#series: having a coke with you
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can’t do my homework and i can’t think straight
(read on AO3)
(read the series in order)
SUMMARY: Foggy spends a month and half thinking about that New Year’s Eve kiss with Matt and resolves to do something about it, finally.
A/N: a Valentine's Day follow up to my New Years fic/1960s AU! Hooray!! LOVE! Content warning for some period-typical homophobia stuff but not a lot honestly and nothing explicit/violent. Mostly it’s just idiotic pining and being excited to kiss your BFF! Enjoy! MWAH! 💋♥️
People warned Foggy that something like this would happen. They said that his last semester of law school would be the toughest, not just because he’d have to worry about the bar exam and finding a job on top of his schoolwork, but because he’d find that he suddenly wanted to give up on all of it and do nothing instead. And he does! He’s getting precisely nothing done for any of his classes and even less done for his other responsibilities. He, apparently, wants to squander twenty-something years of hard work in school, tank his grades, and abandon all of his ambitions at once. But that’s unfortunately not the worst of it. Foggy has a bigger problem. It’s one thing to not want to deal with his responsibilities, but the thing he does want to do instead is…dangerous. It’s not something he should be considering at all.
On New Year’s Eve—or, rather, in the first moment of the New Year—he’d done the most foolish, drunken, idiot thing that he’d ever come up with in his whole natural life and he’d kissed his roommate at the stroke of midnight. It wasn’t a serious kiss—he’d been going for Matt’s cheek, trying to be friendly about it, but Matt had turned at the last second and he’d caught him on the mouth instead. All told, it had only lasted a moment, but it had been on his mind ever since. Neither of them had gotten carried away, or done anything really that Foggy regrets, except the part where they eventually broke apart and acted like nothing had happened. That had been regrettable and, if Foggy’s being honest with himself, it’s the breaking apart that he most regrets.
In the month or so since, they’ve successfully gone back to normal. They’re the same as they’ve ever been, except now Foggy knows what it’s like to kiss Matt—earnestly and chastely, sure, but a kiss is a kiss. And the really dangerous thing is that he wants to know more. He wants to know what it’s like to kiss Matt with the guarantee of privacy, when they’re not in uncomfortable party clothes at a stuck up classmate’s apartment, when they don’t have the excuse of New Year’s Eve. He wants to know what it’s like to kiss him just as earnestly but not so chastely. He’s distracted by daydreams of pinning him to his bed and kissing him for hours and then—he doesn’t know what, then, but he’s thinking about it rather than studying right now and he doesn’t have the faintest idea what he’s supposed to do about it.
It’s proven to be a persistent distraction. In the library, he thinks of talking Matt into sneaking off and kissing him in the dusty old reference section where no one would interrupt them. When they’re grabbing food on campus, he thinks of kissing Matt briefly on the lips when he thanks him for grabbing him a cup of coffee or passing the salt shaker, like Foggy has seen old married couples do. When they’re alone in their apartment, trying to get ahead of all their work for this semester, Foggy thinks about sitting on Matt’s bed, where he does most of his studying, and gently taking off his glasses and putting them aside so he can kiss him until they both forget about law school and the bar exam and the future.
It’s a wonder he hasn’t flunked out already.
It’s just nerves, he figures. Foggy doesn’t want to deal with reality, where he has to graduate and get a job and become an actual adult in the next six months, so he’s picked something outlandish and impossible to distract himself with. He’s never wanted to kiss another guy before this, so it’s odd that it’s started now. Too odd to be a coincidence. It has to be some sort of avoidant behavior.
Then again, he has spent the last six years of his life talking about how great Matt is and grumbling good-naturedly about how all the girls want him instead. Was this something he was always thinking of in the back of his mind during those moments? He calls Matt handsome a lot, after all. And why had he even gone to kiss him on the cheek that night anyway? Matt had talked about not wanting to kiss someone at midnight that he’d never see again and Foggy had been, well, a little drunk but also unimpressed. Matt loved to flirt with girls and never see them again. It was a constant source of annoyance among the female population of their acquaintance. Foggy had just felt fed up with Matt’s excuses and reckless and drunk and he’d…well, he’d thought it was his right, as Matt’s best friend, to shock him out of his bad mood and cheer him up. And so he’d kissed him. No matter how much he tries to do the math, he can’t make it add up right.
Foggy’s not the sort of guy who cares about these things, usually. He’s been called a pansy and a sissy and a lot of less nice words his whole life, because he’s a little soft and a little sensitive and he doesn’t care about a lot of the things guys his age are meant to care about. He can’t keep the rules of football straight enough to care about catching the game, he doesn’t know anything about cars because he grew up in the city without one, and he wants to be a lawyer to help people, not to be able to afford a country club membership one day. That’s apparently enough to be considered effeminate these days, as some men are only too happy to tell him. Foggy doesn’t let it get to him often; he knows who he is and he earned that the hard way. People that don’t get it don’t have to bother with him.
He never felt weird about it growing up. He was always a mama’s boy anyway, and his mother didn’t try to toughen him up or anything silly like that. She appreciated the help in the kitchen and with the housework and she insisted that if he was going to go off into the world, he would know how to hard boil an egg and sew a button and iron his own clothes, so that he wouldn’t be dazzled by the first girl who could do those things for him. It was, she claimed, to ensure he ended up with someone worthy, someone he actually liked and respected. Respect was a big thing with his mother, for obvious reasons, he supposed. She’d been insistent with teaching him and his brother how to act right around girls. She taught them to take no for an answer, and to listen when girls talked about their dreams and their needs. She’d had to teach their father these things after they got married, and she considered herself lucky that she’d got herself a husband who was even willing to put in the effort, but her sons were going to do better. They would be respectful and kind and decent. They would be gentlemen.
Foggy’s brother got married right out of high school and started providing his parents with grandchildren immediately, so the pressure had been off Foggy for a while. Thankfully, too, because Foggy met lots of nice girls who were interesting and pretty and none of them seemed to feel the same way about him. He’s dated, of course, but it always stalls out somewhere. The closest he got to something serious was with Marci during their sophomore year but she ran hot and cold on him for a almost a year before they ultimately called it off. Foggy wanted someone who wanted him all the time, and he suspected Marci also wanted that too. That she wanted to want him more than she actually just wanted him. She got engaged to someone else a few months ago and Foggy had drank himself into a stupor about it more out of general dissatisfaction with his life than personal injury to his pride. Matt had rubbed his back and lied through his teeth about how Foggy would find someone too someday during the subsequent hangover.
Which brings him back to Matt, like always. Foggy’s comfortable around Matt, in a way he’s never been around any girl, but he always assumed that was pure socialization. His mother and everyone else on earth had been drumming into his ear from the age of 10, if not earlier, that he wasn’t to take liberties with girls, that he should never be alone with them, that they were different creatures from him and that they wanted different things—nicer things and softer things, purer things—and that they’d be insulted by his base desires so he’d better keep those damn things on a leash around them. Foggy doesn’t mind being respectful, but he’s met his fair share of girls in college and law school, and some of them want things that make him blush. Some of them, he imagines, would be just fine with the things he wants to do with them, if their parents and teachers and whoever else could just ease up on the expectations every now and again.
He doesn’t feel that guilt when he thinks about Matt. He doesn’t feel like he’d have to lie about what he wants with another guy. He wouldn’t have to avoid or acknowledge the specter of marriage if he was with another guy, because it’s not a possibility. He wouldn’t have to panic about getting anyone into trouble—well, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting anyone pregnant, at least. Fooling around with a man is, technically, illegal, so he could get someone into a lot of trouble, actually. But he and Matt already live together. There’s a lot less danger with that kind of thing in your own home, or at least he thinks. He doesn’t know for sure.
He’s only ever been with girls, and only a few. He doesn’t even know any gay men, as far as he knows. He just…gets hot when he thinks about it, and he suspects that’s enough. Maybe it’s the sort of feeling that only matters when you act on it—maybe if he finds a nice girl and settles down and never thinks about doing something filthy to his best friend in the law library again, he can safely claim he’s just a straight man for as long as he lives—but Foggy already thinks that’s bullshit and he hasn’t even done anything yet. Just the thought is enough, for him. Maybe not for other people, that’s not really his business, but the minute he started thinking and feeling this way, he knew something about himself. Maybe not something he’d necessarily been hiding or ignoring, but something that was true nonetheless, whether it was new or not.
And now he’s thinking about Matt and running his hands up his sides and combing his hair with his fingers while he kisses him senseless for endless stretches of time and his essay isn’t getting done and he’s hard underneath his desk. He leans back in his chair, disappointed in himself as usual, and counts back from one hundred by threes until he calms down. Something must be done about this, he decides, then and there. This is getting out of control.
By the time Matt comes home an hour later, he’s come up with a plan. A stupid plan, probably, but a plan nonetheless.
“Matt, thank God,” he says, as Matt strips off his coat to hang it up by the door. That action alone does not make his heart race, at all, and he would swear to it under oath. “Save me from this essay.”
“Going that well, huh?” Matt asks, coming to stand by his shoulder, and smelling of the sharp, cold winter air.
Foggy leans back in his chair, until his head rests against Matt’s stomach. Matt puts a hand on his shoulder, looking down at him sympathetically. “Spectacular,” Foggy says. “My best work yet.”
“Good to hear,” Matt says, giving him a friendly, encouraging pat before starting to turn away. “I’m going to take a shower to thaw out. You mind?”
“No,” Foggy replies, definitely not thinking about warming Matt up himself. “I mean, it’s not like the heat in this place is anything to write home about.”
“I meant, you don’t need the bathroom before I go in there?”
Foggy shakes his head, clearing out the cobwebs. “Oh, no, go ahead.”
“Thanks.”
“Wait, Matt…”
“Yeah?”
Foggy licks his lips, thinking about his incredibly stupid plan and decides he’d rather get it over with now, so that if it crashes and burns, Matt will go take his shower and Foggy can suffer his embarrassment alone and in relative peace. He can even sneak out of the apartment, if it goes really, really poorly.
“I just remembered, I, uh, had a question for you,” he says, trying to seem nonchalant about it.
Matt shifts to face him more fully and crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay. Shoot.”
“Are you doing anything Friday?” Foggy asks, feeling like his heart is beating in the vicinity of his throat. “Night, I mean. Friday night.”
“Uh, no?” Matt answers, hesitantly. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“I was thinking we could go to the movies,” Foggy says. “I mean, I want to go to the movies and I hate going alone, so if you’d—it’d be my treat, since I want to go and you maybe don’t—but if you’d go with me, that would be, well…good.”
“Oh,” Matt says, softly and with some confusion. “Well, I don’t really go to the movies much, for…obvious reasons.”
Foggy’s face heats. “Right, of course. I know. I just…I could describe stuff, when there’s no dialogue. I’ve done that before…with you…”
“Sure,” Matt says, looking slightly uncomfortable. “But the, uh, other thing is…well, Friday is Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh, I hadn’t actually realized,” Foggy replies, faintly. He had known, of course. He was counting on everyone around them being gooey in love to embolden him and maybe soften the ground a little. Holiday love rituals had gotten him this far, after all. “You probably have plans, or you want to keep it open for a girl, or something.”
Matt shakes his head, frowning. “No, no, it’s not that,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets uncomfortably. “It’s just that the movies will be packed with people on dates and we’ll be ruining the mood talking through the whole picture.”
“Yeah,” Foggy says, sadly. “You’re probably right. I, uh, just thought…well, I needed a carrot on a string to get me through this essay and I thought if I said I’d go to…never mind. I’m acting nuts and I hadn’t realized, about Valentine’s Day and all, so it’s—”
“Foggy,” Matt interrupts, gently, “you know, if you’re still upset about Marci getting engaged and Valentine’s Day is going to be tough for you this year, you can just say that.”
Foggy just blinks at him, utterly surprised by this. “What?”
Matt huffs, like he doesn’t really want to have to say any of this but he has to. “I just, you don’t have to lie,” he explains. “If you need company on Friday, just say so! I don’t mind. Valentine’s Day puts ideas into girls’ heads anyway, so I don’t mess around with it. We can do something the two of us. But be honest enough to tell me the real reason, okay?”
Foggy is nodding along with all of this like it makes all the sense in the world, when really his insides are in turmoil. Because his lie absolutely didn’t work and Matt saw through it immediately, but he’s also given Foggy the perfect new excuse—a better one, even. Matt will absolutely forego any other plans to support Foggy in his time of need. He’d get what he wants, which is to spend Valentine’s Day with his…well, his crush, and he wouldn’t have to admit anything right now. But he’d get it by lying, and that’s the sticking point. Because Matt just asked him not to do that and Foggy’s stupid and idealistic and, deep down, honest. He wants this thing, but he wants even more to get it honestly, which is just not going to happen.
He’s still nodding when he says, “That’s sweet of you, Matt, but you—you’re wrong. I mean, that’s not why I asked.”
Matt’s head tips to the side in interest. “Oh?”
The nice thing about being in love with someone who’s blind, Foggy realizes now, is that he doesn’t feel any pressure to look Matt in the eyes when he confesses his feelings. He’s staring at the floor, in fact, when he says, “I asked you out because I want to take you out. On a date.”
“You want to—on a date?”
Foggy laughs, a little bitterly, at the shock in Matt’s voice and doesn’t check to see if it’s visible on his face. Everyone wants to date Matt; how could this possibly be that much of a surprise?
“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
“Why?”
Foggy laughs again and then sighs. In for a penny… “Well, what I’d really like to do is kiss you again and I think the old adage is that I should buy you dinner first.”
There’s a pointed silence after he says that, like Matt is trying to make him think about what he’s done and really stew in it. And it should be brutal, really it should, but the truth is, he feels better than he has in at least a month. It’s hurt more than he’s realized to keep this in, to lie and make excuses when he stares at Matt a little too long or wants him too much. There’s a chance this will ruin their friendship forever, that Matt’s actually deeply offended and sickened right now and will demand he leave or something equally dramatic, that Matt will react violently, as some men do, to the idea that another man wants him like that. But, more likely, it will just make things weird between them for a while, it will change their dynamic in some ways, but mostly, Matt will just know. About Foggy. And that feels…nice, in some way. Just to tell someone, to not be alone with the idea anymore. Even if he doesn’t get what he wants out of it.
“I thought a movie ticket would suffice,” Foggy continues, since Matt clearly isn’t going to say anything. “And a popcorn. I’m not a cheapskate, after all.”
“Foggy,” Matt interjects, sounding raw. It’s only then that Foggy chances to even look at him and his expression is open and…hurt. That’s not what Foggy was expecting at all. “Please…”
“Please what?” Foggy asks, breathless. He doesn’t dare to hope…
“Please don’t do this,” Matt says, and crushes that faint ember of hope immediately. “It was one kiss. It’s not a big deal. We don’t have to—“
“I know we don’t have to, Matt. I’m saying I want to. I want you.”
“You don’t. You’re confused, and lonely, and it’s just—“
“Matt, please,” Foggy says, holding up a hand to forestall him, “it’s okay. You can reject me, that’s fine, but do me the courtesy of not telling me how I feel, alright? I know how I feel, much better than you do.”
“I’m sorry,” Matt replies, shakily, like he’s trying hard not to cry and of all the things in this conversation that could break Foggy’s heart, it’s that. Not the parts about him or his own feelings, but knowing that he’s made Matt want to cry. Matt’s his favorite person in the whole world. Foggy never wants him to cry, least of all because of him. That’s the worst case scenario. “I’m glad you told me, really—“
“Okay,” Foggy snorts. “There’s no need for you to lie either.”
“I mean it, though! I am glad. And I’m—I love you, Foggy. This doesn’t change anything.”
It will change plenty, Foggy thinks, but he knows what Matt means. He means that they’ll still be best friends, and roommates, and they’ll still be here for each other. It means that Matt doesn’t mind that he’s…well, queer and that’s…something. It would be worth a lot more to him if it wasn’t on the heels of a rejection, so Foggy imagines one day he’ll be able to appreciate it, once the hurt of the other thing fades. If he’s good at one thing in this life, it’s brushing off rejection. He’s had his fair share of practice.
“Thanks,” is what he manages to say, staring at the floor again.
“It’s for the best,” Matt says. “It wouldn’t be like you think it would. I’d disappoint you, I promise, and then we’d ruin everything.”
Foggy picks his head up at that. As rejections go, it’s an odd tact to take. He’s had more than one girl do the whole ‘you’re too good for me and that’s why we won’t work’ routine with him and it never feels genuine. Matt’s talking like that now, except he’s shaking and stuttering his way through it, which either means he does genuinely believe it or he’s the world’s greatest actor. Foggy assumed the genuine feeling in what Matt’s saying was because he genuinely loves Foggy as a friend and hates to hurt him. But what if—?
“Matt,” Foggy says, softly, “I need to ask you something. And I promise I’m not being a sore loser or anything like that, but I need you to answer honestly.”
Matt fidgets where he’s standing, looking very much like someone who’s going to lie no matter what. “Alright,” he says, instead, the word coming out like a breath.
“Are you saying no because you really don’t want me at all?” Foggy asks, heart in his throat again. “Or are you saying no because you think you should?”
Matt’s expression turns pained. “Foggy…”
“Because I’ve been listening to what you’re saying—really, I have—and I haven’t actually heard you say that you don’t want this. That you don’t want me, I mean. You’ve just said it’s a bad idea, and it would go wrong, and you’d disappoint me, but you haven’t actually said no…”
“Don’t make me say it,” Matt whispers, with a white knuckle control over himself that Foggy envies. “Just, please, don’t.”
“I need you to,” Foggy says, and is disappointed to feel tears in his own eyes now. “I need you to, Matt, so I can stop hoping.”
Matt shakes his head, and Foggy prepares himself for it. To hear the word ‘no’ and start living in a world where he was stupid enough to ask for this in the first place. He thinks he’s tough enough to bear it, but it will be something to bear. He won’t be able to carry it off lightly, not for a long time, he imagines.
Matt takes another shaky breath, and lets it out slowly. “This is a bad idea,” he says, and Foggy’s never crossed a room faster in his life.
He’s never going to forget, not as long as he lives, the way it feels to take Matt’s face in his hands and move to kiss him, only to find him waiting for it, eagerly. The last time had been an accident, a mistake, a surprise and it had been clumsy and shy as a result. It hadn’t been his most passionate and artful kiss in memory but it had haunted him nonetheless. This kiss is something else. It isn’t artful either but it is the expression of a month’s—of who knows how long’s—worth of passion contained haphazardly, stuffed away where it wouldn’t bother anyone. If saying what he felt out loud for the first time was freeing, this is reality altering.
He knew Matt could kiss. Of course, he could. Being handsome could get you dates, but the sort of passionate pursuit Matt so often inspired could only come from being an actual good time. But Matt can really kiss, Foggy’s just now understanding. He’d normally be more gracious and more deferential about just slipping his tongue into someone’s mouth right away, but Matt’s parting his lips and allowing him in instantly, begging for it, really. Foggy knew he was passionate, but there’s a difference between knowing and knowing and now he knows. It’s like he’s holding fire in his hands.
“Still think this is a bad idea?” Foggy asks, against his mouth. He can feel Matt’s teeth against his bottom lip, not biting down, just there as they indelicately pant into each other’s mouths.
Matt groans, and Foggy feels it like it’s everywhere. “It’s the worst fucking idea of all time,” he says, shaking his head.
Foggy nods and moves to give him a series of brief, but equally messy kisses, all of which Matt meets just as eagerly as the first one. “We could stop,” he says, “if you want.”
“You can’t—“ Matt laughs, kind of miserably. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair? We can stop! I’m not kidding.”
“I don’t want to stop,” Matt replies, burying his face in Foggy’s neck. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Foggy! You know I don’t.”
Foggy threads his fingers through Matt’s hair, his first fantasy to come to life so far. “I don’t know anything you haven’t told me, baby,” he says, emboldened by Matt swearing. He almost never does that, and he always looks all guilty and repentant afterwards. He doesn’t look guilty now, though.
Matt groans into his neck, which feels incredible, and Foggy takes the chance to kiss his temple where he can reach it. “Oh, God,” Matt says, not sounding pleased.
“What?” Foggy asks, maneuvering him so he can see Matt’s face again. “Was it the ‘baby’ thing? Because that just came out, but if you don’t like it…”
Matt shakes his head and rubs a hand over his face. “That was—I don’t know. ‘Fine’ is definitely not the right word, but…I don’t mind it.”
“You don’t mind it?”
A charming pink color rises in Matt’s cheeks. “I liked it,” he grumbles, as though it’s been bullied out of him.
“Then, what’s the matter? And don’t say nothing, because you took the Lord’s name in vain back there, so I know it was something.”
Matt shakes his head again, like he can keep whatever is bothering him at bay by just denying it enough. “It’s just…such a mess,” he says, quietly, like reality can hear them.
“It’s not such a mess, is it?”
“I don’t—I’ve never—I didn’t know you—“
“Matt,” Foggy says, holding his face, “baby, breathe, okay? It’s not—we don’t have to figure it out tonight.”
“Right, but—“ Matt pauses, chewing on his lower lip. “Everything’s different now, isn’t it?”
Foggy considers this, because a rash answer seems like the likeliest way to cause harm here. He’s had a month of thinking this over, deciding what it means in relation to who he is, figuring out how he feels about it. If he knows Matt, and if he’s had any sort of similar feelings since their first kiss, he’s shoved them somewhere dark and deep and refused to think about them at all. He’s trying to make sense of it all right now this second, which is a tall order for anybody and an even taller one for the likes of Matt.
“Some things are the same,” Foggy says, brushing a thumb over Matt’s cheekbone tenderly. “You’ve got me, same as always. We’ll figure out the rest eventually, okay? There’s no rush.”
Something about Matt’s expression says that he really wants to argue about this, but the daunting task of parsing everything this could possibly change for both of them, individually and together, must outweigh his stubbornness, because he eventually surrenders and nods. He lifts a hand up to curl around Foggy’s wrist where he’s still holding Matt’s face, his fingertips brushing against Foggy’s pulse point.
“Okay,” he says, sounding entranced by Foggy’s false confidence. “So, what now?”
“Well, I was going to let you take your shower, finally,” Foggy says, stepping back a little, “after I rudely distracted you.”
Matt wets his lips and nods, looking very distracted. “I’m not really cold anymore,” he says, with a laugh.
“One of my many talents,” Foggy replies, smiling. “I’m basically a furnace.”
“I already knew that.”
“Yeah, well…”
“I could probably still use the shower, though,” Matt says, thoughtfully.
“Yeah, go ahead. I need to work on this, anyway, and like I said, I didn’t mean to—“
“I think,” Matt interjects, slowly, like the idea’s still coming to him, “you should join me, actually.”
That stops Foggy short. “Join you?”
“Yeah,” Matt replies, licking his lips still, which…he really needs to stop that immediately.
“In the shower?”
Matt hums in agreement, and waits expectantly. “You don’t want to?” he asks, sounding surprised and…yes, disappointed.
“I don’t, um…is this something—is this code for something?” Foggy asks, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing! I just thought if I acted like I was confident, it would—“
Matt comes closer again, and wraps his arms around Foggy’s middle before pressing a kiss to his sternum, which is covered in a thick, cable knit sweater and a few other layers besides, but he feels it like it’s directly on his skin.
“You’ve never showered with a girl, then, I take it?” Matt asks, and it’s very clear he’s trying to be patient and maybe not laugh, which Foggy appreciates, all things considered.
“Uh, no,” Foggy replies, mind reeling. No girl has ever offered and he’d never thought of it. He feels very sheltered all of a sudden. “I haven’t. Is it—is it fun?”
