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bunny584 · 8 days

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For I Have Sinned

“Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am being tempted by God’ For God cannot be tempted by evil.” James 1:13.

But Father Geto can be.

Newly appointed Chaplain of the Noble Court, Suguru is a reformed sinner. Sanctity, discipline and celibacy are commandments of his choosing. A devout servant of the Lord. Armored with the Breastplate of Righteousness, the Shield of Faith.

This should be sufficient enough to withstand temptation.

Right?

Pairing: Geto x Female reader

C/W: Religious themes, dark romance, eventual filth. 18+. MDNI.

A/N: Holy hell. Anon, you sick, twisted genius. You, the puppeteer. Me, the puppet who writes. This one — this story might be the one. Frothing at the mouth to know what you guys think. Going on AO3 for sure. I haven’t decided if I will keep this long fic series here, but since it was an anon ask its only right to honor them with the first chapter.

Art credit: @ potchi_jpg on X

Music: Garden Kisses x Giveon (this was on a manic repeat for at least an hour. It wrote the chapter. I implore you to listen and levitate like I did).

CHAPTER I. Hello, Duchess.

Andesite. Dacite. Schist.

Gorgeous.

Suguru takes a mental note of the rock formations whizzing by just before he spears the Aegean Sea. Tailwind force trailing his feet in an elegant whirl.

Eh, mediocre landing. He’s out of practice.

It’s true. Seminary did not allow for too much idle time in between biblical studies. Devil’s playground, and such.

And it’s not in his nature to half-ass any life endeavor, whatever it may be.

Suguru deftly levels out in the welcoming waves. Loose-limbed and fluid. Choosing to hover below her surface for a few moments longer. The tail end of his thick, singular French braid undulating behind him.

His body flows in tandem with the current. Swimming deep enough to scatter a pool of Fagri. He instinctively captures one in his large hand — not quite as out-of-touch as he thought.

‘Make it to shore! If Poseidon calls, don’t answer Him, son!’

The gentle fisherman called out each time Suguru dove off their vessel. Still two or three, sometimes up to five miles from the coast, he’d plunge into the waters. Regardless of her mood, Suguru craved to be surrounded by her embrace.

To be baptized by her tide.

Showered with her salt of the earth.

A dampened smile blooms across Suguru’s terse lips. Oxygen bubbles float about, from the muffled chuckle escaping him.

His father’s voice rings between his ears. A little less clearly, nowadays.

He always dove deeper than his fellow seafarers. Without the restraints of gear or protective equipment. Unnaturally comfortable in an element more labile than human nature.

Suguru’s father mused about his Stormborn boy’s true lineage.

‘Everyday, I prayed for you. Begged for you. And the God of the Ocean delivered a precious gift. Don’t return to His storms too soon.’

Fond memories, a little yellowed now. Callouses from those days have faded.

Suguru is a different man. Born again. In a new country. With a new home, a new purpose.

Even still, it’s comforting to know the world is 70% water, 30% land. And the Great Majority has always welcomed him with open arms.

No matter the iteration of his life, he’ll always find a home at Sea.

“Father Geto!”

What?

Suguru begins his ascent. He is still by the cliff edge. Not nearly far enough for the Sirens to beckon.

“Chaplain! Are you out there?”

Not even the saltwater penetrates his ears like this melody.

An ethereal crescendo. With all the grace and beauty of a summer swan. Light enough to lull stoic men to a peaceful, permanent, slumber.

More alluring. More disorienting than the songs at sea he’s heard and resisted. Potent enough to drown a warship.

Who is calling for him?

Suguru chases the lethal sound. Careful pauses at each depth-level. To avoid returning to Poseidon’s storms too soon, as his father would say.

“Father Geto!”

Ahh, a voice he recognizes. His alter boy, Noel, at the peak.

Helios is kind, today. Because the Sun kisses Suguru as he breaks the surface. If the Ocean is his home, the Sun is certainly his lover.

“What is it, Noel?” He calls in between strides to the volcanic edge.

“You have a visitor!” A tremble to Noel’s tone. Suguru cant help the low chuckle that leaves him.

Adolescents are always so anxious. Nervous about the most inconsequential, meaningless things. He was once the same.

Who could be visiting? His schedule is supposed to be cleared today.

Suguru laments leaving his clothing at the peak of the cliffside. Tossing a glance over his left shoulder - memories of his past life tattooed in various symbols. His back, covered in a sprawling trident.

A permanent stain from the life he lived before this. It’s unbecoming of a priest to be seen this way.

Latching onto the unforgiving rocky edges, Suguru scales the steep terrain in long steps and short holds. Serrated earth digs into his damp palms with each grasp.

He savors the pain. It’s familiar. An indication that he’s spent some time in the only other place he finds unfettered peace.

“Noel, my schedule was cleared. Who could be—“

“Pardon my intrusion, Father Geto.” You seep into Suguru’s sentence, effectively answering his question.

Music.

Suguru nearly falls backward off the ledge he just set foot on.

Rumors about your beauty pollenated the compound for weeks. Anxiously anticipating your arrival. Hushed voices between maidens. Whispers within the walls of parlors. Bellowing gossip between court officials.

All the words, all the speculations roll around Suguru’s skull. Louder than glass shattering in an empty room.

They were wrong.

Liars.

Not even a tenth of the truth can be found in the frivolous ‘she’s a beauty’, ‘what a pretty face’ and comments of the like taking root in the compound.

No, no.

You were sculpted by every single Deity Suguru has ever studied.

Because the One he has chosen to worship couldn’t have possibly crafted you alone.

The good Lord is simply without the means.

Suguru will have to repent for that blasphemous thought later.

…but God granted him eyesight, no?

Eyes that can see underwater with the same clarity as a cloudless day. He trusts his eyes more than any part of his body.

And they aren’t deceiving him.

Flushed and turned away, Suguru takes a moment to soak you in, while patting himself dry. Maybe taking a little extra time to step into his khaki slacks and white button up.

His wind pipe threatens to spasm with each sip of you he takes.

Exquisite woman.

You could convert a non believer in an instant.

The gentle slope of your nose, those warmed soft, high cheeks deserve to be cherished in a museum.

That dress.

The tailor must’ve sewn it to your body in real time. Rolling hills and dips of your feminine curves. So quick to surrender to the ride your frame is taking him on.

Suguru could fall to his knees and praise the Gods right here and now for their attention to detail.

“Duchess? I’m embarrassed. Forgive my attire, I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”

Still damp but fully clothed, Suguru walks forward with a steady hand outstretched. Intentionally skipping eye contact with Noel, who would’ve interpreted the glance as anger. The boy is practically vibrating in his periphery.

Concerned about possibly making a mistake, sure. But if Suguru were still a betting man, he’d bet your presence is driving Noel’s rattled nerves.

“I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness!” Unveiling your face to him with a gorgeous smile, you offer a delicate hand that drowns in his.

Well.

To call it just a gorgeous smile makes him no better than the rumor mill and its grave underestimation.

The air around him is sliced to a fraction of what it was. Suddenly gossamer thin and inadequate.

You are breathtaking.

“Please.” A deceptively even tone and casual wave of his hand. You wouldn’t know that words taste like sandpaper.

“How can I serve you, Duchess?”

“You do not have to address me as such, Father. I’m not wed, yet!”

Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you laugh. Heat scorches Suguru’s ears and you both are presently under shade.

Do. Not. Covet.

“It’s all the same.” With a restrained smile, Suguru peels his eyes away from yours.

Resting them on his rectory in the distance. He gestures his hands forward. Noel scrambles ahead of you two, undoubtedly to go tidy the chapel (that is already spotless).

“You’re quite the swimmer.”

You could assassinate him, you know.

With that voice of yours. The way it stuns his senses. Far more dangerous now that it isn’t dampened by unrelenting waves.

Suguru is a strong swimmer. He knows it. Noel knows it. The whole court knows it. Great Whites know it.

So why is his spine unraveling at its seams when you say it?

Why is his heart knocking against his sternum like it’s on the run from something?

From someone, rather.

“Mmm.” Suguru hums through closed lips.

Unable to acknowledge the compliment with decorum. He opts for diversion instead.

“Duchess, if I may. What prompted your visit to the chapel? How can I serve you?”

The two of you take lazy strides along the cobblestone path. You ogle at a white rose bush that Suguru is particularly fond of.

“I was touring the compound and noticed the garden surrounding the Church.”

A distracted response, while nestling your nose in a pretty bloom. Sun rays fanning your face as if to showcase that you’re God’s favorite. A biblical example of how flowers should be enjoyed.

Is it just the roses? Or are you this beautiful no matter the plant?

“Ahh. Come, then.”

You’re being indulgent, Suguru.

Maybe so. But the Chapel Grounds are his domain. The greenery lives and breathes under his fingertips. He adamantly refused a groundskeeper for the garden. Taking pride in nurturing its needy existence.

Second only to his eyes, Suguru trusts his hands fully. They’re intelligent. Fast. Expansive.

Definitive. Firm when the situation calls for it, yet gentle. Quick to learn.

Attentive.

He’s never gotten a shortage of compliments on his hands—

“Wisteria!” You torpedo through Suguru’s rapidly disintegrating spiral. And he couldn’t be more grateful.

Regaining a shred of control, he leads you under the oak archway. Draped in curtains of Wisteria. The billowing lilac petals sway romantically in the sea breeze.

Your lips hang open in a pretty, shocked ‘Oh.’ Eyes wide, gazing up at him in wonder. Adoration woven into those beautiful features slams hot and heavy into his lower abdomen. Remnant embers warming below his belt line.

Suguru coughs to reset his over-sensitive senses. A futile gesture because you knock him right back down to his knees.

“Oh, Father…..please?” A soft plea rolls through the slit in your lips. Pulling his eyes down to your pout.

Fuck.

The rock formation Suguru took note of earlier suddenly materializes in his throat. You coated his honorific in a new tone. Breathy and desperate. As if he is the only person who could satisfy your needs.

His skin is half a degree away from melting clear off his skeleton under those big, warm eyes of yours.

“Specify your request, Duchess.”

Both hands jam into his pockets so he can dig his nails into his thighs unnoticed. The searing pain tethering him to this dimension.

A deep rose blooms over your cheeks. Realizing you hadn’t actually asked him a question before begging.

So, prettily.

“May I please tend to your garden? It’s…I’m far from home and gardening brings me so much joy. Please, Father Geto—“

“Yes.”

His agreement comes well before Suguru is ready. Or, thought it through.

Should a noble woman be seen doing tasks as menial as gardening?

Should you be seen without your fiancée on his grounds?

What will you look like?

Kneeling over a bed of sunflowers?

Kneading the soil with your delicate, small hands—

“How can I thank you?” Your lips curl into an intoxicating smile. And Suguru no longer has the capacity to be in your presence.

“No need, stay as long as you like. I have to take my leave.”

Suguru offers a curt wave and terse smile before spinning on his heel. Leaving you, a work of art, beneath the masterpiece that is his arc of wisteria.

He barrels down the Chapel corridors at light speed. The pews, confessional, meeting rooms whirl by his periphery in a drunken haze.

Cold water. Cold water.

The wooden bathroom door creaks and wails beneath his harsh touch. Suguru fumbles with the two-level lock.

He nearly strips down naked. The fire incinerating him from within is unbearable. If there were scissors within grasp he would’ve cut his braid completely off. Because even the familiar sway of his waist length mane along his back is too much.

You are too much.

Suguru’s fingers unravel his braid and reposition his locks into a tight bun. Off the damp skin along his neck.

‘Father….please?’

Your voice echoes from Suguru’s incapacitated brain down to his drooling cock. Icy water splashes against face.

Suguru’s length has been weeping since you first revealed your face to him. Twitching and thrashing with every single word that came out of that pretty, sinful mouth. He’s never been so grateful that today he chose to swim with compression gear, rather than his usual bared skin.

Are you doing this on purpose?

Wide eyed and demure. But with a voice more beautiful than any siren that has tried to lure him to his watery grave.

Is this a test?

Suguru’s fingers desperately grasp the golden cross around his neck. Digging the symbol into his palm.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” He starts. Ignited, smoldering violet eyes staring back at him are unrecognizable.

They are not of God.

They are dark.

Lust filled.

“Now. And…and at the hour of our death.” Words slip through his gritted teeth. His other hand grips the sink edge.

‘May I please tend to your Garden?’

“God. Please.” Suguru is the one pleading. To anyone above.

For self-control. For reprieve from the shape of your lips when you beg. His cock bucks against his inner thigh. Demanding attention to the ache between his legs.

Are you Eve?

Have you come to destroy his Eden?

Your delectable mounds barely hidden beneath that fucking dress as the Apple?

“Holy…Holy Mary, Mother of God…pray for us sinners.” His vice grip around the cross tightens. Babbling words he hopes can provide him with some restraint, some clarity.

They don’t.

Because his other hand now hovers over the pulsating bulge in his slacks. His manhood starved. Especially having been deprived of touch. Of warmth for longer than Suguru remembers.

“Holy…Mary…fuck.” Blasphemy rolling off his tongue.

Scorching heat radiating from his hovering palm pierces his clothing. Encasing his cock like a warmed blanket. Enticing him like the soft sex of a woman. Every single muscle is under wire tension. Forcing space between his need and his hand.

His hands. Don’t forsake him now. He trusts his hands.

“Father Geto? Are you alright?” Noel’s call from the other side of the door startles Suguru still.

“I’m—“ Suguru clears his dry throat “I’m alright, Noel. What do you need?”

“I saw you run in here and—“

“I’m okay.” Suguru replies, more softly this time. The boy is almost too tender-hearted for his own good.

He doesn’t miss the small sigh of relief.

“I left your updated schedule on your desk.”

“And what would I do without you?”

Suguru can almost hear Noel smiling across the barrier. Gleefully padding away. Completely unaware that his presence was the saving grace from disgracing himself.

Another splash of cold water on his face and multiple deep breaths later, Suguru finally gains enough composure to emerge.

Curious about the updates to his schedule, he strides to his office. A leather folder awaits with his itinerary.

Saturday: 0800 - 1000- Youth lecture

Saturday: 1800 - 2000 - Evening mass

Sunday: 0700 - 0900 - Morning mass

Sunday: 1300 - 1400 - Pre-Marital Counseling [CONFIDENTIAL]

“High court, then.” Suguru muses to himself. Pulling out the envelope with a matching demarcation. Meant for his eyes only. Should the seal be broken en route to the recipient the offender could be sentenced to death for treason.

And at this moment, Suguru finds that fate less painful than the spear currently piercing his lungs.

His eyes burn into the names written at the bottom of the page.

The Duke Ahriman & The Duchess-to-Be.

