right near her mouth and she aligns it with her tongue and then dives in. You lift yourself up just as she licks your entrance and you almost fall down due to the surprise and pleasure. You position yourself so that you’re leaning back a bit to cup her boobs and enjoy her tongue on your clit. “Lean forward and go on your hands baby.” She tells you and you obey right away. “My good girl.” She says and some more wetness goes right to your core, as if you weren’t already dripping.

She then is able to now slip a finger inside of your entrance like you wanted and you gasp, she feels how wet you are and slips another finger in, and then a third. You moan as she slams her fingers in and out of you and curls them to touch your special spot. You don’t last much longer and you cum with a moan. She then pulls out of you and while still licking you, she pulls the strap on while you come down from your high. She knows your favourite position with the strap is doggy style and then move to both on just your knees with your back pressed against her front. So she slips out from under you then gets on her knees behind you and slides the strap inside. She then starts sliding it in and out of you slowly, wanting to hear all your gasps and moans as much as possible. After about 5 minutes of that, and some begging from you, she pulls you up so that your back is pressed against her boobs as you like to feel them. You move a hand behind you, in her hair and she cups your boobs and thrusts faster in and out of you.

She then moves your hair away from your neck and she sucks and kisses your neck. While still having one hand cupping your boob, she moves her other one to circle your clit. The sensation becomes overwhelming and you would have fallen forward if she wasn’t holding you up. You end up coming 10 seconds later and Melissa doesn’t stop as she’s close as well.

She starts praising you and calling you sweet nicknames in Italian, thinking you forgot what they meant, which you didn’t. You don’t say anything, you just let her do that, and if you’re being honest, you find it sexy when she speaks Italian.

With the overstimulation and the hot redhead pressing you into her boobs and saying sweet things in Italian to you, you end up cumming 2 more times before she cums. She slows down in you before pulling out, and even when she’s coming down from her high, she knows not to let you go so you don’t fall forward. She ends up wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder.

After you both calm down enough, she lets you go and takes the strap off before running into the bathroom. She comes out with a cloth and cleans you both before throwing it on the floor with the strap, then climbs into bed next to you and you end up cuddling on her. You put your head on her boob and wrap an arm around her stomach, and a leg to rest along her waist.

Melissa has an arm wrapped around your back and pulls you closer to her, she then kisses your forehead and whispers “ti amo” when she thinks you’re asleep, you weren’t and heard her perfectly.

You both end up falling asleep.

Melissa awakes about 3 hours later to an empty bed. You ended up waking up before her and slipped out before she woke up.

On Monday, you continue to treat her as you were, as if you never had sex with her and it broke her. She ends up not coming in the rest of the week, Ava mentioning that she didn’t hear from her on Friday, causing Barb to go check on her.

While visiting her house, she gets a call from the hospital, informing her that Melissa was in a car accident and in CCU. She then calls you and the both of you visit her in her hospital room. Barb goes to see if she can get some food for both of you, leaving you alone with an unconscious Melissa. You were holding her hand and at some point she squeezed it, letting you know that she knows you’re there and that she’s ok.

When Melissa wakes up a few days later, Barb tells her that you switched schools and states and might not return to Philly ever again. Barb also let her know that you want to tell her “I’m sorry.”

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms

@idonothingalldays-blog

@sexysapphicshopowner

@dvrkhcld

@lilfartbox1

Let me know if you want to be added!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #x reader #fanfic

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princess-leaorgana · 3 days

Text

What Tieflings Can Do Chpt. One

Summary: After the takedown of The Absolute, Zelphie finds her city in need of more help and her home destroyed. She won't stop top help, but who can help her?

Rolan x Tav (Zelphie; ~30y.o AFAB, Sorcerer, Tiefling, not really described physically on purpose <3)

M/F

Author's Note: I fucking love tielfings. Along with this being a budding romance/smut/fluff/word vomit fanfiction, it's also my case study in DnD 5e tieflings, how they act, what sets them apart from humans and devils and elves. That being said, I have a few artist liberties in here as well where I couldn't find a straight answer, if you'll amuse me.

Mild trigger warnings - There will be smut in future chapters, but this chapter mentions injury and my hyperfixation on tieflings being carnivores. Also spoilers to the game! If you read my work and find anything else that puts you off, please tell me! <3

‘It seems as though the worst is not yet behind us,’ Jaheira said, sarcasm in her voice. Zelphie laughed at the half-elf and sighed.

‘But surely, we can be awarded a little relaxation until the morning,’ the tiefling suggested and Jaheira smirked.

‘Maybe you will relax, but I must go home, to my litter,’ she said and Zelphie chuckled.

‘Oh, I do wish I could help you with all of that,’ Zelphie responded sarcastically. Jaheira couldn’t hold back her laugh. Zelphie smiled at the older woman. She was always so self deprecating about her age, but Zelphie thought she was beautiful and always thought her so strong. To meet Jaheira, the hero of Baldur’s Gate, now twice so, was so exciting for Zelphie. She had grown up hearing stories of the Druid Jaheira, High Harper. Jaheira was everything Zelphie had been expecting and so much more. Zelphie was very happy to call her a companion, a neighbor in fact. The two looked at each other for a moment, the last two in Baldur’s Gate, well, for now. Shadowheart, Halsin, Lae’zel, Gale, Karlach and Wyll had all left. Jaheira, Zelphie and Astarion were left in Baldur’s Gate, the vampire had run off to the shadows, Jaheira and Zelphie remained. What did one say to a companion one had faced the end of the world with?