Matt clearly tamps down on his smile for Foggy’s benefit. “It can be,” he says, gently, “but if it’s too fast, we don’t have to…”
“Not too fast,” Foggy interjects, even though his heartbeat is already galloping away at the idea. Excitedly, though. Matt, naked. Matt, warm and wet in his arms. He can see the appeal. Easily.
“No?” Matt asks, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. Foggy’s excitement was maybe too obvious, in retrospect.
“I mean, it’s one way to conserve hot water,” Foggy says.
“Ever the pragmatist,” Matt says, and kisses him again, searching and slow and deep. Like he’s trying to pull Foggy under with him. “We can still take it slow,” he adds, when he’s got Foggy good and pliant.
Foggy nods, obedient. He’s struggling to think what Matt could ask for right now that he wouldn’t give him, but that doesn’t matter. They seem to want the same thing at the moment.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, against Matt’s mouth. “Together.”
“Together,” Matt agrees, as they continue to get lost in each other.
*
After they’ve showered and gotten themselves decent again (which takes…a while, obviously), Foggy makes them both grilled cheese sandwiches and heats up some leftover soup while Matt sits on the counter, telling Foggy about his day and looking pretty. It’s the happiest Foggy can remember being in a very long time.
Once dinner’s done and eaten, Matt banishes him from the kitchen so he can clean up and orders him to work on his essay again. It’s been a productive and rewarding study break by any metric, so Foggy doesn’t argue, even though he wants to. He doubts his professor gives extensions for lovesickness, anyway. Not without a doctor’s note, at least.
Matt’s iron will only lasts an hour, until he comes to find Foggy working in the living room and starts kissing his neck without preamble. It’s pretty clear from that that the studying portion of the evening is now over, so Foggy picks him up and presses him into the couch cushions and does his level best to get Matt to take the Lord’s name in vain some more.
A few hours, and a lot more fooling around, later finds them in Foggy’s bed, because the radiator in Matt’s room has been making weird noises that they’ve had no luck talking their super into fixing so far. There’s the comforting sound of the functioning radiator running in the background, and the light rhythmic tapping as sleet hits the windows, and the noises of traffic on the street below, but mostly Foggy is just listening to Matt breathe as they lie together in the dark. He’s also playing with Matt’s hair again, because his daydreams didn’t do justice to how soft it would be and how quickly Matt would turn into a lap cat when he did it.
“Foggy,” Matt says, into the quiet, his voice soft and nearing sleep.
“Hmm?”
“You said something about Valentine’s Day.”
“When?” Foggy asks, wondering if he’d somehow fallen asleep and muttered to himself without realizing it. “Just now?”
“No. Earlier. You said you wanted to go to the movies.”
“Oh, right,” Foggy replies. “I was just…we don’t have to do that, I mean…”
“I still think the movies might not be a good idea,” Matt says, carefully. “But I, uh—I’ll still be around, you know. If you wanted to do something else…”
Foggy’s heart flips over in joy and excitement and a dozen other emotions he can’t identify, but he tries to maintain an outward appearance of calm, at least. “Are you saying you want to be my Valentine, Matt?” he asks, smiling unrepentantly.
There’s a long pause that very clearly telegraphs whatever Matt says next will be a lie. “I’m not saying that,” he replies, finally, almost a full minute later.
“Right,” Foggy says, just barely suppressing a laugh. “You’re just saying that you’re free on Friday, which just so happens to be Valentine’s Day, and that you’d like to spend it with me…”
“Right.”
“But you don’t want to be my Valentine.”
“I’m not saying that either.”
“So you’re not saying you want to be my Valentine, but you’re not saying you don’t want to be my Valentine? Have I got that right?”
“More or less,” Matt mumbles.
“I’d be your Valentine,” Foggy says, “for what it’s worth.”
Matt nods distractedly, looking slightly seasick and completely out of his depth. “Okay.”
Foggy decides then that the nice thing to do here is to put Matt out of his misery for the time being. “How would you feel about maybe staying in?” he asks, leaning in to kiss him again. “Rather than going out?”
Matt meets him in the middle, happily, qualms momentarily forgotten. “I feel strongly in favor of the idea,” he says, as their lips meet.
“It’s a date, then.”
#please imagine me putting a daredevil themed valentine sealed with a sticker#with a heart shaped lollipop taped to the front into the makeshift mailbox on your desk at school#because this is my valentines treat to you#I know it’s early but I wrote this in like December so…#I have been chomping at the bit to share it#30 days challenge resumes tomorrow or whenever I get my shit together again#here is a longer and dare I say better fic to tide you over until then#mattfoggy#daredevil#matt murdock#foggy nelson#valentines day#valentines day fic#series: having a coke with you#homelywenchsociety#that’s my writing tag! don’t worry about it!
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One reason why I think Mila Finelli's mafia books do work for me better than most other (Italian--I did really love Kresley's series) mafia romance novels I've read is that the characters do feel DISTINCT and so do the relationship dynamics.
In a lot of these somewhat darker, more erotic reads, you do get the sense that any of the characters could be switched out for one another. The heroes are always the same types of alphas, the heroines are always the same types of a) virgins or b) defiant rebels who may also still be virgins, and what really sets the books apart are a few bananas scenes here and there, and some distinct sex scenes.
And while I definitely think there are distinct sexual dynamics and kinks at play with each couple (Fausto/Frankie are obviously daddy kink-central, Enzo and Gia are.... generalized freaks with some heavier BDSM by way of CNC vibes, Giulio and Alessio also have some D/s vibes but with a more competitive edge and are very into each other's violence, and Giacomo/Emma are obviously a breeding kink/softer touch vibe) they're also just super different people.
I guess the closest couples would be Fausto and Frankie and Enzo and Gia, but even then... Fausto is a dick, but he's more rational, more doting (see: daddy), and though Frankie is absolutely defiant and strong, I actually think that though she and Fausto have more of a traditional partnership in terms of gender than Enzo and Gia (which also could be because Frankie wants a billion kids and yes she has her MBA but she's very much a wife and mom first, whereas Gia is more about her career, which keeps them from being too similar). Enzo and Gia are more into the defined D/s shit sexually, but you get the sense that she has more control in the relationship and that, at the end of the day, he is very much... her bitch. Enzo and Gia have a very similar age gap to Fausto and Frankie, but Fausto and Frankie have more of a care-focused DD/lg relationship, whereas Enzo and Gia thrive on the friction of her giving as good as she gets.
And Alessio and Giulio, aside from the obvious of being the only queer relationship in the series, are very much coded as D/s as well... But not as inflexibly as the previous two couples. Aside from them switching it up in the bedroom a little, there's also a lot of space for Alessio to take care of Giulio. Like, Giulio kinda doesn't know shit about what he's doing lol, whereas Alessio is hypercompetent (which also makes sense, as Fausto for sure spoiled Giulio and Alessio has been in essentially a different class his entire life). So while Giulio is more sexually dominant, Alessio is really the stronger, steadier, and more threatening partner otherwise. And again, they both really get off on watching each other do what they do best, which is: crime.
I do think Giacomo and Emma have the softest relationship in the series--but it's not so much because she's this kind of babe in the woods virgin (and I will say, I did love that Frankie and Gia were NOT lol) but because Giacomo is just a much more tender guy. Like, yes, Fausto and Enzo both also had loved ones, but I think that because they'd both been running their shit longer than Giacomo had before he met Emma, they had these very set roles. Fausto and Enzo come off as more brutal, and honestly more crazy (like, Enzo is THE CRAZIEST for sure, but Fausto is a fucking nutball). Giacomo seems like a dude who's good at killing people and doing mafia stuff, but it's really like? His day job. It's not his life and it doesn't feel like his culture, even, which makes sense because he was on the fringes of the types of levels Fausto and Enzo have always been in, because his father and brother kept him separate from it. Even Giulio is more connected to that space than Giacomo, because he was groomed to take over for years.
I think it would be very easy to rely on these great sex scenes and wacky plots she writes, but the thing that does make it clear that Mila has the chops (.... and it also makes it clear that she's very experienced, lol, and someone who has had to write series with very individualized characters for professional editors in the past........) is that the characters are very DIFFERENT. Like, Frankie and Gia may both have their partners' balls in their pockets, but you see Frankie do a wheedling kind of little girl pouting thing to get her way with Fausto because she knows he looooves it, whereas Gia is like LISTEN UP ASSHOLE with Enzo (and it makes the relationship the best because nobody else can do that with him, Enzo and Gia are the greatest, thanks for coming to my Ted Talk). Giacomo is willing to let Emma go in a way that Fausto, Enzo, and honestly I would say Giulio too after working out some things, really aren't okay with. He's probably the best guy out of the series, on a moral level, while also being a scary murder man.
(Except for maybe Alessio? Because Alessio is also a scary murder man, but he literally just does it for the cash or to protect Giulio. It's PURE BUSINESS.)
I find the distinctiveness of the characters really cool, especially when I reread the books, and that is probably why I've had a hard time finding a series that really clicks for me in the same way within the sort of Italian mafia genre.
(That, and: so much of the other books center on Italian-American mafia stuff and that shit DOES NOT HAVE THE SAUCE the way Mila's Italy-set books do. Like, be real here, the Italian-American mafia has not been raking in this kind of cash for DECADES.)
#romance novel blogging#anyway my musings on the mafia fuckbooks continue#i really do need to read annika martin's books#bc she's another author i have been pleased by with other books#and similarly to mila did a hard left into mafia novels#but yes#i do think that giacomo being sort of fringe-level with the mobster CEO shenanigans did deprive us of some of the funniest shit in the book#which would be like#enzo and fausto sending each other severed heads and getting on the phone like#'is that-' 'the severed head of your employee? yeah. :)'#or giulio bopping over to be like 'LISTEN UP THE ONLY COKE DEALER IN SPAIN IS ME NOW!!!!'#like i do remember her saying she hadn't originally been planning to write a book for emma#which seemed wild to me at the time#but you can tell this story was conceived of separately from the others#bc there's a pretty clear pipeline from fausto and frankie -> the villain enzo getting a book w gia ->#tying up the arc with fausto's son falling for the guy enzo paid to kill fausto lmao#(the comedy of this series will never top enzo fully forgetting he put a hit on giulio bc of all the bomb sex he was having on his yacht)#anyway that doesn't make mafia virgin a lesser book in any way it just reads as the most oN ITS OWN
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my great delusion is thinking i could be a good youtube video essayist
#txt*#i see all these ‘history of the 1989 era!’ videos and i don’t even watch but i still go eh think i could do it better#like girl djsksk at least fucking watch the video#also i have the brevity and enunciation skills of a toddler on coke#but like#even non taylor stuff like i really want to do a series of those really long recap videos but for like. classic lit#i read war and peace so you don’t have to#cause that’s just funny to me
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I love your reverse robins au and i absolutely love how you write different characters like Tim, Damian, and Cass!!!!! It is just so unique and amazing!!! (Question is Brucie dead dead or is he chilling in the Time Stream? Like imagine him coming back and Tim is like, "Motherfucker did you just steal my not-dead schtick?!?!" and then hugs him)
Thank you! It helps that their life situations are very different - Dick's Oldest Daughter syndrome on Damian can lead to some really fascinating results from some really fascinating logic, and of course Tim was flat-out driven insane - but I did write the characters at their heart as how I think of them. Do I think Tim is literally three steps away at all times from becoming a criminal? Yes. And of course Cass is unique because I gave her a personality -
Is Bruce dead...up to you! Whatever answer would satisfy you the most. Personally, since the story is about Damian maturing and stepping up to the plate to take responsibility for his family (and Tim's own story of 'what do I do now that I physically can't take my revenge' and Cass' story of 'how do I fight for a happy life when the people I love keep leaving me'), when I imagine the future of the story I do keep Damian as the patriarch and Bruce is dead for real.
But I didn't say anything, so it's up to you. In Wally's flash-forward roughly four years later, Bruce is still dead, so that is the only canon I will give on that question.
However. TREMENDOUSLY funny if Bruce is chilling in the time stream. And Tim is just too hopped up on coke to realize it and do something about it.
No, actually, funnier if instead of "Tim you're going off your rocker with grief of course Bruce isn't in the time stream" you get "Tim how high are you right now" ("Fucking obviously I'm high but that's COMPLETELY irrelevant -").
#my writing#the series was written so long ago im radda radda about it#i hate most things I wrote in 2019#but hey that little Wally story was#actually just fucking adorable#and I have an insane soft spot for the Wally/Linda in that story#Jake/Layla proposal scene I wrote recently was very influenced by the Wally/Linda get together#LOVE a story about unconventional and strange and time travelling and dimension hopping families#and the pressure to fit yourself into a heterosexual monogamous hegemony But Like It Can Be Time Travelling If You Want#only for your own relationship#in its beautiful little way#to be just as strange and amazing as time travelling children#because they realized together that you dont need to kiss to have kids#oh yeah and tim doing coke is still funny
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Wait wait you can't just drop that off and not elaborate. What do you mean is there a mafia presence in Wales?? Please spill, what things did you notice??
Okay so bearing in mind that I have ADHD and Chronic Terrible Observational Skills:
I am in Cardiff
For a concert I am attending solo
Doors open at 5
4:15 ish I go 'hmm I should eat something'
Cardiff is - unsurprisingly, being tiny and yet home to FOUR concert venues - Very Busy
Find McDonald's
McDonald's is very full. I recall my last concert related McDick's experience, and promptly bounce
Directly across the street
Is an Italian restaurant
It looks closed but fuckit maybe I can beg for like. Bread or some shit
Go over
Am immediately pounced upon by the hitherto unnoticed chain-smoking woman hanging out by the door mostly hidden by a potted ficus(?)
"I was wondering if you were open and if-" "yes yes we are open what would you like?" (strongish Italian accent)
Inside restaurant is Deserted
Explain that I'm sort of in a rush, am assured it's fine
Order chicken milanese which is generally a pasta dish with a breaded chicken component
Am led to seat nearish the front and promptly provided with a pint of coke in a glass tankard
Am then provided with a front row seat to an absolutely incomprehensible series of people entering and exiting (and in one case walking directly into) the door to what I can only presume is the kitchen
Starting with the guy who had been sitting at a table chain-smoking over a pile of papers
I counted at least three people exiting at least twice without actually entering in between
Am finally brought food
It is a breaded, butterflied chicken breast approximately the size of my face and a small pile of pasta approximately the size of my fist
It is all delicious
Chain-smoking papers man reappears, now wearing a chef's apron labcoat thing
Go up to pay, chain-smoking ficus lady is now having a very loud argument in a language I did not recognise but was not Italian Welsh English French russian Gaelic or Spanish
She sees me, says, and I quote 'ah little girl lost, one moment' and promptly hangs up
I am 27 and only nominally female
I am not remotely lost
She charges me for the pint of coke but not the food
I try to point out that she hasn't charged me for the food
'do you want to pay for the food?'
'.... Not if I don't have to?'
'good'
I leave. The door is now full of half a dozen very tall very Italian men and one absolutely adorable cocker spaniel
I ask if I can pet the dog (I have my priorities straight okay)
I am allowed to pet the dog. The dog and I are now best friends
The dog lead holder asks me in extremely accented but impeccably correct English if I had enjoyed the food
'yeah it was great!'
Everyone laughs a bit
I smile and pet the dog and realise I'm now late for the concert and hurry off
I see a post on Tumblr about mob fronts and several connections are made in my brain all at once
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⇢ ˗ˏˋ broken promises pt. 1 ࿐ྂ
summary: Rafe promised to take you out and spend your birthday with you, but you don’t hear from him all day and then suddenly he shows up at your door trying to explain. (angst version to my first birthday girl blurb) (title changed for series — previous title “birthday girl angst version”)
cw (for whole series): 18+, rafe x f!reader, mentions of drug use, angst, eventual smut, violence
wc: 0.6k
notes: honestly i’m thinking about making this particular blurb a series but i’m not sure though
You woke up on your birthday excited to get your day started. Your boyfriend Rafe told you the day before he would pick you up for brunch, and then you would spend the day doing whatever you wanted.
By the time you showered and were ready to go, your stomach was growling, prepared to have some delicious food. You checked your phone and saw the time read 10:45. Rafe said that he'd be here by 11:00.
30 minutes later, you hadn't heard anything from Rafe, so you decided to call him. Each of your calls went straight to voicemail. You were starting to get worried, so you decided to check social media and see if he may have posted anything. You clicked on Kelce's close friend's story and saw a party happening at his house. A few videos later, you saw one of Rafe doing coke off the table in front of him.
Your eyes start to water. He had promised you that he would stop doing drugs when you guys started dating. You knew it made him irritable and hard to be around. It also made him forgetful, which means he was probably high out of his mind somewhere and probably doesn't remember he promised to take you to brunch. Or the fact that it's your birthday.
You wipe the few stray tears off your cheek, careful not to ruin your makeup, before calling Sarah, inviting her and the pogues to have breakfast with you at your place. When you asked her about Rafe, she said she hadn't spoken to him and didn't know where he was.
-
The time was currently 10:22 pm, and you had just gotten home from your birthday dinner with your family. Rafe was supposed to be there too, but you had to lie and say he hadn't been feeling well. You could barely enjoy yourself. You still hadn't gotten so much as a text from him.
You slipped off your heels, but before you could make it up the stairs there was a ring at your doorbell. You opened the door to see Rafe standing there with flowers in hand.
"What do you want, Rafe?" You really didn't want to sit around and listen to his excuses.
"Baby, I'm sorry, really. Just please let me explain."
You scoffed but leaned against your doorframe, prompting him to keep going.
"Okay, so Kelce was throwing this party, and I wasn't going to go, but everyone kept messaging me saying I should at least swing by and everything since they hadn't seen me in a while. I went and it was supposed to be no more than 15 minutes, but things got out of hand..."
"Yeah Rafe, things got out of hand as in you stayed at the party and started doing fucking coke? Out of hand as in you got so high you didn't text me all day, on my birthday, while I'm worried sick about you?"
Rafe's eyes widened, obviously not expecting you to know about that. He outstretched his hand that was holding the flowers to you. "Baby I... I'm sorry. I can take you shopping to make up for-"
You smacked the flowers out of his hand and he flinched. Your voice was shaky as tears pooled in your eyes. "No Rafe! Money isn't going to fix this. Obviously, I'm not important enough for you to keep your promise. Getting high means more to you than being there for your girlfriend."
Before he could speak again, you slammed the door in his face and made your way upstairs even as he started to talk to you through the door before moving on to blowing up your phone. You blocked his number and went to bed, unsure of what was next for your relationship.
part 2
likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
© All Rights Reserved. Do not repost, modify, or claim as yours.
#rafe cameron fic#outer banks rafe#rafe cameron x reader#rafe obx#rafe cameron#obx#obx fic#obx x reader#angst#rafe angst#black!reader#black reader#divider by: plutism#black writers#outer banks#blurb#rafe blurb#rafe cameron smut#obx smut
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anti-curse
pairing: percy jackson x daughter of apollo!reader
summary: whether he knew it or not, percy jackson made the world a better, brighter place — and you intend to protect him, no matter what path the fates leads you down. fuck prophetic dreams. the future wasn't written in stone.
warnings/disclaimers: mentions of typical demigod things (battles, weapons, etc.); this is set during the heroes of olympus series so roughly follows that plot + features the seven demigods; mainly inspired by book!percy (dark hair, sea green eyes) bc that's the one i fell in love w growing up; characters are aged up from the book (reader + percy are meant to be 21-22 y/o) bc i imagine there was more time between prophecies/series....anyways, please enjoy <3
when you first met percy jackson, he almost shot you through the chest with an arrow.
given that apollo is your godly parent, you often found yourself at the archery field, which happened to be one of the first stops on percy’s tour of camp half-blood. after that first mishap, your other half-siblings were, understandably, too scared to let percy try again — frankly chiron seemed a bit hesitant as well — and you could sense that percy felt disheartened. so, you flashed the boy a reassuring smile before giving him a few pointers and a second chance. when he smiled back at you, you felt a fluttering in your stomach that told you percy jackson would be more than a little important in your life.
archery still wasn't percy's strong suit, but your gut feeling turned out to be true. you and percy had dealt with a lot since then — a handful of quests, several prophecies, more than a few near-death experiences, a titan war, and, maybe worst of all, high school. you couldn't imagine getting through any of it without him by your side, and you knew the feeling was mutual.
so, you were entirely anticipating that percy would be hurt by your announcement during dinner.
“no way that’s happening.” percy laughs, as if he can’t believe you’d suggest something as ridiculous as not having him accompany you on your quest. he remains unfazed, takes a sip of his electric blue coke before gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “come on, sunshine. have something to eat.”
the nickname sends your heart into a frenzy as you sit next to him. you and percy had never been anything other than friends, but sometimes....sometimes you look at his dangerous ocean eyes and wind-swept dark hair and it makes you blush. sometimes you consider the way his laughter fills you with warmth and his smile holds a thousand memories, the way he teases and winks at you and you decide that he makes your world so much brighter. sometimes you remember how sarcastic and thoughtful and loyal and reckless he is, his heart of gold and unpredictability of the sea. and you start to think that maybe possibly you'd fallen in love with your best friend.
that was not the issue at hand, though. you summon your favourite food and drink, but don't particularly feel like having either. percy returns to his conversation with hazel about how the two of you would drive up to montauk after you finally got your license, any time either of you needed to escape your reality, even just for a night. you'd sit on the beach, stargazing and roasting stale marshmallows and wishing to stay there forever. hazel seems to think that sounds like a nice escape, and percy promises that once the eight of you fulfill this prophecy, you'll all go to the beach house together, which makes hazel break out into a grin.
you can't help but smile at percy who loves his friends, who has loved you for so long. that feeling is quickly replaced by a pang in your chest that reminds you what's at stake. from the corner of your eye, you notice annabeth across from you, who looks at you like you’re a puzzle she can’t quite solve. you're trying to hide it, but if anyone can read you better than percy, it's annabeth. she knows something is weighing on your mind. you briefly lock eyes with jason, who you had gone to earlier for help, from the other side of the room, where he sits between piper and frank.
if you weren’t so distracted, you would have been able to enjoy dinner. the eight of you — all demigods of the current great prophecy — hadn’t been all together in a while, and it was nice to share a meal aboard the argo ii despite the reality of why you’d all been traveling together. leo had equipped the ship with magic plates and cups, and with the lively jokes and stories filling the air, you could almost imagine it was an ordinary summer evening at camp. you could almost forget that tomorrow, you had to go on a quest to rescue apollo and artemis from python, a monster so powerful your father barely defeated him thousands of years ago. you could almost ignore the impending war with gaea and the giants, and the doomed fate of the world if you were to fail. the one thing you could no longer ignore, however, is the gut feeling you have about the fate of the boy sitting next to you if your quest is to unfold the way you had first planned it.
you clear your throat, an attempt to interrupt the group's conversations.
“i was serious earlier,” you declare. “you’re not coming with me, percy. jason is.”
the smile percy had on his face fades. his eyes are filled with concern and disbelief, as he glances at you. “i – i don’t understand.”
"percy,” jason jumps in carefully, aware that he’s treading through dangerous waters like you had warned him. “y/n and i were strategizing earlier and it seems to make the most sense, given our powers combined."
percy shakes his head. “but — but you can’t just make last minute changes. we’ve already got everything set. right, valdez?”
leo shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of chicken before responding. “i don’t know, man. i’m no expert in quests, but it seems like i’m not the one who should be deciding this.” leo looks at you, and you nod gratefully.
you've been on edge since last night, and to calm your nerves you fiddle with the gold chain around your neck. it was a gift from your father: a necklace with a music note charm that can transform into an electric guitar or a bow and quiver. thankfully, you hadn't had to need both at the same time.
“it's up to me. and i want leo and jason to come with me.”
“then i’ll come too,” percy's voice remains calm, but insistant.