Chapter II

E/N: Hello from [redacted]. I am literally losing my shite. I’m already in love with the plot before it has even fully materialized. And prince-of-the-sea-Suguru? This headcannon has me in a chokehold I fear. Thank you for reading 💋

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murdrdocs · 2 months

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suggestive content; mentioned public sex MDNI w/ LUKE CASTELLAN

thinking about the beginning of summer with luke.

the mist keeps camp half blood's weather decent year around, but the beginning of summer can still be marked by the way shines a little heavier and the lack of wind creating a stuffy feeling. that, and the general euphoria that takes over everyone.

when your clothes stick to your bodies and you're nearing heat exhaustion, there is nothing else to do but sneak away to the water with luke.

following a path frequently taken, the grass worn down by the soles of your beat up sneakers. gossiping and snickering and gasping at stories about your day, usually told about the short moments you hadn't spent together.

sometimes, if you had enough time or patience, you both would be wearing clothes fit for swimming. most times, though, you reach the water and peel of your camp shirt and your shorts to reveal your usual underwear. (if you two only had a short amount of time to relax, luke would usually convince you both to take your underwear off, only so it wouldn't have to take long to dry)

on the occasions where you're at the water to cool off and escape, you and luke will float on your backs and listen to the soothing sounds of nature. there's nothing more relaxing than being alone and weightless without the burden of counselor responsibilities and the nagging of children distracting you.

but there are times where you would make a day out of it. on the weekends, after a tiring capture the flag battle, you would pack clothes and towels and strawberries and take them down to the shoreline.

luke would convince you to let him slather your body in sunscreen (he is suddenly an activist for skin cancer prevention, but his hands lingering on your hips tell another story), and you let him do it only if you can return the favor (you don't bother pretending to care about his skin when you run your hands down his abs).

many kisses are shared. if you have enough energy, you'll lazily make out with each other. you straddle his hips, he has a hand on your face and another on your ass. luke likes to tease in this scenario. he likes to dig his fingers under the elastic of your bottoms, maybe snap the string back onto your skin if you're wearing a bikini. sometimes, he'll go as far as to peel the crotch of your bottoms aside, or lodge one of his thumbs under the cup of your top.

begrudgingly, you end up slapping his hand away with fear that someone (or even something) could catch you. (you both know there will come a day where you let him go all the way)

by the time you leave the shore, you both have new tan lines, saltwater clinging to your skin, and the swapped taste of strawberries on your kiss-swollen lips.

#lukesworld!#celeste writes pjo #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff

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nrdmssgs · 11 months

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Little things, they do (Alex, Soap, König) (headcannons)

Masterlist

Part 2 (Price, Ghost, Gaz) here

Ok, guys, first of all, thank you all for giving this little sketch THAT much love. Honestly, I'mm shocked. I'm blaming mister Riley here, but boy, thank you so-so-so much for 100 beautiful followers. I`ve actually had something for this milestone, but I was sure, it would be hit somewhere in the end of the summer. Hope, you like it!

Little things, they do, that get you every time. Silly, warm, heart-melting, wholesome things.

Alex Keller

Almost unconsciously lowers his head to stay on your eye-level whenever you two are sitting at a table and chatting.

If you are cooking and even insisting on doing it solo (maybe it's just your thing, maybe you like to have more room in the kitchen), he is never leaving you. He will just sit there and keep you company, or tell you some stories, or maybe find a youtube video for you both to listen to, while you're doing your magic.

Talking about your cooking, he never turns down anything, you've made. Never. “Alex, don't take that bun, I burnt it!” Eats it anyway, because it's your effort that counts and makes anything you cook so special to him.

If you are dating, and he needs to go early in the morning, he covers your eyes with the corner of his blanket (very carefully so as not to wake you up!). That way, he can turn on the light and collect his clothes without waking you up.

Def pulls you closer in his sleep. Buries his face in your hair, mumbles some sweet nonsense, places a soft kiss on the top of your head. (by gods I need more headcanons on this man sleeping)

Sometimes just stops whatever he is doing to say “I love you” and give you a kiss. The fridge is still open, his sweater is halfway off him, his hands still wet and water runs on uncleaned dishes? Doesn't matter, the kiss is what important to him.

Johnny Soap MacTavish

Once Price saw how you two interact and commented it like “Looks like our Tweedledum finally found his Tweedledee…” And while other pairs could get offended, you two weren't bothered at all (you're two chaotic crows, nothing can stop you!). In fact, from that moment anything he buys or makes for you, comes with a small handwritten note, saying, “to: my Dee. from: your Dum.”

Once he cooked an absolutely amazing pie. You were practicaly moaning, while savouring it and he just sat there all bright with pride. In a few years you saw the same kind of pie in a menu in the pub, where you were supposed to meet Johnny and others from the 141. Once you pointed it out to Johnny, others flinched and looked at each other. In response to your uncomprehending look, one of them admits that Soap was so worried that you would not like his cooking that he practiced at the base for several weeks. Because of it, their diet consisted only of Johnnys` pies for these weeks.

Has no concept of “too girly stuff”. Will gladly go shopping with you, paint your nails, help you dye your hair at home, if you feel like it. Will sneak your eye patches, because they smell so nice, and he feels so fresh after using them!

During his deployments, sends you tons of the most random photos just to calm you down and cheer you up (because every time you are too scared, this could be his last mission). “Ok, bonnie, this time I present you the collection of random rocks, I've met on work.” For the next week, you keep getting… exactly that. Photos of rocks with short comments like “Here's wee one.”

You don't know why the last photo he sent you that week was a photo of some guy in a creepy mask. You also don't have a single idea, why Johnny then goes radio silent for two days and why he has a brand-new phone, when he's back.

König

You have a stiff back? He will gladly take you by the hands and lift you up so that your spine is extended. "König! No, no, wait, don't, OH!... Oh… Sweet mother of jesus, I actually feel better..."

Even if you are just friends, and you are staying over at his place - he presents you with a shampoo, shower gel, conditioner and body lotion of EXACTLY the same brands as you're using at home. He just notes these small things and wants you to feel relaxed and taken care of when you're around him.

You can call him anytime on any occasion and if his phone is on, he will answer in SECONDS. You had a bad dream, and it's 4 am, and he lives on the other end of the town? In another town even? No problems, he answers almost immediately and comes to you as soon as he can. Even if It's just to hold you for 15-20 minutes, while you slowly drift to sleep, and then to drive back to his place for another good hour.

Thanks you for everything, and not only verbally! Writes small notes and leaves them on your bag or just straight gives them to you. He doesn't take anything for granted. Every your intention is a gift for him.

And that goes not only for the time, when you two have just met each other. You are his wife or husband since 10 years, you already have 2-3 beautiful kids? He still writes you notes, thanking you for the most incredible goodnight kiss, you gave him yesterday (every your goodnight kiss is the most incredible to him).

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cupid-styles · 9 months

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come on, disco queen*

Word count: 6,200+

70s!Harry and virgin fmc!! Enjoy disco bbs 🪩🍒💌🔮🫶🏼🩷

Smut CWs: dirty talk, talk of anal, fingering, squirting, fmc being a pillow princess hehe

—

Daisy's limbs are haphazardly thrown askew over the length of the couch when Harry walks into the apartment he shares with his sister, Willow.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes at her appearance; her stature barely covered in a crocheted halter top and a hopelessly tiny pair of denim shorts. She's barefoot, eyes closed and buried in the crook of her elbow. He assumes he's sleeping as he kicks his sneakers off and moseys into the kitchenette, focusing on the all-consuming dryness coating his throat and mouth.

San Diego in the middle of summer was not for the faint of heart.

She lifts her head up when her ears perk up at the sound of someone shuffling through the kitchen. She expects to see Willow, but instead is met with Harry, and huffs, dramatically tossing her head back against the woven pillow.

"Don't you have a home?" Harry finally bites, breaking the silence between the two. The only other sound echoing through the area of the apartment is the large fan Harry managed to snag with some leftover cash from his paycheck earlier this summer. Even though it's not efficient enough to cool down the entire place, it's decent at breaking down the sticky humidity.

"It's too hot to move." Daisy mutters. He glances over, trying to ignore her uncovered midriff and the way her breasts are barely covered by the white stitches of her top. This time, he does roll his eyes — it's not that he doesn't like his sister's best friend, it's just that if she was going to hang around the apartment, especially without Willow, then maybe she could cover up just a little bit more.

"Better start pitching in for electric then," he utters between sips of lukewarm tap water. "Willow still at work?"

Daisy sits up now, her long brown hair mussed by what Harry can only assume is an afternoon of laying down on his couch. She nods, blinking her eyes slowly as they adjust to the warmth of the room. It was one of Harry's favorite parts of the apartment — the way the sun hit in the late afternoon, effectively making it glow.

"Yeah. I think she swapped shifts with the pregnant girl she works with so she went in later. Think she said something about being home around 10 tonight?"

Harry nods as he finishes his glass of water, giving it a quick rinse and placing it on the dish towel they used for drying.

"You sticking around then?" he asks, leaning his hip against the refrigerator and crossing his arms over his chest. Daisy shrugs and glances up at the clock, her eyebrows raising slightly when she reads the time.

"Was thinking about hitting the record store before they close. I wanted to grab that new Fleetwood Mac album. I haven't been able to get that one song out of my head since I heard it on the radio the other day — you can go your own way, or something?"

Harry nods knowingly. He'd been a fan of Fleetwood since they release their last album and had been first in line to snag their most recent.

"Rumours, yeah?" He asks, and Daisy lights up, her eyes wide, "I have it. There's this one incredible song — "Dreams" — and it's all Stevie. The lyrics are amazing."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Harry replies, "I'm surprised you didn't already snag it when it came out."

Daisy works at the local record store which, if Harry's being completely honest, is kind of his dream job. He thinks it's really cool that she gets to check out all the newest music and has first dibs on albums, even if their music taste differed sometimes — he tended to lean more towards Led Zeppelin, while Daisy favored Donna Summer.

"It's been sold out for ages," Daisy says with a shrug, "I swear, there was a week where it was the only record I sold."

Harry chuckles at that and opens the refrigerator, reaching in to grab a can of Miller.

"You want one? I moved the player into my room 'cos of that party Willow threw a few weeks ago, when that kid almost ralphed all over it," Harry rolls his eyes, "We can listen to it in there, if you want."

Admittedly, Daisy is taken aback just a tad. She's been hanging around Willow for the past few years — she's originally from the Pacific Northwest and moved out to San Diego shortly after graduating high school, chasing a pipe dream on the tail end of '60s-fueled free love, only to find a major culture change in the early '70s.

The war out in Vietnam had created a ton of tension and, on her second day here, she spent the morning at a diner, her green eyes widened and glued to the hazy television reporting on the latest death count. She rolled her eyes when an older man huffed past her, mumbling something under his breath about being a sensitive hippie — she wasn't, she just had a compassionate heart — but she felt slightly seen when one of the waitresses sat down in the booth next to her, coffee pot in her hand, her own face crawling with horror.

They sat there in silence as the local news anchor read off the names of American soldiers that had passed in combat.

"'s heartbreaking, isn't it?"

Daisy turned to look at the waitress, a tanned, fresh-faced girl with curly brown hair.

"Totally freaky," Daisy sighed out with a shake of her head.

"You know anyone out there?" The girl asked, nudging her chin the direction of the television. Daisy was fortunate; she'd known a few guys from high school that had been unlucky enough to get drafted shortly after their 17th birthday, but that was it.

"No, thankfully not. You?"

The waitress pursed her lips, "No. My brother would've gotten picked for sure if he was an American citizen. Lucky for us, we're still working on the whole immigration thing. Brits and whatever."

"That's a trip." Daisy breathed, and the girl nodded.

"Totally." She stood from the booth and reached over to refill Daisy's coffee cup. "Are you new to town?"

"What, the duffel give it away?" Daisy smirked, making the girl laugh out loudly.

"Far out. Do you have a place to stay? You seem nifty, my brother and I have some room if you need a couch to crash on."

The rest, she supposes, is history.

Daisy only stayed at Harry and Willow's place for a month or so before nabbing a job at Sam's Records. Thanks to their generosity, she was able to save up to snag a small loft in the neighborhood, but she was happy.

She was especially happy when she was around Harry, too.

He didn't express a huge interest in Daisy, and she soon found out it was because he was a casanova of sorts. He worked hard, enough to maintain the apartment and pay the bulk of the rent and bills, but he was constantly bringing girls back for quickies. Willow would roll her eyes and gag, Daisy would ignore the twinge of jealousy in her heart.

So that's why she's a little surprised when Harry makes an offer to actually hang out without Willow. They normally ignore each other or make small talk until Willow gets home from work or relieves them of their awkward conversation. They haven't really spent too much time together one-on-one in the five years Daisy's been in San Diego.

But she's not foolish enough to let this opportunity to waste — it'd be a lie if she said she wasn't just a little bit attracted to Harry. Besides, with the amount of people he hooked up with, she as undeniably curious about what he had to offer.

"Yeah, sounds groovy," Daisy replies, standing from the couch and stretching her achy limbs out. She swears she catches Harry's eyes linger a little too long on the swell of her breasts beneath her top, but quickly convinces herself otherwise as he digs in the fridge for another beer. She follows him into his bedroom, a space that Daisy could recall being in only twice before: Once, a few days into her initial stay here when she was high off a few bong hits and thought she was walking into Willow's room, only to be met with a strawberry blonde straddling Harry's lap, mid-makeout (she'd quickly stammered and shut the door closed before Harry's eyes could even flutter open), and another time, with Willow, when she was looking for her Elton John record.

Both times, Daisy hadn't taken much of his room into view, instead feeling equally awkward and uncomfortable that she was there without his actual invitation. So when Harry places the two beer cans on his nightstand and strides over to his record player to turn Rumours on, she peeks at the little details of his space — a myriad of Polaroid photographs, some of friends, some with friends, some of people she didn't recognize. A stack of worn paperback books with swollen spines next to his bed, and Daisy feels her eyes widen when she notices Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique on top. She knew Harry was liberal and kind and all, but she never expected to find feminist theory literature in his room.

She's taking in the tacked up band posters covering the walls when the soundly crackle of vinyl fills the room. Harry turns with a cheeky smile on his lips as he places the record insert back in its sleeve, then nudges his chin in the direction of the sweaty, unopened cans of Miller.

"I heard they're supposed to play LA sometime this fall," Harry finally breaks the silence as Daisy hands him his can, the two of them cracking them open. She lifts hers to her lips and takes down greedy gulps, partially because of the heat but mainly because of Harry.

"Oh, right on," Daisy replies, shifting her stance from foot to foot. "I think I'm gonna try to hit that ABBA show next month in downtown SF."

Harry wrinkles his nose at her response as he sits on the edge of the bed, wordlessly encouraging Daisy to do the same. She does, albeit hesitantly, and with enough distance between them.