‘I assume you have your own family to return to, little cub,’ Jaheira said and Zelphie smirked. Zelphie knew that Jaheira knew better than that. An adult tiefling in Baldur’s Gate, with a full family? Unheard of. The sorcerer had been on her own since she was a child. Not a lot of tieflings had the love of their parents. ‘You know where to find me, please keep close by, yes?’ She asked and Zelphie nodded and hugged Jaheira. Jaheira was so lithe, it was a wonder how she was so strong, Mother Nature was on her side. Jaheira hugged her tightly. ‘Careful with those,’ she said as she loosened the hug and pulled on Zelphie’s right horn. ‘And come find me when you have the strength to help us rebuild, we’ll need you.’

Zelphie headed out to the lower city, praying to any god that was paying attention to her that the small space she had been living in was still standing. The gods would not favor her, however. Her bungalow was dust amongst the streets of Baldur’s Gate. She was half expecting it. But where was she to go? She would kill to take a bath. To continue walking these streets, watching the dead being carted off, the rubble, confused children abandoned, it hurt Zelphie’s heart. There was no bath or bed for her, she would make some use of her time. On her way back to the Elfsong Tavern, she helped where she could. She made use of her volatile magic and helped push large chunks of rubble out of the way so the street could be a little clear for transportation once more. There was a lot to do everywhere, but the park near the lower city’s central wall was a hazard. Zelphie pushed herself to her limits, and twilight was making the work hard. She began her journey to the tavern, hoping for at least a roof to sleep under.

‘Oi! Hero! I can’t believe you’re alive!’ A familiar voice called from the fountain in front of Sorcerer’s Sundries. Zelphie smiled and looked towards the voice. The tiefling population in Baldur’s Gate had grown tenfold since the scourge of The Absolute took hold. Zelphie couldn’t be happier about it. A lot of Baldurians weren’t very happy about them, not only were they refugees, sucking up precious resources, but tieflings had never had a great reputation. Hellspawn, Devil Bastards, Brighteyes, Gargoyles, a few of the many choice words Zelphie had been called in her lifetime. No one could look past their dark ancestry. Zelphie couldn’t tell a soul how far back her familial line went to the Archdevil Asmodeus, but that was all a stranger would see when they looked at her red skin, her glowing red eyes, or her long and sharp horns. How could she blame some people? What was worse than a devil? After these last few months, Zelphie would have to argue that there was nothing worse than a devil. But Baldur’s Gate would have to get used to being overrun by hellspawn, because they were certainly here to stay, and Zelphie was very happy to see this one in particular. Lia, a tiefling she had met at the Emerald Grove at the beginning of her adventure, was sitting on a pile of rubble outside of her brother’s new property, Sorcerer’s Sundries and the illustrious Ramazith’s Tower. She was waving her arm happily and Zelphie grinned and walked over to her friend.

‘Gods Lia! You’re alright! When I saw the state of the tower, I wasn’t so confident,’ she said happily as Lia lept from her seat. Lia hugged her friend tight, which was incredibly painful for poor sore Zelphie, but she hugged Lia back happily.

‘The outside of it is rather brutal, but from the inside, it’s as if nothing happened at all,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You look a little worse for wear though,’ she said and tilted her head and Zelphie sighed.

‘Please tell me I don’t look half bad for a girl who defeated an Elder Brain,’ Zelphie tried to sound positive. Worse for wear was quite a nice way of putting it. ‘I’m hoping there is one last bed in the tavern for me….my…my place wasn’t as lucky as the tower, I’m afraid.’ Lia frowned and shook her head.

‘Oh, Zelphie, I’m so sorry. I feel so guilty, watching all of these people lose their homes, I certainly know what that feels like. Come on inside, would you? Have a bath and something to eat. There’s a bed in there for you,’ she said and Zelphie frowned. Sleeping in a wizard’s tower was certainly much more preferable than an overcrowded tavern, but Lia and her siblings had just reunited. Zelphie did not want to push in as a beggar off of the street.

‘Lia, I couldn’t. The last thing you three need-’

‘Please shut up and come inside, gods dammit. After saving the city, maybe the whole world, you absolutely deserve to rest your head on a plush pillow,’ Lia interrupted, stubborn as Zelphie had ever heard her speak. Lia wore her emotions on her sleeves, she was bold and she was stubborn. Zelphie and her weren’t exactly close, but every argument she ever heard Lia participate in, she always won.

‘Fine, thank you, Lia. Thank you so much,’ she said and Lia walked her inside. The storefront of the building was as busy as it had been, but for a completely different reason. The normal store had turned itself into a place of healing, it seemed. Beds were brought in and tables were used as beds to comfort the needy. Zelphie walked past clerics healing the hurt and she looked at Lia. ‘Give three orphaned refugees a little land and see what they do with it,’ she said and Lia beamed proudly. ‘Once I’m cleaned up, I’m sure I can be put to good use down here, whatever is needed,’ she said and Lia laughed.

‘You’re fucking ridiculous, Zelphie,’ she said and snorted, leading Zelphie upstairs. ‘You’re bruised, tattered, your brain is full of holes, you are part of the group of people who get to rest.’ Zelphie sighed at that. She was dirty, she was starving, she was exhausted. Still, life went on around her, how could she sleep and rest when there was so much to be done? ‘If you even try to lift a finger for the next twelve hours, I’ll break your legs,’ she said, her tail swaying playfully. Zelphie couldn’t help but laugh at that a little. She followed Lia up another flight of stairs to a portal. Zelphie recognized this portal, she had gone through it before. ‘Rolan changed this to only allow family inside. With the given exception to the person who saved his hide. Three times.’ Lia said and Zelphie looked at her. Rolan has made an exception for her? Surely that also included the rest of her companions, not just her. Although Zelphie was a bit biased towards the tieflings they had met on the road, she wasn’t the only one to defeat the goblin camp, to free those imprisoned at Moonrise or to put a final stop to Lorroakan’s madness.