“isn’t there that thing about quests usually being done in threes?”
“that is true, piper,” percy agrees. he tilts his head towards you, like he's calling on you to remember. "exceptions have been made, though. like that one time with zoe." that had been years ago, when demigods from camp half-blood and hunters of artemis joined forces. five had been sent out on a quest, but only three came back. you shiver at the thought.
"or my quest through the labyrinth," annabeth recalls.
"but won't that also change our other plans, though?" hazel asks.
"not necessarily," you pipe in, your voice more assertive. "if jason and percy just switch. no harm done."
"we're not interchangeable," percy grumbles.
"hera sure seemed to think so!" leo searches the room for positive responses to his joke, but the most he gets is a half-hearted laugh from frank. "too soon?"
you take a deep breath. "it's not a big deal, really."
"it kind of is," percy counters. "you've never gone on a quest without me."
"you've gone on quests without me," you point out.
"that's...that's different."
"why? because i'm so weak that i need the son of the sea god to protect me at all times?"
you're giving percy the coldest stare you ever have. he hesitates to hold your gaze.
"you know that's not what i meant," he sighs.
"then what did you mean?"
percy looks at you, his eyes and tone softer. “look, sunshine, let's just stick with the plan, alright? we can just —”
“gods, you never listen, do you?" you finally snap. "you're not coming! i don’t want you there, percy!”
percy stares at you, stunned. you look around the table, and everyone looks back at you, wide-eyed. they weren’t used to this side of you, your sudden outburst not fitting in with your usually sunny disposition.
“well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” leo jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, with less than ideal results.
“you saw something in your dreams, didn’t you?” annabeth realizes.
her conclusion makes you freeze.
demigod dreams are always significant, carrying vivid images of monsters, messages from friends or enemies. some children of apollo like you had visions of the future — pseudo prophecies that are supposedly set to unfold given the path you’re on. technically, you weren’t supposed to share your visions, something about messing with fate or destiny, but that didn’t mean you had to accept the way things were.
what you saw in your dreams last night, what might happen to percy, made your blood run cold.
you would defy all the laws of the universe and divine rules if it meant you could protect him. so fuck the path the fates are attempting to lead you down, and fuck prophetic dreams. you refuse to let percy die. no matter how frustrated you’re acting towards him in this moment, you know he would still do the same for you.
you figure that the future isn't written in stone, right?
either way, you're willing to challenge destiny for percy jackson.
without answering annabeth, you get up from the table and take a deep breath, carefully avoiding percy’s gaze.
“i go with leo and jason, or i go alone.” your voice is steady, fighting the heavy beating of your heart and tears caught in your throat. “either way, i leave in the morning.” you exit the mess hall before anyone — before percy — can protest.
#Spotify#when i was younger i didn't think people would want to read all the stories i'd make up in my head about this series#so im glad the percy jackson renaissance is here#there's something so healing about writing + sharing this blurb even if i'm still nervous#might fuck around and write another part because i have so many ideas of where this could go#percy jackson#percy jackson x y/n#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo series#pjo fandom#pjo hoo toa#hoo#heroes of olympus#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson x you#pjo#saf writes#riordanverse
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Cravings
Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!reader
Summary: Pussy eating king frankie, who gets his aforementioned nickname when you tried to come up with ways to prevent him from relapsing back to coke.
Warnings: soooo much oral —pussy eating, cum eating, grinding, dry humping, cumming in pants, kissing, Frankie's mouth is everywhere, alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex, little dub con since Frankie doesn't ask if he can cum inside, overstimulation, free use esc situations
Notes: This is NOT the Frankie free-use series I mentioned before; I'm a bit delayed with writing it, so here's something else i had started as a drabble but then... did not stay a drabble. Please like and reblog if you enjoy this fic!
18+ ONLY
- - - -
Rather than drowning himself in coke, Santi slyly suggest he drowns himself in pussy instead. The guys around the table laughed, but you kind of agreed and told him you'd help set him up on hookups. Frankie didn't want to go through the trouble of having to find a potentially different girl each night. Plus, his cravings were sporadic. He would need his fix in that moment whenever it came.
He remembered back when you had drunkenly admitted guys could hardly satisfy you because you had a high drive, usually cumming on your fingers at least 6 times a day before bed, often times more on lonely weekends. He was left speechless at the time, but now he couldn't get Santi's proposition mixed with that knowledge of you out of his head.
You tried to cook him meals instead or buy him hoards of candy, but the idea was stuck in his mind. You knew you'd be a convenient alternative, given you only lived less than 10 minutes away and was always around when he needed help. But you were afraid of crossing that line with one of your all time best friends.
Eventually, being around him so much—"on call" as the boys put it—left you susceptible to his sweet touches, ghosting lips against your ears, sporadic twitches and jittery hands, antsy fingers dancing along your hips. You considered the option heavily before finally caving: you were doing this to HELP him, as his friend. Just a little relief every so often when he absolutely needed it.
You came 9 times on his tongue the first time. It wasn't even that he was trying to make you cum, but the eagerness in the way he moved so fast, growling and moaning at the taste, his lips attached and never left your heat. His big nose just perfectly bumping your clit each time he pointed his tongue dove deep into your craving hole, curling up and hitting that soft spot inside you left you shaking and crying out his name, back arched and fingers clawing at his shoulders.
He was sated for almost 6 days (and you needed the ample recovery time because not even your fingers could make you cum so hard) before the craving hit again. Incessant knuckles pounded your doorstep. You had barely unlocked the door before he was shoving himself in and devouring your mouth with his. "I need another hit, carniño."
He didn't wait for a response, knocking you on your ass on the sofa and stripping your sweats and panties off before throwing one leg over his shoulder. Flattening his tongue, he licks a long strip along from your hole to your clit, obscenely guttural moans from the back of his throat filled your ears. He looked wild-eyed and crazy, as if starved for weeks and was finally given the sugar rush of the century.
You inevitably move in with him, claiming his spare bedroom, worried about how bad he gets when he goes anything longer than a few hours without you.
He makes you ride his face until you're suffocating him, and he still can't get enough. Your juices flood his mouth and nose and his eyes roll back as he loses air. You try to get off and apologies, but he's caged your thighs with his muscular arms, holding your pussy flat against his face as he devoured you more, ignoring your squirming pleas. He hums against your nub, the vibrations sending you into your own addictive high. You cum again, and again, and again, and soon you're tugging his hair, crying his name with fat tears down your cheek, leaning back and scratching at his chest to let off, but its useless. He's so lost in your cunt that you become light headed, barely holding on to the headboard as your lower body continues to spasm.
He only pulls off for a minute, squeezing his nostrils to force out your juices. He's so dazed, pupils blown wide, beard and mustache drenched in your slick, so pussy-drunk and in love that he wants to do it again. "Sweetest fucking cunt, I swear. Just wanna curl up and live inside here, querida."
You offer to suck him off but he gestures embarrassingly down, where you turn to see a dark splotch on the belt-line of his pants where the tip of his spent cock peaks out, dribbling little white drops onto his lower belly, having cum untouched just from eating you out.
It gets to the point where you lock yourself in the bathroom when you take a shower just to have 10 minutes of peace. Your pussy is so puffy, clit so swollen from his constant assault day and night that you have to calm down and remind yourself what good its doing for him. He hasn't touched the white powder in weeks.
He's wondered where you've gone when he sees the bathroom light illuminate under the door. He knocks a few times, then raps harsher with his fists, calling out your name. You tell him you just need a minute. The makeshift locks on the bathroom door of Frankie's apartment isn't designed to keep an ex militant out, and he just pushes it forward with enough force that it gives way and he let's himself in. You go to cover yourself when he pulls the shower curtains away, but the same needy expression on his face as he narrows in to the slit between your legs has you aching once again. It's Pavlovian, the way he stares, practically drooling, hands twitching by his side, sending signals to your cunt to start dripping for his appetite. He spins you around so your cheek is smothered against tile, ass out towards him, not caring about the water drenching his baseball cap, grey shirt and pants as he kneels on the shower floor and puts his face between your legs. He moans when his lips start sucking on your nub, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole. He keeps you in your spread position with his arms holding your waist, making their way to spread your ass for him to dive further in, knees between your heels. You reach one arm back, knocking his cap off as you card your fingers through his damp hair, gripping it when you cum and grind yourself back on his scruffy face.
He's otherwise so gentle, so soft spoken, but when he gets between your legs, something primal takes over and you can hardly recognize him.
Sometime in the evening while you were watching a movie, you see his knee bouncing next to you. You has snapped at him earlier and refused his hunger when he peppered kisses all over your neck, down your back, then tried to yank your pants down while you were cooking dinner for the two of you, nearly burning your arm on the stove from such force.
You hated that you had outright refused him for the first time, but the truthfully the swollenness between your legs needed rest before he wrecked you again. He's biting his lip so hard, stealing glances at you before rubbing his hair and shifting his cap back on.
You instead take your top off, having gotten comfortable enough to go without a bra when it was just the two of you. Frankie is a bit shocked, only used to seeing you strip your pants first before anything else.
You crawl over to him before sitting in his lap, thighs spread over his. He swallows the lump in his throat, unable to take his eyes off of your tits right in front of him. His legs are still bouncing in agitation, the movement making your breasts jiggle right in front of him. He groans, licking his lips, breathing heavily.
"She needs a break, Fish," you said quietly, your soft and small hands seeking his big and callous ones, pulling them up over your waist before letting them settle on your cups.
He doesn't hesitate or ask further, head leaning forward and lips immediately latching on to your nipple. He moans, eyes closed as he sucks around the areola, tongue swirling your pebble as he kneads them in his hands.
You're trying so hard not to grind down on his cock, instead sitting upright on your knees so you're not fully resting your damp panty-covered crotch against the tent in his pants. The position is more head level with your tits, but he doesn't like that. He grips your hips to bring you flush against him, gasping out when you instinctually start rocking your hips steadily against his clothed length.
He noticed how heavily your chest is flexing, glaring up at you to see your brows furrowed, face tilted towards the ceiling trying not to cum on him. He cups his hands against your cheeks and brings you in for a sweet kiss, his lips slotting perfectly against yours as his hands return to palming your breasts. He presses his forehead against yours so your eyes meet, goosebumps wracking your whole body at the lust behind his eyes, and something more you couldn't place. "So good to me, querida. Perfect lips"—he gently pecks your lips—"perfect tits"—then a generous kiss to each of your breasts—"my perfect girl." You could smell the scent of your pussy on his lips, as if they'd be stained there now. Kissing your lips, your throat, collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, and erect nipples, and all the way back up again, was enough to keep his mouth busy and his craving subsided. And it worked almost as well, the two of you cumming sticky and wet against one another in your underwear with heavy sighs and sated eyes; you had calmed him down enough to get him to remove his clothes and put on a fresh pair of boxers before tucking him to his own bed with your favorite blanket.
As you tip toed into the bathroom to prep for a bath, you stared at your naked reflection: how swollen, and red your breasts were, covered in raised bite marks the shape of Frankie's jaws. Among your new scars are the faded scratches and bruises of Frankie's fingertips on your waist, stomach and lower back from how incessantly he devours you while his face is buried in your sopping pussy, like he had to sink his claws into you so you wouldn't slip away as he feasted. You look like you were attacked by a passionate lion.
His sweet nothings every time he stared into your eyes was what really turned you on. You tell yourself that it was just the withdrawal symptoms talking. That he was basically just high on a new drug.
-
To you, it must have looked like Frankie's craving were only getting worse with how increasingly frequent his lips found themselves attached to your body. In truth, his desire for coke steadily grew less, and it wasn't the replacement of the powder that he was seeking from you but rather the insaitability of finally having you that grew stronger.
The rest of boys noticed the effects you're having on Frankie too. They see it when he meets them for a drink every other Saturday, the way he anxiously taps his foot under the table, glancing around like he's unsure what to do, where to go, because he can't sit still. It's the signs of his cravings kicking back in, and they're all worried at first. But it's not until you up show later and slide into the booth next to him that they notice: Frankie casually drapes his arm around your shoulders like he always did—that part was normal. But what was new is how they could visibly see Frankie's heart rate slow, the way he slumped against the bench and completely calmed down from just your presence.
They also couldn't help but notice the way his eyes raked you with a mix of lust, love, and obsession, his dark gaze never once leaving the sight of you the entire night. All the while you laughed and chatted with them about your week, oblivious to the change in demeanor of your friend from just a few months ago.
You assured the boys that you two weren't fucking—and it was true, you hadn't slept with him once. albeit a few blow jobs, it was exclusively just Frankie eating you out or kissing. You were very hopeful that his cravings were going to go away soon since its the longest he's been off coke. You were even talking to your old landlord to see if your old apartment a few blocks away still had openings since you'd be moving out of Frankie's place soon. Santi couldn't help but see Frankie's dejection, his arm sliding away from you as he excused himself to get more beer.
By the end of the night, Frankie was drunk out of his mind. Will suggested he slow down so he wouldn't pass out before he could walk home. It sounded like a good plan, until Francisco glanced over to the bar and saw you sitting there and smiling at a guy who was flirting with you. Fish took a giant gulp of his beer, downing the entire jug before slamming it on the table and striding out of the booth towards you. He overheard the guy asking if you had a ride home tonight.
"She comes home with me. Every. Night," he slurred, his sweaty palm skimming possessively over your jean-clad thigh and snaking between your legs, face coming so close to you that your noses slide against each other. Frankie's eyes bore into yours with so much desire, it bordered on range. You knew those were his craving eyes. The pungent smell of alcohol on his breath made you flinch as he tried to pull you in for a kiss. You quickly tell the confused guy that he's your roommate and you need to get him home immediately. You could barely finish excusing yourself from the stranger before Frankie was dragging you out of the bar. You managed to wave to the others, making a drinking gesture and pointing to Frankie before being yanked into the street.
He was stumbling all over the place, breath uneven as you hoisted him up to lean against you, eventually making it through his apartment entrance and turning the key to unlock his unit.
With a renewed sense of urgency, Frankie slammed the door close behind him and pinned you up against it, his hands roaming your body as his mouth desperately sought yours. "Craving," he mumbled against your open lips. "Need"—tongue forcing its way into your mouth, he nipped at your lower lip, sucking on it before releasing with a pop— "need you," he panted.
"I know, I know—Jesus Fish. I'm—gonna help—gonna take care of you—" you breathed, ashamed of how quickly you could feel your panties dampen. It never bothered him though, and only encouraged his sweet tooth more. You weren't nearly as drunk as him, but your few margaritas made you extremely susceptible, even welcoming, to his touch.
You hummed into his shoulder when his hard bulge rubbed purposefully against your covered core. He bit your earlobe as he fisted your low-neck shirt before pulling it down roughly, the fabric tearing away. You gasped, ready to scold him but he pressed his mouth on you again, teeth clashing, his hands slotting down your body to pinch, grope, scratch at any bit of skin he could get.
"So—so good t'me. Always taking—such good care of me, cariño."
His fingers dip into your ass and hoist you up so he's carrying you, your arms and legs wrapped securely around him as he boldered through his apartment, kicking his door open before tossing you on the bed, watching you bounce. You never break eye contact as you unbutton your jeans at the same time Frankie pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside to unfasten his belt and zipper.
Clambering over you to reseal your lips, you breath in his scent, hands exploring his tone arms, down his chest and muscle middle all the way to the little pooch of tummy hanging. His hands gripped your jeans and pulled them along with you down the length of the bed, bringing you to the edge, his grip pushing up on the back of your thighs so your knees are digging against your rib cage, pulsing pussy exposed at his mercy. "I fuckin' love this pussy, querida," he growled before burying his face between you folds for the thounsandth time. "So fuckin' wet for me," he mumbled against your thigh, nipping at the skin.
He ate you out with precision, eyes hungry watching you, determined to make you fall apart quickly. He wasn't doing it for his own taste, but the sheer satisfaction of watching you writhe for him, knowing your body inside out as the only one who could get you like this. He's languidly thrusting two fingers in and out. You didn't even need to be stretched: he'd practically been prepping you for months now. You're crying out into the air as you cum, hips bucking against his nose with your heels digging into his shoulder blades. Frankie pulls away, kissing your stomach and up your tits before making you taste yourself on his lips.
The feeling of his cock nudging your entrance make your once dazed eyes go wide and alert. He pauses, suddenly worried. He can't read your expression, time dragging out too long and it scares the fuck out of him that he's taking it too far, that you didn't agree to this.
He had wanted to tell you everything right then: how he dreams of you riding him, or when he fists his cock in the shower when you're at work to the thought of what your tight walls would feel like wrapped around him when first violates you, how he automatically gets aroused now when he just sees you or smells your laundry, or admitting how many times he's actually cum in his pants without you noticing when he is buried between your legs, dying to have you cum around his cock instead of his tongue.
It's not until you sense his hesitation that you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close, sharing the same breath of air, nodding as your calves hook over his ass and squeeze his hips, the tip of his flush cock slipping in to your wet heat.
You both sigh heavily into each other's mouth when he takes charge again and thrusts fully inside you. He scrunches his eyes closed, forehead dipping down to your breast bone to revel in the overwhelming feeling of the tight space inside you.
You warmly caress his hair to bring him back up to you, kissing him and whispering, lips trembling, "Don't—don't think about it. Just... just use me."
His heart sank: You probably just thought this was another hit for him.
He didn't want to think about the fact that you were everything he'd needed in that moment, the image of perfection beneath him beautifully laid out for his eyes, his touch, but not for his soul. He gritted his teeth, pulling out then slamming back in, jolting your whole body up the mattress. It was fast, rough, and not at all how he wanted your first time to be with him, but he couldn't control his urges. He was gasping loudly as he fucked you, your cunt gushing around his member, the obscene sound of slick and skin slapping skin echoing in his otherwise empty apartment.
He brought his thumb to rub messy circles on your clit, sending you into a spasm of praises and expletives, but the most satisfying sound was his name repeated over and over again.
He barely manages to pull out before jerking his cock only twice and creaming all over your folds and clit. Groaning in post orgasmic bliss, he watches you heaving and shaking, filthy pussy covered in his seed. Half of his mind is only working now as he slides back down to lap you clean with his mouth, his own saltiness filling his throat, fingers scissoring inside to get your juices flowing, obsessed with the sight in front of him: your back arched off the bed, heels digging into his lower back as his hands pinning your hips down flat so he can work his mouth over you. And then you're cumming again, so angelic on his tongue, your sweet moans going right to his dick, hardening once again as he ruts into the mattress. He nips your clit and sucks, reluctant to pull away as he lines up and splits you open. You scream out, and if it weren't for the way your barely-recovered battered walls kept sucking him back in, he'd be worried you're in pain. His hands hook under your lower back, lifting you off the bed as he plows into your squelching cunt over and over again.
Youre both covered in a thin layer of sweat, the pillows and comforter of his bed strewn haphazardly around the floor as he dominates you. The headboard slammed recklessly agains the wall, and neither of you cared about your neighbors trying to sleep at 1 in the morning. He ignores the oversensitivity of his cock and your clit, forcing you both into an unexpected climb of another orgasm like it was a primal need.
It was happening without warning; he should be asking for permission, but he knew you took the pill, and he's been dying to release inside you from the moment you first let him put his lips on you. You're cumming on his cock again, hips bucking and grinding against him without your clit being touched, and he was done for.
With a harsh cry, he climaxes again, his length flooding your womb with ribbons of white. His arm shoots in front of him, flat on the bed next to your ear to hold himself up so he didn't crash down on you as his hips jerked, pushing his seed deeper in to you.
He rested most of his weight on top of you, labored breaths combined into one. He kisses the top of your nose, whispering "thank you," unsticking your sweaty bodies as he rolls you two over to have you lying on top, your head next to his. He pats your hair over your ear, pebbling your forehead and eyelids in kisses. His cock twitched in your spent heat, cum leaking out and dripping down to his balls and on the bed.
"Glad I—could...help..." you mumbled, eyes already closed as you drifted into sleep.
His softening dick slipped from your pussy, warm hands wiping you with his shirt before settling you gently on a pillow. He watched the gentle rise and fall of your breaths, naked and fast alseep on his bed. He pulled his sheets higher to your shoulder, his heart beating faster at the way you snuggled further into his pillow.
Frankie stared at the ceiling for hours, hand on his forehead in anguish, wondering how the fuck he was supposed to tell you it wasn't cocaine he was craving last night.
- - - -
Part 2: Crash
Series masterlist
#pedro pascal smut#francisco morales#frankie morales smut#triple frontier smut#triple frontier#frankie morales#catfish morales#catfish morales smut#frankie catfish morales#frankie catfish morlaes smut#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales fanfiction#catfish morales x reader
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YOU MATCH THE 141 ON TINDER 💓
The Prequel to the "It's a Match!" series.
[ The Teaser! ] || [ Chapter 1 ]
Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader
Words: 600~
Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?
You’ve always found the concept of rebounds hilariously dumb. Every time that trope came up on a romcom or sitcom you were watching, you found yourself rolling your eyes at it.
Then again, everything about how Hollywood portrays break-ups is ridiculous. Sobbing on the couch while eating a pint of ice cream? Putting on your ‘revenge dress’ and showing your ex what they’re missing? All BS… but you guess both of those have a time and a place… But rebounds?
How can someone think the remedy to a broken heart or a bad break-up is… getting involved with someone else? How can that be healthy at all? You’re at your lowest and most vulnerable and you decide to let someone else in to do more damage? Ridiculous.
That’s why you scoffed and rolled your eyes when your friend Leah suggested it during film night at your flat. “C’mon, you need to get laid!” She said as she bit down on her slice of pizza.
“Oh, please-” You grumbled, slinking down on the couch. “I’m alright by myself, thanks.”
“Pfft, c’mon!” Mia, your other friend, quipped while sitting on a pillow on the floor. “You seriously need to get out of the house and find someone else!”
"No, serious, you do." Leah agreed and nodded. "What happened with that tosser Ethan should not have you isolating youself like this."
“No, thank you. I’m quite alright by myself. Don’t need that extra stress.” You retorted as you reached for another slice of pizza from the coffee table.
“What extra stress?” Leah asked. “There's nothing stressful about it! It’s sex.” She said simply, Mia quickly nodding in agreement.
“The extra stress of going out and talking to people and getting to know them…” You list it off while halfway through chewing your bite of food.
“Oh, sod off! We’re not talking about a date!” Mia quickly said as she pushed your knee lightly with her bottle of Coke.
“Yeah, it’s a shag. You don’t have to meet or talk to a bloke! You just create an account on Tinder or Bumble or something.” Leah added.
You shoot them a look of disbelief. “Oh, I’m not doing that! Are you mental? Those apps are a cesspool! There’s nothing but creeps and losers on there…” You complained.
“See, that’s the mentality of someone who wants a boyfriend out of those apps!” Mia scolded you and nudged your knee again. “If you use it with that intention of course you’ll think every bloke there is a creep. But you’re not going to use it to look for a date! You’ll use it for the same as them: a shag.” She added.
“C’mon! Hand over your phone, let’s create a profile for you!” Leah insisted and stole your phone from your hoodie’s pocket before you even had time to argue, unlocking it and getting to work downloading Tinder.
“I don’t know…” You said, uncertain, as you nibbled on your pizza slice again. “I feel like I’ll get picky and reject all of them once their profile pops on my screen.” You add.
“Then don’t.” Mia said with a shrug while she pushed up onto her knees to peek at your phone screen in Leah’s hand.
“Yeah! Just Swipe Right on all of them! You’re bound to find one that’s worth it that way.” Leah added as she began creating an account for you.
“I don’t know-” You tried saying again, not just uncertain but downright disliking the idea.
“We promise it’ll be fun!” Mia interrupted you. “Just do what we tell you! Swipe right on everyone!” Mia added. “What’s the worst that’s going to happen?”