"That's a mighty drive for some disco," he teases, though there's a hint of seriousness to his commentary, "You going with someone decent?"

Daisy shrugs, "Willow was into it but she probably can't take off from work. I might ask that guy Warren I work with, he said he'd be down if he could get some good sales out of it."

Harry raises his eyebrows and quickly shakes his head between sips. "No way Jose, you're not making an eight hour drive to SF with a coke dealer."

Harry wasn't hugely into discos, but he was a frequent flyer when it came to tagging along with Willow and Daisy to ensure they were safe. As far as he knew, Daisy didn't dabble in coke all too much, even if it ran rampant in the nightclubs they attended.

"But if I don't go who knows when I'll be able to see them again—"

"I'll go with you," Harry blurts out before he can fathom the thought of a 16-hour drive, round trip, for a bubblegum group he doesn't even like. "Fuck Warren, he's good for nothing but drugs."

"Harry, you hate ABBA," Daisy rolls her eyes. "I'll be fine, really."

"Who says I hate ABBA?"

"You literally yell at us to turn it off every time we put Arrival on."

Harry shrugs his shoulders and leans back against the neat array of pillows, tucking his arms behind his head. "It's me or it's a no-go, disco queen."

She sighs and shakes her head before leaning back on her elbows, her palm pressed tightly against the condensation of the can. "Please, there's no way you would want to sit in a car with me for that long."

"Where'd you get that idea from?" Harry asks with furrowed eyebrows, pressing his lips into a thin line. Daisy's quiet for a moment, churning a reply in her head that doesn't offend him or make her sound dumb.

"You just... I'm your sister's friend, you know? I know you probably don't dig me too much, and that's fine, but you don't have to go out of your way for me just because I don't have anyone else to go with."

"What makes you think I don't dig you?" Harry pushes, making Daisy sigh.

"It's nothing, forget it," she mumbles, finishing off her beer, "Thanks for this, the album's righteous, I'll pick it up at my next shift."

Harry's scrambling to stop her as she walks out to the living room and shuffling her shoes on. Dreams sounds from his bedroom, the song he was most excited to show her, and it only drives his actions further, her words echoing and gnawing into his heart.

"Daisy, stop," he tries, grasping out to wrap his fingers around her wrist, "Stop— just, talk to me, will you? C'mon, I— I don't know where you got that from, I think you're really stellar, Dais."

Daisy looks up at him, momentarily glancing down to hand around her wrist before shifting her wide eyes back to his. "You don't have to be like this, I gotta head home anyway—"

"You don't," Harry shakes his head, stepping closer to her, invading her space as she backs against the front door. "You've been jiving here all day, you don't have to go home. Don't lie to me."

Daisy lets out a frustrated sigh at his pushy nature, but not before she's entirely too distracted by his musky scent and the way his palm is pushed against the wall, right next to her head, making his bicep flex just slightly. She watches as his tongue peeks out and he licks over his lips, waiting for her to break. If it had been anyone else in the world, she would've done everything she could to remove herself from the situation, go home, and soak in the bath while she beat herself up about being too awkward, not sociable enough.

But this is Harry. And Daisy can't, even if she desperately wants to, say no to him.

So she huffs and darts her eyes back to his bedroom, making an annoyed gesture with her hands that signaled what she really wanted to say: c'mon then, dipshit, let's go talk.

Harry's smirking as Daisy kicks her shoes back off, a triumphant puff to his chest. When they return, he closes the door just gently enough to where she wouldn't have noticed if she weren't hyper aware of his every action.

"Right, then," Harry says, sitting down across from Daisy on the bed, who now has her legs criss-cross-applesauce. He follows her lead and allows for her a decent distance between them. Daisy feels like she's having an awkward first kiss with someone via spin the bottle, but she quickly bats the thought of kissing Harry away. "Why don't you think I like you?"

"Because," Daisy sighs, reaching up to cover her warm face with her hands, "I'm just Willow's annoying friend, you know? Always in your way and at your place, drinking your beer and listening to your records."

"Where did you even get that idea?" Harry asks with furrowed brows, shaking his head. "I don't think you're annoying, and I don't care that you hang here, with or without Willow. You can drink all my fuckin' beer or listen to my records until they scratch."

Daisy blushes at that. He's never outwardly declared any type of fondness towards her, friendly or not.

"You just... always seem so peeved when you come out with us to the discos and stuff," Daisy admits, shrugging lightly, "I feel like you think you have to babysit me or something."

Harry chuckles with a shake of his head. "You're a trip, you know that?" His question is rhetorical, so she continues sitting there, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yeah, I wanna make sure you guys are being safe and no, I don't love disco or boogieing down the way you lot do. But I'm never peeved about hanging with you, Dais. I'm sorry if I did something to make you feel that way, but I promise, you're more to me than Willow's friend."

Daisy's eyes finally meet his. Harry notices the faint blush that blossoms over her cheeks, and he can't help the way his lips turn upward in the smallest tick, his heart expanding ever so slightly at the sight.

"That's nice of you," she eventually mumbles out, blinking slowly. He chuckles quietly and shrugs, murmuring out, "yeah, I guess."

Side A of Rumours is long over now; the only noise sounding through the room is the repeated spin of the vinyl, over and over again. Daisy glances over to the record player, her bottom lip dropping open.

"You should— you should stop that," she says, "It'll scratch the record."

Harry smirks. He watches as she cowers slightly and he notes her nervous energy, the way her anxiety radiates off of her in small waves.

"Would you get me a new one if I did?" he asks, his voice dropping to a raspy tone.

Daisy looks back at Harry, her eyes somehow seeming even wider now. "Y-yeah. If you needed it, yeah."

"Yeah?" he teases, "You're good that way, aren't you?"

"H-Harry—" Daisy's lips fold over the syllables of his name, as if she's broken herself from the spell she was under. "I... you don't have to do this. I get it, you don't think I'm annoying but... don't just try to sleep with me 'cause you feel bad for me."

Harry lets out a frustrated sigh as he backs out of her space, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"Why do you think you're some kind of charity case?" he asks with a shake of his head. "I don't feel bad for you, Daisy, and I would never take advantage of you in that way."

"You're just— you're you! And I'm me! And it doesn't make sense that you'd want anything to do with me outside of Willow! You've never acted this way before—"

"Yeah, exactly!" Harry exclaims, cutting off the words falling from Daisy's mouth. "You're my little sister's best friend, and I don't want to fuck things up between you two by doing anything stupid. I've been staying away from you for years because it's easier to do that than hurt you or her or get hurt myself if things didn't work out!"

Daisy's jaw drops open at Harry's admission, her cheeks immediately warming. She wants to cover her blush with her hands, but she can't find it in her to move, let alone tear her gaze away from his. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he awaits a response, so when she's at a loss for words, he huffs in frustration and shakes his head, standing from the bed.

"Forget it— just forget I fuckin' said anything," he mutters, rounding the bed to open his bedroom door, his denim bell bottoms swishing with his steps. "Go home if you need to, stick around if you want— just pretend this never happened, alright?"

"I— Harry, stop," Daisy finally musters, shaking her head as she attempts to process, "I'm not... I don't want to forget what you just said. I'm just trying to understand it."

"What else is there to understand?" He bites.

"Am I... am I wrong in assuming that you like me? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Please don't be wrong, please don't be wrong, please don't be wrong—

"Yeah. That's what I'm saying, Daisy."

The world slows just a bit — not just for Daisy, but for Harry, too. He'd never really envisioned a time where he admitted to having feelings for his little sister's best friend, but it seemed that they'd brewed and simmered for so long that they had no choice but to boil over. Daisy was just as surprised, though. She'd spent the past few years assuming that he hated her and looked at her like a naïve nuisance always taking up space.

"Can you say something?" Harry finally grumbles, and Daisy isn't aware of how long it's been since he made his confession.

"I..." her eyebrows are furrowed, confusion apparent on her face as she looks up. "Why me?" This time, he returns the same expression.

"Are you serious?" Harry echoes, "You're... you're beautiful and smart and so sweet to everyone you meet. I've seen you trip-sit more kids in this apartment than I care to count, and you didn't even know 'em all. You have good taste in music, even if it includes ABBA... you're amazing to my sister, and every time we stop into the record store and you're just sitting there, reading your books... Dais, I swear to god, you look like a goddamn angel."

A furious blush flowers over Daisy's neck and face. She'd watched Harry hookup with a constant rotation of people, all of who she felt were more attractive than her. It felt unreal to hear that he thought she was pretty and kind.

"Can I— can I kiss you?" Daisy blurts, raising to her knees, the plushy bedding of Harry's mattress digging into her legs.

"Yes. Please, Dais, kiss me."

She nods and leans forward, slow and hesitant. Their lips brush against one another and Harry reaches up to carefully caress her cheek, gently pulling her closer until finally, they make contact.

It feels as though years of tension are being translated through their kiss. Harry's quick to meld his mouth against hers, moving his lips in a careful pace. She meets him halfway with similar touches; quiet smacks of their lips moving together. With a hand on his thigh, Harry's tongue enters Daisy's mouth and he's licking at her, more eagerly now that he's gotten a taste. Daisy parts from him momentarily, but only to move over his lap and straddle his legs, her heels pressed into her bum as she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him back in for another kiss.

She feels floaty and loses herself in the warm comfort of Harry's mouth, especially when his large hands find the backs of her thighs, sliding up to her ass. She swears she's never felt so good before, until the hardness of Harry's length makes itself known, poking at her core between layers of fabric. It's just enough to rip her out of her dreamy state, and she parts with a small gasp when he involuntarily bucks his hips up, searching for some sort of friction-filled release.

"Fuck— I'm sorry," Harry mutters out through spit-slicked lips. They're a muted cherry hue now, the same color they get when he's had a few too many glasses of red wine, or when he's saying goodbye to his one night stand in the hallway.

"It's okay," Daisy mumbles. She knows it's just human biology, that it's obviously natural for guys to get hard during heated makeout sessions. It's not like she's never felt a dick before, but it's also just that — she's never actually felt a dick before. "Um, I just— can we slow down?"

"Oh, yeah, of course. You just— I'm just like... really excited, I guess, and my body... knows that."

"It's fine, Harry," Daisy peeps out, smiling softly at the blush covering his cheeks, "But, uh... I've never... been with anyone before."

"What do you mean?"

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. She had hoped that he would've caught on, but clearly she was wrong.

"I've never been with anyone."

"But I've seen you makeout with people at the disco and shit."

"Yeah, but I've never taken them home."

It takes a moment for it to click, but when it does, Harry's eyes widen and his mouth forms around an oh. Daisy feels an all-encompassing embarrassment take up her entire form — she'd disclosed this information to people in the past, and they normally scampered off because the responsibility of taking her virginity was simply too much. She understood that, truly, but it got tiring after awhile. And, let's face it — this was Harry, and she really, really didn't want to feel stupid in front of him.

"I'm... I didn't know that."

Daisy shrugs, "It's not exactly like I go around parading it."

"Well, I would hope not."

This time, Daisy does roll her eyes, and Harry smirks as she gently pushes at his shoulder. The awkwardness melts just slightly and Daisy's body relaxes.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to— I get that it can be a big deal for some chicks," Harry says, moving his palm to gently squeeze her hip, "But I do really like you, Daisy. And this doesn't change that."

Her heart swells in her chest and warmth envelops her belly. He has a dopey, lovesick smile on his lips — the same one he gets when he, Daisy, and Willow share a joint at the end of a night out, she notices — and she knows her face looks just as silly, if not more so.

"I like you too," she murmurs, reaching out to run her fingertips along the length of his jaw. She traces over his slightly scruffy beard, which she knows is a day or two overgrown. She trails up to the mustache covering his upper lip, the one Willow always complains about and says makes him look like a homeless hippie, but Daisy secretly adores. She ends at his lips, gently pulling at his bottom one to form a puppy's pout. Playfully, he nips at her fingertip and she giggles.

She doesn't retract her finger and instead presses her thumb between his swollen lips. He allows her to it, readily and openly, the digit laying flat against his tongue before he wraps his lips around it, sucking down softly.

"Oh," she breathes, feeling his tongue lazily swirl around her thickest finger. Daisy's core flutters at the image; the way his cheeks are hallowed out ever so slightly, a perfect picture of submission beneath her.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," Harry whispers. She doesn't know how long she's been in his bed on top of his lap, but she assumes it's been awhile with the way golden hour is soaking every inch of his bedroom. She's slow in her movements, with the way she removes her finger from his mouth and, instead of climbing off like he'd expected her to, trails her hand below her crocheted top, brushing her spit-covered thumb over her nipple.

"Oh, fuck."

Daisy's head lulls to the side as she plays with herself, her nipple slowly hardening between her fingertips. Harry can barely see anything through the white crocheted vest, just peaks of flesh and the warm-toned hues of her nipples, and his jaw has still managed to go slack as he watches her with parted lips. She's a real life wet dream, he's sure of it.

"Dais..." Harry sighs as she lifts her hand to her mouth, wetting her fingers only to travel back down to give her other nipple the same treatment, "Lemme see? Please, baby, I'm desperate."

Daisy hums at his admission. It's hard to ignore the electricity that zips through her belly at the word baby, but she tries to keep her cool, even if she has no idea what she's doing. Slowly, she lifts her arms and ditches her torso of the netted material, allowing the breeze coming from the fan to only harden her nipples even further.

"Can I touch?" He asks, his eyes flickering up to hers for consent, "You can dictate the pace, lemme know what you're comfortable with but— 'm gonna die if I can't touch your pretty tits, Dais."

Daisy nods, her words stuck in her throat from Harry's boldness. He's quick to duck beneath her form as a surprised yelp tumbles from her lips, but it's quickly replaced with a whimper as he attaches his mouth to her nipple. He's sucking and licking, going back and forth between each one, his large hands gripping harshly at her hips. She's struggling to keep still but it's especially difficult when he nips at the sensitive buds, his teeth supplying the most delicious and quick licks of pain.

"Harry, I—"

His head snaps at up the second his name leaves her throat, immediately removing his lulling tongue from the patches of skin he'd been obsessing over.

"What's wrong?" Harry asks, panicked. She shakes her head and breathes out tensely as she pathetically tries to roll her hips against his; an attempt to showcase her communication better, but he's reluctant in accepting it.

"Words, bub," he instructs, reaching up to cradle her jaw in his palm, "Are you okay?"

"Good," Daisy bobs her head, "Feels good. I— more, please?"

Her words are a jumbled mess as they float from her brain to her mouth. She knows she must sound borderline high but Harry doesn't tease, instead sliding his hand down to the waistband of her denim shorts, his palm flush against her tummy.

"What do you want?"

She swallows. She's hooked up with people before, gotten fingered and given a few blowies, but she's never been asked to verbalize her needs. It makes her flush with embarrassment as her jaw opens and closes dumbly, unsure of what she's even requesting of Harry.