The pair stepped through the portal, and Zelphie was once more transported to a strange level of the tower. The floors below could be seen from where she was standing, and it gave her nerves an unsettling feeling as she remembered that day. But the ‘foyer’ was much different from when she last saw it. Less clutter, every book and object clearly visible for browsing. Lorroakan had been a hoarder of knowledge, not a lover of it. Clearly Rolan was good on his word, books and scrolls and tomes were neat and tidy. There were considerably less of them, as well. No more throne of books either. Items were on full open display instead of being trapped behind locked screens. Lia led Zelphie to a small hallway and up more stairs. Three flights up, Lia finally walked through and Zelphie was terribly relieved. She was exhausted. Her arms, her legs, her tail, even her horns ached. She imagined her promise to help downstairs would not pull through. She was ready to pass out on the next flat surface she saw.

‘Alright, let’s see if I remember this…if I get it on the first go, you tell Rolan how talented I am,’ she said and Zelphie smirked. They stood in front of a normal brick wall. Nothing fancy about it at all.

‘As if he’d believe anything out of my mouth,’ Zelphie said and Lia laughed. The other woman looked like she would respond, but turned to a wall and knocked on it with her knuckles.

‘Epoolso,’ Lia incanted and Zelphie smiled. Lia’s brother, Rolan, was the new master of Ramazith’s Tower, he was a wizard, and like most wizards, was very eager to not only learn, but teach. Lia was not a wizard, but it was clear that Rolan was trying to teach his sister a few tricks. Her incantation wasn’t correct. Lia sighed and attempted again. Nothing, just a brick wall. ‘Well, there goes my chance at impressing a hero then,’ she muttered, crossing her arms. ‘I’ll go find Rolan,’ she said and Zelphie shook her head.

‘No, don’t bother him, I can do it. The Weave and I go way back,’ she teased and Lia smirked. Zelphie lifted her hand to the wall, giving the brick a sharp knock. ‘Pulso,’ she said quickly, and a blue light materialized around the wall in the shape of a door. Lia sighed.

‘Damned wizards always make everything look so easy,’ she said, opening the door and Zelphie laughed.

‘Do NOT call me a wizard in front of Rolan, his head will pop off,’ she said and Lia laughed.

‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said and led Zelphie through the door. Inside was a little room, a bed, a wardrobe, a desk and a small wooden bath. It wasn’t much unlike Zelphie’s actual home. It was just missing the fireplace. ‘I want to catch up with you later, but I’m sure you’re dying to scrape the illithid off of you. You probably haven't eaten yet, I’ll be back with some dinner, but relax, take a hot bath. I’ll be back in a little while, alright?’ She said and Zelphie smiled and nodded.

‘Thank you so much Lia, this is wonderful,’ she said and Lia smiled, leaving Zelphie alone to her thoughts. Zelphie turned on the taps the second the door shut and for the first time in hours, sat down on the floor. She wouldn’t put her dirty clothing on the bed. She began removing her boots. She was almost ashamed of the state of her body. Before the damned kidnapping she was never seen to have a hair out of line. Seeing her skin, smelling it, feeling it, she was going to need more than a hot bath to fix herself up. Dirt, grime, blood, viscera, bruising, cuts, all of it covered her body. She was so aware of it as her bath was running. She removed her robe next, wishing she had more than her lounge clothing to wear, as her robe deserved a proper fire burial. She peeled her pants and wrap shirt off. All the clothing became a puddle on the floor. She poked through the drawers of the wardrobe to find washcloths. She began to scrub at her skin with just water as the bath began to rise. She would make that bath a soup if she got into it now.

Once the bath was full and she had used up three cloths, she got into the tub and sighed out loudly. That might have been exactly what she needed. She would be very happy to soak her skin off here. She allowed the parts of her she couldn’t reach before to soak, dunking her head, hair and horns in the water. They were very sore, her horns. Having sore horns was a newer experience for her, but it was over now, it had to be over. The residual clean-up of the city aside, she could live as she normally did. No fear of ceremorphosis, no fear of Baahlists, doppelgangers, not even goblins. Her biggest worry now was finding a place to rest her head in the future. May Lia, Cal, and Rolan be blessed for giving her refuge for the night, she thought. Her fingers and tail played with the water a little until it became much too cloudy for her liking. She stood, giving herself one last go with a washcloth and stepped out. Now, she would be allowed to preen herself. Lotion her body, file her nails and oil her horns. Being able to take time to do this routine of hers was impossible these last months. If her preening tools had been worth any gold, they would have been sold ages ago, with most of her other possessions. Every moment awake was a moment to take advantage of. To do, to go further, to save their skins. There was a knock on the door and she quickly pulled a tunic over herself for quick cover. She walked over to the door and smiled, seeing Lia once more. The tiefling’s red eyes lit up seeing her.

‘I have never seen your skin so glowing before,’ Lia said and grinned, looking around the room a bit. ‘Oh, let me take those to the wash,’ she said, pointing at a pile in the corner of a towel, cloths and Zelphie’s clothing. Zelphie grimaced and walked over to the pile.

‘You should probably just burn them,’ she said and Lia laughed. Zelphie scooped it all in the dirty towel, which was the cleanest article and Lia took it easily.