“Worst-case scenario, you don’t like any of them enough to meet for a shag. So what? Will make no difference on your life as it currently is.” Leah added and leaned herself lightly against you, nudging you with her shoulder.
Thinking for a moment, you end up sighing and smiling. “Fine!” You said, amused. “I guess if nothing else, it’ll give me a confidence boost to have ‘em all dming me.” You joked.
“That’s the spirit!” Mia cheered and wrapped her arms around you. “Now, let’s find some pictures of you looking fit to add to your profile.” She said, causing you all to giggle.
taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthoney , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe
#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic#cod modern warfare#cod fanfic#captain john price#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#text story#cod x reader#call of duty x reader
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PLEASEEE CAN YOU DO A TOM BLYTH X ACTRESS ASMR FIC. IDK IF YOUVE EVER SEEN THE W MAGAZINE INTERVIEWS WITH CELEBRITIES DOING ASMR BUT ID LOVE TO READ ONE OF TOM AND THE READER BEING ALL CUTE AND WHOLESOME WHILE DOING ASMR AND TRYING NOT TO LAUGH
ASMR chaos || Tom Blyth x actress!reader
A/n: you guys continue to blow my mind with the scenarios and prompts you give me 😃 keep em coming!
Warnings: pure fluff!
Wc: 1,010
Divider by @pommecita
Walking into the room, you throw Tom an interested look as the two of you look at the microphones on the the table. As we settled into our seats, the interviewer, a vibrant woman named Lisa, welcomed us with a warm smile. “Today, we’re going to do something a bit different, something fun. Have either of you tried ASMR?” she asked.
“No, we haven’t,” You and Tom exchanged playful glances, both secretly wondering what you had gotten yourselves into. “Well, this will be a first for the both of you then!” Lisa exclaimed. “Absolutely, let’s do it,” Tom replied with a grin.
“I don’t think we’re gonna do that well babe, we’re both loud people,” You squeeze Tom’s arm as he laughs, putting on his headsets as you follow suit.
“Hey guys,” you gently murmur into the microphone, a playful glint in your eyes. “I’m Y/n Y/l/n” Tom shoots you a sidelong glance, a charming smile gracing his lips. "And I'm Tom Blyth," he adds with a hushed tone, his voice carrying a hint of mischief.
“And today-“ You move to the next microphone but end up bumping into it creating a loud noise. You cringe at the sharp noise, while Tom, caught off guard, tries to stifle a laugh, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“Sorry,” You sheepishly smile, dimples forming on your cheeks, “Today we’ll be doing A-” Tom smoothly moved towards the microphone, his voice flowing seamlessly, "S-" you gracefully took your place at the other mic, "M-" a shared moment of anticipation, "R," Tom concluded, and with satisfied glances, you both silently exchanged a high-five.
Your first challenge was the classic apple crunch. Tom took the lead, picking up a shiny red apple. He leaned into the microphone, giving it a thoughtful look before taking a bite. The crisp sound echoed in the studio, and a spontaneous giggle escaped you at the absurdity of the situation.
"Now, your turn," Tom said, handing you the apple with a mischievous glint in his eyes. You took a deep breath, trying to maintain composure. As your teeth sunk into the apple, the studio filled with a satisfying series of crunches.
Biggest mistake you made was looking at Tom, mid bite. You automatically screw your eyes shut as you and Tom lose it, having to turn away from the mics as you let out hearty chuckles.
"Don't look at me!" You whisper yell at Tom in a joking matter as he wipes the tears from his eyes, "Sorry, sorry, I couldn't help myself," he quietly apologies as you smack his arm gently. The studio was filled not only with the sound of apple crunches but also the infectious sound of both your laughs.
You were then passed a can of coke. Tapping on it with you manicured nails, you move it from microphone to microphone as Tom watches amused. "I'm so bad at opening cans with nails on-" You start but Tom has already taken it, opening it with a satisfying pop near the microphone.
The sound of it fizzing reached you ears as you purse your lips at the sound of it. You take the can back and lean towards your microphone, Tom's hands moving to tuck the stray pieces of hair that had fallen.
You try to contain your laughter as you bring the can up to your lips, sipping it. The noise was surprisingly loud in your earphones as you start quietly laughing. You took another sip, deliberately prolonging the sound for comedic effect, the noise was a combination of tiny slurps and the distinctive hiss of carbonation.
"Here, you try," you pass the can to Tom who takes it with a playful grin. He takes measured sips of it as you slightly squirm in your seat at the loud sound of it in your earphones. You watch as he takes large sips of it.
"I shouldn't have taken too many sips," he groans, setting the can down as a mischievous grin lights up your face as he adds, "I feel like burping now" he places a hand on his stomach.
"is burping considered satisfying in asmr though?" you quip, glancing at the camera crew who try to conceal their amusement. Your eyes return to Tom. "I don't know, I guess we'll find out won't we?" He chuckles, moving to the microphone.
You absolutely lost it as the sound of Tom's burp reaches your ear causing you to rip out your earphones, leaning over in your seat as you laugh out loud. Tom couldn't help but laugh at your reaction as he smacks his knee, creating an even louder sound that fueled both of your laughter.
"I think we've reached peak asmr chaos," Tom manages to say as you compose yourself, sitting up in your seat, "I'd like to formally apologise to everyone watching this-" you say in between your laugh as Tom nudges you playfully.
Your laughter became a recurring theme throughout the interview, making it clear that the genuine camaraderie between Tom and you extended beyond the screen.
A plate of watermelon was then passed to the both of you. Tom, ever the showman, took a big, theatrical bite, causing droplets of juice to splatter across the table causing your eyes to widen as you were mid-bite.
You silently laugh, throwing your head back, "We're so bad at this," Tom shakes his head with a light laugh, wiping a dribble of watermelon juice from his chin.
The next thing the two of you were handed was a bowl of noodles. "Oh no," You whisper, biting your thumb as you eye the crew member placing it in front of the two of you, including two forks.
"I just know this isn't going to end very well," you predicted, taking a fork and loading up a substantial bite of noodles. Tom grinned as he did the same.
Brushing your hair back, you leaned toward the microphone. As the fork approached your mouth, you felt Tom's intense gaze on you. "Don't even look at me," you playfully warned him, your eyes fixed ahead. Tom chuckled, fully aware that locking eyes would trigger another laughing fit.
Chewing on the noodles, you couldn't help but let out a satisfied moan at the flavor. Glancing at Tom, you saw him slurping a noodle, prompting you to cover your mouth to stifle laughter.
Tom slowly opens the packet of chips, the sound filling your ears. He passes you a chip as you both place it in your mouth, the crunch satisfying the both of you.
Your chewing comes to a stop as your eyes slightly widen at the familiar tingling sensation in the back of your throat. You squeeze Tom's arm as he gives you a puzzled look.
You then look at the chip packet, it was chili flavoured. "Oh," Tom whispers, knowing your spice tolerance was incredibly low. "Can I have water please," you start fanning yourself as Tom lets out a chuckle, quickly offering you his bottle of water as you gratefully take it.
You let out a satisfied sigh, your head leaned on Tom's shoulder. "I'm so bad with spice," you reveal, letting out a small giggle as the interview came to an end.
"Well that's it from us," Tom whispers in the microphone, "I hope you guys enjoyed this chaotic interview, I hope it was somewhat satisfying?" You sheepishly grin at the camera as Tom chuckles.
#fanfiction#tom blyth#tom blyth imagine#tom blyth x reader#tom blyth x you#tom blyth x actress!reader#tom blyth fanfiction#tom blyth fluff#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow imagine#the hunger games#the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes#tbosas imagine#actress reader#actress!reader#actress au#boyfriend!tom blyth#coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow fanfiction#billy the kid#billy the kid x you#the hunger games x reader#social media#social media au#tom blyth angst#tom blyth the man you are#snow lands on top#thg fanfiction
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ballad of a homeschooled girl
summary: a new arrival at camp half-blood is anything but extraordinary, but your attachment to the broody head counselor and claims of a mother who supposedly has no children cause suspicions to arise
word count: 3.9k
featuring: broody!luke who is somewhat soft for reader, angst, reader seems delulu (but she’s not trust 🤞), mostly primer for my upcoming luke series
series masterlist ||| next part
the air is humid, causing the sheets to stick to your already clammy skin. you shift in the small cot, peeling the bedding off your skin, relaxing when the cool breeze caresses your arms and legs. it’s peaceful, and your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. just as you’re about to cross back into dreamland, a girl’s voice causes your eyes to open.
“she’s waking up! look!” she yells, and you know that she’s pointing at you.
you sigh, propping yourself up on your elbows. you look around drowsily, trying to make sense of your surroundings. it’s when you make eye contact with a girl who has light pink hair, that you realize you’re no longer walking down a busy city street, hustling through the crowd. confusion settles in, and you wonder how you ended up in this infirmary, and whatever happened to that crazy lady who was trailing you. you open your mouth, trying to speak, but the girl just shoves a cup with a straw in it towards you.
“drink,” she demands.
you hesitate, uncertainty clear on your face. how can you even trust this girl? she seems to sense your emotions, because her hand rests gently on your forearm, pushing the drink closer to your chapped lips.
“drink,” she repeats, and you nod.
a small sip can’t hurt, you decide, and your lips wrap delicately around the straw. as you drink the liquid, you realize that it tastes like the pina coladas your dad would make with the fresh pineapple from the farmers market over the summer. you smile fondly at the memory, relaxing further into the uncomfortable mattress. you sigh in relief, feeling the throbbing in your head diminish. the tranquility, however, doesn’t last for long because the girl with the pink hair returns.
“i’m anna,” she starts, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. “how much do you remember before you got here?” she continues.
“where is here exactly?” you ask, shifting in the bed to put some distance between the two of you.
her eyes widen, and something along the lines of confusion and distrust cross her features. she doesn’t say anything, just spending a few minutes analyzing you. a wave of self-consciousness washes over you; do you really look that distraught?
“you have no idea what you are, what we are,” she mumbles. there’s both amazement and sympathy in her voice.
“i’m a girl, if that’s what you’re asking,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.
she laughs at you. “you’re in for a rude awakening,” anna replies between giggles.
the next day, you're walking out of the infirmary with strict instructions to go see chiron. you have no idea who this guy is, but all the med staff assure you that you’ll know when you see him. it’s only when you come face to face with a half-horse, half-human -- a centaur -- that you understand exactly what they meant. he smiles at you, and you assume that he’s trying to be comforting, but you still feel so uneasy.
“come. we have a lot to discuss,” he says, resting a firm hand on your shoulder as he leads you towards another room in the old victorian house.
you nod, walking along the veranda towards an open-aired room. the walk feels like a thousand years, as other campers point and whisper in your direction. you want to shrink in on yourself, but you don’t. miraculously, this air of confidence envelops you, and you march into the room with steady and sure strides. the other person in the room looks at you and chiron. he’s older, adorning black sunglasses and holding a diet coke. he rolls his eyes at the sight of you, getting up from his adirondack chair, grumbling about how much he hates kids and wishes he could have a drink. you raise your eyebrows, looking to chiron for an explanation, but he just shakes his head.
“sit, then we’ll talk,” he promises, gesturing to one of the empty seats.
once you’re both seated, it’s quiet. you don’t really have anything to say to the older man in front of you. you’re still confused by anna, and all the cryptic comments she made these past two days. you have no memory of how you got here, or why. nothing makes sense to you.
chiron seems to know that though, as he says, “i understand this can all be very confusing. so let’s start with the basics. you’re at camp half-blood, a safe haven for demi-gods. for people like you.”
he pauses for a moment, probably expecting you to say something, but you don’t. instead, you turn to the left, staring out to the water. it’s so serene, completely contrasting your inner turmoil. when chiron realizes you don’t have anything to say, he continues on:
“here you’ll prepare for battle, complete quests, make friends, and live your life free of worry. at the end of the summer, you’ll have the option of returning home, or remaining as a year-round camper. for now though, i’ll have one of our older, more experienced demi-gods give you a tour. unless of course, there’s something else you’d like to discuss?”
the way he’s looking at you suggests that you should have more to say -- some deep dark secret waiting to be revealed -- but you don’t. he waits, but once you don’t acknowledge his words, he sighs, rising from his seat. you follow, moving towards the door with him. as you hand grasps the handle, it tumbles open, and your body moves forward. thankfully, you don’t crash to your feet, or collide with the person in the doorway, but your cheeks flame in embarrassment.
when you look up, you’re surprised to see a boy. he looks to be about your age with his tall stature and muscular frame. his face is blank, almost bored looking, except for the hints of anger and annoyance in his brown eyes. his jaw is firm and locked, as he crosses his arms and gives you a once over. he hates me already, you think, and while you wish you didn’t care, it stings just a bit.
“this is luke, our head counselor. he’ll show you around camp, and help you settle into the hermes cabin, your temporary home,” chiron explains.
you nod towards luke, but don’t comment on anything chiron says. without another word, he turns on his heel and marches down the steps of the front porch. his pace is brisk, and his long strides make it hard for you to catch up with him, but you manage. once you’re walking side by side with him, it’s quiet between the two of you. he doesn’t point out any of the details, and his speed makes it hard for you to actually absorb anything.
“if you’re gonna walk so fast, the least you could do is explain what everything is,” you snap, annoyed.
he stops walking all together, huffs, and turns to face you. in the bright light of the sun, you notice his scar. it’s pale white and risen above the skin, alerting you that it’s still fairly new, and runs from the corner of his eye to his jawline. he should look scary or intimidating, but you only think that he looks angelic. you gasp softly at the realization, lips parting. his eyes dart down to your mouth, and there’s something almost sinister in his gaze when he finally starts talking.
“archery range, lava wall, and training arena,” he grumbles, pointing out all the spots closest to you.
instead of looking at all the places, your gaze is still focused on him. he rolls his eyes, facing forward and continuing on his walk.
“if you’re going to ask me to point stuff out, at least pay attention when i do,” he snaps.
now it’s your turn to roll your eyes as you follow him towards a horseshoe of cabins. each one is different and seems to represent their own thing. as you’re walking past the center, you notice that there are two lone cabins in the middle. you freeze. your head tilts as you observe the cabin on the right. you feel a strange pull towards it, and start following the invisible string tying you to the building.
“what are you doing?” luke asks, and from his tone you know his arms are crossed.
“i need to go there,” you explain, looking over your shoulder at him.
“the hera cabin?” he questions, following you.
you nod, continuing on your path towards the cabin. you climb up the stairs, and tentatively touch the door handle. it creaks open, daring you to come inside. you turn back to luke, who’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs with an uncertain look in his eyes.
“i have to go in here, but i have no idea why,” you explain, feeling something close to bashful.
he nods, swallowing an imaginary liquid, before climbing up the stairs after you. he waits patiently behind you, his left shoulder grazing your right as the two of you stand on the porch. you want to go inside, need to go inside, but the rational side of you is preventing you from doing so. it all feels like a trap.
luke, noticing your unease, mumbles, “there’s a barrier. nothing can hurt you here, not like they could out there.”
he doesn’t clarify what the other there and in here are, but you know exactly what he means. the creepy, often imaginative figures you’d see out in the city aren’t present here. you haven’t felt their presence since you woke up in that tiny bed in the infirmary. whatever is drawing you to this cabin, is something else, a higher being. before you can continue to deliberate, you push open the door and step inside.
it doesn’t look much like a cabin, rather a temple. the entire thing is made of marble, complete with large columns from floor to ceiling. on the walls, there are several engravings, and when you look closely, you recognize them as peacocks. your fingers trace over the intricate design, and your sense of anxiety quells tremendously. when you look towards the center, at the giant statue, you feel somewhat relieved.
“this is my cabin,” you announce. the statement shocks both you and luke.
“what? no it’s not. hera doesn’t have kids, that’s zeus’s job,” luke says.
“c’mon, time to go,” he continues, grabbing your shoulder and trying to push you out the door.
you dig your heels into the floor, refusing to move. you know everything you’ve said so far sounds crazy, is crazy, but you have to be here. you try to come up with an explanation, anything to make sense of the situation, but remain empty handed.
“you’re right. let’s just go. sorry,” you reply, letting him lead you back out the door and down the stairs.
it isn’t until you step foot in the hermes cabin, his cabin, that you realize your duffle bag is missing. all the other kids, which is a surprisingly large number, have various personal belongings scattered around their sleeping area. some of them have comic books, others have small trinkets, and a couple even dare to show off their stuffed animals. luke walks further into the cabin, the crowd parting like the red sea. they’re quiet, and watch eagerly as he opens a closet door and pulls out a well-loved sleeping bag. the whispers don’t start until he waves you over, and places the item directly next to his bed.
“you sleep here,” he mumbles, pointing to the spot on the floor.
“what? i told you about the other cabin,” you shout, frustration present in your voice.
the hermes cabin is quiet, all of them listen in on your conversation with their head counselor, their older brother.
“and i told you to drop it,” he replies, and there’s a subtle warning in his voice. you can’t decide if he’s trying to say this isn’t the time or place or if he’s insinuating that you’re fucking crazy and he wants nothing to do with it.
“where’s your stuff?” he asks, completely changing the subject.
you notice he does that a lot, but answer, “i don’t know. my duffle’s missing.”
his eyebrows furrow at your words, and he crosses his arms again. he throws his head back, gritting his teeth.
“alright! who took her stuff? cough it up, let's go!” he shouts.
luke’s met with silence, which irks him even more. he turns away from you, facing the swarm of pre-teens and teens. he flashes them his most unamused look, one he’s been carrying with you all day, but continues to wait patiently.
“somebody better own up to it, or i’m taking away dessert privileges,” he announces.
the room immediately grows noisy with everyone whispering to each other. some kids are trying to determine who it could be, while others are fully putting the blame on their siblings. there’s even one girl who whispers about how luke never does this for anyone, so you must be special.
you try to come up with an answer to luke’s question. who took your bag? but you can’t seem to figure it out. you know you had it with you when you left your dad’s house, but then things turned messy extremely fast. you remember the strap when that weird dog thing followed you into the alley, and how you grabbed it by the handles to shove it in the overhead compartment of the amtrak. but after that, everything gets kind of blurry; days melting into one. finally, you decide that it must not have made it to camp.
you tap luke’s bicep, and he turns away from the crowd to meet your eyes. “i don’t even think it made it here,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip.
luke sucks in a breath, nodding his head before turning back to the crowd. “never mind guys, as you were,” he dismisses.
you crouch down, hoping to set up your sleeping bag and take a nap, but he stops you with a hand on your arm. he gestures for you to follow him with a tilt of his head, and you agree. he leads you towards the back of the cabin, outside a supposedly hidden door. when you step out into the bright sunlight, you stop and let your hand cover your eyes, but luke is already walking towards a forest. you follow, easily catching up since he’s walking slower, and match his strides. once the two of you are far enough into the woods, out of the earshot of nosey campers, he sits down in the grass, beckoning for you to follow.
“tell me everything you remember,” he says, a serious look on his face.
you look down, fingers twiddling with the strands of grass. you pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your right arm around your kneecaps as you continue to braid the grass with your left hand. from your observations, you know luke is anything but patient, but he doesn’t push you to say anything. he just sits there, palms splayed on the grass as he leans back on them, looking at the fluffy white clouds and clear blue sky.
“i don’t know how i got here. i keep replaying everything in my head, but i wasn’t even near the woods. then, i was just here,” you whisper, finally looking towards him.
you find that he’s already looking at you. intense brown eyes meeting your lost and confused gaze. he nods his head, signaling that he’s trying to process your words; looking for a meaning in the code, one that even you can’t decipher.
“why’d you leave?” he asks, and you stop fiddling with the grass. “your house i mean…why leave?” he continues.
he’s looking down at his bright red converse, and there’s a certain vulnerability in his gaze that you’re all too familiar with. you raise your eyebrows at his expression, thinking about what his question reveals about him. maybe he doesn’t have a family. and that thought just makes you sad, so you decide to answer him honestly.
“i love my dad, but there were too many odd things happening, things he couldn’t explain, and stuff my therapist didn't believe. there were winged horses, their manes the color of the pitch black night. or dogs the size of a dumpster, and then that brunette lady who follows me around everywhere. i just wanted to keep him safe, so i left,” you explain, meeting luke’s eyes for the second time.
“i get that, wanting to protect your family, i mean. i’d do the same for my sisters,” he replies.
you hum in acknowledgment, leaning back on your elbows and extending your legs in a straight position. you tilt your head back, enjoying the warm sun on your exposed neck, and the soft rustle of the flora around you. you turn your head, eyes squinting to look at luke, and your gaze is immediately drawn to the scar on the left side of his face.
“what happened to you?” you ask, tentatively.
luke sucks in a breath of air. his jaw clenches and anger swarms around in his already dark eyes. his hands ball into fists at his sides, and you realize that maybe that was too personal of a question.
“you don’t have to answer,” you backtrack, “it just seems like a story worth telling.”
he laughs bitterly, “it’s not. my dad sent me on a fucking joke of a quest, and this was the result. all pain, no glory.”
you frown at his words. you don’t want to pity luke, because you know that luke doesn’t want that from you. he wants people to understand him; to listen to his feelings of resentment and disappointment, and despite only knowing him for an hour max, you decide that you’d do that for him.
“don’t beat yourself up about it. the gods are stupid anyway, my mother’s cabin doesn’t even have a bed for me to sleep in,” you say.
there you go again with the mother thing.
“your mother can’t be hera,” luke announces, finality in his tone.
“i know that. but i know that she is. she’s the one that’s been helping me; the one who brought me here,” you explain, finally making the connection.
luke shakes his head in disbelief, “i think you’re going crazy from lack of food.”
you open your mouth, ready to protest his accusations, but luke cuts you off with a fierce look and wave of his hand. he stands up from the grass, holding his hand out to you. you huff, but wrap your hand around his, as he helps life you off the ground and to your feet. once you’re on your feet, you go to remove your hand from his, but you find yourself face to face. he’s already looking at you with a mix of admiration and curiosity. no one’s ever looked at you that way, and you can’t fathom why he is.
“what? is there dirt on my face?” you ask, pulling hand from his to wipe at your chin.
he laughs, loud and joyous, then answers, “no. you’re just different.”
you huff, again, and cross your arms defensively. “my therapist says i’m just unique,” you say.
luke laughs again. his shoulders shake and he has to stop walking to gain his composure. you wait the few minutes it takes for him to collect himself, and feel the smile taking over your features. there’s something enchanting about his laugh, you think, and that thought scares you. you shouldn’t be getting this attached. not yet.
“can we go to lunch, please? i’m so hungry,” you complain, breaking the aura of radiance and joy.
the sound of your voice sobers luke up, and he nods in agreement. he doesn’t even acknowledge you any further, just walks through the path in the woods, towards the center of camp. his strides are back to being quick and long, and you struggle to keep up with him. but you chose to ignore it; you shut him out.
the walk back feels infinitely longer, and you’re relieved to see the dining pavilion. it’s a large mess hall, with picnic tables inside the building as opposed to out. each one of them holds various campers, and you notice how there is a giant fire pit burning in the middle of the room. it seems counter intuitive; no need for the warmth of the fire in the stifling summer heat, which becomes more apparent now that luke’s cold nature is back.
you chance a look at said boy, and find that he’s already watching you. without saying a word, his hand comes to rest at the small of your back; palm splayed on the region between your jean shorts and the hem of your bright orange camp shirt. he gently pushes you forward, and you comply, following his lead. as you walk, you hear the campers whispering. they’re not subtle.
“that’s the new girl.”
“anna says she’s crazy, has no clue what a demigod even is.”
“i heard she’s not even a real demigod, just someone to bewitch luke.”