"I don't know," she finally breathes, hitching her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm sorry. No one's ever asked me what I want before, I don't have as much experience as you—"

"Shush," Harry's quick to shut her up with a shake of his head. "I don't want you to feel bad about that. I just want to make sure I'm not pushing you too far. You get to decide, this is your body."

Daisy leans into Harry's grasp, pressing her cheek against his hand.

"Here, why don't you tell me where I can touch you?" he suggests, moving his other palm back up to her breasts, "Are you still alright here?"

She nods, gasping as he pinches her nipple between his fingers. His hands travel down to the swell of her ass, cupping her cheeks firmly.

"And what about here?"

"Mhm." her eyes flutter when he squeezes, a moan bubbling in her throat.

He keeps one hand on her bum as he uses the other to trail featherlight touches along the inside of her thigh, up to her core. She can feel her hole squeezing around nothing, a steady thumping buzzing through her clit, and she whimpers when he cups her pussy through her shorts.

"Is this okay, baby?"

Daisy nods, her breath quickening at the sensation. "You— you can take them off," she says in a moment of courage, "Want you to touch me there."

"Ah," Harry smirks as he unbuttons the denim, dragging the zipper down. "You want me to touch your little pussy, is that it?"

She whines as he budges her up just far enough to shimmy the material down her legs. She's not wearing the sexiest of underwear — just a plain cotton pair in a light blue — but Harry still licks his lips at the sight of the damp patch flowering over her hole, where he's desperate to feel.

"Has anyone ever touched you down here?"

"Yes," she mumbles, bucking her hips against his hand. His thumb is drawing light circles into her clit, not enough to satiate her need for him, instead providing a semblance of sensation.

"Do you ever do it?" he questions, moving his finger down to her hole. She's clenching with need as he gently pushes a finger in through the fabric. He's not fingering her, not even close; just making her whimper with need at the thought of what she could have if she answers him.

"Sometimes, yes," Daisy nods.

"What do you do?"

"I, um," she licks over her swollen lips, attempting to focus on his question as he dips in again. "I rub my clit... sometimes I put a finger in."

"Is that all it takes to make you cum?" his tone is teasing now, making her feel embarrassed.

"Usually."

"Usually?" he raises a brow, "What else do you do to make this pretty pussy cum?"

Daisy swallows loudly. "Sometimes... if I'm really turned on, I'll touch myself... lower."

"Lower?" Harry repeats, unsure if he's understanding her correctly. "Like...?"

"Yeah."

A devilish smirks takes over his face as he moves one of his hands to cup her ass again, this time squeezing even tighter.

"Is that why you moan so loud when I grab you here?"

She nods, ducking her head back in pleasure. Just the feeling of being slightly stimulated in both places is nearly enough to get here there, not to mention it's Harry doing the touching.

"And who taught you that?" he asks as he pushes the material of her underwear down her thighs.

"Um, a guy I hooked up with once," Daisy murmurs, sitting up slightly. She's naked now, still on top of him, while he remains in his work clothes from earlier today. Her pussy is bare to his wandering eye and he can't help the way he takes in her most intimate parts.

"And you liked it when he toyed with your cute bum?" Harry continues his relentless teasing much to Daisy's dismay, who is all but squirming with need. He relieves some of the consuming pressure in her stomach by taking his fingers between her pussy lips, spreading them to expose her clit. He lightly runs his fingertip over the sensitive nub and she shivers, nodding her head.

"He just... licked me there while he was going down on me," Daisy explains with fluttered eyes, "And the next time I played with myself I put a finger in... made me feel dirty but so good."

"Jesus, you really are a dirty little girl, hm?"

Apparently, Harry feels that she's answered enough of his questions and deserves a reward. She lets out a hearty moan when he applies more pressure to her clit, starting in tight, small circles. She's glistening for him and making a mess between her thighs, making Harry's mouth water just at the sight.

"You're a drippy mess," he mutters as he squeezes her bum. He lowers his hand downward to where she's aching the most, circling twice and dipping in to spread her wetness around. He uses his other hand to continue rubbing at her pearly clit as he pushes his finger in, his jaw dropping at the sight of Daisy arching her back and whimpering on top of him. "Fuckin' gorgeous girl."

Harry starts off at a tantalizing pace but when he sees how responsive she is to every little touch — well, he's only human, and he can't help but want to get her to her breaking point as quickly as possible. He's not sure if anyone she's hooked up with has ever cared to make her cum before, but with the way she's grinding down against his hand and palming at her own breasts, he thinks anyone that had a chance to see her like this and didn't is an absolute fool.

"Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?" Harry asks. He can feel her tightening around the finger that's currently deep inside of her, poking and prodding at that special spot with each thrust. She's so wet that he's positive there's a wet spot on his work pants but he couldn't care less.

"Y-yes," Daisy nods helplessly, bouncing up and down as he pushes a second finger into her opening. It's a slight stretch, but nothing she can't take, that much is clear.

"Such a good girl, Daisy," he mutters mainly to himself, "Can't believe I went this long without feeling you squeeze my fingers like this... be my good girl and cum for me, baby, let me see you."

The squelching sound of his fingers rapidly moving against her are a telltale sign that she's at her end, but it's the slight gush around his hand and her throaty moans that stick with him. He watches in awe as she squirts on his fingers, helping her through her orgasm, her muscles contracting quickly.

"Fuck," Harry utters, "You're absolutely filthy. Been hiding this from me for years, hm?"

Daisy's eyes have long since fluttered closed as she comes down from her peak, so Harry does the only thing he can think of. Gently removing his fingers from her, he hooks an arm around her to keep her steady before lifting his hand to his mouth and finally having a taste of her arousal.

"Harry," Daisy breathes when she sees him, her eyes slightly widened at the visual beneath her.

"You taste incredible, Dais."

Without thinking, she leans forward and messily melds their lips together, her tongue prodding into his mouth. He welcomes it and groans at her eagerness. They part a minute or so later, both with spit swollen lips.

"I think I'm addicted to you, Daisy Walker."

Part two | Part three | Series masterlist

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ghouljams · 21 days

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/kaalbela/662426563803004928/ron-hicks this is FaePrice and Witch!!

Oh oh oh

Ron Hicks puts something in his oils because I'm going feral over this.

So many long days in winter with snow up to his calves, the cold trying to creep over his boots, is it such a wonder that he clings to the warmth of summer? Even when he was hanging around your garden wall he soaked in the summer sun while flirting, enjoyed the warmth and humidity with a cup of tea, admired the flowers and the smell of sun on your skin. Now that he can actually cross over your threshold? He sits in your garden as often as he can. You've had to put a bench out for him, or perhaps it's better to say unearthed one.

The heavy stone previously consumed by vines, supporting squash and zucchini more often than bodies. You'd cleared away the vegetation and now found Price enjoying the sun each time you went out to water. He calls you over frequently, waves you closer and pats the seat beside him. Sometimes he pulls you down onto his lap, and sometimes he holds your hand and drags his lips over your palm, kisses the pulse in your wrist. Rarely, and perhaps favorite for you, you make it to the bench first. You tilt your face towards the sun and absorb her lovely rays until Price's shadow stand between you two.

It's then that you can offer your hand, pull him down to rest his head on your lap, and stroke your fingers through his hair. Price lets out a heavy sigh, his head cradled comfortably on your lap, his foot set on the edge of the bench to bend his knee, he closes his eyes with a smile and you can't help smiling back. Seeing him so relaxed, listening to the buzz of insects in your garden and enjoying the warm sun, makes your heart flutter. So often Price feels larger than life, a pillar of strength that you could never hope to knock down. Here in your garden with his head resting on your thighs, he feels like another life in your care.

You run your fingers over his brow, down the proud slope of his nose and across his cheekbones. You trace the lines of his beard, watch his face crease with his smile, his eyes shut peacefully as he enjoys the affectionate touch. His fingers grip your arm, holding onto you as you hold onto him.

"You've got more freckles," You tell him, touching your fingers against the little points over his nose and cheeks. Price hums, his thumb rubbing at your bicep. Gentle affection, always gentle with you.

"Been enjoying the sun," he murmurs. You lean down over him and pull his free hand from his chest to kiss his fingers. There's still a bite of winter chill under his skin, a whisper of tobacco clinging to him even without his usual cigar, your sunshine only banishes so much from him.

"She seems to enjoy you." You like the flush on his cheeks, the slight coloration from so much time in Summer, it makes him feel so much more. He must be drinking in the magic the same way you are.

Price shakes his head and turns to press his lips against your stomach. The fabric of your skirt prevents him from touching your skin, but he can feel your warmth just the same. The sun, his sun, cradles his head and strokes the worry from his brow. How could he not enjoy it? Summer is lovely, warm and bright, but he'd have no reason to keep coming back if it weren't for you. Pretty thing. His pretty thing.

You ask about trekking through winter sometimes, he knows you love the snow, but selfishly he wants to keep you trapped here. He's unashamed to admit it. You're too sweet, your magic too tempting, he's possessive not jealous, but that possession would keep you locked up if he let it. His little corner of summer, his treasure, tucked away behind all your wards where nothing else can bite you. His teeth are the only ones that should ever taste your skin.

"Or maybe you just enjoy this." You cup his hand against your cheek and Price opens his eyes to meet yours. He slips his hand behind your head and pulls you down, sitting up to press his lips to yours. All those monsters outside your gate can look on in jealousy while he enjoys his pretty thing. He'll never let you go.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #1fae1 #captain price mw2 #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price cod #john price #captain price #price x reader #price mw2 #price x oc #oc: witch #fae!price

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pumpkinbxtch · 2 months

Text

beautiful eyes * ˚ ✦

— leo valdez x daughter of hecate! myopic! reader

Summary: You and Leo are new being a couple and he feels the urge to be closer to you so he uses your glasses as excuse.

Warnings: swear words? they just kiss, man

A/N: English is not my first language, so sorry if it's bad.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

— Oh, those beautiful eyes of yours, let me see them up close again.

And there he went again Leo "I don't give a shit about your personal space" Valdez. It would only have been a few weeks since you and him had become a couple, however that didn't seem to stop Leo from taking advantage of the new closeness between you.

What you didn't know was, that for Leo was the only way to keep in physical contact with you without seeming like an idiot or getting nervous, so he opted for the best thing he knew how to do: bother and make jokes to go unnoticed about his true feelings and intentions.

You sat on the picnic blanket while you tried to appreciate the dance of the sunset reflection on the lake of Long Island Sound. That summer day seemed perfect and cozy, the purple and pink skies would have calmed you to the point of sleeping on your boyfriend's shoulder if it weren't for his super hyper mega hyperactive nature. Leo just wasn't a person who could stay calm for long and you knew it.

While you were still looking at the large body of water, he played with your hands and your rings and it wasn't until you felt his lips brushing your knuckles that you looked up at him. Leo simply smiled with his ears slightly pink. Or maybe it was the reflection of the sunlight?

—Can I? — He asked, tilting his head like when a dog hears a distant sound. You just rolled your eyes and then Leo took the glasses off.

You didn't know where the passion for doing that came from. At first you had the assumption that Leo probably found your face more aesthetically pleasing without a pair of glass on it, however he denied such idea before giving you a half-hour sermon about how glasses didn't make you less pretty. So, you headed for the second most likely thing: Your irises.

These were like his, brown, but being a daughter of Hecate, they sometimes gave off purple or iridescent colors. Clearly this aroused the attention of many and sometimes the reflection of the lenses did not allow them to fully appreciate it, but what could you do? You couldn't help be myopic

Leo smiled and a few seconds later he formed a completely serious face, that made you raise your eyebrow.

— Something wrong? —You asked.

For a few seconds he remained completely silent and static until words came out of his mouth again.

— Are you a descendant of Medusa? because you left me petrified with that look of yours — The boy kept his serious appearance until he burst out laughing, probably because of the look of repulsion that came out of your face.

— You're an idiot — You hit him on the shoulder and snatched your glasses from him.

He groaned, stretching out his hands trying to reach them, failing miserably.

—Well, before you put them on.— Leo grabbed you by the chin and joined his lips with yours closing a kiss. His free hand ran over your back to press you towards him, deepening the act, a step beyond the small kisses you had shared. For you, of course it was like taking you on a roller coaster from Tartarus to Olympus but for Leo the feeling was something beyond than that, slowly the son of Hephaestus felt his brain melt and turn into car oil.

He had finally managed to have you closer and it was better than he could have imagined. Before pulling away he gave you a small kiss and pressed his forehead against yours taking a breath. When he moved away enough for you to see his entire face you noticed the blush.

Leo looked away, embarrassed at letting himself get carried away, he nervously placed a hand on the back of his neck and cleared his throat.

— Uh, the thing is that I sometimes hit myself with your glasses.

Both looked at each other, You two knew it wasn't that. Or well, yes. From time to time, when you were kissing, the frame of your glasses decided on the same two options: 1- poke Leo's eye or 2- get stuck in Leo's curls and end up tangled.

However, even you agreed that it wasn't that reason, you decide to not say the embarrassing truth out loud and just laughed.

#leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x oc #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #pjo hoo toa

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f1letters · 1 year

Text

vigilante shit | pg10 x cl16

"you did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them"

summary: revenge is served cold and it tastes especially sweet when it involves his best friend

warning: angst, toxic relationship, toxic reader, revenge, suggestive language, swearing, no cheating (since they are not together), a little choking? (lol this took a turn)

pairing: pierre gasly x reader, charles leclerc x reader

word count: 3.4k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past.

french words used: mon ange = my angel; bébé = baby; ma chérie = my darling

we are officially back after last weekend! (please, let's NOT talk about it, I'm still in denial lol) 😂 I guess this story needs a shoutout to my toxic ex? thank you wherever you are in the world for the inspo! haha 😂 anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it as always!

masterlist

Draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man

You did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them

Sometimes I wonder which one'll be your last lie

They say looks can kill and I might try

A cat eye sharp enough to kill a man was the first step necessary to a killing night.

Y/N made sure her siren eyes were on point as she got ready for the party that night. It wasn't the first drivers' party she attended since she had become a frequent presence in the paddock for the last few months. But, boy, was it a special one.

This was her time to seek revenge.

Toxic? Perhaps. But the Machiavellian side of her didn't care. Her eyes were seeing red.

And red was her theme: her bright cherry-red lips, her long silk red dress, and the luscious red heels at the end of her smooth legs, which showed through the slit of her skirt.

She looked like a walking Ferrari prize, ready to be picked up by the winner.

Playing with me was the worst thing you've ever done, Pierre. You'll see, she thought, leaving the house.

I don't dress for women

I don't dress for men

Lately, I've been dressin' for revenge

It all started on an innocent, warm summer day when Y/N and a group of friends decided to take a boat on the gorgeous, fascinating Lake Como for some fun, swimming and sunbathing, while they were in the beautiful country of Italy.