‘I was going to bring you dinner, but me, Cal and Rolan would like you to join us. Well, Call and I want to catch up, we have so many questions, but I think Rolan just wants to show off what he’s done to the place,’ she said and Zelphie smiled.

‘Alright, let me just…’ she said and rifled through her bag, finding thick stockings to cover her legs. She followed Lia out of the room, taking a quick stop at a washing room to dump Zelphie’s soiled clothing. ‘So, the infirmary downstairs, I assume you all need help. I can help. After dinner, please put me to good use,’ she said and Lia smirked.

‘You will rest after dinner, I told you. We want to catch up. You can take a break from being the hero for one night, please. Let someone else take care of you,’ Lia said, repeating herself from earlier. ‘Besides, I’m sure you’re useless while you're so tired,’ she nudged Zelphie, who smiled. She still felt guilty, of course. She felt guilty because she did want to relax, but her heartstrings pulled as she was reminded of the chaos down on the streets. The chaos she caused. She did not argue, she hoped she would be right as rain in the morning. Then she would be able to help. Lia led her to a dining room, which was almost untasteful how ornate it was. Clearly Lorroakan’s taste still lingered in the tower. The table was very small, an assumed upgrade from the new master and his siblings. Cal and Rolan were sitting at the table, but stood when Zelphie and Lia appeared. Cal happily walked right over for a hug.

‘Oh Cal! It’s wonderful to see you in more comfortable clothing,’ Zelphie said. The ranger was clearly in need of a relax, his normal leather armor gone, a white shirt and relaxed pants it was instead. He looked like a normal person.

‘Look at you though! I didn’t know how small you were under those robes,’ he said with a happy chuckle letting her go.

‘I’m so glad you and Lia were able to get here safely, where you belong,’ she said as Rolan walked over to greet her as well.

‘Don’t give Rolan all of the credit for that, mate. He told us exactly who bumped us up on the guest list,’ Cal said and pressed a finger to his own nose playfully. Zelphie laughed and looked at Rolan. Imposing as always, in his robes, but as master of the wizard’s tower of Baldur’s Gate, it only made sense. He always had a sense of imposing about him, but right now, after everything, Rolan’s confidence was well measured. A hero of Baldur’s Gate he was.

‘Hello Rolan,’ Zelphie said and held out her arms to hug him as well. Rolan smirked and followed her lead. The hug wasn’t as warm, but about two months ago, Rolan was cussing out Zelphie for merely existing around him. She was very happy for a curt hug.

‘Hello Zelphie, I’m so glad to see you safe,’ he said honestly and Zelphie smiled.

‘Safe because of the quick learning of the new master of Ramazith’s Tower, I promise you. You’ll have to show me those cannons one day. Of course I assumed they would be powerful, but it was unbelievable the amount of damage they did to a red dragon, of all things,’ she said and Rolan’s red cheeks deepened.

‘I would be very proud to do so,’ he said and nodded to the table. The siblings and Zelphie made their way to the table and Zelphie sighed with joy. Tieflings, though very similar to humans in look and biology, had a lot of quirks. One such quirk was their diet. Zelphie did travel with Karlach, another tiefling who had a huge appetite, but her decade in the hells gave her different tastes. Zelphie swore she watched her friend eat actual dirt when it came to it. Otherwise, her companions ate like rabbits. Tieflings were carnivorous by nature, and to finally dine with a group made exclusively of Tieflings, she was very happy to see food that finally suited her diet. ‘I hope the food is to our hero’s tastes,’ Rolan said in response to her little gasp. Zelphie grinned and looked up at her hosts.

‘I’ll complain about the tadpoles and the Baahlists and the goblins and all of that until I die, but only to you three can I complain about Gale’s cooking,’ she said and the other three laughed. ‘You spend months and months with two Druids and tell me how you survive,’ she said and sighed, scooping up cooked marrow for her bowl.

‘Well, we did live in that grove for a while, I think we can understand your pain,’ Lia remarked and took a bite of her food. ‘You did have that vampire though, I’m sure he was helpful,’ she said and smirked. ‘In more ways than one, I’d like to think,’ she added and Zelphie snorted.

‘Yes, he was very giving when it came to his hunts, always very generous with the blood he caught,’ she said sarcastically and Cal looked at her. The truth was the opposite. Although a tiefling could live off of blood like a vampire, vampires had an insatiable hunger for it. Astarion did not like to share his kills.

‘Did he ever…bite any of you?’ Cal asked and Zelphie looked at him.

‘Oh yes, I trained him well. Always just enough to make him happy.’ Cal went deep red in the neck and Lia smiled at her brother.

‘Does it hurt?’ He asked curiously and Zelphie was about to answer but Rolan jumped in.

‘You let that vampire bite you?’ He asked her and she nodded.

‘Yes…honestly…at the time, we had all just landed from the kidnapping and I was desperate. I know it sounds delusional, but I was very happy to have a vampire fighting alongside me. I would do anything to make him more powerful,’ she said and shrugged. Rolan raised an eyebrow at her. There was the judgment in his face she was more used to. ‘If you think that sounds stupid, I’d love to tell you the truth about Gale,’ she said with a laugh and took a bite of dinner and sighed happily.

‘Gale, the wizard? Oh you can tell me whatever you’d like about him,’ Lia said and sighed.

‘Lia, please behave,’ Rolan said and Zelphie giggled.