“oh he’s bewitched alright.”
you clench your jaw at their words, an angry fire in your eyes. you hate when people talk about you behind your back, and you’re not afraid to let these thirteen year olds know that. you whip your head around, so fast you’re surprised you don’t whiplash. as your mouth opens, ready to spew out insults, luke pushes you forward and away from the culprits. your anger only shifts from them to him.
“what’s your problem?” you demand, stopping in your tracks to face him head on.
“i’m not the one with the problem here,” luke mumbles.
for some reason, that statement hurts you more than it should. you laugh bitterly, blinking back the tears that are threatening to come out. it’s been a day and everyone already hates me.
“right, i get it,” you reply, stepping away from him when he tries to reach out for you.
“no that’s not what i meant,” luke says, desperation in his voice.
“fuck this. i don’t even want to be here anyways,” you announce.
before he can say or do anything, you’re out the door.
you wander through the camp grounds, fighting off tears. there’s no reason for you to be acting like this; people have always hated you, so why would camp half-blood be different? because it was supposed to be different, you thought. the path you meant to take, back to the hermes cabin, veers off course until you’re standing in front of the hera cabin. you don’t hesitate this time, to climb the steps and take refuge inside.
once the door closes, and the lock clicks, you come face to face with the looming statue. her eyes pierce your soul, and you sink back in on yourself. it’s a statue, you remind yourself, and that boosts your confidence somehow. you look her in the eyes, and swear her gaze meets yours.
“why would you bring me here?” you ask, voice wobbly from the tears.
“i hate it here! and i hate you!” you shout, stomping your foot like a child. you feel like a child.
you sink down to your knees, forehead coming to rest on the ruffle of her toga. the marble is cool and smooth against your hot skin. the temperature change grounds you, and slowly, your tears subside.
you decide, in that very moment, that these people won’t see you cry. ever.
#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan x you#luke castellan fluff#luke castellan angst#luke castellan pjo#percy jackon and the olympians#cobrakaisb writing#all american bitch series
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just friends (roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader)
summary: you and steve have been just friends for years now. but how long can you convince everyone you're 'just friends' before it becomes a lie?
or steve harrington is your super hot roommate and everyone thinks it's stupid you guys aren't dating yet.
uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.
✶ the library
tags: roommate!steve, kinda shitty boyfriend!eddie, pining, fluff, angst, casual dominance from our casual dominance king steve, honestly going to try so hard not to make this a series but you know me.
a/n: i've wanted to write roommate!steve for so ages. you can thank a much-needed new girl binge and my tendency to take my frustration out on my mop for this.
The bass-heavy bump of music came at Steve full force before he even stepped out of the elevator. He paused, staring down the door of your shared apartment knowing that the sight that would welcome him would not be pretty.
In the kitchen, you were hunched over the handle of a mop, furiously dragging it over a sliver of tile. Teeth gritted together, face flushed and damp with sweat, hair disheveled and pulled away from your face, a pair of cotton shorts and an old t-shirt rolled up to the shoulders—you were a mess.
You were sad.
"Uh-oh." Steve stepped into the room, calling over the booming music. "What happened?"
You jumped a little, accustomed to the quiet of the apartment on Saturday nights. Steve almost always spent weekend nights at the bar down the street hitting on girls too sweet for him. You usually had until at least 11:30 to do whatever you wanted before some random girl came scampering in, clinging to Steve and giggling as they fumbled to his room.
But he was home early. And no matter how long you'd lived together, or how well he knew you, you still hated being seen like this.
So, you never took your eyes off the mop, scrubbing away a sauce stain on the tile.
"Nothing." You shrugged, flicking wisps of hair out of your eyes.
Steve watched you whirl around to drag the mop toward the bucket again. You stabbed it into the soapy water with a vengeance, nose scrunching with every slosh and splash. Steve leaned against the doorway and quirked a brow.
"Yeah? You're playing your sad music, though."
Your sad music consisted of a handful of hard rock records that most people would consider music for a dive bar—but you only ever played it when you were staving off tears. The louder you played it, the more upset you were.
Steve knew you a little too well.
This comment went ignored as you slapped the mop back on the floor and continued an angered scrubbing. Steve sighed, scratching at his temple. Most of the time, it was best to leave you alone. Sometimes, you needed to talk it out. It took a little coaxing—a pizza and a cold glass of Coke with a straw usually did the trick—but eventually, you'd spill.
And Steve would fix it.
Calm you down, help you figure it out, offer some advice. He gave pretty good advice for someone still struggling to get his own shit figured out.
Steve could tell from the way the song went unsung, the way you huffed every time the mop head flipped, the way you started stomping your foot when you found a stale French fry under the stove—you needed him to step in.
Pushing off the wall, Steve crossed the room and placed his hand over yours on the mop handle.
"Hey. Hey, come on."
You struggled at first, scowling at him as you tugged on the handle. "Stop it."
He sighed again. He was always sighing at you like a disappointed teacher.
"Hey." A little firmer this time, accompanied by a sharp snatch of the handle from your grasp into his. When you dropped your hands and obliged, the furrow of his brow relaxed. "Thank you. Now, why don't you go take a shower. The house is clean enough."
You frowned, wiping at the sweat on your head. "I just—"
Steve pressed his hand flat into the small of your back, steering you toward the door. "Seriously, honey, it's fine. You do stink, though."
That made your lip twitch—a semblance of a smile—with an amused little huff. You took a step toward the door, slippered feet scuffing. You looked over your shoulder toward Steve standing where you left him, still holding the mop.
He waved you off. "Go on. Take a nap, too.”
You nodded, flashing a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks, Steve."
He watched you shuffle away, shoulders slumped and eyes down as you went. He propped the mop against the kitchen counter and shook his head at the mess of cleaning supplies on the table.
When he heard the bathroom door clamp shut and the hiss of the shower head turn on, Steve rushed the front door again.
He opened it a smidge, enough to fit his head in and smile sweetly at the girl waiting in the hall picking at her nails. She perked up, stepping toward the door eagerly.
"Hey," Steve cooed, voice dripping with honey. "I'm so sorry, my roommate got sick all over. I think s-he needs to go to the doctor, so...would you mind if we raincheck?"
The girl—Sarah, as he would recall later on—broke into a concerned pout, clasping her hands over her chest. "Oh my god, that's terrible! You're so sweet taking care of him."
Steve chuckled, a breezy smile on his mouth. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for understanding."
She tipped her head, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder. "Of course. Call me when he's feeling better?"
Steve nodded, knowing the phone number in his back pocket would dissolve in the washer in a week, and he had no intention of ever calling her to begin with.
"Yeah, for sure. Night."
"Goodnight."
He waited until the elevator dinged, watching the doors close on her grinning face, before pulling back into the apartment and locking the door. He blew a sigh out of his cheeks, head shaking as he headed toward the hall.
The shower had stopped, and he could hear the soft, wet patters of your feet behind the door when he leaned against the wall beside it. He knocked two knuckles gently into the wood.
"Honey?" he called. "Need anything? Wanna order a pizza?"
He waited, adjusting the hem of his shirt to spread out a wrinkle in the fabric. He knew what the answer would be, but he couldn't always be so obvious. He had to pretend that he didn't know you like the back of his hand, because everyone started telling him how weird it was.
"You've lived with this girl for two years and haven't boned? You're either gay or dumb as a box of fuckin' rocks," is what Max told him when they met for lunch a few months ago.
Everyone said the same thing. His sister, who teased him at birthday parties and summer barbecues that you were always his date for. Sabrina did everything in her power to push the two of you closer together at family events, ensuring your seats were always paired and your activities were always coupled up.
"You look at her like a dog with a bone," she teased last Fourth of July.
But Steve only shook his head, glancing your way where you were helping his mother decorate cupcakes. You were dating some guy in IT at the time. Total fucking nerd. He made you pay for most of the dates.
"Nah...we're just friends. She's got a boyfriend."
We're just friends was probably Steve's most popular sentence in the English language since the day he met you. A pair of college graduates who had no clue what the hell they were supposed to do with their lives, roommate-matched by the apartment complex and so content with each other that you just kept renewing the lease.
When you finally replied to his question, your voice came like a small, pipping whisper behind the door. "Yeah...but with mushrooms this time?"
This time, as if you didn't order a mushroom and sausage pizza every time. Steve smiled, pushing off the wall.
"Okay—"
"And—"
"And sausage, I know. I'll call 'em."
"Okay."
While Steve called the pizza place a few blocks over, you clutched a towel to your chest and padded to your room. You pulled on the softest items you owned and sat on the end of your bed. A long day of cleaning certainly tired you out, but that wasn't what ailed you.
It was the fight with your boyfriend last night at the bar, when he yelled at you for laughing at Steve's jokes even though you always did. He thought you were too close, too "chummy" to be just friends.
Unbeknownst to Steve, we're just friends was one of your most common phrases, too. You should've had it engraved on your forehead at this point.
"Hey." Two knuckles on your door this time before it skittered open. Steve popped his head in and grinned at you. "Wearin' my favorite sweatpants? Must be feelin' better."
You glanced down at the black sweatpants on your legs, snickering softly. Steve thought they hugged your ass perfectly, and loved the way they flared at the calves. The logo right on your left ass cheek was especially beautiful.
When you opted to leave that soft noise as your reply, Steve stepped into the room. He flopped beside you on the bed, springs squeaking shrilly.
"Wanna talk about it?" he asked.
You shook your head down at your lap, rubbing at your eye. You hated crying, and so far today you'd been doing well swallowing them down. Steve had only seen you cry once, and you avoided him for three days after.
Something about vulnerability made you cower.
"Okay...wanna watch a movie?"
You sighed, shifting a little away from him. Steve clocked it with a brow-furrowed frown.
"Steve...you don't have to make me feel better. I'm fine."
His lips parted to reply—most likely in protest—but the door chittered on its hinges once more with the small butted head of your tuxedo cat, Ted.
Steve immediately stood and scooped Ted up, turning to bring him to the bed. He scratched under his chin and brought forth a low humming purr immediately.
Not even cats could resist that pretty boy charm.
"Well, I reckon this lil guy will do a better job of cheerin' you up," Steve cooed, plopping Ted beside you.
A quiet giggle slipped from your mouth as you reached to swoop his tail. "Reckon?"
Steve shrugged, a sheepish grin on his mouth. "Just came out. I turn Southern in a crisis, darlin'."
He was just trying to make you laugh now, and he couldn't help but mirror the sound when it proved effective. Though, it also proved temporary. You soon settled on your side, tugging Ted to your chest with a fading smile.
Steve ran his fingers through his hair, gathering a chunk of it at the top to pull. A stress tick. You tried not to feel guilty for causing it.
"Well...alright." Steve shuffled backward toward the door. "Pizza in fifteen."
You nodded into the pillow. "Okay. Thanks."
Steve lingered a beat too long, eyeing your balled up form on the bed before slipping into the hall. You'd been sad plenty times over the years: breakups, let-downs, missed jobs.
But the guy you were dating now...you really seemed to like him. He was over all the time, practically living here at one point. Steve didn't really understand what you saw in the guy—Eddie. Steve scoffed to himself, head shaking. Stupid name.
You met Eddie at the auto shop where he worked. He gave you a discount on your oil change, and his tire talk was so smooth that you went on a date two days later. Six months later, and things still seemed to be going smoothly despite the pair of you having very little in common.
Usually, you dated harmless little nerdy guys. Steve actually laughed in the face of a five foot eight finance bro who threatened to "hurt him real bad" if he got in the way of your relationship. You dumped him that night, and the pair of you still laugh about it to this day.
But Eddie was...different. Sleeves of dark ink and a chainlink on his belt. A handful of chunky silver rings and another one in his nose. He always clinked in with a nod Steve's way and a hand on your ass, and it seemed that every time he kissed you in front of Steve, he looked him right in the eye while he did it.
Steve didn't like how small you made yourself around Eddie, and he didn't like how much Eddie seemed to enjoy it.
For everyone's sake, he hoped it wasn't Eddie that made you sad. For once, he wasn't sure he'd win that fight.
✶ ✶
There were many things about your behavior that night that concerned Steve.
Number 1: You only ate three pieces of pizza, and he got one small mushroom-sausage with extra cheese just for you.
Number 2: You didn't let Ted in when he scratched at your door, and Steve had to bring him to his own room for bed.
But worst of all.
Number 3: You didn't say goodnight.
So, Steve went to bed with Ted curled at his feet and a lump in his throat. Whatever you were upset about was bad, he could just tell; and everything in him was itching to make it better. He had this terrible, stupid ache to make life easy for you, and it never really went away.
He opened all your jars, refilled all your water bottles, made sure your phone was charged when he saw the little red bar. He bought more of your favorite snacks when he saw them running low, picked up things that "felt like you" when he saw them at the store. You had an abundance of miscellaneous yellow items sitting on your windowsill because you told him it was your favorite color two years ago.
In Steve's eyes, everything yellow in the world belonged to you.
Steve stirred in a half sleep for hours, kicking at his covers and offering murmured apologies to a miffed Ted who meowed at him. His concerns, however, came to a head when the sound of muffled shouting startled him completely awake.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and tapped the screen, rubbing his eyes clear to read the 1:15. He wondered which couple in the building was fighting this late. His bet was on Jax and Monica in 1F who were always on the outs.
"You think I'm a fuckin' idiot? I see the way he looks at you!"
But that was Eddie's voice.
"I don't understand where this is coming from."
And that was yours.
Steve shot up, fumbling for his glasses in their case somewhere in his nightstand drawer. He shoved them over his eyes, swinging his legs over the bed.
"I'm tired of competing with your fucking roommate."
"You don't—you aren't! Eddie, please, you know we're just friends."
"Spare me. You're a shitty liar. Hey! C'mere, I'm not done talkin'."
Oh, hell no. Pants abandoned, Steve swung his door open with banging force and rushed into the hall.
He found the pair of you in the entryway, Eddie's hand around your arm and your cheeks soaked with tears. You still had your pajamas on, and those little yellow slippers Steve bought for you last Christmas.
Both heads turned when Steve hurried into the room, tailed by a confused Ted butting at his leg.
Eddie huffed, motioning toward Steve. "Oh, great, of course you're here."
Steve braced his hands on his hips, glaring at the raven-haired man. "I live here, dick-wad. Remove your hand."
Eddie ignored him, still wringing your arm out. You cast your eyes away from Steve, ashamed by the state he found you in.
"You live up my girlfriend's ass, Harrington. And I'm kinda tired of you being there all the fucking time."
"Remove. Your. Hand."
"Stop," you sniffled, wiping the tears from your cheeks though it wouldn't do much to hide the pink rims of your eyes. "Eddie, he's my friend."
"If he's gonna be your friend, then we're done."
You gaped up at him, more hot tears bubbling over and stinging your eyes. "W-what? Eddie, that's—"
Eddie shrugged, smug and uncaring. "You heard me."
Steve's eyes moved your way, and he could only stomach the absolute heartbreak on your face for a split second before he was stepping forward.
"Alright," he barked, and then he was shoving the arm Eddie was holding you with. "Let her go, Aerosmith, and get the fuck out."
Eddie let you go, but spun sharply to face Steve. You weren't sure whose glare was more frightening.
Eddie stepped until he was toe-to-toe with your roommate. "You like fuckin' another man's girl? You like my sloppy seconds, you pussy bit—"
Steve might not have been much of a fighter, certainly didn't fare well with a man who lifted cars for a living—but he certainly excelled at being discrete.
Which is how he got a right hook in before Eddie could fight back. Which is also how Eddie ended up on the ground, and unable to stand again for a few moments.
"Jesus, Steve," you scolded, peering down at your boyfriend with wide eyes. “You knocked him out!”
Steve cleared his throat, ignoring the buzzing pain in his knuckles as he swept them through his hair and motioned toward Eddie.
“Hm? Nah, honey, he’s just…he’s takin’ a nap.”
Though still numbed by shock and worry, you couldn’t help the amused snort that rippled through you. Steve’s lip quirked, and he glanced at Eddie when he groaned on the floor.
“Um, well…let’s get you up, bud. Yeah, you’re okay, c’mon.” Steve began talking to Eddie like a child, cooing as he helped him to his feet by the arm.
And maybe he wasn’t nice about walking him to the elevator, watching him crumble to the floor as the doors closed. Maybe the shiner swelling on Eddie’s cheek filled Steve with incredulous joy.
But he swallowed all of it down when he returned to the apartment and found you standing right where he left you. If you were ashamed of your tears this time, it didn’t show. You grew inconsolable, and Steve had no other thought in mind that didn’t involve picking you up and taking you back to bed.
So he did just that, letting you soak his bare chest with tears as he went. When he sat you on the bed, he tipped your head up by the chin and wiped your cheeks.
“He’s not comin’ back tonight, sweetheart, it’s okay.”
Sniffling, you let him dry your tears and pull strands of hair from the sticky residue. “He thinks we were cheating. I t-tried to tell him…that we’re just friends.”
You deflated with a hiccuped sigh, and Steve’s smile was full of pity and pain. He rubbed his thumbs into your cheeks, nodding his agreement.
“Yeah. Just friends, honey.”
Your eyes fluttered with exhaustion, and Steve swallowed thickly. He pinched the edge of your pillow to pull it down, and gently coaxed you down by the shoulders. He pulled the covers up to your chin and plucked Ted from the ground to join you on the bed.
“He ain’t worth your tears, honey. Get some sleep.”
Sniffling again, you nodded quietly. Steve flashed another smile, and stepped back toward the door. As he reached for the light switch, he glanced over his shoulder to find your eyes again.
“Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered.
He shut the light off so you wouldn’t see the way he closed his eyes, like it pained him to hear you with another cry in your throat.
“Goodnight, honey.”
Steve sat awake until 6 a.m waiting for Eddie to come to his senses and return for vengeance. But he never came. In some way, Steve knew that would hurt you even more.
So in the morning when you woke, he greeted you with a handful of sunshine yellow daffodils and your favorite coffee. A soft kiss on the head and a scratch at Ted’s chin on his way out.
“Gonna meet up with a friend today. Call me if you need me, ‘kay?”
He went home with the first girl he met at the bar that day just to get you out of his head, and lied about it when he came home.
Just friends. Yeah, right.
#rolly!#steve harrington#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington angst#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington au#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington one shot#roommate!steve harrington
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beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful girl
leah williamson x reader, jordan nobbs x reader (wobbs as coparents)
reconciliation … the final part in this series x
2 months later:
“My name is y/n Williamson-Nobbs, and I am an addict.”
There are things you appreciate nowadays, more then you did before. Fresh air, the flowers blooming in spring, a strong coffee, smiles from strangers, a warm bed, hugs, being told you are enough, a classic movie, the sun, fruit, water, being clean.
“I didn’t ever take drugs to hurt anybody, or hurt anybody knowingly. I didn’t take drugs to have fun, or party, I didn’t get addicted because I liked it.”
You like taking your dog on walks, going and getting your hair done, floating in the ocean, lying in grass, being sober.
“I took drugs because it made me feel whole. I’ve never felt whole in my entire life, everyday in my life I’ve used something to patch that hole up, during my childhood I tried to fix every single problem, I fixed myself by fixing everybody else in my life, my mom, my non existent dad. As I got older it changed, I seeked validation to patch the hole, it was healthy, but I think I’ve always been an addict and I always will be. I’ve been addicted to filling that hole, it was disguised as being healthy for most of my life until I switched the validation for drugs.”
You don’t avoid peoples eye contact as you walk along the street anymore, you don’t avoid your moms, you don’t lie to people anymore, you don’t put yourself in danger.
“It started with nicotine, because my mom enabled it. I think she was more scared for me then anything. I was spiralling, who wouldn’t be in this day and age? I mean any parent of a teen must be terrified in this day and age, I know I would be. The nicotine was good, but then I got introduced to weed, and it felt like every problem I’ve ever had was fixed.”
You talk about your feelings now, you identify every single thing that you feel and you talk about it with as much detail as your moms and therapist want to hear. You don’t study the different chemicals entering your body every time you shoot up anymore, you study the intricacy and meaning of what you are going through. You take medicine for your depression and anxiety, not drugs for your hopelessness.
“They say weed is the pipeline drug, it’s true. After weed, I felt on top of the world and there was no stopping me. Molly, LSD, coke, heroin, benzos, fentanyl, ketamine, oxy, speed, and eventually meth, which I now know to be the worst of all of them. I didn’t know it at the time, there wasn’t anybody in my life, or in the life I’d created forn myself that was willing to tell me how dangerous what I was doing was.”
Jordan moved back in, whilst you were in rehab. It had been two weeks, that’s what you agreed to. It was the worst two weeks of your life without any doubt. But when you were picked up, both your moms were there, both of them were there for you. They both took time off, time off to take you away, across to France for a week.
“Meth will always be the thing that destroyed my life. My parents don’t trust me anymore, I get why. I lashed out, I became devoid of everything, I was convinced that everybody hated me, and that I was the cause of everybody’s pain, including my own. I convinced myself that the people who loved me the very most didn’t, and that I was the bomb that had torn all of my relationships in my life apart. I was a kid though, I still am, and I’m trying to be better.”
The trust was a hard thing. Your therapist saw Leah and Jordan twice a week, and that was when they would discuss the things that they could start reintroducing you to. School was a no, for now. You were yet to be permitted to stay at the house, alone, for longer then an hour, so every training session, gym session, appointment, media duty, catch up with friends, you were dragged to. It had been tough in the beginning, but you understood, trust had to be earnt. Every week there was something to look forward to, Jordan had been teaching you to drive after you’d gotten out of rehab, and as of a week ago you were permitted to drive yourself to and from your NA meetings.
“Meth made me feel like I was on top of the world, even though i was at my rock bottom. I had bad friends, I fell into a bad group of people, people who took advantage of the fact that I was so vulnerable and hurt. I’ll never forgive them for that, I’ll never be able to forgive them for taking advantage of a girl nearly ten years younger then them. They were hurting too, but that doesn’t excuse manipulating another person. They hurt me, they enabled me, they assaulted me, they took things from me that I’ll never get back.”
The first thing your mothers had wanted when after you’d come clean to them about everything was for you to get a rape kit. You’d outright refused, you were protecting the people, you didn’t want to relive what had happened to you but also a part of you didn’t want Matt and Maya to go down, even if you could now recognise that they’d done unforgivable things to you. Eventually, you agreed to it. You were glad you did, Matt had passed on chlamydia to you, which you thought was some kind of sick joke, that even after he’d deserted you there was still parts of him that were hurting you from the insides. Karma came in the form of a sexual assault report, one which had the policemen heading to his home to arresst him, only to finds thousands of dollars worth of illicit substances.
“I’m not proud of what I did to get a fix, I don’t think any recovering addict is. A couple of months ago I would have ruined every single relationship I had with all of the people I loved just to get a hit of what I was craving, and nowadays I would probably do the same, but I don’t need to. Meth was the love of my life, I think it always will be, or maybe the craving for something to fill me up is what I crave, I don’t really know, I’m still working everyday to try and figure that out.”
Sometimes, as you drove home at night, around every corner towards the house, you considered taking a stop at a side street, one that you knew a dealer would be sitting on. Somedays, you considered driving the car off of the highway and into a tree. Somedays, you considered taking a blade to your throat so you didn’t have to do rehab. Somedays though, you felt so incredibly blessed to be alive. Sometimes, you would sit outside, in the sun and just feel, allow yourself to feel everything that you’d always pushed down out of fear that you’d be deserted if you let any true emotion show.
“We’re all human, we all have the same dignity, no matter who we are. I made some stupid choices, choices that I won’t ever be able to reckon with, choices that for the rest of my life will haunt me. Don’t we all though? Don’t we all lie awake at night worrying about the things that we’ve done, that are out of our control now?”