Unknown to Y/N, in the same waters, another boat passed by hers, immediately catching the interest of all her friends. The young woman was completely distracted, tanning her back, when she began to hear flirty whispers and giggles coming from her group, swooning over some random guys.

Curious, the girl turned around until her eyes landed on the figures of two athletic, handsome men. God, it was unfair, couldn't she have both? A girl can dream.

She had always been a confident woman, but old-fashioned in a sense: she wasn't going to approach them. If they wanted to know her and her friends, they could address them. If not, their loss.

However... Life has a funny way of turning against you and when the group of friends was getting ready to leave the lake, their boat couldn't start. They tried and tried, but clearly none of them had the capacity to handle the situation. So they only had one option left: ask for help from the friendly, helpful guys on the next boat.

"Hey!" Y/N called out, in an attempt to get them to look. "Can you help us?"

"Hi! Is something wrong with your boat?" One of them, in blue shorts, questioned, curious.

"We can't start the engine. Can you help us?" She asked.

The two boys jumped out and swam to the girls' boat without hesitation. When they walked up the stairs, Y/N could almost hear her friends' jaws hitting the floor at the sight of their wet, muscled abs. But Y/N maintained his carefree demeanour, which only fascinated the two young men more.

The unreachable. The unknown. The treasure to be discovered. They lived for the adrenaline, for the adventure, for the challenge.

And she was a walking challenge.

"Thanks for your help. I'm Y/N." She introduced herself, extending her hand to greet them.

"Pierre." The boy in the orange shorts replied, half-closed eyes filled with interest.

"I'm Charles." The other replied, with a seductive smile plastered on his face.

How the girl would come to regret it when she thought back on that day. From that moment came the invitation for the young women to join the two drivers in their next GP in Emilia-Romagna, which they happily accepted.

And from there came more races, group dinners, parties, and much more. Everything got more complicated when what started as a group friendship ended up leading to a silent battle between the two friends for the confident girl's attention.

One of them, unfortunately, had to lose, and in this case, contrary to their races, Pierre came out victorious, much to Charles's unawareness. Although the Monegasque was an absolute Greek God on the outside and a sweetheart on the inside, Y/N couldn't help but initially let her tendency for complicated, toxic men lead her right to Pierre.

She fell for his charm right away. She didn't even have a chance to run. As soon as he made his first move on her when he pulled her into an empty room after a night of partying, he dominated the girl, body and soul, like he was poison burning right through the inside of her veins.

But like all poison, it's only a matter of time before you die without the antidote.

Secret nights, hidden moments, empty promises. He continued to feed off of what he wanted from her, while she sustained herself with the little crumbs left from the illusions she created in her own head.

He wasn't going to change, and she knew it. But it wasn't until she heard the words come out of his mouth that she realized really how she had been used all those months.

"I never wanted a serious relationship, mon ange," Pierre confessed, unconcerned with her feelings. "You knew from the start that this was just fun for the two of you."

"Fun for the two of you?" She echoed his words. "You've been saying for months that we're eventually going to be in a relationship. Don't lie now. Which one'll be your last lie?!"

She wasn't going to allow herself to cry in front of him. She kept her gaze directly on him, with a look that could kill.

"You know what? You're right." She replied, smiling at him through the pain she felt in her chest. The corners of her lips turned up, but her eyes didn't follow the gesture, leaving Pierre almost startled by the mixed signals. "Have a good life, Pierre. I'll see you around."

Oh, he was going to see her around...

If there was one thing Y/N liked better than a good boy toy, it was revenge.

And she was thirsty for some vigilante action.

I don't start shit, but I can tell you how it ends

Don't get sad, get even

So on the weekends

I don't dress for friends

Lately, I've been dressin' for revenge

She wasn't going to let herself be affected by a guy who didn't treat her as she deserved. That wasn't something that lined up with her strong, confident, determined personality.

Cry for him? Be heartbroken because of the shitty way she was treated by him? Why be sad when you can get even?

The perfect opportunity for payback just presented itself to her. Just like that: so tempting, so inviting, so alluring. In the form of a single text.

From: Charles Leclerc

hey! you're coming sunday night, right? need you at my victory party...

Y/N spent the whole time with her focus completely dedicated to Pierre when she had a caring, honest man in the palm of her hand... And she would be lying if she didn't say that the fact that he was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous didn't help captivate her now that her heart was free.

However, part of her mind told her that, although she was attracted to Charles, it would be unfair to basically use him to provoke a reaction out of Pierre. The Monegasque didn't even dream of the affair his two friends had going on in the recent past. It was just wrong. After all, how could she do to him what the Frenchman had done to her?

With this, an internal debate was created within the young woman. There were two options: she could be the superior person and move on with her life without thinking about the past, or she could let her anger take over and play with fire a little.

Unfortunately for Pierre, Y/N was never very good at keeping the burning fire of revenge inside her, and she was determined to have a little fun with it.

She needed cold, hard proof, so I gave her some

She had the envelope, where you think she got it from?

Now she gets the house, gets the kids, gets the pride

Picture me thick as thieves with your ex-wife

That Sunday, Y/N walked into the club like she owned the place. The white lights reflected off her as if she were the mirror ball in the centre of the dance floor: all eyes were on her as she outshined the rest of the world.

Two pairs of eyes averted in unison as she approached the group of drivers, both believing she was there for them.

Pierre, closest to the stairs she was going up to the VIP area, was the first to approach the girl, with an inquisitive look.

"Mon ange, I didn't expect you to be here." He confessed, convinced that Y/N was there with the intent of getting him back.

What he didn't expect was that her siren eyes wouldn't even meet his. She was a woman on a mission, and her eyes were on only one person: his best friend.

Without saying a single word to him, Y/N made her way over to the handsome winner of the race, who had his mesmerizing blue eyes already fixed on his shiny red prize.

"Wow, bébé!" He whistled, giving her his hand and making her take a turn to show off her look. "I love the red, it suits you well. Was that all for me?" Charles, more confident than usual from a couple of drinks already consumed, flirted with the girl, his eyes admiring her from head to toe.

"How did you guess?" She replied, in the same tone. Y/N couldn't deny that Charles looked incredibly appetizing. His baby blue shirt was slightly open, exposing the man's defined chest, his hair was tousled and wild, and his eyes were brighter than ever.

"Just a lucky guess. The red Ferrari was a given, though." He chuckled as he pulled her closer to him. "You look so pretty tonight, Y/N. Not that you don't always look stunning, but tonight... Damn, you look fucking incredible, ma chérie."

Charles, focused only on the woman in front of him, didn't even notice how his best friend was glued to the shocking image of the Monegasque clinging to his ex-lover, but Y/N could feel Pierre's eyes burning into the back of her neck.

The young woman couldn't help but let out a satisfied grin. Pierre thought he could play with her without having to deal with the consequences, but he forgot that karma has a way of always biting someone back.

Y/N let her hand flow along the shirt of the driver in front of her until she reached his collar. She approached him seductively until her red inviting lips approached his ear.

Letting her mouth graze against Charles' warm neck, she began her plan. "Do you want to dance, champ?" She asked, with a suggestive tone to her voice.

"Lead the way. I'm all yours tonight." Charles responded and placed his hands on the girl's waist in response.

Enjoy the show, Pierre. It's just getting started.

And she looks so pretty

Drivin' in your Benz

Lately, she's been dressin' for revenge

As the pair moved towards the centre of the club, Y/N swaying his hips gently to the music and Charles with his hands all over the girl's body, Pierre's gaze moved with them.

The Frenchman's muscles tensed up, something that didn't go unnoticed by his teammate Yuki, who was standing right beside him.

"Hey, is something wrong?" Tsunoda asked, worried. "You look... I don't know, upset."

"Everything is fine," Gasly replied, though not at all convincingly. "Everything is perfectly fine." He continued, not understanding whether he was trying to convince the Japanese driver or himself.

He broke up with her, okay, he knew that. He would've understood if she showed up with some random guy trying to tease him. But his best friend, someone he's known for decades?

Y/N was taking things too far.

Pierre unfastened two buttons of his shirt, in an attempt to catch his breath, now dominated by rage. If your plan was to make me jealous to prove me wrong, you've done it, he thought to himself. Now that's enough.

Now for Y/N, revenge was just beginning.

"I think the winner deserves something special." The young woman put her arms around Charles' neck, letting her fingers flow through his brown hair and giving him a provocative smirk. "Don't you agree, Leclerc?"

"Well, he tried really hard to win the race." He joked back, speaking of himself in the third person. The driver's hands threatened to slide further and further down her back towards her bottom. "I think at the very least he deserves a dance with the prettiest girl in this club."

"Perhaps if the winner behaves well during the night, he can find out if his prize is red under the dress too." She teased him, licking her lips as she looked down at his flawless mouth. "Do you think he would like that?"

"Oh, for sure." He answered, getting his face closer to hers.

Y/N felt her heart beat faster and more euphorically, something that caught her off guard. This all started with intentions to punish Pierre for what he did to her, but without her relationship with the Frenchman clouding her mind, Y/N couldn't help but see Charles in a different light for the first time.

Of course, she always thought he was hot and she noticed his attempts to get close to her. But at that moment, the young woman was looking at him and her body seemed to react automatically to the Monegasque's presence, trying to reduce the physical distance between the two as much as possible.

She don't start shit, but she can tell you how it ends

Don't get sad, get even

So on the weekends

She don't dress for friends

Lately, she's been dressing for revenge

She let herself be carried away by the impulsiveness of the moment and, leaving her thirst for vengeance forgotten in the back of her head, Y/N pulled Charles towards her and let her cherry-red lips kiss his.

Leclerc instantly returned the kiss, with the same passion, the same determination, and the same hunger for each other.

At that moment, it was just her and him. It didn't matter the circumstances that led them there, but that there was indeed chemistry and desire for each other. She simply had enough of Pierre and his lies.

On the other hand, Pierre couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing. The woman he used to call his between four walls. The man he called his brother. Kissing. Hands exploring their bodies. No shame, no concern for who saw them and the opinions of outsiders.

It was what Y/N wanted from me and I never gave it to her, he realised.

The couple broke the kiss and Charles ran his hand over the girl's forehead, pushing the loose hair behind her ear. Y/N giggled when she saw the image of the driver's lips now stained with her lipstick and tried to clean them by running her thumb lovingly over them.

Suddenly, she felt the side of her face burn and instantly she realized why: her ex's eyes were fixed on her. As soon as she turned her face towards him, their eyes met and she just imagined all the names he was calling her in his head. She gave him a smirk and turned back to Charles.

"I'm going to the bathroom and I'll be right back with you, okay?" She asked, knowing full well that Pierre was going to follow her.

"I'll meet Carlos and wait for you in the VIP area." He informed her, a hungry look on his face, giving her hand one last rub with his thumb. "But you better be back soon because I've been promised a prize that I can't wait to unravel."

Ladies always rise above

Ladies know what people want

Someone sweet and kind and fun

The lady simply had enough

Just as she predicted, Gasly followed as soon as he saw her heading towards the dark hallway to the bathrooms.

Along the way, and just when he thought his nightmare couldn't get any worse, the Frenchman bumped into Charles, who had a smile plastered to his face like a man who had just won the lottery. Pierre wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid smirk out of his face.

"Mate, I finally got the woman of my dreams." Leclerc innocently admitted, unaware that he was pulling his friend's strings.

Pierre simply walked away, bumping into Charles's shoulder, who was left behind confused by what had just happened.

As soon as he reached the hallway, Y/N was nowhere to be seen. He assumed she was in the ladies' room, so he leaned against the wall beside the door as he waited for her to exit.

A few minutes (which seemed like hours to the impatient man) passed before she got out. As soon as Pierre saw her figure, he grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her against the wall in an act of rage.

"Can you explain to me what the fuck is going on?" Gasly spat out the words, hot-headed, leaning his body completely over the young woman's. "Are you fucking kidding me? Charles? Of all people."

"I'm sorry, but since when do I owe you an explanation? If I remember correctly, you and I are nothing." She spoke, mirroring the same angry tone.

"Shut the fuck up." Pierre gripped her wrist tighter, letting her know that her plan was working exactly as planned. "You crossed the line."

"I just thought the winner of the race deserved a worthy prize." She smirked until the driver placed his hand on her throat and squeezed lightly, making the smile soon disappear from her face.

While he was doin' lines and crossin' all of mine

Someone told his white-collar crimes to the FBI

And I don't dress for villains

Or for innocents

I'm on my vigilante shit again

"You already got what you wanted. You had your fun, you got me fucked up." He confessed. "But that's enough. You're going to get out of here and go home immediately because I'm not about to take this shit."

Y/N laughed in his face. This man's audacity to try to boss her around after using her as his personal toy in his spare time.

The young woman was far from done with her plan. So, she gave him those puppy dog eyes he couldn't resist and he released her throat, his eyes softening at the image of her.

Y/N brought her face closer to his, half closing her eyes as their lips prepared to meet. Or so Pierre thought, who was caught off guard when the girl ducked her way towards his ear and whispered her last words.

"This is only the start. Enjoy my revenge like I'm going to enjoy my night."

I don't start shit, but I can tell you how it ends

Don't get sad, get even

So on the weekends

I don't dress for friends

With that, the young woman left the dark hall without looking back and walked confidently towards the gorgeous man who was waiting for her.

Charles smiled behind the glass he was drinking from as soon as he laid eyes on the girl in red, getting a pat on the back from his friend Carlos.

"Ay, ay, ay, my friend. You are completely head over heels for her." Sainz teased and walked away from them, leaving the couple alone.

Leclerc grabbed the girl by the hip and pulled her towards him, placing a soft kiss on her red lips.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Y/N asked, winking at the boy.

"Hmm, tempting..." For the first time that night, Charles made the risky move of placing his free hand over the girl's ass. "What did you have in mind, bébé?"

Y/N started her night dressed for revenge not knowing that she would end up with her body burning for the Monegasque, but maybe Charles Leclerc was just the antidote she needed in her life as she tried to get back to her past self.

"What about some undressing?"

Lately, I've been dressin' for revenge

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cosmal · 1 year

Text

𝐇𝐨𝐭 — 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

day three of my christmas drabbles advent calendar

summary — you bring remus home to visit your family for the holidays. he grows to love spending christmas in summer.

warnings/tags — fem!afab!reader, she/her pronouns, reader goes swimming, reader has hair long enough to be tied back

note!! — this is a totally self-indulgent fic. and for all my aussie/kiwi marauders fans!!

“This is weird,” Remus murmurs, handing you a tray of prawns. Along with the water dish.

“They’re gross, I know,” you giggle. “My dad loves them.”