‘I know you three had your own dangers, I used to wish you would join us, but I’m now thinking how productive we would have been if you had,’ Zelphie said with a smirk. That would have been fun, watching Cal shyly flirt with Astarion and Lia boldly flirt with Gale. Gale wouldn’t have a clue what hit him.

‘Probably not very. I wish we would have been more help, but Rolan insisted without our own tadpoles, we might have held you back,’ Cal said and Zelphie shrugged.

‘In some instances, Rolan’s correct. Halsin and Jaheira could not come to Moonrise Towers without alerting suspicion. Although, that might have to do with them knowing Ketheric to begin with,’ she said and looked at Rolan, who was just looking back at her. ‘If it weren’t for the chance that we were tadpoled, we wouldn’t have been able to save you two or Danis or Lakrissa,’ she said, speaking to Lia and Cal, but still looking at Rolan. He had been so frustrated that he had failed trying to save his sister and brother, where Zelphie had succeeded. But he had to know, without her gods damned tadpole, she would have failed as well.

‘May the tadpole be blessed,’ Lia said and Zelphie looked at her with a smile. ‘But…do you still have it?’ She asked and Zelphie shook her head.

‘No, it was part of the last command to the elder brain, destroy all illithids, destroy self. Halsin was able to confirm they were gone,’ she explained and smiled. ‘Which is lovely for many reasons, but more so because my powers are back to what they were before the tadpole. Which means I can help downstairs and in the city. What do you need?’ She asked and Lia frowned.

‘Zelphie, we want you to relax,’ she insisted, but once more, Rolan spoke quickly.

‘What would your talents be able to help with?’ He asked and Zelphie smiled.

‘A few things. I can cauterize and heal superficial wounds, though I’m sure you’ve caught most of those. And I have very powerful mending talents. Broken legs, broken anything. Even with the tower or store itself. My mage hand as well,’ she said and lifted her right hand, a blue one easily flowing out of it. It flew over to an end table in the corner of the large room and lifted it gently. ‘It’s very strong, please tell me what I can do,’ she said and Rolan watched her carefully.

‘We could really use it, thank you,’ he told her and Zelphie smiled. ‘I’ll meet you in the morning, we'll go over a plan,’ he said and Zelphie nodded, very happy to be of use. Zelphie’s tail lifted and swished slowly and happily, content that she wouldn’t just take advantage of her friend’s hospitality. She knew Rolan would be logical about this.

‘Rolan, we talked about this, we can’t ask the hero of Baldur’s Gate to do-‘ Cal began and Rolan’s eye contact with Zelphie shifted to his brother. He held up a hand and shook his head.

‘You are right, we can’t, but we won’t refuse her request, either,’ he insisted. ‘Whatever she wants, she’ll have,’ he finished and Lia chuckled and took a bite of her dinner. Rolan went a little red and shot his sister with an annoyed look.

‘So, how has it been here? I imagine you three haven’t even found every nook and cranny this tower has to offer,’ Zelphie asked to move the subject away.

‘Cal went through a strange portal and was lost for three hours,’ Lia said and Cal laughed.

‘Yeah, but if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have found those scrolls Rolan needed for the cannons, I say well worth the struggle,’ he said, still laughing.

‘Yes, and you managed to piss if that djinni, which makes that part of the tower impossible to traverse through, you have my thanks, muttonhead,’ Rolan said and Zelphie giggled.

‘A djinni? Hopefully you didn’t free him,’ she said and Lia laughed.

‘Free? I’m not entirely sure, but he is long gone.’ Zelphie gasped, knowing that absolutely meant the djinni was free and causing havoc somewhere.

‘Another reason I regret allowing either of you to live here, I’m hoping a talented sorceress will prove to be much more careful as a housemate,’ Rolan said and Zelphie felt her tail swish a little more enthusiastically. Well, that felt nice, another little compliment from Rolan.

‘Thank you again, for letting me stay here for the night. I hate to be a pest, once I’m settled again, I’ll be out of your hair and find a way to pay you,’ Zelphie assured and Cal snorted.

‘Pay us? Come on Zelphie, this is our way of repaying you! How many times did she save our skins? Never mind the whole world saving bit, you’ve saved me Lia and Rolan personally more times than we deserve. Please, letting you sleep in that little room is the least we can do,’ he insisted and Rolan looked at Lia.

‘Little room? Where did you put Zelphie?’ He asked his sister.

‘One of the guest rooms on the second floor, I wasn’t sure where you would be comfortable,’ she answered and shrugged. Rolan shook his head and lifted a glass of wine.

‘No, we’ll have you move up to our floor. You’ll love it, the scenes from the balconies are beautiful. Well, they will be once the destruction is taken care of, of course.’ Rolan sipped his wine and Zelphie went a bit red.

‘I’m fine in the little room, besides, it’s just the one night, no need to fuss,’ she said and Lia looked at her.

‘What do you mean one night? Where are you off to? Aren’t you from Baldur’s Gate?’ She asked and Zelphie shrugged.

‘I can’t stay here forever, surely there is a place for me somewhere. Maybe near Cloakwood,’ she said and shrugged.

‘Your place is here,’ Rolan insisted. ‘Unless you are uncomfortable here, of course,’ he added quickly and Lia nodded, reaching over the table for Zelphie’s hand.

‘Please stay with us,’ she said softly.

That was that. Ramazith’s Tower of Baldur’s Gate was now owned by the tieflings. Zelphie would earn her place with the siblings and they would insist she didn’t need to. She already had and they were happy to have her. She listened to the three bicker and tease each other for the rest of dinner and once the food was happily finished, Rolan asked for a moment alone with Zelphie. He led her to a sitting area and was very earnest in his speech. Zelphie sat next to him on a large red sofa and he poured them more wine.