You’d come to not fear desertion, the people who you’d hated most in the world but also loved most in the world had deserted you. Your parents had deserted you, you closest friends, people you would have considered your found family, deserted you. It was something you had no control over, something that you would never have control over and focusing all of your energy on trying to fix that had become something that you’d give up on.
“I’m not perfect, I never have been, I never will be. I can guarantee though that nobody in this room feels like they are perfect. We’re all hurt people, everybody has something that they keep hidden from people because they are scared that somehow it is going to make people see them differently. I’m guilty of it, my whole life i’ve been hiding, I still am. I’m not ashamed to admit that coming here every night terrifies me, that somebody I’ve known at some stage of my life will walk through the same doors I do and I’ll be put face to face with that, but it’s life. We all make our own mistakes, we all pave our own ways.”
Leah and Jordan still fought, you were secretly glad. It was clear that everything between them was done, which you hated to be happy about, You weren’t ready for that to be back to normal, you weren’t ready to feel like you were able to go back to the way life was when they were together. Lia mediated them, she balanced everything out and the two of you had managed to build a relationship. She was like the older sister you’d never had and you were happier to have her around knowing that she was happy to support you in the same way your moms would, even if she wasn’t living in the same house as you all anymore.
“I will never be able to properly apologise for how I acted, I’ll never be able to repay the people that found me at my lowest and still showed uo for me. I owe my life to those people, and I will spend every single day of my life being so thankful for the opportunity they have given me to have a second chance.”
Life was better, everything was better, you were recovering, you were learning. You felt more connected and loved by the people around you in your whole life. You didn’t feel like you had to seek out love anymore, you didn’t feel like you had to do something to earn it. Leah spent every minute of everyday doing small things to make you feel loved, dragging you out of the house to get coffee with her, reading with you every night before bed, sitting through you when the cravings were making your day harder, driving you to the beach when you felt like you needed fresh air, dragging you to physio appointments so you could hang out with your aunties, buying you fresh flowers to put in your room to make the dark memories of it a little bit nicer, helping you redecorate the space, letting you sleep in her bed when the tendencies started to burn all over your skin.
“I have a disease, I have a terminal illness that will forever impair my ability to live life normally. I will forever be attached to my past, and that’s really tough, I won’t ever be cured of my past, I won’t ever be able to say that I am free of my addiction, I will forever be tied to my decisions.”
Your therapist was helping you weed out all the bad, helping you to identify the different patterns of self destructive behaviour that you chose, helping you to make better decisions for yourself, decisions that didn’t end in you destroying everything you’d worked for.
“I’m an addict, we all are, we all know what it feels like to be plagued with our past. We all get up here every week and speak about our demons, because we all get it. We get what it feels like to lose everything, we all understand the terror that crosses over a persons face when you overdose, or tell them that you’re using, or when they wake up across from your hospital bed. We’re all going through our own shit, we’re all struggling everyday. I struggle everyday, because I’m an addict, for the rest of my life I will struggle because I’m an addict, but there isn’t anybody who understands me better than all of you. I’ve been sober for two months, there have been relapses, there have been struggles, there has been pain and so much for me to be ashamed of. There has been so many positives though, there has been so much good, so much happiness, so many good moments. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, there is too much bad in this world for me to believe in that, but I do believe that this experience has made me a better person, it’s made me stronger, its made me more resilient. The past two months have been some of the best parts of my life, and i intend for the rest of my life to be the same. This chip means a lot to me, but it’s the progress that makes all of this better, knowing that I’ve left parts of me behind that will now stay behind me forever.”
You looked down at the chip in your hands, the little bronzey coin that was so small but felt like it was bigger then the world to you. You smiled at the group of people around you, nodding your head once again before walking towards you sponsor and giving them a hug. It felt good, like a big weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You’d never spoken much in meetings, you were more than happy to hear other peoples stories, but tonight had been special to you. You’d thought about what you were going to say, much of it being what you’d talked about with your moms earlier in the week during family therapy. It had been hard, talking to your moms so openly about how you felt, but it was something you were becoming better at as the days passed.
You stayed around for the coffee and biscuits, talking with the people that you’d grown close to over the past month and a half in the mildewy church which smelt a little bit too similar to your great grandmothers living room.
You stuck around until the first few people started to trail out, before you made the decision it was time to get home. You said your goodbyes, farewelling your friends before dismissing yourself and making the walk out to the carpark, towards Leah’s car.
Driving had become your one piece of real freedom, it was the only time where you got to think to yourself. A couple of months ago, you would have found solace in continuous loneliness, you would have sat in the car for hours and been happy. Now though, you found yourself navigating your way back home as fast as possible, whilst still abiding by road rules.
The gravel driveway underneath the wheels of a car used to make you nervous, if anything it now made you feel anticipation.
You jumped from the car with a hop in your step, the bronze chip still clutched in your palm, the metal now warm against your skin after the acclimation of the metal to your body temperature.
You used your key to enter the door, smiling at the warmth and scent that you were met with as you untied your shoes and left them by the front door.
Leah was waiting for you in the kitchen, she always was, every night you decided to go to a meeting. You knew that she still worried, that she spent nights awake worrying about you. You’d lost count of how many times on the nights you spent in your own bed how often she’d come to check to make sure you were still lying there. She probably always would worry, you wouldn’t blame her if she did, you’d put her through a lot.
She brought you into a hug, the same hug as every night, it always lasted for a little bit too long, but you never brought it up.
She would hug you tighter every single time, it was clockwork.
“Lia’s come over for dinner, she’s cooked spaghetti for everybody, but she made bangers and mash for you special, no pasta.”
You smiled at your mom, letting her press a chaste kiss to your forehead before you followed her into the dining room, where dinner was already plated up and Jordan and Lia were already seated at the table.
Jordan sent a smile your way as you sat down, things were still rocky between the two of you, it was never going to be perfect, it was never going to be as good as before, but you were both doing the work to heal bits of it and that was what mattered.
“Hey bubba, how was your meeting?”
Most nights you answered the same, with something simple.
“Good, I got this today.”
You pushed the chip onto the table, pulling your phone out of your pocket so you didn’t have to witness their raw reactions.
“Bubba, we’ve talked about this, no phones at the table.”
You frowned, pushing your phone back into your trackpant pocket, and looking up at your moms.
“This is awesome bubba, we’re both so proud of you.”
Jordan had picked up the coin, looking at it with glazed eyes.
There had been a lot of that since you’d come out of rehab, a lot of crying, a lot more than you were comfortable with.
“I want you to keep it.”
Jordan looked up at you, mildly confused.
“Bubba, it’s your token, your progress, your hardwork, you should keep it.”
You shook your head.
“Mom has my one month one, I want you to keep this one. I’m doing it for you two, I’m trying to be better for you two, and I want you to know that I’m committed to it and that without you guys I wouldn’t be able to do this.”
You could see tears pooling in Leah’s eyes from the other side of the table, jordan’s own ones beginning to drip down her face.
“Anyways, it’s not big deal, let’s have dinner, I’m sure whatever Lia cooked up is better than anything you and mom could have managed.”
You tried to pass it off with some lighthearted humour, but based off of the tears on your parents face, it wasn’t doing much.
Jordan and Leah both reached over, taking a hand in each of yours.
“You know that no matter what happens, no matter where you go, who you become, what you do, how you live your life, you will always be our beautiful girl.”
#woso#woso community#sammykworshipper thoughts#leah williamson#arsenal wfc#leah williamson x reader#leah williamson is mom#leah makes me cry#leah williamson fic#jordan and leah#leah williamson imagine#jordan nobbs x reader#jordan nobbs#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso appreciation#sammykworshipperfics
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poisoned mercury | bad reputation
ii. bad reputation by joan jett & the blackhearts
a/n: andddd we're at chb! reader is mean to luke lol. vaping, smoking, mentions of addiction. crumbs of clarisse x chris!
series masterlist | previous | next
“kid, you really need to look at the bright side,” your dad said, taking a sip of his diet coke. “you get to summer in montauk for free. no paying rent, no worrying about what to eat, the world is your oyster.”
“i don’t understand why i have to spend the entire summer here,” you glared at him, close to ripping your hair out.
“you’re smarter than that,” he replied, placing his can down on his table. he kicked back in his chair, letting his sandal-covered feet prop up on his desk. his aloha shirt wrinkled as he placed his arms crossed behind his head. he was taking his camp manager role too seriously. “you got put on probation by your field hockey coach.”
your eyes narrowed, “and?”
“... for punching a teammate.”
“who deserved it!” you argued, huffing as you sat on the seat across from him. if there wasn’t a desk separating you from your dad, you were sure you would’ve strangled him with the camp necklace around his neck. “i promised you i’d be on my best behavior, but no. you decided that i needed to be glued to camp all summer.”
“listen,” he leaned over on his desk, “the girl probably deserved it, but you still got kicked out from summer conditioning, kid– from the top field hockey team in the country! not everyone gets to attend unc but you did and you fucked that opportunity, so until you can prove to me that you have your shit together, you’re stuck in montauk.”
“gods, you’re ridiculous!” you howled, getting up from your seat. “i hate you.”
“love you!” he called out, chuckling to himself. you got your dramatic flair from him so he couldn’t fault you too much for your reaction. he probably would’ve reacted way worse if he was in your position.
“yeah, yeah,” you yelled back, already out of his office. “love ya, too.”
you walked out into the campgrounds, still huffing and puffing at your interaction with your dad. groups of children and teenagers were checking in for the summer. it amazed you how popular camp half blood became over the years. your dad wanted to create a summer camp for aspiring musicians and creatives to meet others and learn from professionals. he already had the network for it given that he used to be a hot-shot producer in the mid-nineties until he fell into his addiction.
your dad never talked much about those dark moments in his life, and not many people knew about it, but he was happy to tell you about what came after it; meeting your mom, falling in love, and having you. his sobriety became his top priority when you were born, after you and your mom, of course. camp half blood started out as a dream your dad had when you were still a child, unsure of what you were passionate about, and he hoped you’d fall in love with music the same way he did. right before you turned four, he opened camp half blood. he said he wanted to have the place up and running and established by the time you were old enough to join. but alas, when you turned six and still had no musical or creative bone in your body, your dad’s hopes of having a musical protégé as a daughter were shattered.
he bounced back from it though when he saw how passionate you were about field hockey. the second you picked up a stick, he saw your eyes brighten and he knew it was lights out from then on. he attended all of your games, bought you the best gear for the sport, and supported you in any way he could. you were thankful for that, for him, but you also knew that he probably would’ve preferred a kid he could talk music with. you saw it when he bragged about the new artists he signed to olympus records or when he talked about the kids at camp half blood.
you took a sharp right turn at the corner of the dining hall, making a beeline to the secret spot by the lake that you stumbled across when you were fourteen. it was the place you retreated to whenever you and your dad fought while you were at camp. fights and arguments between you two happened often. your mom said it was because you were too similar for your own good. it was true. you and your dad were both stubborn, hot-headed, and unable to accept when you were wrong, but it also meant that you and your dad understood each other on a level that not many father-daughter duos did.
even though you refused to tell him–or anyone for that matter– why the altercation with your teammate happened, your dad was on your side. he always was.
you sat on the worn out bench, years of weather damage evident on the wood, taking out your cherry ice vape from your pocket. it was a vice you picked up in college. you weren’t proud of it, and it definitely started affecting your ability to play, but the stress of being a student-athlete, plus all the commotion with your probation started to get to you.
you stared out into the view, appreciating the way the trees framed the lake in a picturesque way. camp half blood was beautiful; nature everywhere, there was utter silence except for the sound of water and birds chirping when you got far enough away from the noise and chatter of the campers, and the weather in the summer months was perfect. you let the smoke escape your lips, watching as the cloud dissipated into the air.
“oh, my bad. i didn’t realize someone would be out here.”
you turned around to see a boy, an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. he wore a black, tight-fitting t-shirt and gray sweatpants. there was a silver chain hanging around his neck with a pendant tucked underneath his shirt. his tussled curls peeked under his backwards yankees cap.
“spot’s taken,” you said, facing the view once more. you took a deep breath, sliding your vape in the pocket of the hoodie you wore. “go somewhere else.”
“that thing’s gonna kill you, y’know.” either the boy didn’t hear you or he didn’t care enough to listen because he slid on the bench next to you, taking out a lighter for his cigarette. he closed his eyes, letting the nicotine into his system, “that has like chemicals and shit.”
you scoffed, “like your cig is any better.”
“i know what i’m putting in my body,” he shrugged. he motioned aimlessly in your direction, “you don’t know what’s in there. it hasn’t been around long enough for us to know the long term effects.”
“‘m not planning to be doing this long term.”
“sure,” he smiled at you, unconvinced. “i’m luke.”
you stared at his outstretched hand, shaking your head, “i’m not interested.”
“i was just trying to be polite.”
“if you want to be polite, find another spot to smoke.”
luke eyed you, undeterred by your hostility. he leaned back on the bench, taking another puff, “nah, i’m good right here.”
you took out your vape again knowing that you’ll need it to get through this conversation. the two of you sat in silence as you both smoked, letting the smell of the cigarette mix in with the artificial cherry scent. you tried your best to ignore the boy beside you, but it was hard to when he was so close to you. the bench seemed much larger when you were fourteen, when you were alone as its only occupier.
“so five star, tough day?”
“what did you call me?”
“five star,” luke nodded to your hoodie, flicking off the ashes on his cigarette. “your unc field hockey hoodie? like five star recruit.”
you looked down at your sweater, completely forgetting that you were wearing your team merchandise. you tugged on the collar awkwardly, suddenly feeling like you were exposed. “oh.”
“so, tough day?”
you glared at him, “what makes you say that?”
“well, for starters, it’s the first day of camp and you’re by yourself away from where all the fun shit is happening, smoking a fucking– what is that? strawberry?”
“cherry ice,” you corrected.
“cherry ice vape,” luke continued, “and you’re biting my head off for trying to start a conversation.”
“maybe i’m having a bad day because a boy disrupted my me-time and decided to start a fucking conversation when i obviously want to be alone.”
luke chuckled, pointing to the cigarette between his fingers, “relax, i’ll get out of your hair after this one.”
“don’t make it a habit.”
“what? smoking?” he asked, a boyish smile on his face. “already a habit of mine.”
“interupting my me-time,” you replied, blowing out rings with the smoke in your mouth. “i don’t care what you do to your body.”
“should we exchange numbers and coordinate when we’ll be using the spot?”
you rolled your eyes at the teasing tone of his voice. this guy just doesn’t quit, “no, because you won’t be coming back here.”
“i dunno,” luke looked out into the lake, a soft smile on his face. “i like it here. it’s pretty.”
“i was here first.” you weren’t backing down. this was your spot. your secret spot, at that. not many campers ventured this far out into the woods, too afraid to get caught by their counselors and get in trouble, or too scared to get lost in the maze of trees.
“sharing is caring, y’know,” his tone was playful.
you looked at him, no emotion on your features. you studied his face, furrowing your eyebrows like you were trying to place him. he looked familiar like you’d seen his face before. his eyes were big and brown, innocent looking compared to the smirk on his lips. a scar ran down the side of his face, subtle, but noticeable if you looked hard enough. it was slightly discolored compared to the rest of his face. his jaw sharp and cheekbones defined, with beginnings of a summer blush dusted across the bridge of his nose and the high points of his face. behind his ear, a small tattoo of the number “4” was hidden under his curls. his ears were pierced, two, small diamond studs on each earlobe.
you’d seen him before, but you just couldn’t remember where and when for the life of you.
you blinked, “i don’t like to share.”
he threw the butt of his cigarette on the floor, gently stomping out the remnants of it with the tip of his converse convered feet, “noted.”
you watched as he got up, keeping his promise of leaving you alone after one cigarette. the smirk on his face remained as he turned to face you before he left, “see you around, five star.”
you made an noncommittal noise, not missing the sound of a deep rumble from his chest as he laughed at your dismissal. you watched him disappear into the trees, noting how his back flexed under his tight shirt as he cleared a path to avoid ducking under stray branches.
you waited around twenty minutes before getting up to leave. you didn’t want to risk running into luke again, just in case he got lost on his way back. you were not going to lead him back to the safety of camp. if he got lost after trying to take over your spot, then so be it. that wasn’t your problem.
as you entered the main campgrounds, you saw clarisse, a teammate of yours, who also got put on probation for coming to your defense, leaning against a tree trunk by the registration table. she needed a summer job and housing since she wasn’t allowed to come to practices and live on campus during her probation period, and you were quick to recommend her to your dad to be a camp counselor for the summer. thankfully, your dad was kind enough to say yes. at least you wouldn’t be alone all summer.
you walked over to her, smiling kindly at the young kids you ran into on the way, excited out of their minds to be away from home for the next few months. “what’s up, la rue?”
she smacked your arm, “why didn’t you tell me?”
“ow,” you winced, clutching your upper arm. the girl was strong. there were many moments where you were thankful that you played for the same team. you did not want to be the poor girl who stood in clarisse’s way when she was in the zone. “tell you what?”
“poisoned mercury!” she hissed, crossing her arms over her chest, “why didn’t you tell me they were gonna be here this summer?”
“oh,” you rolled your eyes, “i didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“not everyone grew up around celebrities, y/n,” clarisse reminded you, shaking her head. “sometimes, i forget that you did. you don’t talk about it as much as i would if i grew up like you.”
“yeah, well, it’s not all glitz and glamor, to be honest.”
you thought about your last relationship– a boy from california that you met during one of your dad’s work trips. it was a whirlwind summer romance that ended in a lot of heartbreak and a promise to yourself that you would never, ever date another musician again. your dad did try to warn you about him, subtly, of course, since he knew better than to butt into a teenage girl’s relationship. the boy had been begging your dad for a record deal for ages and he thought that by dating you, he’d get one step closer to his goal. your dad dangled the possibility of a record deal in front of him like a carrot, his own personal entertainment since he saw right through the boy, and ended up blacklisting him from the industry after he broke your heart.
a little extreme? sure, but it wasn’t like he was that talented anyway. you still cringe when you remember his terrible rendition of “grenade” by bruno mars.
“do you know when they get here?” clarisse asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.
“i dunno, don’t care,” you shrugged, “when did you become such a huge fan?”
“since i saw how hot their bassist is,” she laughed, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “seriously, y/n, chris rodriguez is fine.”
“enough, there are kids around,” you shoved her playfully, laughing as you motioned for her to follow you into the cabin you were staying in. “i didn’t know they were gonna be here, actually.”
“your dad didn’t tell you?”
“i’ve been on a strict ‘no talking, unless it’s yelling’ rule with my dad the past few months,” you explained, entering your room and closing the door behind you. your bags were messily thrown across the floor, bed unmade, and walls empty. you didn’t get around to decorating and putting things in their place before you gave your dad a piece of your mind. “and i refused to accept that i would be staying here all summer.”
“it’s not that bad so far,” she moved your training bag from your bed, sitting on it, “the kids are adorable little music nerds. i don’t think they’ll cause too much trouble.”
“for your sake, ares cabin head counselor, i really hope they don’t,” you teased, beginning to put your things away. “i’m not worried about the kids, actually. it’s more of the people our age that i’m worried about. musicians can be such dicks.”
“true,” she agreed, “do you remember the kid who acted like he was hot shit when he performed at the fall concert at unc?”
“yes!” you let out a belly laugh, “the one who shamelessly flirted with lena?”
clarisse nodded, falling on your bed in a fit of laughter, “then ran away when he saw charlie.”
“i mean charlie is a scary-looking dude,” you commented, taking off your hoodie and stuffing it into one of the drawers. you fixed the camp half blood shirt you wore under it, “big ass linebacker.”
“but the biggest teddy bear.”
“the biggest,” you grinned, thinking about your friends back on campus. you already missed them and your crazy, late-night adventures in your college town. you and clarisse met charlie the summer before your freshman year at unc during athlete orientation. he shyly asked if he could sit next to you and clarisse in the back row, not wanting to block the view for people behind him if he were to sit in the front. he was a timid guy for someone who could probably bulldoze you and clarisse without breaking a sweat.
he introduced you to his girlfriend, silena, when the school year started, and the four of you became inseparable ever since. you were glad you found a friend group in college, one that you could trust and depend on.
“and this is the cabin where you all will be staying.”
you looked back at clarisse, eyes widening as you heard your dad’s voice in the living room of the cabin. he didn’t tell you that someone other than clarisse was going to be staying in the cabin with you.
“there are six rooms in total. one master and five others. there are three bathrooms. one’s in the master and the other two are out here. this is the living room and the small kitchen is down the hall,” he continued to explain, “my daughter has dibs on the master bedroom, though, so tough luck for you guys.”
“i didn’t know you had a daughter, mr. d.” it was a boy’s voice.
“yeah, i do, y/n,” your dad said. you can practically hear the smile in his voice. “she doesn’t like the limelight so i don’t bring her up too much. i’ll introduce you guys to her when i see her.”
“chris, put that down!” another voice. this time it was a woman. she sounded older, and tired, like she’d said that phrase a million times before. “sorry about them, mr. d. they may all be of age, but i swear it still feels like they’re kids.”
your dad laughed, “trust me, i get it, may. my little girl is turning 19 soon, but she’d give her 12-year-old self a run for her money.”
“i call this room!”
“travis, you can’t just call dibs on rooms when the rest of us haven’t gotten a chance to take a look around.”
“you snooze, you lose, rodriguez.”
clarisse jolted from your bed, jaw hanging as she put the puzzle pieces together. she pointed at the door, whispering, “is that poisoned mercury?”
your dad was in the middle of a conversation with the woman, may, when you opened your bedroom door to investigate. he was nodding along to what she was saying, taking mental notes of her words. you walked towards them, giving may a polite smile when she noticed you coming their way.
“speak of the devil,” your dad clapped his hands, placing a hand on your back to guide you into the conversation. “may, this is my daughter, y/n. y/n, this is may castellan, poisoned mercury’s manager.”
you held out your hand, “nice to meet you.”
“oh god, a teenager with manners,” she exhaled, immediately accepting your handshake, “pleasure to meet you.”
“you know we can still hear you, right, mama c?” a boy with curly hair peeked his head out from the room beside clarisse’s. he was wearing a white tank top, his tanned skin adorned with patchwork tattoos on full display. he had a pearl necklace around his neck, a charm of the band’s logo resting between his collarbones. he had a wide smile as if he wore his emotions proudly on his face. “these walls are thin.”
“you were supposed to hear me, chris,” she replied, rolling her eyes jokingly.
you tilted your head, analyzing the boy. you understood what clarisse meant. he wasn’t your type, but he was definitely hers. she always did like the golden retriever type. you raised your arm, giving him a small wave, “hey, i’m y/n.”
“it’s the famous y/n!” you turned around at the sound of your name to see a boy with dark hair and a vintage iron maiden shirt on. he was leaning against his doorframe, toned arms flexed as he stuffed his hands in his front pockets. “travis.”
another boy, looking eerily similar to travis popped his head out his door at the sounds of introductions. you cocked an eyebrow, “are you guys tw–”
the boy shook his head, stating “no we’re not,” at the same time as travis nodded, “yes we are.”
you looked at may for help. she shook her head, throwing a pointed look at travis, “they are not. travis is older than connor by a year.”
“which one of you fuckers stole my charger?”
you froze in your spot. you knew that voice. your mind started connecting the dots then– luke castellan, lead singer of poisoned mercury. you’d seen pictures of him on your twitter timeline from both your friends from college and from home. he seemed to be the topic of conversation every week because there was a new thing to write about. his wild rockstar adventures were a crowd favorite.
you once heard that he had a pet monkey that he bought with his first check from their album sales, but tmz reported it so it wasn’t the most reliable source. the last article you saw about luke was titled “leaving a trail of broken hearts: luke castellan’s extensive dating history and how they ended.” typical.