Remus shifts in his seat, “No, not that,” he’s smiling, “It’s hot. It’s Christmas. It’s Christmas and I’m in a t-shirt.”

"You can take it off if you want," you giggle over the top of your bottle, sitting back in your chair.

"I will not," he gasps.

You love this look on him. He's been here for a week and he's all sunkissed and glowy. If you weren't spending the holidays at your parent's house, you'd have already jumped his bones.

"You'll go swimming with me, though?"

The backyard is full of your family members. Cousins running around with sticky, red iceblocks in their hands - your aunty's chasing them in turn, with wet paper towels. They're loud. Really loud and they really love Remus.

You're not surprised, he's perfect. You think they might love him more than you do. Impossible, obviously. But your dad had sat down with him in the lounge room and seemed genuinely interested in whatever Remus was telling him about his work. Your father has never read a book in his life, but for your boyfriend, he'll listen to him ramble about writing processes and workshops. In turn, your dad will force him to watch the boxing day cricket match tomorrow because Australia's playing England, so Remus must know a thing or two about cricket test matches.

"I told your mum I'd help her with the desserts," he leans over to kiss you on the cheek. His lips a burning heat over your already warm skin. It feels nice.

"Then you'll come for a swim?" you ask hopefully, lips pouting. You know he will, he'll do pretty much anything to make you happy. Sometimes you despise him for it in a totally loving girlfriend type of way. He's already in his swimming trunks. His legs looking fucking lovely.

He gets up from his seat at your outdoor table and it scrapes along your deck, "I'll be 20 minutes," he says with one more kiss. Quicker than the last but still as fond. You think maybe, even more, when he presses his fingers into your scorched skin.

You let him and your mum dish up trifles and a pavlova that always seems to be bigger than the year before. Remus says something really stupid and it makes your mum laugh. A full-on, hearty chuckle that is usually only produced at the cost of your own father. You smile all the way to your room.

Once in your swimmers, a set that you know Remus loves, modest enough in your own backyard, surrounded by your own family, but enough that you'll expect to be stuck to your boyfriend's side for the rest of the day. You walk back out to your backyard to find him in the middle of your lawn.

A cousin wrapped around his leg, another climbing their way up his torso. He's laughing, you're not sure how, because they both keep kneeing him in bruisable areas as they climb him like a jungle gym. Eventually, they pull him to the soft grass and it ends up in a sort of tickle-fight. It's more giggling than anything.

Your chest fills with as much warmth as you think it can allow without you feeling the urge to cry. Watching him get along with your family so well is more than you'd ever expected. He keeps surprising you and then he doesn't because he's Remus. Your boyfriend Remus, and he treats you with so much love and respect that you know that's just him. It's second nature to him and you'd expect nothing less for the people he knows you love also.

You know you're staring, you can't help it. Your cheeks ache with how wide you're smiling. Remus walks up to you once he's toddler free and pokes you in the cheek. You snap out of the little lovesick bubble you'd found yourself in.

"He's strong for four years old," Remus laughs, kissing you on the cheek again like he can't help it. You know he can't because you kiss him just as often.

"My aunty thinks he'll be good at rugby," you giggle.

"Or wrestling."

You lean in to wrap your arms around his waist, he doesn't let you. You startle, confused.

"I've never seen this before," Remus can be smug when he wants to be, sliding a finger under the strap of your swimmers, snapping the tight material against your skin.

"Yes, you have." You go too shy under his loving gaze. His eyes droopy but still full of mirth. You can feel a heat eat its way up your chest. If he makes fun of you for it, you'll be sure to blame it on the sun.

"Right," he runs the material between his fingers, distracted.

"Remus, stop it," you mumble. Completely melted.

"Stop what?" Still smug.

"Just take your shirt off, please. I wanna go for a swim."

Remus doesn't have to be asked twice. He takes his white button-up off, a gift from your family, and you try to ignore the feeling you suddenly have to stare more than would be acceptable in your setting. You also ignore the wolf whistle your uncle let's out.

Remus genuinely blushes.

"I think my family really likes you," you tell him, tracing a scar in the hinge of his elbow.

"I'm really happy they do," Remus pulls the hair tie from your wrist, moving to tie your back from your face. His fingers tickle your neck and you shiver despite the temperature. Remus grins. "I didn't just spend fifteen minutes decorating a Pavlov for no reason."

You snort. "Pavlova."

"Hmm?"

"It's a pavlova."

"Right..." he chuckles.

"Pavlov was the guy with the dog theory."

It's Remus's turn to snort. "Dog theory."

"Yeah."

He traces a knuckle down your cheek, "You're adorable."

"Stop it."

"Really."

"Remus..."

"That's why I'm really sorry." He says. Suddenly serious.

"For what?" you ask. Also suddenly just as confused as he is stern.

He doesn't respond.

"For what, Remus?"

The squeal you let out when Remus throws you over his shoulder is loud and pretty, in his own opinion. That's why he has no problems when you tug at his hair to stable yourself. You're suddenly dizzy, blood rushing to your head. Remus feels worse when you giggle in his ear.

"Remus!" Your protests are broken up by peels of laughter.

"I said I'm sorry!" he laughs.

"Don't! I'm serious."

He jumps in the pool, pulling you under with him and you both come up, smiling like idiots. Your family roars with adored laughter and your smile widens.

You swim towards him where he's standing just before the deep end. His laughter dies down as you pull him down so the water's up to his neck.

"I hate you."

Remus lets you wrap your legs around his waist. Content with holding you up. "No, you don't."

"We're breaking up."

Remus gasps, "Don't tell your dad."

"I think he'd die," you giggle.

"I think I would too."

You press your face into his wet chest, "Don't die."

"Never," he sighs. He has zero problems with kissing you over chlorine-soaked hair.

Christmas in the summer is better, Remus thinks. But only if he gets to spend it with you.

#remus lupin #resmus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fan fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fanfiction #marauders #the marauders #marauderx reader #marauder fanfiction

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mediumgayitalian · 3 months

Text

The message comes from the constantly-running humidifier in the darkest corner of his cabin.

(It’s an eyesore. That’s why it’s there. It’s a bright, shiny pink, decorated with painted yellow suns and silver stars and random other doodles. At the bottom, there’s a messily painted signature next to a black heart. Will presented it to him proudly one random day, beaming that stupidly wide grin of his: “I made it in Arts and Crafts! It’ll help with your lungs, swearsies.”)

(It works wonders. When he breathes and feels like the air won’t settle in his chest, he stands close to it and clears up. When he’s hacking up a lung and smelling the phantom scent of acrid, monster air and the bronze staleness of his own recycled breath, it clears his throat. When he wakes up hyperventilating, eyes wide and unseeing, the soft bubbling of the steaming water and rhythmic pulsing of the glowing light gives him something to focus on.)

(If anyone asks, Nico threw it out the day he got it.)

He startles when his name is called, dropping the breastplate he was polishing with a clang. The sound makes him wince, and the Iris message flicker.

“This a good time, kiddo?”

Nico’s tongue feels like lead. Sally Jackson watches him carefully from the projection, small smile on her face, greying hair curling around her temples. Her brown eyes remind him of Bianca and how she would sometimes look at him, when he was fidgety and overwhelmed. Patient. It doesn’t help with the ache slowly spreading from his chest.

“Hi, Mrs. Jackson,” he manages, finally. His voice is more of a croak than anything.

Her smile widens, even as her face turns chastising.

“Sally, Nico.”

“…Mrs. Sally.”

She laughs, although Nico hadn’t meant it as a joke. Her laughter is twinkling and calming, like the rustling of leaves in a summer breeze. Nico’s shoulders relax without him realising, and a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll take what I can get, I suppose. How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in too long.”

Nico winces. The last time he’d seen her was an Iris message similar to this, only her eyes had been red-rimmed, and she hadn’t been smiling. Nico had pushed past the lump in his throat to report that he hadn’t heard anything about her missing son, either, although he’d promised he was looking, and then a few weeks later he felt like the worst person ever when Percy showed up in the Little Tiber and he said nothing. He’d clenched a drachma in his hands for hours after, guilt eating him alive.

Sally looks fine, now. He fights the urge to apologise — it would only upset her. His guilt is something he simply gets to live with.

“I’ve been okay,” he says finally. She hums. “Uh, busy.”

“Saving the world again, I hear,” she replies, grin turning wry. “Carrying a forty-foot statue across the world.”

Nico flushes. He wonders who told her, Percy or Annabeth. Or both, or maybe someone else, even. He knows the Jacksons’ place is something of a refuge, in this day and age. He’s not sure how he feels about other people talking about him like he’s a hero or something. He had a job to do, and he barely managed still.

“That was Reyna’s quest.”

Sally hums again. Her eyes never leave him, piercing and soft as they are.

“Happy Birthday, Nico.”

For the second time in ten minutes, he jumps out of his skin. It’s been a while since he’s heard those words — he forgot that Sally is one of the few people who knows his birthday, that he told her, two years ago, when he’d crawled through Percy’s window when he was sure the boy was at school because he was bleeding and half-delirious and didn’t know where else to go, so soon after the Titan War. So soon after ditching camp, skin crawling at the stares of the other demigods, knowing how strange he was to them. Sally hadn’t asked questions. She’d cleaned the empousa scratch and wrestled him into staying for lunch, soft voice and kind, calloused hand prying answers out of him he hadn’t expected to give.

(She was aghast when she found out he was walking the streets on his own birthday, celebrations not even crossing his mind. Even more so when she noticed his cold-chapped hands and thin, ripped jeans. “Thirteen, you know, is a big deal,” she’d said, and when he’d insisted on leaving before Percy got home she sent him out with snacks and a pair of gloves.)

He clears his throat. “Thanks.”

“How’d you celebrate, today?” Her grin is wide and creases her forehead, eyes nearly shut. Her smile is identical to her son’s, only with less of the trouble attached. “First year at camp as a full timer! Annabeth has told me that Chiron usually brings you all to the city to celebrate, it must have been fun.”

Nico avoids her gaze, shrugging. He picks at a loose thread in the hem of his shirt.

“I didn’t — um, we didn’t do that.”

He can practically feel the face she makes, eyebrows furrowed and mouth downturned.

“…Something else, then? How did you spend your day?”

Nico shrugs. “Stayed in the infirmary.”

He looks up just in time to see her face crease in alarm.

“You’re hurt?”

“Oh, no, I’m — I’m not —” He stumbles over his words, rushing to assure her. “I’m not hurt. I was just cutting bandages, helping out. My friend —” his face glows, he knows it does, he pretends it doesn’t — “my friend says I have a magic touch. He’s full of it, because he actually does have a magic touch and does not need my help organizing nectar bottles, but. He’s stubborn. And annoying. And too lazy to organize it himself, probably.”

Sally’s grinning again. This time, the expression has just as much mischief as her son’s does, and despite himself Nico flushes darker.

“Sounds like your friend just wants your company.”

“Or something.”

She watches him for a moment longer. Nico fidgets. He wonders what he’s supposed to say, if there’s an etiquette to talking to ex-crushes’ mothers who kind of mother you a little bit, too. Then he wonders who the hell he’s supposed to ask about that.

“Why didn’t you tell your friends about your birthday?”

It’s an odd thing for Nico to hear. ‘Your friends’. He has those now, he supposes. Will, and Nico, and Lou Ellen. Kayla. Austin. Cecil. Percy and Annabeth, even, and of course Hazel and Reyna and Jason. Maybe even Piper and Leo and Hedge. Mellie, too, ruffles his hair when she breezes by him, and Grover grins and waves when he catches his eye. Tyson beams at him when he visits camp. Sometimes Rachel picks the lock of his cabin for no reason and sighs dramatically in a corner until Nico snaps at her, then she grins and drags him off to do something stupid. If Nico thinks about it, about the list of people who insert themselves in his life, now, his head starts to hurt. When did he become so social?

Nico shrugs. “They’re gonna — make a big deal out of it. Will’ll probably try to — sing to me, or something.” He snorts just thinking about it. “He’ll break my ear drums. He’s a horrible singer.”

“I see.”

“Or, worse, he’ll write a poem or something. And it will be bad. The worst part about it, actually, is that he’s really quite good at poetry, but he thinks it’s funnier to write bad poetry, so he does and he recites it all the time and drives everybody crazy. One time I read a good one he wrote and he got all embarrassed because he is a walking indovinello, that’s what he is, let me tell you —”

“Hm.”

“— and Cecil, gods, don’t even get me started, Cecil would do something stupid like — like — steal me a car, or something. Even though I’m not even old enough to drive! And Lou Ellen would probably help him. And who even knows what ridiculous thing Kayla and Austin would plan, and, Zeus’ beard, I know Jason would start crying about something —”

“Nico,” Sally interrupts, gently, grinning, “it sounds like your friends would be very happy to celebrate with you.”

“They would be — overbearing,” he huffs. “Well — not Reyna. Or Hazel. Maybe a little Hazel, but mostly not.”

“Have you told them?”

“…No.”

“Why not?”

“It just seems — off, I guess,” he admits softly. “I didn’t have to tell Bianca about my birthday. She knew. She —”

His voice breaks, and he looks down, embarrassed. He swipes the tear from his eye and hopes Sally doesn’t see, even though he knows she does. Sometimes he feels like the record his mother has that was so thin and played-out that it skipped on every track and always made the needle get stuck. She was too attached to throw it away and get a new one. Nico is that track, he thinks, worn out and bumpy and always making the needle stick, always coming back to the same thing. He used to complain every time his mother brought it out. He wonders how many people must roll their eyes at his own skipping, repeating track.

“Maybe you don’t tell them, then,” Sally says, hushed. Nico finally gathers the courage to look back up at her, and she doesn’t look annoyed at all — kind, only, and determined. “You mentioned your friend in the infirmary. Do they still have patient files?”

He tilts his head, confused. “Yes? I think so.”

“Do you have one?”

Nico grimaces, remembering his first stay in the infirmary where Will left forms out for him to fill and Nico balled them up and chucked them at him. Will had chucked them back on reflex before remembering Nico was his patient, blurting out a red-faced “Sorry! Gods, I’m so sorry!” that had Nico laughing until he cried, as Will cussed him out, practically glowing a bright tomato-red. They never did get back around to filling those out, despite the numerous times Nico has landed himself back under Will’s dorky stethoscope. The medic must be stuffing the injury reports in a random file somewhere.

“I. Will definitely get one.”

“Put your information in,” Sally suggests. “Percy’s told me about the head medic in passing — Will, I think? He mentioned he’s quite thorough, I imagine he checks the files regularly.”

Nico nods. He does. They get messy and cluttered fast, what with the sheer number of maimings and stabbings et cetera, so once a month Will sits on the floor in the middle of the room and organizes everything in some inane system that only makes sense to him. If Nico fills out a form and stuffs it in his file, Will will definitely notice.

“That’s — doable.”