‘I wanted to thank you, personally. This isn’t easy for me to do, so I will apologize early on if I’m…clunky,’ he said and lifted his glass of sweet wine to his lips. Zelphie sipped her wine along with him, her head already a little spinny from dinner. Good food and quality wine was exactly what she needed.

‘Just you not being angry with me is thanks enough,’ she said, playful in her tone. Rolan hummed happily and shook his head.

‘I guess we can both say confidently which one of us deals with stress better,’ he said and smirked into his wine glass. ‘I will also apologize for my previous behavior. I really hope I can make that up to you. I can’t imagine why you would still consider myself worthy of your friendship,’ he said and nodded.

‘Please don’t apologize, Rolan. If I had siblings or any family out there, I’m sure I would have acted the same as you,’ she said and placed her hand on his. He looked down at her hand and then her face and placed his goblet down on a table in front of the sofa.

‘You don’t have any family?’ He asked her honestly and she shook her head.

‘No, I don’t even really remember what happened to them. I was around five, I went to bed one night and woke up in a hostel. All the woman who owned the place said to me was that my parents were gone. It hurt, but I don’t think a lot of our kind can’t empathize with that story,’ she told him honestly and she watched him chew on his bottom lip. ‘But it made me who I am today. I’m lucky I was born with magic in my veins. I might not have survived otherwise, it sounds a little backwards but I’ve always considered myself very lucky.’ Rolan’s yellow eyes read her face for a moment and placed his hands on his knees, preparing himself for something.

‘Could I trust you with something?’ He asked her, his voice a little softer than normal. Zelphie tilted her head, but nodded.

‘Of course Rolan,’ she told him and he sighed out.

‘No one knows this, besides Cal and Lia, of course but…’ he reached for his goblet and faltered. He placed his reaching hand back to his knee. ‘You and I share a similar story, I-uhm,’ he started, but Zelphie would not interrupt him. She wasn’t exactly sure where this was going. Had their parents also been lost? Murdered? Kidnapped? ‘My whole family…they were rounded up when I was ten years old. I ran and hid in a closet, my mother told me to hide. Like you, I still don’t know what happened. I uhm…I met Cal and Lia’s mother soon after that,’ he began and Zelphie’s brows furrowed.

‘You…met…?’ She asked and Rolan looked at her and he nodded.

‘Lia and Cal aren’t really my siblings. My true siblings are dead,’ he said plainly, but there was a quiver in his throat. ‘But their mother took me in…they are all I have, they were so easy to call me their big brother when we were children, I just…we never let that go,’ he said and Zelphie’s heart broke. She couldn’t help it. Even though this tragedy had happened to Rolan maybe two decades ago, she reached over and hugged him. He hugged her back and she felt his tail curl around her waist.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said softly and he shook his head but did not let her go.

‘No, I’m sorry for you, you didn’t get a Cal or Lia. I’m the lucky one here, my dear,’ he told her softly. ‘Which…for many many reasons is why I’d like you to stay,’ he said and the hug ended. Zelphie sighed at him and tilted her head. ‘You need family. We tieflings are strong, but together we are stronger. We work better as a community. Besides the fact that without you the three of us would have died four or five times over, you deserve a family as well, Zelphie. Please, let us give you that,’ he said with such earnestness that Zelphie felt her nose twinge. That was very kind of Rolan. Zelphie had always adored the three siblings, she was always jealous of their relationship and wanted more than anything for them to be together and happy. How could she turn down such a sweet offer? ‘Please, Cal and Lia mean the world to me. If anything had happened to them at Moonrise, I wouldn’t be here. I owe their lives to you. And if you did not save me, make me see what kind of master Lorroakan was, Cal and Lia wouldn’t be here with me where they belong. I would still be being assaulted by a mad man. I could never, even if I lived a million years, I could never repay you for what you’ve done for my family and me.’

‘Rolan…’ Zelphie spoke softly, and Rolan kept his eye contact with her. She felt her eyes sting and she shut them.

‘Might I ask you what you’re thinking?’ Rolan asked her. She felt his hands in hers. She opened her eyes and looked at him once more. What a difference a few life changing events could make. One their first meeting, Rolan was obnoxious and annoyed at Zelphie. Their next few meetings Rolan would have leveled her. Now? Now she would consider him a very close friend.

‘I’m thinking too much, as I usually do,’ she said with a sad little smile.

‘Would you be unhappy here?’ He asked her and she shook her head quickly.

‘No, no no, it’s not that, not at all. No, I adore the three of you. I’m honored you would have me,’ she said and Rolan’s neck went a little red. She felt his tail twitch next to her on the sofa and he moved it away from her slowly.

‘Do you feel guilty?’ He asked her and she nodded. He chuckled and shook his head. ‘Well, that proves it right there you are an only child and orphan,’ he said and reached over for his goblet once more. He took a sip of wine and Zelphie mirrored him. Her mind was spinning. The wine, the food and the new opportunity, it was all a little much for her. That and the war she had just won hours ago. After a long drink Rolan looked back at her. ‘Maybe you will feel more…persuaded if I show you your new lodgings,’ he said and stood up, holding his hand out for her. Zelphie took another little sip and took his hand. She was helped up with a little swaying.

‘I think if I’m upgraded, I might feel more guilty,’ she said and he chuckled.

‘Don’t, for you will have restless nights hearing Lia yelling at me, or listening to me practice my incantations,’ he said and she giggled.