“oh, luke, i want you to meet my daughter,” your dad beamed, none the wiser. he placed his hands on your shoulders, twisting your body to face the boy.
you pursed your lips, biting the inside of your cheek. so much for him getting lost.
“five star, nice to see you again,” luke’s eyes lit up, the corner of his lips quirking up in a smile, “looks like we’re roommates.”
#frances writes#poisoned mercury#luke castellan fanfic#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan x yn#luke castellan x you#luke castellan x y/n#percy jackson fanfic#percy jackson
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the pink pill | jjk version (m) — “3 days”
➥ banner by: @jkndigo.
➥ PAIRING: jungkook x fem!reader
➥ SUMMARY: In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.
➥ GENRE: smut ⋆ porn without plot ⋆ best friends
➥ CATEGORY: one-shot [part of the pink pill series]
➥ WARNINGS: unprotected sex (wrap it up!!!!), extremely horny!reader, missionary, cocky!jungkook, doggy style, cum-shot, creampie, crying, overstimulation, kissing, reader asks her bff jk for a favor, they’ve never had sex before(w each other), kissing w tongue, annoying friends, reader is dared into taking the pill, fingerfucking, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, slight choking, bit of spanking, praise, slight guilt for fucking best friend, jungkook’s stamina (deffo inspired by seven), minors DNI
➥ WORDCOUNT: 9.1k
a/n: aaaand the first addition to tpp series is out 🥴 this was originally going to be a short drabble for jk but i liked the concept so much that i decided to make it a one-shot + write one for every single member. so see this as my first thought for the fic (not boring imo but the most basic one? if that makes sense) anyways, hope u enjoy!
⋆ TAGLIST ⋆
⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆
“What even is that?” you ask your friend, Lee, as you reach for the pink package that she just nonchalantly tossed onto your coffee table. You’re seated on your couch as you wrap your fingers around the piece of pink carton, uncrossing your legs once you have it in your hands.
Your eyes scan the white letters around the pink cartoon cat but you still can’t make much sense of it.
“I saw someone tweet about it. Essentially, it’s like viagra for vaginas,” Lee tells you as she leans back into the couch, a cold can of coke in her hand.
You can’t help but snort in mockery as you throw it back onto the table in front of you and say, “There’s no way in hell you actually believe that thing works.”
Your other friend, Yoona, walks out of your kitchen with another can of soda in her hand. She glances at the small pink package on the table as she plops down on your couch next to you, an amused grin on her lips.
Lee shrugs her shoulders as she zaps through the comedy movies catalogue on Netflix with your remote, her eyes absentmindedly shifting to the packaged pill. “I’m not sure. It was like 10 bucks on Amazon.” Her gaze lingers on the pill, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
You roll your eyes, annoyance bubbling in your chest at the fact that your friend is dumb enough to get scammed like this. “10 bucks? They just sold you some cinnamon powder in a capsule and called it a day,” you laugh, returning your attention to the TV as you throw your feet up onto the coffee table.
“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t you take it?” Lee challenges you, pushing the pill in the pink package toward you with her foot.
Your eyes shift toward the pill. “You want me to take that pill right now?” Your eyebrow cocks up and you stare at it for a moment as if it were poison before turning your attention to her. It could very well be poison, actually.
A smirk stretches onto Yoona’s lips as she seemingly enjoys the thought of Lee challenging the most stubborn person on planet Earth. Yoona leans forwards after sipping her coke, parting her lips to say, “Yeah, since you don’t think that it works, right?”
You nonchalantly shrug your shoulders, hoping to appear unbothered. You raise your own drink to your lips and glance at your friends over the rim of your can. “I really don’t,” you say before you take a sip of your iced tea. “But Jungkook is coming over later.”
An evil look twinkles in Yoona’s eyes as your words reach her ears. “Ah, so you do think there’s a chance it works.” She’s proud of her little gotcha-moment but you make sure it’s short-lived.
She watches as you swallow too quickly, a low burp escaping your lips as you scramble to defend yourself.
“No, I literally don’t.” Why would you? Viagra is insanely expensive, to think it’s counterpart is available on Amazon for 10 bucks is insane.
“Then take it,” Lee tilts her head to the side, a shit-eating grin on her lips. “Besides… you keep saying there’s nothing going on between you and Jungkook. Why mention he’s coming over if you’re not fucking him and if you don’t think the pill works?” she adds, eyes twinkling with satisfaction as if she’s got you.
You place your can of iced tea back down on the table with a thud. “I’m not fucking Jungkook, you weirdo,” you grumble as you defiantly reach for the pill.
You and Jungkook have been best friends for years, they know that! They know how both you and Jungkook physically cringe and wince whenever someone mistakes the two of you for a couple. Now, they put the image of having sex with him in your brain and it’s weird.
(Read: Well, lately, it has been crossing your mind but it quickly gets ignored.)
You’re not dumb, you know Jungkook’s been popular for being attractive since forever but he was never really your type.
Keyword: was.
It’s not your fault, though! Jungkook has been growing out his hair and has been working out, his arm is covered in tattoos and he seems to be making good money as a freelance video editor.
“Well, if you’re not fucking him, can I? I don’t know what’s in the air but he’s been changing a lot lately. Like his beauty looks like it doesn’t even belong on Earth.” Yoona takes the final sip of her old drink after she says that, crumpling it up and slamming it down onto the table with an obnoxious exhale.
You can tell she’s saying it to get a rise out of you but you quite literally don’t care. Why would you care about who the hell your friend is fucking?
“Fuck him if you want, I literally don’t care,” you say quietly as you gather the empty cans onto the tray you brought them in. You actually can’t bring yourself to care about Jungkook’s sex life, in all honesty.
“See, you’re jealous! I bet you’re fucking.” Lee’s teaseful words and Yoona’s obnoxious giggles are starting to irritate you. Can’t they just accept the fact you’re not fucking your best friend just because he has a penis?
You glare at the both of them with a twitch in your brows, your nostrils flared and your fingers tingling with the urge to throw the empty cans of soda at them.
You make up your mind and say, “Alright, to prove to you that this stupid pink pill doesn’t fucking work and nothing is going on between Jungkook and I…” You pop the pill out of its pocket and place it on your tongue, swiftly swallowing it down with the rest of your iced tea. “Two birds, one stone.”
The room fills with obnoxious laughter and giggles as they watch you, shaking their head at your obstinance. “You’re so stubborn and so petty,” Yoona adds before taking a sip of her new coke after cracking it open.
“You really think the pussy equivalent of viagra would cost 10 bucks? Be serious,” you grumble in annoyance, throwing your feet up onto the table again and slouch further into your couch as you try to pay attention to whatever is playing on the TV.
They share a mischievous look but you can’t bring yourself to comment on it. “Okay, if you say so.” Lee brings her shoulders up in a shrug and drops the topic for now.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
About 45 minutes later as Yoona and Lee get ready to leave, Yoona nudges you with her foot. “Do you feel anything?”
“No. I don’t. I’m telling you, it’s not real,” you tell them in all honesty. You really don’t feel any different. You don’t show your relief, though.
“Bummer. I really wanted you to learn a lesson,” Lee laughs and blows you a kiss when you put up your middle finger.
You say goodbye as they walk out and you just return your attention to your TV, watching the sappy drama that Lee and Yoona are obsessed with for some reason.
After a few moments, your phone buzzes.
[7:02PM]
Jungkook
Lays or Pringles?
[7:03PM]
You
pringlessssss
[7:03PM]
Jungkook
Bet. Be there in about an hour
[7:04PM]
You
okiii
You mindlessly throw your phone somewhere on the couch beside you and rise to your feet to clean up the mess Lee and Yoona left behind.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Well, fuck.
About another 40 minutes later, you’re starting to actually regret taking that damn pill.
You can’t fucking believe this. Your nipples have been erect for 20 minutes and you’re sure you’re in need of a change of underwear.
What the hell is in that pill?
You walk into the bathroom to examine your appearance in the mirror. The air knocks out of your lungs at the sight in front of you.
Your pupils are dilated, your cheeks and nose are piping hot. Your lips are swollen and a thin layer of sweat is draped over your forehead.
Your heart has also been beating quicker than usual.
You want to hump everything in your sight. Is this what it’s like for an animal in heat? Fucking hell. You’ve never been this aroused.
Your hand slowly travels down your stomach and under the hem of your sweats. Reaching into your underwear, your fingertips are met with a disgusting amount of pure sticky substance.
If you weren’t wearing your sweatpants so low on your hips, you definitely would have soaked through the thick material of your sweats, that’s how fucking drenched you are.
What should you do? Take a quick shower? It’d be useless to shower now since the effects can last for days. You’d just continue to produce your body’s natural lubrication and you don’t have the time to be showering every hour.
Clean up and change your underwear? That sounds like it’d make the most sense but you’d go through a lot of panties in a couple days too. Maybe you should literally just wear a tampon?
Fucking hell. You should’ve never taken that fucking pill. Damn those fucking friends of yours.
Like a gag in a sitcom, just as you reach for your underwear drawer, your front door swinging open rips through your eardrums. Regret immediately seeps into your stomach for giving Jungkook your spare residence key.
“Honey, I’m home,” Jungkook jokes and the sound of him kicking off his shoes as he closes the door rings in your ears like a blaring alarm.
You want to drop onto your knees and scream until you pass the fuck out. Your eyes flicker between the drawer and your bedroom door. What should you do?
He doesn’t give you much of an option when you hear him searching for you. “Y/N? Where are you?” Jungkook’s voice rings even louder in your ears this time and you can hear him approaching your room. You internally cry out and quickly head towards your bedroom door.
You walk into the hall and watch as he stops in his tracks. He’s wearing a black beanie, grey sweatpants and a grey sweater with a plastic bag in his tattooed hand which you assume are the snacks he picked up on his way here.
Grey fucking sweats.
Jungkook has always been handsome but for fuck’s sake. Your core literally pulsates at the sight of him right now.
“Hey,” you breathe out and walk up to him, brushing past him and into the living room in a straight line.
“Hey… You okay?” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise and quickly pinch into a frown as he follows you into the living room.
You quickly nod your head, hand on your head as you try to collect your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?” you say, trying to appear casual as you head into the kitchen to grab a can of his favorite beer.
The sound of the plastic bag full of snacks hitting your coffee table and his body plopping onto your couch doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “I’m great, work was chill.”
You place your hands on your kitchen counter and lean forwards, taking a moment to catch your breath but your breath is not steadying at all.
Your feet carry you to the living room and you carefully place the cans onto the coffee table, trying your best not to look at him in those damn sweatpants.
Jungkook has ditched the beanie and his long black locks are sprawled on the backrest of the couch as he has comfortably sunk into your sofa, hair messy and screaming to be tugged on. You have to fight every bone in your body to not climb onto his lap right now and grind into him.
Have some fucking decorum, he’s your friend. Not an object.
Your chest deflates as you softly exhale. Make your way to the couch as you carefully sit down. Hope to the Lord that you don’t soak through your clothes. You’d usually sit next to him but today you think it’d be best to sit at the other end of the couch.
He aims his frown at you but you pretend not to notice. He doesn’t comment on it, though. You crack your new can of iced tea open because there’s no way you’re putting alcohol in your system with this amount of arousal pooling inside of you.
“What movie are we watching?” he asks after a moment of silence in hopes of deterring the awkwardness as he turns his head to the TV, his thumb pressing one of the arrows on your remote, going through the catalogue of available movies.
“Uh… I don’t know. You can choose,” you mumble as you take a few more gulps to distract yourself.
He frowns at your words but keeps his eyes glued to the TV. “I chose last time. It’s your turn to choose.”
“Yeah, sorry, I just–” you start, which makes him look at you, “just put that one on.” You wave your hand toward the TV and he turns his head to look at the one he’s landed on before you return your attention to chugging your iced tea.
“We watched that one 3 weeks ago.” He sits up this time. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to keel over,” he says, quietly. He sounds concerned and you sound fucking stupid.
You shake your head as the sparkling beverage burns your throat, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m okay,” you mumble under your breath.
“Are you trying to convince me or you?” he asks, “And why are you sitting so far away?” he whines as he scoots closer to you, his hand reaching out to grab your waist but you shoot up out of the couch and onto your feet, avoiding his touch by a hair.
The moment he touches you, you’re going to pounce on him. No doubt in your mind.
“No, don’t,” you squeal, taking a step away from the sofa.
Now Jungkook is really fucking confused.
He quickly stands up as well, a concerned yet confused frown on his face. He probably thinks he did something wrong which makes your chest tighten with guilt. “What’s going on? Why are you acting like you’re about to have a fucking stroke?”
You breathe loudly as you pace around the living room with your hands on your head and say, “I might.”
Jungkook’s breath abruptly hitches in his throat as your concerning words ring in his ears. “Wh– Huh? What? Should I call an ambulance?”
You shake your head. “No, it’s not like that,” you mumble before you finally turn to him, dropping your hands from your head and letting your fingers pick at the loose flesh around your nails.
His eyes drop down to your anxious fidgeting before traveling back up to stare at you. “Then, what is it? You’re scaring the shit out of me right now, Y/N.”
He actually does look terrified right now, staring at you with wide eyes as his teeth absentmindedly play with his lip piercings.
You loudly exhale in exasperation and rub your forehead as you consider just telling him. “I fucked up, Jungkook, and I’m panicking,” you say, rubbing your eyes until there’s colored spots in your vision. “I never should’ve taken that fucking pill.”
You watch as his face becomes that of a cartoon character, eyes wide, brows raised to the stars, mouth twitching. “What? Pill? What pill? Are you high?”
You roll your eyes and grunt in annoyance with yourself for phrasing it like that. “No, I–” you groan loudly before cutting yourself off and heading into the kitchen. You wince as you shove your hand into the trash can, taking the ripped pink piece of carton out of the garbage. You stare at it for a while but already find yourself heading back into the living room before you overthink it and change your mind.
Jungkook is still standing in front of the couch, his big brown eyes still wide with concern and his bottom lip reddened from how much he’s been chewing on it.
You walk up to him and with a flick of your wrist, you toss it onto the table in front of him. He glances at the pink package before glancing back up at you but you’re already looking away with your arms crossed.
He slowly sinks back down and takes the ripped package into his hands to examine it. He reads the words for a few seconds but he still seems confused. “Female sexual enhancement and libido boosting? What the fuck is this?”
You groan as you drop to your knees on the floor across from him, in front of the coffee table.
“It’s like viagra for people with pussies and it’s supposed to make you horny as fuck. My friends dared me to take it because I told them it wasn’t real.”
He looks up at you through his brows, a mix of surprise and confusion still on his face. “Do you think it’s laced with something dangerous?”
“No, nothing like that but whatever the fuck they put in it is working. It’s fucking working,” you whine as you place your elbows on the coffee table in front of you with a loud thud, burying your face in your palms.
There’s a moment of silence between you two.
“So like…” he begins, trying to stifle a laugh, “you’re really horny? Right now?”
“Jungkook,” you groan, eyes shamefully looking up at him and you’re just in time to watch him clutch his arms around his stomach as he just obnoxiously laughs in your face. “Stop laughing!”
He chuckles for a little while longer before calming down. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never heard of this before. How are you feeling?” He places it back onto the table and returns the eye contact, still an annoying grin on his soft lips.
“Like I could fuck the fridge if it had a dick.”
Jungkook bursts out laughing maniacally, throwing himself back onto the couch as he exaggeratedly gasps for air.
“Jungkook! I’m panicking, stop laughing!” you whine, standing back up on your feet as heat rushes to your face, a lump of embarrassment forming in your throat.
“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles as he wipes a tear at the corner of his eye. “You’re just so fucking stupid.”
You huff in response and glare down at him, his eyes slowly trailing up your body to meet yours and the single act of his black eyes drinking you in makes a curtain of lava drape over your already burning body.
You tap your foot against the floor impatiently. “What should I do?” You chew on your lip as you ask him the impossible question.
He simply shrugs his shoulders and leans back into the couch, hands on his upper thighs right below his hips. He’s not making this any fucking easier. “Masturbate. Or go get fucked.”
You wince, a thousand volts of electricity travelling up your vertebrae at his words. “Tonight’s our movie night, though.”
“Babe, you’re clearly not in the right headspace to be watching a movie with me.”
You internally scream at the pet name he sometimes uses when the both of you are alone. It never makes you feel anything in particular but right now, your stomach clenches at the pet name and you’re painfully reminded that it didn’t help your sticky underwear situation at all.
“Still, I don’t want to ditch you. That’s not cool,” you mutter as you take a seat on the couch, cringing as your panties stick to your core and your slick is undoubtedly smeared all over your sex and inner thighs. No matter how nonchalant he is about the situation, you’re too embarrassed to excuse yourself now to go change your damn underwear.
“So what? You’re just gonna sit next to me and squirm all evening?” he asks you, a genuine look of confusion on his face.
“Mhm.” You shrug your shoulders in hopes of appearing nonchalant and unbothered as you reach for the remote.
But you’re extremely bothered. Hot and fucking bothered.
“You can go masturbate, you know. I’m not going to act weird about it,” he tells you with a carefree air around him as he tears a bag of chips open.
His words make your pussy clench around nothing and you have to actively remind yourself to cross your arms to hide your erect nipples, despite the fact he has probably already noticed.
“I doubt masturbating will do the trick. Besides, it says the effects can last up to 72 hours. I’m not going to masturbate for 3 days.”
He breaks into a fit of giggles again, making you roll your eyes as you swing one of your legs over the other. It appears casual but really, you’re just looking for some friction.
“You’re so dumb for taking that pill.” He reminds you, as if you don’t already know that. He glances at you when a childish huff pushes past your lips.
Neither of you say anything else but the moment of silence is disturbed by the scrunching of the bag of chips in Jungkook’s hands.
You take a moment as you consider what you really want to ask him. Should you just say fuck it and ask him to fuck the shit out of you?
The idea quickly gets obliterated by your rational self and you finally choose a movie to play.
Throughout the movie, you notice Jungkook’s eyes on you every now and then. The constant crossing of your legs and arms doesn’t go unnoticed by him but he never comments on it.
You’re doing great until a sex scene starts playing on the screen. You suck in a breath as you watch intently, your fingers twitching in your lap.
The actress on the screen is crying out in – over the top – pleasure as the man pounds into her, the headboard of the bed banging against the wall exaggeratedly makes the frames that are hung up on the wall crash to the ground with a loud clatter. You know it’s all fake but that doesn’t stop the gushing in your panties.
“Y/N,” Jungkook chuckles as he motions for you to skip the scene but you don’t react to him.
You stare blankly ahead of you at the TV, sitting in silence. You can see Jungkook shaking his head at your stubbornness in the corner of your eye as he stretches his arm over your lap, reaching for the remote that’s next to your thigh. His arm is hovered over your lap, face almost pressed into your chest and his cologne is the final drop that has your head spinning.
The silence that falls around the two of you as you impulsively wrap your hand around his wrist – that’s reaching for the remote – is suffocating.
He instantly freezes, eyes glued to the remote that he had just wrapped his fingers around. He’s in an awkward position, lying on his hip and his arm stretched out over your thighs with his face mere inches away from your breasts.
You finally decide to speak up.
“Will you do me a favor?” you quietly ask him after those few moments of silence as you let go of his wrist, your eyes nervously glued to your fingers as you fidget with the laces of your sweatpants.
This time, Jungkook is quiet.
Jungkook is never quiet.
The tension is palpable and it makes you want to jump off your balcony right now. His silence is already starting to make you regret asking him.
He slowly moves back to his seat but you can’t see much else as you refuse to look away from your lap.
He finally speaks up and you’re conflicted on whether you’re relieved that he does or not. “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking of me?” His voice is lower than usual. It sends a quick shiver down your spine and awakens the goosebumps on the upper layer of your skin.
You don’t even look at him and in response, you just stay quiet, your silence confirming his speculation.
You two sit in unbearable silence for what seems like a damn eternity, the obnoxious moaning coming from the TV is not making this any easier. Jungkook seems to be in deep thought before you see him rise to his feet in your peripheral vision. You swallow thickly as he starts heading towards the entrance hall.
Shit. He’s leaving.
You don’t blame him, though. Who the fuck asks this of their best friend?
You shut your eyes tightly, holding your breath as you patiently wait for the sound of the door clicking close to hit your ears.
But it never comes.
“Are you coming or not?”
His words shoot into your eardrums like a thousand needles and it makes your heart violently jerk against your ribcage.
You crack your eyes open to see him standing in the doorway of the hall, back turned to you but his head turned over his shoulder as he stares you down with an unreadable expression clouding his face. A frown climbs its way onto your brows as you slowly get up. Your feet take you to him on their own, body magnetizing towards him as your stomach bursts with excitement and your veins are set aflame with desire.
You shyly follow him into your bedroom as if you’re the one visiting his home. “Are you sure?” you quietly ask him as you enter your bedroom after him, closing the door with a soft thud.
He slowly turns to you, head cocked to the side as his black gaze drapes over your body and makes you feel incredibly small. “You’re my friend in need of some help. Why would I not be sure?” His face is a bit expressionless and his voice sounds different than what you’re used to.
Your brows pinch together at his disregardance. “Jungkook, this isn’t a usual request. I’m not asking you to drop me off at home after work or to delete an ugly picture of me you posted on your instagram. I’m–”
“You’re asking me to fuck you. I don’t see why it has to mean anything more than what it is. Sex isn’t that big of a deal, Y/N.”
You idly blink at him, listening to his blunt words as he casually tells you he’s down to fuck you. All those years of the two of you swearing you had never crossed any lines, how you don’t see each other that way, how you’re like family and this is what it’s come to?
The doubt glimmering in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by him, evident by the crossing of his arms over his chest and the cocking of his head to the side. “Are you sure?” he asks you this time, his voice soft and his tone neutral.
You stare at him for a couple seconds but you’ve made up your mind.
You start walking past him, heading for your bed. You tuck your fingers under the hem of your sweats and wiggle them off your hips as you turn around to face him again, stepping out of the sweats pooling at your ankles. You take a seat on the edge of your bed and kick your sweats away, all whilst looking up at him through your pretty lashes.
You notice that his own breath is getting heavier. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he watches you slowly lean back on your hands, bending your legs at the knees and propping your feet up onto the edge of the mattress as you spread your thighs wide apart, allowing him to witness your extreme arousal firsthand.
Jungkook’s eyes drop down to what’s between your legs, the massive wet patch of slick on your panties and your inner thighs lathered in your stickiness make his eyebrows twitch.
“Is that pill giving you a major confidence boost too?” he mumbles as he walks up to you, referring to how you’re usually on the shy and modest side. He tugs his sweatshirt off and throws it somewhere on your floor.
“I don’t give a fuck about what it’s given me, I need you to fuck me like you’ve never fucked anyone before. Right now,” you say with a hiss to your tone as you ditch your t-shirt, leaving you in your sheer tank top and no bra.
Your erect nipples haven’t gone unnoticed by him and your words make him grunt in response. You watch as he starts palming himself through his sweatpants, body now towering over you as he stares down at you.
You’ve seen Jungkook shirtless before, when he’s working out or playing some random sport with his friends that you agreed to cheer him on for from the sidelines. Even when he stays over or you stay over at his. So, his physique shouldn’t be surprising to you and it isn’t, but the sight of his bare torso right now drives you up the fucking wall.
He reaches for the hem of your panties, making you close your thighs as he yanks them down your legs. The massive string of slick still connected to your underwear makes him swear loudly, your panties aggressively tossed to the floor by him.
“I can’t believe how wet it’s made you,” he grunts as he places his hands on your knees and gently spreads your thighs again, eyes glued to your sticky pussy. “I’m pretty confident I’ve satisfied all the people I’ve had sex with but I’ve never seen anything like this. You’re fucking dripping.”