Sally smiles. It’s kind of radiant and hard to look at, and Nico feels himself smiling back on reflex, if a little shyer.

“Good! Oh, Nico, I’m so glad. I’ve worried about you, kiddo. I’m sure Percy’s tired of me asking.”

Nico whips his head back up to stare at her, jaw dropping.

“You…ask about me?”

“Of course.” She raises an eyebrow. “I’d have to do it less if you visited more than once or twice a year.“

Nico opens his mouth, then closes it again. He doesn’t quite know how to say that he had no idea that he was welcome — that she wanted his visits, rather than dreaded them.

“I made cake,” she says casually, like she can sense his turmoil. “Blue, of course. The best kind.”

Nico snorts. She winks at him.

“I’d hoped I would see you today. But cake lasts, you know. It will still be good tomorrow, if you don’t have any other plans.”

He imagines asking Argus to drive him into town — Will has still banned him from shadow travel, although he has begrudgingly allowed other “less draining” magic, not that Nico has to listen to him or anything — and pulling up to the apartment in Manhattan. Climbing up the rickety fire escape; or, this time, knocking on the door. He imagines Sally’s wide smile, maybe even Paul Blofis’ charming grin, her kiss on both cheeks and strong hand guiding him into the warm kitchen.

He swallows roughly. “I’d like that.”

“Good. Consider it done,” she says lightly. “Come over when you have time, I’ll be home all day. I look forward to seeing you, Nico.”

Nico smiles at her. Some of the ever-present ache in his chest lessens. “Me, too.”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.”

He swipes through the message, dissolving the connection. The billowing steam from the humidifier returns to its usual soft plumes, and Nico stands there for a few moments, breathing deeply, imagining it settling in his lungs, clearing out the lingering smoke he imagines has taken home in them. He breathes in, breathes out, and walks, trance-like, to his dresser, tugging on his PJs and feeling like he’s floating.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of sweet blue cake and sweeter laughter ringing through a small kitchen.

#i had so much fun with this truly nico i love you #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #nico #nico do angelo #sally jackson #nico di angelo & sally jackson #happy birthday nico!!!!#fluff #i feel like i should tag will 💀 he’s not in this but nico talks about him so damn much omg #pining nico di angelo #solangelo #will/nico #idk what else to tag i’m not familiar enough with this fandom’s tagging system yet #i’ve only been lurking #anyways #my writing #fic #longpost

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mppmaraudergirl · 7 months

Text

A Place for You and Me

so I made a joke about combining the top three winners from this trope poll into one story, and my brain was like, okay but what if... and then my brain wouldn't shut up until I wrote this intro scene

The stones under her feet were slick even under her gentle steps. She gave all of her attention to walking across the rocks without tripping over the hem of her dress. Her mother would greet her with a firm tongue if she came home with the bottom of her dress muddy from the river. Still, she couldn't help but look ahead to the boy she was following with a hint of annoyance. Just a hint though.

"You are so lucky to be a boy," she called up to him. "Trousers are better for adventures than dresses."

"This was your idea," he reminded her; there was nothing harsh in his words, in fact, she could hear the smile in his voice. "We could turn back around."

“No. You promised you would show me, James.”

He laughed but didn’t deny her claim and she accepted that as a victory.

She didn't bother saying anything further, still focusing on where they were heading. Past this small river that was ten paces wide at its largest point, stood a clutter of trees that hid the winding walking path. And beyond the trees there was a meadow, a secret place tucked away between the trees and the river and the jagged edges of an old abandoned home—or so James had described the previous week after he had found it. She had listened eagerly to his words, basked in them as if they were the sunshine now warming her skin, consumed them as if they were the chilled glass of water awaiting her at home on this hot summer’s day.

James was always going on adventures like this and sharing them with her whenever he and his mother came over to visit with her mother. It was unfair that he was given the freedom to go exploring when she was often kept within the confines of her own garden, the hedges surrounding it as impenetrable as a stone wall. It was not as though he were older than her—in fact, he was almost two months younger!—and hardly a more mature thirteen than she.

She had complained about this many times in the past, mostly to him, but sometimes to her mother who met her daughter’s chagrin with a level, unperturbed look. Lily learned quickly that expressing her annoyance to her mother did not lead her to the end she wished it would.

But today… this glorious August day, she had freedom to explore right alongside him. And the first order of business was finding this meadow.

The moment the soft soles of her shoes touched the hard ground, her hand grasped in James’ steady hand for improved balance, she told him, “Mary found out she has been promised.”

James turned back to look at her in surprise, his shock of hair only accentuating the look on his face; normally it would have made her laugh, but it didn’t seem so funny today. “Macdonald? To who?”

“To whom,” Lily corrected automatically, but James only rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t know yet. One of the Fawley brothers. Can you—?”

“Fawley?” James said, ignoring Lily’s glare at being interrupted. “But the youngest Fawley has to be nearly eighteen by now.”

Lily grimaced. “Can you imagine? Being promised to someone?”

He laughed, tugging her forward faster on the path now. “Sure.”

“You can!”

“Come on, Ms. Evans. It won’t do to dawdle,” he teased, a clear impression of Lily’s older sister that left her in a fit of giggles.

“I am just saying,” she began again, once she had recovered, “I am very glad my mother and father will not be choosing the same for me! Imagine! Just imagine!”

“I would rather not,” came his simple reply. “Poor fellow. You would drive him mad with your talks of adventure.”

Lily nearly frowned, stopping suddenly; their linked hands caused James to stop too, though their hands fell apart. “I don’t drive you mad, James.”

“That’s because we’re the same sort of mad, aren’t we?” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Where they had stopped, the trees were starting to thin, letting in beams of sunlight that danced between the branches of the trees. James looked like he was glowing. “It would not be so bad, I think, to be promised to someone. It would not be so bad if you were promised to me, would it?”

She laughed, tucking her hand back into his and urging him onward. “Don’t be silly, James. Are we nearly there?”

James’ answer came in the form of pulling her faster through the widening pathway until they stepped out of the trees and directly into the sunshine. They were met with an expanse of wildflowers that danced in the breeze in welcome. Lily’s breath caught as she took it all in, this beautiful hidden place that James had somehow found, with its vibrant colors and gentle breeze. The river cut a path through the land as if carved there precisely, its water flowing docilly. As if built into the hillside, the stone-walled cottage with its patchy thatched roof looked like the kind of place a fairy would live.

There was no way he could know this, but it was as if James had plucked this place out of one of her favorite fairytales.

“What do you think?” he asked after a moment.

“I think you have found the most wonderful place in the world, James.”

#jily #jple #a place for you and me #idk what this is tbh #but the tropes are: unexpected pregnancy and forbidden love and arranged marriage 🙃

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differenteagletragedy · 5 months

Text

Did I write a smutty little Derek story based entirely on this moment in Step 3 after you flirt with him and tell him he's probably super toned?

Yes, I did, and I'm not sorry about it.

This is smut-lite, I'd say, a little racier than the similar-ish Baxter fic I wrote but nothing super crazy. It also may be OOC for Derek but give the man something, OK.

If someone had asked you when you were 13 who you saw yourself with in the future, without a doubt you would have answered "Derek Suarez." He was the boy you were going to marry. There was no doubt in your mind.

Back then, you liked him so much it hurt. Sometimes he'd say and do things that made you think he might feel the same way, but he never said anything. Well, he did ask you to marry him, but only if you were both single in 10 years. And when you tried to point out that if you liked each other, maybe you could just start dating now, he shut it down so fast that you were forced to accept that your crush must have been one-sided.

That was five years ago. A lot had changed since then -- you were still friends with Derek and you definitely still had a soft spot for him, but it had been a long time since you'd realized he didn't return your affections. You'd long since stopped hoping for anything to happen with him.

But during a call towards the end of summer, just before he was leaving for college, he made a remark. Just one little comment, nothing even particularly notable, at least not to the casual observer.

After that, it was on.

During your chat, you'd exchanged updates on how your summers had been going, and you made some offhanded comment about how much more toned he must be after all the training you knew he'd been doing to get ready for college. It was flirty, sure, but nothing crazy.

His response was what had surprised you. He had flirted back.

You could still hear it. His voice had gone low and quiet as he confirmed that he was even more toned that he was the last time you'd seen him, and then, with a smirk instead of his trademark wide smile, he'd said "I hope you can see it in person sometime."

It wasn't likely -- whether it was because of his busy schedule or just by his own design, he was rarely free for a visit. But because he was leaving so soon, Cove had begged and pleaded with him to come to Sunset Bird for one last beach day before adulthood officially began, and he'd agreed.

That's how you found yourself sitting on the shore between your two best friends, holding a fruit tray on your lap as they steadily demolished it.

"What are we going to do next?" Derek asked, grabbing another piece of pineapple. "We already hit up the playground and the grocery store, now we're eating fruit on the beach."

It was a Nostalgia Day -- the three of you were doing things you'd done during that first summer together.

"I don't think we have time to go to the mall," Cove said. "I'll have to be at work before we would get back."

"I think that knocks the pool at Derek's apartment building out too," you said.

"We did pick up the lemons and water balloons," Derek offered. "We'll definitely have time for that."

You and Cove nodded in agreement. You spent the next half hour or so picking at the fruit tray, talking about what was ahead for each of you, then decided it was time for the next activity.

The lemonade was made in Cove's kitchen just as it had been five years before -- except with no knife wounds. It tasted as sweet as it did then, and when you were done with your glasses Cove went back into the house and came out with an empty laundry basket.

"Let's load it up," he said, his tone turning serious.

You and Derek worked together filling the water balloons, and Cove placed them safely in the basket. When you'd made enough to fill it, you carried it out to the street. The three of you stood around it, looking at each other.

Just as you were about to suggest some terms for the battle, Cove struck. He quickly stuck his hand into the basket, pulled out a balloon and hurled it at Derek.

When you were 13, Cove's strategy was to stay by the ammunition, not caring if he got hit so long as he had easy access to hit others, and it hadn't changed. You and Derek grabbed your own balloons as you could, darting away from Cove, but in the end, there was a clear winner, and the sopping wet clothes you and Derek wore were proof.

"No mercy, huh, Cove?" Derek asked. Nonchalantly, he pulled his shirt over his head and wrung it out on the street.

You tried not to stare, but you didn't exactly succeed. Feeling your eyes on him, he turned to you, starting to say something, but he stopped. Your own shirt was soaked and clung to your chest -- it was his turn to stare. He let himself look for just a second before he turned away.

He and Cove started picking up the little broken pieces of the balloons that littered the street, and you joined them. By the time everything was said and done, Cove announced that it was time for him to get ready for work. He gave Derek a hug -- his friend would be leaving soon, and he knew this was goodbye for a while.

Cove retreated inside his house, and Derek looked to you, smiling.

"We can keep hanging out if you want," you told him. "I don't have anything to do."

"Me neither," he replied. "Or at least nothing I would like to do more."

You'd had enough outdoor fun for the day, so you decided to hang out in your room, another familiar activity from back when you were younger. This time, you were in a different room, having taken over Liz's bigger one after she left for school herself, and Derek looked around as you went to your closet to pull out a new shirt.

"Don't turn around," you told him, seeing his back was to you as he looked at the photos on your wall. He gave you a thumbs up, and you quickly switched your wet shirt for a dry one.

When you were done, you went to stand beside him and looked at him, then to your wall. His eyes, you could tell, were on one specific picture: one your moms had took of the two of you at the summer soiree.

"We were so little," you told him, trying to focus on the photo and not the warmth that was radiating off his body, so close to yours. He still hadn't put his shirt back on, and you were trying not to think about that either.

"I know," he said. "It was the perfect night. I thought my little 13-year-old heart would explode."

"What do you mean?"

"It was life or death, remember?" he asked. You did -- he had said that that night.

"My very first date, a fancy party with you," he said wistfully. "I wish I could go back and tell myself how good I had it then."

You studied his face then, determined to figure out what he was getting at. He had a similar kind of tone that he'd had during that flirty conversation on the phone the week before, but there was something else there too. Something deeper.

He turned to face you then, moving his body to face you as well. You mirrored him, and you stood close together, neither of you saying anything.

"I really did, you know?" Derek said finally. "Have it good, I mean. I got to spend so much time with you."

"Growing up is hard," you shrugged, trying to keep your cool. "Things get busy."

"I shouldn't have let it get so busy that I stopped being so close to you."

Taking a steadying breath, you said, "We're close now."

He looked at you for a bit, and you could practically see a war going on in his mind. You imagined him imagining what you meant, what he thought was right, what you could do together here in your room while you were home alone. What he needed and what he thought he deserved.

It was tough to see him battling with himself. He'd been doing it for years, and you wanted to help him stop, if only for a little bit.

You raised a hand that you hoped didn't look as shaky as it felt and placed it on his shoulder. His muscles tensed under your touch. He looked down at your hand there, then to your face. You weren't sure how to tell him that it was ok, that he could be with you if he wanted, so you tried to convey the message with your eyes.

His flirty tone that had been on your mind all week couldn't have possibly been from this man that stood in front of you. Over the phone he's been assertive, forward, but now that you were actually in front of each other he couldn't make a move.

"Derek?" you prompted, stroking a thumb over his shoulder.

He inhaled deeply, then stiffly brought his hands up to your waist. He gripped you, testing the waters a bit, and you stepped closer to him and placed your other hand on the back of his neck.

"We are," he said. "Close now."

With a painful slowness, he brought his mouth closer to yours. He paused then, bringing his eyes from your lips to see if you were all right. You nodded, and he leaned the rest of the way in.

His kiss was, as you'd imagined, soft and gentle, like he was. It was careful and unassuming, and so sweet. You enjoyed it for a moment, taking in the fact that you were actually, finally kissing him. You pressed it into your memory.

But then you wanted more.

You pulled him in closer, deepening the kiss, and as timid as he was about this, he readily responded. His hands dipped a little lower, the tips of his fingers grazing over the curve of your hips before he moved them back up. With a little grunt of protest against his lips, you grabbed his hands and placed them where they'd wanted to go.

He laughed, and while normally you would delight in the sound, it wasn't what you were going for now, so you caught his lips in another kiss.

Slowly, he loosed up a little. He had more fun with kissing you, exploring your mouth for the first time. His hands freely roamed along your hips, down to your thighs and around to your back. A moan slipped from your mouth to his, and he pulled back.

"Is this ok?" he asked.

"Yeah. Is it ok with you?"

He smiled, placing another kiss on your forehead, and said, "I'm managing."

At some point, he slid his hands under the the bottom hem of your shirt, caressing the bare skin there. Figuring that it wasn't fair that he was the only one without a shirt, you hastily threw yours over your head and off to the side. It was his turn to moan.

Figuring that being the initiator here had played in your favor so far, you eventually started leading him over to your bed. You sat first, pulling him down with you, then you laid down on your back, hoping he'd fall into place.