‘Still more calm than camp. You know what calms a githyanki to sleep at night?’ She asked Rolan as he led her from the sitting room. He looked down at her and shook his head. ‘Sword sharpening. Hours and hours of sword sharpening,’ she said and Rolan laughed, looking ahead.

‘Not too many of those here, I’m afraid. There were a lot of weapons tucked away, but I had them given to the Flaming Fist for the battle. What need did we have for them?’ He said and Zelphie just smiled up at him. He glanced down at her, a little proud of himself. He knew Zelphie and her selflessness would have liked to hear that. He smiled at her smile, his blush never fading his already reddened skin.

‘We saw those weapons, Gale and I, when we were last here. Those were very mighty pieces, that was a wise decision,’ she told him and his smile faltered.

‘Oh, well, if I’ve impressed the Gale of Waterdeep, then I’m very happy,’ he said, poison on his lips and Zelphie frowned, but she kept her mouth shut. That was certainly a quick change of attitude. ‘Very kind of a well-off man to just leave his closest companion in the dust the second everything ended,’ he said and Zelphie’s brows stitched together.

‘Rolan, he needed to go back home. He has family in Waterdeep,’ she said and Rolan huffed.

‘And he left you behind, to live in a bungalow at best,’ he said and Zelphie stopped following him.

‘You shouldn’t speak ill of him. He took quite the liking to you, Rolan. If you are jealous of his relationship with Mystra, I can assure you-‘

‘Mystra? Jealous of him and Mystra? No, no, I’m angry at the way he threw you away like yesterday’s newspaper.’ He said, holding his hands behind his back. Zelphie’s tail began to whip back and forth. She would absolutely not tolerate anyone speaking ill of Gale Dekarios, even Rolan.

‘Threw me away? He, like everyone else, went back to their lives. He doesn’t owe me anything, certainly not more than Shadowheart or Lae’zel or Wyll or any of them. What are you talking about Rolan, why are you so upset with him?’ She asked, very confused, but angry at anyone who would put Gale Dekarios in a bad light. Rolan’s eyes narrowed and he blinked for a moment.

‘Weren’t the two of you…?’ He asked and Zelphie’s face twisted for a second. She then buckled over with laughter. Rolan had, for some reason, assumed Zelphie and Gale had an intimate relationship. Gale Dekarios was very handsome, charismatic and powerful, but no. Zelphie had only felt friendship and fondness for the wizard, not love, not that kind of love.

‘You thought Gale and I were an item?’ She asked and kept laughing. ‘Oghma’s left eye, no, no, no, definitely not,’ she said and grinned at Rolan who did not look very amused. He looked down at the floor. ‘Why would you have thought that?’

‘There were a few nights when we all stayed at the inn…I could have sworn…’ he said and bit his lip and Zelphie calmed down and nodded. She knew what he must have misunderstood.

‘At Last Light Inn? No, halfway through our adventure, Gale was given…some divine directive. From Mystra, and those nights where, yes, I’d go to him to comfort him were just that. He was battling a lot of inner demons and I was just being a friend, nothing more. So please Rolan, don’t go to battle with someone you should respect and admire as a colleague. He’s a good one for you to have,’ she said and placed a hand on Rolan’s arm. ‘Not on my account, anyway.’

‘I’m sorry, I should have asked you,’ he said and Zelphie shook her head.

‘It’s nice for someone to defend me,’ she told him and he smiled a little. ‘And it proves my point that I have tried to prove to Gale a thousand times,’ she said and her and Rolan kept walking.

‘Yes?’

‘Wizards are very fucking stubborn,’ she said and he snorted. They walked a little in silence, Rolan was feeling a touch embarrassed. Zelphie wouldn’t harp on it. She would send a sending spell to Gale to reach out to Rolan. She would have them fast friends in a jiffy.

‘Down here are Cal and Lia’s rooms,’ he said, pointing to a west wing. It was common knowledge that wizard’s towers were massive. Melphie still could not believe she was in the same building. She knew she would be getting lost. ‘My bedroom is right here, should you ever have need of me. Though, I will warn you, I’m not usually there. We’ll have a proper tour tomorrow before we all head downstairs. I’ll show you my normal hiding places,’ he told her and she nodded. ‘And I think you will do nicely just across the hall here,’ he told her, walking to a door down the hall to the right of his own room. He opened the door for her and she couldn’t help the little gasp that came from her mouth.

The room was very large. It had a high ceiling and a balcony. Two large bookshelves covered the western wall, a canopied bed with royal blue blankets and pillows right across from them. There was a door connecting to a large washroom. Desk, a vanity and a wardrobe adorned the room as well.

‘If there is anything you’d like to change, please feel free. I’ll be changing a lot of the comforts around here in the coming months. Please, this is your home now, make it yours in whatever way you please.’ Zelphie looked up at Rolan and beamed. He smiled down at her and nodded his head.

‘Rolan, I’m at a loss for words, this is beautiful. It’s more than I’ve ever had,’ she told him and he looked at her for a moment and nodded again. His tail swayed happily, very content with the compliment.

‘You deserve more,’ he told her firmly, sweetly. Zelphie smiled and looked down. She stepped closer to him and for the third time that evening, she hugged him tight. He hugged her back, resting his chin on her temple, their horns clinking together lightly. Zelphie felt a light moan escape from her lips at the tender feeling of her sore horns. She would not sleep easily tonight. Rolan looked down at her, worried at that sound. Goodness was his face close. ‘Sorry, they are very sore,’ she whispered and he nodded and he looked up at her horns, inspecting them.