And you are. You can hear the splatter of a droplet hitting your floor and the embarrassment drives you absolutely insane.
You notice his hand tightening around his boner. “Fuck, I want to taste.”
You can tell he wants to touch, lick, taste you but you’ve already made it clear that you need him to fuck you right this instant.
“Jungkook, I’ll literally die if you don’t fuck me right now.” You lean back onto your elbows, eyes still staring up at him as he slowly starts tugging his sweatpants down his legs. Soon he ditches the Calvin Klein boxers too, allowing his erection to spring free.
Your eyes drop down to the dick in his hand, hard as a rock as he spits in his hand and strokes himself whilst eyeing you. His dick is red at the tip but darkens at the shaft, it’s not massive but it’s not small either. It’s just the right size. The sight alone could have you squirting hands-free.
You need to be sedated.
“I don’t have any protection on me,” he begins, “Are you–”
You cut him off. “I’m clean. Are you?”
You know Jungkook is incredibly responsible when it comes to his sex life but you still make it a thing to ask.
“Yeah,” he breathes out. Upper teeth sunken into his bottom lip. Strokes his own dick.
“Good, ‘cause I need to feel everything,” you grunt as you reach for your clit. You drag your fingers up your wet slit and pull your fingers away from your pussy to show him the thick string of your slick that stays connected from your pussy to your fingers. The string doesn’t break even though you’ve stretched it out a few inches.
It’s your way of telling him you don’t need any prep because you are disgustingly drenched.
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He takes a few moments to collect himself before he positions himself at your sex. He rubs the head of his dick up and down your slit, gathering your slick onto his tip with a hiss escaping his mouth. “Birth control?”
Your legs violently jerk at the sensation of the head of his dick rubbing up and down your slit. You could cum right now. “Yeah.” Your reply leaves your lips in a pornographic moan and you can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about it.
He positions his dick at your hole with one hand whilst the other supports your leg by the back of your knee. “Ready?”
“For fuck’s sake, just put it in already. I feel like I’ll come undone any second,” you whimper, your chest rising and falling dramatically as you pant.
A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, looking up into your eyes for the first time since you showed him your wet pussy. He slowly starts pushing into you, his eyes watching your face as your mouth falls open and your eyebrows scrunch together at the intrusion.
A whiny groan leaves his throat as your walls wrap around him. “Holy shit. You’re so fucking tight. So fucking wet,” he mumbles more to himself as he starts pushing further in, the sweet moans spilling from your lips raising goosebumps on his arms as you clench around him, threatening to milk him of everything he’s worth.
He leans forward and hovers over you, wedging himself in between your legs as he keeps pushing into you. His hands are flat against the mattress on each side of your waist, the back of your knees bent at his forearms, around his elbows. You’re spread so wide that the sound of your soaking pussy is, at times, louder than the slapping of his skin against yours.
You cry out at the pleasure, it’s like your sensitivity has been cranked up to a hundred. Your senses are sent into overdrive, the tiniest friction has your head spinning because nothing compares to how you’re feeling right now.
You open your eyes to the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen, Jungkook on top of you with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes closed. He’s gorgeous.
Tears prick in your eyes at the pleasure, the head of his dick rubbing against your walls so good has you seeing stars. You can feel every single ridge, vein, nook and cranny of his dick as he fucks into you. Your walls tighten around him so well, your slick already making a sticky mess against his sex and your bum.
As if he sensed you looking at him, his eyes crack open and stare down at yours. His gaze drops down to your lips and before you know it, he has his lips pressed to yours. You’re surprised at first but your lips quickly work back, a moan escaping your throat which allows him to lick into your mouth.
After several minutes of making out and fucking, Jungkook pulls back to catch his breath. “Sorry about that but you feel– you feel so fucking good,” he grunts as he leans back again, turning you onto your side and lifting your leg as he continues to fuck into you.
You yelp at the switch of position, your fingers tightly wrapping around the sheets under your waist, watching as your leg slightly jerks against his chest but he restrains your thigh as he holds onto it tightly.
The familiar clench in your stomach takes you by surprise. Already?
“I’m gonna fucking cum. I’m gonna–” You have never orgasmed this fast and definitely not from solely penetration before but this pill is working wonders.
Jungkook nods his head in understanding as he kisses your calf that’s up on his shoulder. “Cum on my dick, babe,” he says with a moan before he tilts his head back in bliss.
Fuck him for using that pet name.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, my God. I’m gonna…” you cry out as your orgasm drops onto you like a pile of fucking bricks, a million volts of electricity frying your brains and making your heart beat a thousand miles a minute.
You’re grateful that Jungkook keeps fucking you because your orgasm has never lasted this long before. Your legs are shaking, your hands are bunching up the sheets around you and your throat burns from the cries you’ve let out.
The continuous clenching of your pussy during your orgasm has pushed Jungkook to the edge as well, his brows furrowed in concentration.
His own orgasm approaches him as his thrusts get a little rougher, your breasts bouncing from the momentum of his hips slamming into yours.
Not long after you, he pulls out in one swift motion. It seems like he pulled out right on time because ropes of his warm cum instantly land all over your sex and stomach the moment he pulls out.
He reaches for his dick and pumps himself to milk himself of every drop, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he watches himself cum all over his best friend.
His hand comes to a halt and he collapses on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries to catch his breath.
After a few moments of silence and no movement other than the heavy breathing, you say, “Jungkook…”
He pauses for a moment and then says, “Give me a few minutes, I’ll be ready for round two in a bit.” His voice is quiet and muffled from being buried in the crook of your neck.
“Round two?” you ask him, a scrunch on your brows as you frown at the ceiling.
He slowly lifts his head, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah, you don’t wanna go for round two?” he asks, his voice is neutral as if he’s asking you about the weather. Doesn’t he realize he just fucked you? He’s talking to you with the sweetest look in his eyes as if he didn’t just give you most mind-blowing orgasm of your life.
“Well… Yeah. But I don’t expect you to,” you quietly say, blinking up at him with doe eyes.
“Nonsense,” he grumbles as he finally pushes himself off of you, his softening dick retreating from you. He glances down at your chest and looks back up at you. “Can I take this off?” he asks, gently tugging at your tank top.
Without another word, you reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head. He quietly apologizes as he takes it from you and uses it to wipe your body clean before tossing it aside. He knows you’re too fucked out to scold him for it.
Jungkook’s eyes immediately drop down to your breasts, his big brown eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. His hands reach up but freeze right above your breasts, eyes glancing up to read your expression and see if it’s okay to touch them.
Your eyes flicker with desperation. “Please,” you breathe out, encouraging him to go ahead.
He brings his hand up to his mouth and licks at his thumb, bringing it down to toy with your erect nipple. “Wow,” he whispers, closing in on your other breast with his mouth as he gently licks and sucks on your nipple.
Your moans sound pathetic, hips involuntarily thrusting up into his. It makes him chuckle like the cocky asshole that he is, his hand gently pressing against your stomach to push your hips down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this horny,” he states as he rolls off of you and props himself up next to you, leaning on his elbow to support his own weight.
His hand slowly trails from your breast down to your stomach and you’re already spreading your thighs further apart for him which makes him chuckle again. The tips of his middle and ring finger find your clit, the direct contact to the most sensitive area in your body sends a shiver down your legs.
Small circles are being rubbed onto your clit by his soft fingers and after a few moments, his eyes shift down to his fingers as he pulls them away from your pussy. “Look,” he says in a deep exhale.
You glance down at his hand like he’s asking you to. He’s showing you the string of slick that’s connected to his fingers and if you weren’t high off arousal right now, you’d be extremely embarrassed at how wet you are.
His fingers dive back in, sliding in between your folds and massaging all around before he plunges his fingers into you. This makes you thrust your hips straight up into his hand, a pornographic moan spilling from your lips.
“You’re so needy,” he chuckles, pushing you down as he starts furiously fucking his fingers into you, curling them repeatedly to assault your g-spot.
You yelp at the torture on your sweet spot. “Shut the fuck up,” you grunt, your reaction to his teaseful words makes him chuckle.
He presses his soft lips into the side of your neck as he continues his abuse on your pussy, not commenting on the way your legs jolt and jerk with every curl of his fingers but forcefully restraining you from writhing with his own body.
“Jungkook, I’m gonna–”
“Already?” he teases you, twisting his body so half of it is now hovering over you. You turn to look at him as you sob, the squishing sounds your pussy makes are loud enough to finally embarrass you. His face is hovering right over yours as his hands slam into your sex. Your hands reach up to the back of his head, pulling him down to press your lips into his so you can avoid his piercing gaze.
He wastes no time kissing you back, his hand picking up its insanity-inducing pace. White spots cover your eyelids as a strange sensation washes over you. It’s not an orgasm, you don’t recall ever feeling this before. You cry into his mouth and it takes you a second to realize you’re squirting all over your bed.
“Fuuuck,” Jungkook grunts into your mouth, the pace of his hand never faltering as it continues to slam into your sex. Tears stream down your face as your second orgasm quickly approaches you right after your squirt session, your legs continuously jerking and squirming under him.
“Jungkook–!” you sob as your hips involuntarily recoil against the mattress, your orgasm finally hitting you directly after your squirt session. Your hips running away from Jungkook’s hand doesn’t mean anything to him. He just keeps fucking his fingers into you. Lips still pressed to yours as he swallows your pleading cries.
He hums against your mouth, lips wrapping around your tongue as he gently sucks on it. You aggressively squirm under him, your hands weakly pressed up against his shoulders and chest in an attempt to push him off. He finally gets the memo and retreats his fingers.
He can’t help himself as he pulls away from your lips, bringing his sticky fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, humming in delight at the taste of his best friend.
He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop and sits up, looking down at the mess you created. “Damn. I didn’t know you could do all that,” he mumbles before running his hand back up your disgustingly wet slit, holding you down with his other hand to keep you from squirming.
You can’t even answer, you’re completely fucked out under him, trying to catch your breath.
“You’re not giving up on me, are you?” he quips, using his sticky hand to pump his growing erection.
Your eyes drop down to his hand, swallowing hard as you eye his dick. “Get on all fours, come on,” he says as he slaps your thigh, getting on his knees on your mattress in front of you.
“Give me a second, you freak,” you mumble as you prop yourself up on your elbows. You shake your head in an attempt to gather your thoughts but it doesn’t do much.
You finally turn over and lazily get onto your hands and knees, arms shaking and you try your best to ignore your slick trickling down the back of your thighs.
His hand comes down to knead your asscheek, a low grunt leaving his throat. “If there’s one thing I’ve fantasized about when it comes to you, it’s your ass,” he mutters under his breath, both his hands now kneading the soft skin of your bum.
“You’ve fantasized about me?” you ask him, glancing over your shoulder to look back at him.
His eyes glance into yours before they return to your perky ass in front of him, one hand stopping the kneading of your cheek to pump his dick and position it at your sex.
“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t,” he starts, “but it was only a handful of times and it was way back when we first met, no worries,” he adds, rubbing the tip of his dick up your slit. “I take our friendship seriously.”
It knocks a moan out of you and your arms already give out, your face colliding with the mattress under you. How seriously did you both take this friendship if you’re rubbing your genitals together right now?
“Have you fantasized about me?” he quietly asks you, a quiet hiss leaving his lips as he continues to rub his tip up and down your wetness.
You sniff, silently thinking about your answer for a moment before sighing and saying, “Maybe once a year.”
A soft chuckle escapes his lips at your response and he shakes his head. He doesn’t reply and instead pushes into you, groaning at the stretch again. “I literally just fucked you, how are you still so–” he groans loudly as he bottoms out. He throws his head back as he starts fucking into you but quickly tilts it back down to watch the skin of your asscheeks recoil against his hips.
Your pathetic wimpers make him reach around your hip, gently rubbing your clit as he starts thrusting into you. You cry out at the overstimulation, stretching your arm out behind you to push into his lower stomach in an attempt to push him off but there’s absolutely no strength behind the push because you don’t want him to stop.
“You sound so fucking pretty like this,” he grunts, fingers continuing to rub circles on your overstimulated clit and he pays absolutely no mind to your hand pressing into his lower abdomen. “Tell me how I’m making you feel.”
With another sob into your pillow, you shake your head at his request. He can’t possibly expect you to form a coherent sentence, right?
That’s until you feel a sharp sting spread through your asscheek, your ass recoiling from the spanking he just gave you. You gasp and lazily turn your face to look over your shoulder at him as you shout, “Jeon Jungkook!”
He leans over, his chest pressed into your back and his lips pressed against your ear. “Tell me,” he whispers as he pushes you forward, watching you fall flat onto your stomach, face pressed into the pillows. You’re now fully lying face down on the mattress.
Just as you turn to look over your shoulder at him, he has entered you again. The fact that you’re lying face down with your legs together makes him curse as he struggles to enter you all the way but he does, the feeling of being wrapped all around him has you seeing stars.
He places his hands on each side of your elbows as you prop yourself up on them, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear and his chest pressed into your back as he starts thrusting into you again.
“Jungkook,” you moan as you turn your face slightly, eyes staring up at him. His face is so close to yours, eyes glued to the mattress underneath you.
“Tell me how it feels, baby.”
Fuck. Why would he call you that?
Your mouth is agape and your eyebrows are furrowed as Jungkook keeps fucking into you from behind, his eyes finally shifting to yours. His proximity and intense eyes make you finally comply as you say, “It– It feels so fucking good.”
His black eyes penetrate yours and you can’t tear your eyes away from his. “You look so fucking pretty like this, Y/N, holy shit. I just wanna–” he grunts as he cuts himself off, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he keeps fucking into your tightness.
“You just wanna what?” you say, a soft whimper following your words as you encourage him to finish his sentence.
“Destroy you.”
A cry spills from your lips the moment he says that, the pace in which he’s thrusting picks up and it’s getting rougher with each passing second. At this point you’re almost getting hatefucked and you can’t help but love every second of it.
“I hope that’s a promise,” you manage to reply.
“Oh yeah?” His hand wraps around your throat from the back, making you lift your head up, the back of your head colliding with his shoulder. Your temple is pressed against his jaw as he gently squeezes your throat.
The sinful sounds such as his skin slapping against yours, the squelshing of your wet pussy and the moans spilling from your lips are the only things you can hear and want to hear at this moment.
Jungkook’s lips and nose graze the shell of your ear, quiet moans leaving his mouth and you can only describe it as liquid gold being ladled into your ear by angels.
“Fuck, come ride me.” He doesn’t even wait for a response as he slides right out of you, lets go of your throat and drops his body next to yours before rolling onto his back. His strong arms reach for you and yank you up by your arm and waist, pulling you toward him.
A surprised yelp leaves you as you’re forced to climb onto him, every single time your clit grazes his skin has you biting back a pathetic sob. You guide his dick toward your sex and without hesitation, you sink right down onto his sex.
He grunts at the way you tightly wrap around him, hands reaching for your hips. You start bouncing on him, thighs and ass slapping into his hips which makes him moan your name softly.
You throw your head back in pure bliss and place your hands on his thighs, allowing yourself to lean back on them and support your weight as you fuck yourself on his dick.
“Holy shit,” he mumbles as he watches your every movement, eyes scanning the way your face twists in pleasure, the way your breasts bounce, the way your stomach jiggles, the way pretty moans continuously fall from your lips.
He brings his fingers to your sex and rubs that pattern that you like directly onto your clit. He watches as your body starts jerking and your legs start trembling with a shit-eating grin.
“I’m gonna… I’m gonna–”
He cuts you off. “I know, pretty. Cum all over me,” he says as he continues to stimulate your already overstimulated clit.
You want to keep riding, you really, really want to but you can’t. Your body collapses right on top of his torso, breathless and a mess. He jumps right into action as he holds onto your forearms and pins them into your lower back, holding you tightly against his chest as he thrusts up into you.
Your face is buried in the pillow right next to his head, your cries probably deafening him as he fucks you toward your 3rd orgasm of the hour. Your body is moving like jelly at this point and you can’t contain your sobs as your body continues to tremble like a leaf in the wind.
Your 3rd orgasm hits you like a fucking train and you can’t even move, you keep crying in Jungkook’s hold as he mercilessly pounds his hips up into you.
Fireworks explode on the back of your eyelids, electricity fries your brain into a pile of mush and your body is set alight, all your nerve endings bursting with magma.
When you’ve ridden out your orgasm, a surprised whimper rips through your throat when you’re suddenly flipped, thrown onto your back against your mattress and your legs pushed back towards your torso.
He climbs onto you and slides right back in, ignoring your cries of overstimulation as he harshly fucks into you, his hands placed against the mattress right next to your ribs on each side of your body.
You weakly crack your eyes open to glance up at him, your gaze shifting all over his face. The layer of sweat covering his forehead and nose, his bottom lip trapped in between his bunny teeth, his eyes staring deep into your fucking soul.
“Where… Where do you want me to cum?” he breathily asks, his hips aggressively recoiling against yours as his own orgasm approaches him rapidly.
“Fill me up until you pass out, Jungkook.” Your voice is hoarse at this point, cracking at the end of your sentence. He knows it’s nothing more than a figure of speech but it’s got his hips stuttering for a moment.
“Fuck, you’re so…” He can’t even finish his sentence as he’s finally releasing his load, shooting ropes of his cum straight into his best friend.
“Fuck,” he curses continuously as his thrusts get inconsistent. His head drops onto your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as he moans softly with each sloppy thrust, the disgusting squelching of his cum being fucked into you rings louder than any alarm. After his climax has washed away, he finally collapses on top of you, face nuzzled in the crook of your neck.
You stay like that, staring up at the ceiling as tears roll down the sides of your face from the pleasure, overstimulation and sensitivity still pulsating in your veins.
After a few more moments, Jungkook quietly rolls off of you and tries to catch his breath.
You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hands and exhale deeply before whispering his name.
He opens his eyes and turns his head to you, humming softly in response.
“Thank you,” is all you can say.
He shakes his head and props himself up on his elbows as he glances at you. “Don’t thank me just yet. You said it can last up to 3 days, right?”
Your brows pinch together and your stomach bursts into flames. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m not done with you yet.”
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆
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⇢ ˗ˏˋ broken promises pt. 2 ࿐ྂ
summary: Rafe promised to take you out and spend your birthday with you, but you don’t hear from him all day and then suddenly he shows up at your door trying to explain. (this is part 2 to the birthday girl angst blurb! i changed the title for the series so it was more appealing)
cw: mentions of drug use, angst, nothing crazy (yet lmao)
wc: 1.2k
notes: i'm excited to write this since its my first series! lmk if there's anything you guys would wanna see in future chapters :)
previous chapters: part 1
You wake up to your alarm droning on annoyingly and feel around aimlessly with your eyes closed to turn it off. Once you had finally woken up on your own accord, you realized you should talk to Rafe. You hadn't spoken to him or left your house the last few days. Obviously, you missed him, but you just felt so hurt and angry with him.
After getting ready and using makeup to look a little more alive and less blotchy from crying so much, you decided you'd go up to Tannyhill to try and talk to Rafe. You left your house, hopped on your bike, and started towards the estate. The whole ride there, you just kept going over what you wanted to say but nothing seemed right. Before you knew it, you were at the front entrance.
You walked inside and heard voices in the distance coming from upstairs. Once you made your way upstairs, you heard the voices more clearly coming from Rafe's room. It was Rafe and another person whose voice you couldn't pinpoint.
"Come on, man you gotta understand where I'm comin' from. I've just been stressed out. Nothing a good time won't fix."
You looked into the room and saw Rafe sitting with some guy you've never seen. There was a table in between them that had some rolled-up bills and coke sitting on it.
You walked inside the room, still unnoticed until you spoke. "Hey, Rafe."
Both of their heads snapped in your direction, and Rafe immediately shot up, walking towards you.
"Shit... I uh- I didn't know you were coming over." He looked back at the man who just sat there unbothered. "Barry, can you uh give us a minute..."
"So let me get this straight, you went to a party and got high, missed my entire birthday, and after I tell you I'm pissed off your next line of action is to get high again with your drug dealer, right?"
Before Rafe could speak, Barry grabbed his stuff and started walking out. "A'ight man hit me up when y'all are done dealing with this shit."
Rafe waited until he thought Barry was far enough before closing the door and speaking, "Can you blame me? I don't hear from you for days so I assumed you didn't wanna be with me anymore! I tried to talk to you and you straight up ignored me."
"I was angry Rafe! I just needed some time to myself. That doesn't mean I'm breaking up with you and it doesn't mean you should start doing drugs again when that is quite literally what we fought about."
This definitely wasn't how you imagined this conversation going. You didn't want to argue with him but your pride wasn't going to let you just back down.
"If you wanted space you could've told me," he sighed. "And I am sorry that I got high at that party and I'm sorry I missed your birthday okay? I want to make it up to you."
You walked over to the bed and sat down for a moment with your head in your hands. You loved Rafe, you really did. But you didn't want him falling into his old habits and lying to you about it.
You both sat there in silence as you thought about what you should do and what you should say.
"Rafe I... I think we should just take some time apart. Get our heads straight and figure out what we want-"
He walked over and sat next to you his eyes wide. "Baby I want you, I want to be with you."
"I wanna be with you too, Rafe, but I have conditions. I don't want you doing coke anymore. I don't like the person you are when you get like that. I know you get stressed and feel like it's your only option but you have me. Or maybe try weed and see how that works for you. I also don't want you hanging with Barry anymore. Non-negotiables."
He nods "I swear I'll work on it and I'll talk to Barry. I swear."
You stand up from the bed getting ready to go out the door. "Rafe... I'm gonna go stay with my parents on the mainland for a few days. I'll be in contact but please try your best to just leave me be. Get clean, for good, and I'll let you know when I'm back and we can figure everything out. Okay?"
He shakes his head. You can see that he's angry and confused, your heart just aches. "The mainland? What- why? Just stay here, I don't understand-"
"Please, Rafe. This is what we have to do okay?"
He took a few deep breaths and ran his hands through his hair. "Okay... okay. When you get back, I'll have made it up to you. Just promise me we aren't over."
You could see the tears that formed in his eyes and had to fight back your own. "We aren't over just yet." You gave him a kiss on the cheek before leaving his room and heading home.
⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑
You were finally off the ferry and on the mainland to stay with your parents. You really wanted to talk to your best friend to get advice so you asked her to pick you up. By the time you reached your house, she was all caught up. Your parents weren't home so you both went straight up to your childhood bedroom.
"Damn... I didn't think he got down like that." Niki looked at you slightly surprised. "Honestly though, it sounds like does care about you, even if he did fuck up."
"Yeah, I know he cares I just... I don't wanna have to worry about shit like this. Whenever he's all coked up he makes irrational and bad decisions. I'm just worried he'll do something and end up in jail or worse."
"You just have to let him know that. Make sure he knows your anger comes from a place of care. If he feels like you're just judging him, it'll probably piss him off."
You sigh and groan into your pillow. "You're right, thanks Niki."
"Don't mention it. Now, let me catch you up on the mainland gossip!" she squealed.
⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑
Niki had gone home and you were getting into bed, ready to sleep after what felt like an exceptionally long day, when your phone chimed. You looked and saw you had a text from Rafe.
Rafe: hey I just wanted to make sure you made it to the mainland safely.
You: yes I did, i'm at my parent's house, thanks for asking.
Rafe: of course, goodnight
You: goodnight
Placing your phone on the dresser, you're thankful he doesn't push the conversation further. You decide you'll only stay here for three days before going back to the island to figure things out with Rafe. You just hope he can work on staying clean and that you can go back to being together like normal.
As you closed your eyes, ready for sleep, you heard another chime from your phone. You groaned before picking it up to check.
Topper: hey we need to talk, it's about Rafe.
part 3
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