‘Please tell me you weren’t head butting illithids,’ he said and let her go, reaching up to her horns to inspect them.

‘A girl had to do what she had to do…’ she said, but it wasn’t the truth. A tieflings horns were imposing, but not exactly strong enough to do battle like a devil or demon. Zelphie did have very large horns, so the pain she felt was from them being caught or pulled. She had been thrown around by enemies who got close enough to her. Rolan raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged. ‘Truth being, they were usually used against me,’ she said and he sighed, nodding. No tiefling living could say they were never at least bullied with a horn push or pull. He still pressed a finger to the crown of her left horn, rubbing up lightly. It hurt a little, but a purr was brought through her throat. Rolan stopped touching her immediately.

‘Was that alright?’ He asked, completely red in the face. Zelphie felt her own skin burn and her happy tail fell and she felt it coil around her leg in embarrassment.

‘Yes, sorry, it felt nice,’ she said softly and Rolan nodded. He took a while to think about his next words and Zelphie bit her lip. She was about to wish Rolan a good night, but he spoke first.

‘I’ll get some oil for you, we’ll see if they just need a massage,’ he said and nodded.

‘Oh, you don’t need to,’ Zelphie told him and he smiled a little at her.

‘I’d like to,’ he said simply and turned on his heel. Zelphie noticed the happy curl of his tail as he left the room. He wasn’t going to be easily swayed off, that was for sure. Zelphie knew that, she meant what she had said, wizards were stubborn and Rolan was a prime example of that. He was stubborn, confrontational, proud and fiercely protective. Zelphie knew now that was probably the guilt he felt. The same guilt she felt when others took care of her. She understood him, and she would continue to not allow his blunt speech upset her. The truth was, she adored Rolan, just as she did Cal and Lia. And the other tieflings that she had grown so close to, Alfira, Lakrissa, Bex and Danis, all of them. The siblings were priority to her. They were good people, happy people, and people that deserved the world in her eyes. Even more so now.

Zelphie walked to her new bed and sat down on it. The mattress was plush as anything she'd ever sat on. She giggled to herself, thinking of how she would get out of it in the morning. She touched the soft blanket, running her hands over it gently. What a difference, she’d never lived like this before. Her mind flashed to an idea of how her new housemates might have lived back in Elturel, its descent into Avernus. She shook her head, not wishing to let her drunk imagination run wild on that subject. She heard a loud crash outside and lifted herself off the bed. She walked to the balcony doors and opened them. Fireworks. Someone was shooting them off and she smiled. Rolan was right, the view was beautiful, she had a view of the river. She was a very lucky tiefling.

‘Exploring?’ A voice called from behind her. Zelphie turned around and smiled, seeing Rolan again, a little tincture in his hand. Her tail moved back and forth happily.

‘Someone is setting off fireworks,’ she said happily. Rolan smiled down at her and looked off as another few were set off.

‘Here I was, hoping you would get a good night’s rest,’ he said and walked past her to the edge of the balcony. ‘But, it’s the very least the city can do to celebrate its hero,’ he said and glanced back at Zelphie. She walked over and stood next to him.

‘Baldur’s Gate has many heroes,’ she corrected him and he gave her a sly little smirk. ‘At least one of them on this balcony,’ she said and gave him a playful nudge. He gave a proud little huff.

‘Oh please, that compliment cannot come from you. I wouldn’t even have had power the cannons gave you if not for you,’ he told her and she smiled. ‘Shall we?’ He asked her, nodding back inside. She followed him back into the room. Rolan sat on the bed and Zelphie sat on the floor in front of him, her back in between his legs. ‘Please tell me if this hurts,’ he told her and Zelphie closed her eyes, bracing for pain. Pain did not come. Starting at the crown of her horns, she felt his fingers gently glide. ‘When I was younger, I was bullied relentlessly. Other children had no issue grabbing me by my horns and pushing me around,’ he spoke and Zelphie opened one eye. ‘My horns very rarely went without being sore. This would always help,’ he continued and Zelphie closed her eyes again, relaxing. He had such a soft, low voice, very pensive. Between his voice and the massage, she would fall asleep like a brick. She leaned back, her purring continued and her tail coiled around Rolan’s leg. ‘It’s alright, right?’ He asked her and she nodded slowly.

‘Yes, you’re so good, Rolan,’ she said softly. She meant it. It felt wonderful. She had never been massaged before, not really, nothing like this. ‘You have a wonderful touch,’ she added. His fingers moved up her horn and she shuddered. It hurt a little, but the chills were worth the pain. Where did all of this gentleness and care come from?

‘Thank you,’ he said softly, very happy with the praise. It was not long into this lovely treatment that Zelphie leaned against Rolan’s leg and felt her aching body weigh heavy. ‘Such a simple thing to be taken care of, but it means the world, doesn’t it?’ He kept talking softly. Zelphie did not respond. She was still purring and her tail was still around his leg. ‘Zelphie?’ He called out softly. Nothing. She was asleep. Rolan froze for a second, not sure what to do. He moved a little and she stayed still. Rolan got off of the bed and shuffled away from Zelphie. It hadn’t taken very much to send her to sleep. She slumped up against the bed. Rolan pushed the blankets to the side and looked back at Zelphie. A strong transmutation spell would do the trick. Not that he liked using magic on an unconscious friend, but it was just to help her into bed. Slowly her body lifted off of the floor and he was able to drop her gently on the bed. He covered her with blankets and left. Zelphie slept the deepest sleep of her life that night, ready to take on what tomorrow would have brought.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #rolan x tav #bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan bg3

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