With an ease that made you proud, he gently grabbed one of your knees and pulled it to the side so he could fit between your legs. He lowered himself down over you, letting your bodies touch while he still held his weight up himself. Instead of going back to your mouth, he trailed kisses all along your neck, across your collarbone and slowly -- always slowly, giving you plenty of room to pull back if you wanted -- down your chest.

You thought about how much you'd thought about having him here, exactly like this. It was better than you'd imagined, but of course it was -- actually being able to feel his warmth, see the sparkle in his pretty green eyes whenever he took a second to look up at you wasn't something you could duplicate in your dreams.

Then an unwelcome thought came -- he'd be leaving soon. In a matter of days, he'd be gone and who knows exactly when he'd come back, or when you'd get a chance to be like this again? Or if you ever would get the chance?

The thought made you a bit desperate, and you raised your hips to connect with his. His hands, which had been holding onto your hips as he kissed his way down your stomach, clenched. His breath was shallow against your skin.

"You would tell me if you wanted to stop, right?" he asked, almost bashfully. You assured him that you would, of course you would, and added, a bit bashful yourself, that you were a long ways from wanting to stop.

He slid his fingers just under the waistband of your shorts and looked up at you, wanting to be certain before he proceeded. Once again, you nodded, and he stripped you down to your underwear.

"I never thought this would happen," he murmured, coming back up to your lips. Between kisses, he said, "I wanted this for so long. Is that weird to say?"

"No," you said, "I have too. So if it's weird then at least we're both weird."

"I can live with that."

His hand started roaming again, but this time he found his way into your underwear and got to work.

As your sighs and groans grew louder and more frequent, so did his, although you weren't touching him, not yet. He kept kissing your cheek, your jawline, your temple -- anywhere he could get as he focused on moving his hand in the ways that seemed to please you most. You gripped onto his arm to steady yourself, feeling your release coming, and before he could misinterpret it you told him, "Please don't stop."

The gentleman that he was, he obliged.

When you were done -- when he was sure you were done -- he dragged his hand back up your body, confident enough now to touch you wherever he wanted. But, you'd decided, it was his turn. You nudged his shoulder, guiding him to lie down, then sat up and started pulling on his gym shorts. You took a page out of his book, going slow enough so he'd have time to tell you if he wanted you to stop.

Instead, he said, "You don't have to."

"I want to," you told him. "Is that ok?"

He thought about it, then nodded, shy again. But when you slid down his shorts, his underwear with them, and took him in your hand, the shyness was gone.

You knew Derek, and you know that he very rarely indulged himself. He always took care of everyone else and got uneasy when anyone tried to do the same for him. So you took your time.

Thankfully, he seemed to enjoy himself immensely. As you moved your hand, you started talking to him a low voice not unlike the one he'd used in that phone call that started all of this. You told him how good he was, how beautiful, as soon as a compliment popped in your head you showered it down on him, and it was impossible to come up short with words of praise when it came to him. His cheeks became as flushed as his chest, he was grunting and gasping and jerking, but when you moved to put your mouth over him, he put a firm hand on your shoulder.

"No," he said. "Don't, I didn't do that for you."

"It's not a contest," you told him with a laugh.

"Maybe not. But if it is, I want to win."

You hummed in thought, rubbing your free hand down his thigh, and after he was done with that particular moan, you said, "What if this is just the second quarter? Not even to halftime yet, plenty of chances to take the lead."

He grinned. "I can work with that, I think."

After he had finished ... well, it didn't seem like he was finished. With a passion he didn't have before, he pushed you back down to the bed and kissed you hard. His hand found its way back to your underwear, and this time you quickly took them off before letting him wrap you in his arms and pull you tight against him.

He was making the sweetest sounds, and you were breathless as he put his hand between your legs again. This time he was working quicker -- he was a fast learner. You felt him against your thigh, getting hard again already, and you found yourself trying to remember where you'd put those condoms your moms had given you, "just in case."

Before you could place them, there was a flurry of noise downstairs. Your family was home, and they weren't being quiet about it.

Derek froze and looked at you, starting to panic. Understanding that things couldn't go as far as you wanted them to put not willing to be done just yet, you started rocking your hips against his hand. He buried his face in the crook of your neck to hide the noise that move had brought out of him.

Once again, he brought you to climax, and it was your turn to muffle your cries again him. When your breathing slowed, he gave you a slow, easy kiss, then said, "We better get dressed."

You moaned, but it wasn't as fun as when you'd done it earlier.

"Come on," he said, giving you another peck before hopping out of your bed. "I'm not about to be caught in your room naked."

You watched as he quickly got dressed, and you felt his eyes on you as you did the same. Before, he wouldn't have dared to check you out like this. Now he was drinking it in shamelessly.

When you were both presentable, you saw his smile fade a bit. You raised your eyebrows, and he said, "I wish this wasn't over. I wish we had more time."

You could tell he wasn't just talking about this afternoon.

"Well, just remember what I said," you told him, stepping closer and gripping his arms for the pep talk. "This is halftime. The game's not over yet."

He smirked at your attempt at a sports metaphor, then surprised you by moving a hand down to squeeze your ass.

"Oh, it's not over by a long shot."

#our life beginnings and always #our life #olba #derek suarez #our life derek #olba derek #derek x you #derek x reader #derek x mc #derek suarez x you #derek suarez x mc #derek suarez x reader

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yourgaeyisshowing · 3 months

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Chronically Ill Truths

Fibromyalgia

Larissa x Wife!Reader

Chronically Ill Truths

Fibromyalgia - Larissa x Reader

Chronically Ill Truths

Fibromyalgia - Larissa x Reader

It was truly the worst time of year for you. The warm summer days that eased your joints in the early sun were fading and the chill of fall was setting in. You knew a flair was coming on when you went to bed the night before, but when you woke up it was so much worse. You kept a bin next to the bed for bad pain days, and today was no exception. Rolling over your joints ached and cracked as you're swollen hands quickly reached for the bin. Retching almost painfully, you felt your hair being moved from your face and a soft hand rubbing circles on your back. Once you were finished the bin was removed from your shaking hands and taken care of quickly. You could hear the water running in the tub and the smell tea followed.

“Come darling, let's try to get a head of this and ease the symptoms while the needs kick in.” Larissa said sweetly, handing you your purple cane and helping to steady you on your feet. This woman was your rock, and you loved her. When you first came to Nevermore as an English teacher you only had mild symptoms, now 5 years later you were happily married to Larissa and together you co-taught your classes allowing you to still work and enjoy your passion even with your disability. The worst of your symptoms started two years ago, it was just a lot of swelling and aches. Now it was full blown flair ups, that sometimes lasted for days and on the rare occasion a week or more.

When a bad flare would start, Larissa would help start an IV of fluids to help ease your symptoms and push Your meds if you needed them. She was insistent that she learned how to do it, so that you could have them at home instead of the hospital. After a soak in the hot epsom salt bath and a cup of ginger tea she helped you dress in something comfortable and settled you back in bed. Starting one of your IVs she asked if you wanted some pain meds to help, you nodded and were grateful for her help and dedication. “Riss, I think I'm going to need my compression wraps” you told her, admitting defeat to the hell they were. She handed them to you and prepped your meds before pushing them through your IV and flushing it. After getting one leg wrapped in the tight compression wrap, you were exhausted. Handing her the other she took it without complaint and wrapped your other leg for you. The relief was worth the trouble of these stupid things, but you didn't care right now. “Can I have some Zofran please?” You asked, still feeling nauseous. She gave you a quick kiss and retrieved the minty tasting pill for you before placing it on your tongue to dissolve. After she did she set the flow rate on your IV and climbed into bed next to you. It only took about 5 minutes before you were so tired you couldn't hold your eyes open anymore. The fatigue set in and you easily succumbed to it.

When you woke it was midday and Larissa was gently stroking your cheek. “Hello darling, I brought you something to eat. It's time for some more meds too. You noticed she replaced your IV bag with a new one and it was on a very slow drip. Smiling, you thanked her and ate as much as you could of the cheese on toast and tomato soup she made you. “I have your pain meds as well as some anti inflammation meds and some more Zofran for you if you want it. I noticed you were perking in your sleep a bit too so I grabbed your spasm medication too.” She set the different syringes of meds down on your nightstand as she sat on the edge of the bed. “What would I do without you? You could have fallen in love with someone normal, and instead here you are taking care of me.” She almost looked hurt at your words. “Darling I married you because I love you, that means all of you. Good, bad and ugly.” You leaned forwards and gave her a soft kiss before settling back on the pillows again as you watched her push your meds again and flush your IV for you.

The day went on with lots of love and patience from your wife. You were blessed that she was compassionate with you, always making sure if you needed her she was there for you. You dropped your mobility aids and she would pick them up without question. And even during the night she would feel you start to get up and would wordlessly come around to your side of the bed and help you to your feet. She never complained, you hated how much like a burden you felt. She would just scoff and give you a kiss and tell you how much she loved you and that you were never a burden to her.

One of the things you most loved was how much she came to bat for you with your doctors, none of them seemed to take you seriously thinking you were just another drug seeker. She would tear each one a new one and bring your medical binder to slam in their faces if need be. She kept a detailed record of everything for you, calming her own anxieties in doing so keeping it all put together as fine as her updo. One doctor made the mistake of telling you on one of your bad days that it was all in your head and to try meditation. That was a mistake. “You mean to tell me that the pain, tears, swelling of her joints and other various symptoms are just a figment of her imagination? Well if that’s the case I’d rather like to take my stiletto to your ass and see how you think that imagination feels!” you still giggle over the memory of that poor doctor's face when Larissa was done with him. She could be down right scary when it came to the ones she loved. She was your lover, protector, wife, and blessed caregiver, and you loved her with everything you had in you.

Your students were also very loving and compassionate to you, they were always eager to help around the classroom and stay after class to help you prep if you needed it. You and Larissa thought of them like your own and had become mother figures to most of them. Your disability and adversity to it was the reason one particular girl came to you and Larissa with her own issues showing signs of the same chronic disease that plagued you. When you found out she had worthless parents, Larissa and yourself were determined to make sure Amara got the care she needed so she could thrive. When the diagnosis came back true, she cried and cried. That was when she told you she had lived with the pain for six years, her parents accusing her of attention seeking. Larissa made sure her medicine was picked up like clockwork every month personally and she had your cell numbers if she needed you anytime day or night.

There were a few times she was unable to go to class and would spend time in Larissa’s office doing make up work or homework under a heated blanket with a cup of hot cocoa. The girl thrived after she was given the help she needed. Her grades improved and she graduated in the top of her class, that was two years ago now. She stayed at nevermore as a dark arts teacher, and when she got married to a lovely gorgon boy a few months ago, her own parents decided they wouldn’t be attending. She didn’t mind though, because she walked down the aisle with pride having both of you on her arms guiding her and giving her away. This is what love was. This was acceptance. She was so worried that she would have a flair the day of the celebration and wouldn’t be able to enjoy it, you remember it like it was yesterday. Kneeling down to her eyes where she sat, you spoke softly.

“Your disability doesn’t define you, anyone who thinks it does can go to hell. You are strong and just as able as any other girl, your mum and I will be there with you and will hold you up if we need to, just like we did when you walked the stage at your graduation. You will never be alone my love, you have us to lean on when your own feet can’t hold you up.”

*********

My Groupies: @aemilia19 @lostmyotheraccount @shyladyfan @dingdongthetail @barbarasstar @maxfanartfan @no-phrogs-in-hats @weemssapphic @cissyenthusiast010155

#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #principal weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa x y/n #wednesday #larissa x wife!reader #chronically ill #chronic pain #chronic illness #fibromyalgia #Chronic ill truths

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redditpinterest · 3 months

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the grudge | conrad fisher

conrad fisher x female mc

summary: sometimes the person you love most can be the one who cuts you the deepest. for delaney and conrad, they haven't talked in years. not since that night. not since delaney had confessed to her best friend that she was in love with him.

word count: 3k

warning: mdni, sexual content

author's note: this is a little angsty but also cute ig

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

They say a friendship breakup feels a thousand times worse than a romantic one. Losing that person that feels like your other half, the one you could get stranded on an island with and still find something to laugh about. I suppose that it's true. Losing my best friend feels like a piece of my heart has been ripped out, thrown to the side as though it were perfectly disposable.

I hate Conrad Fisher. I hate him for making me love him. Everyday, I think about that Friday in May. That phone call, the malice in his voice. Everyday I think about it. And most of all, I hate that I made him hate me too.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Nicole had dragged me to this party, demanding for me to get my ass out of the house. I had spent all summer pent up in my room doing online classes to get a head start before starting at Stanford this year. Plus, I didn't want to risk seeing him. Knowing what he said to me. So I had let summer pass me by, not stopping to admire the feeling of the sun gracing my skin or spending all day basking in salt water. I hadn't felt the satisfying pain of a sunburn from spending the whole day outside, despite reapplying sunscreen each hour.

I guess I figured that if I could distract myself, I wouldn't have to think about what existed outside of my room. The reality that Conrad Fisher hates me, and I hate him too. It wasn't always like that. We had grown up quite the pair. I remember days where he would spin me around the kitchen of his house next door, the sweet melodies of Billy Joel filling our souls. But something so perfect can't last forever, and it's my fault for ruining it.

With Nicole's hand in mine, we step through the cream threshold of the house. I believe that it's Gigi's and her parents are gone for the weekend. The smell of alcohol immediately fills my senses, making my stomach churn, along with the blasting house music.

When Gigi spots me, she throws her arms in the air, squealing with delight.

"Look who finally decided to join us!"

She sloppily encases me with a hug, throwing her arms around my shoulders. I smile against her, missing the feeling of being around my friends.

"I've just been busy with school Gig. You know I would never purposefully miss hanging out with you."

She pulls back, rolling her eyes playfully and making Nicole hug her next.

"Yeah, right, Stanford."

We both giggle as she pours me a beer, and I take it gratefully. Though my senses prick when I feel somebody else walk in the room. I know who it is immediately, not bothering to turn around and deal with him.

Holding my cup in my hand, I smile tightly at Gigi and Nicole.

"I'm gonna go use the bathroom. Don't have too much fun without me."

Turning on my heel, I keep my head down, beelining for the bathroom. The stairs feel a mile long as the ache in my chest begins to build, each step seeming to grow double in front of me. I finally make it to the bathroom, shutting the door quickly behind me and holding my hands on the counter for support. I squeeze my eyes shut to try to relieve some of the pain, but it's no use.

I should be over this by now, it's been two years since it happened. Somebody is knocking on the door, probably some drunk girl needing to go pee, but it all sounds muffled.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Nerves eat at my stomach as I walk with Conrad on the beach. I don't know exactly when I fell in love with him, it's not like it happened suddenly. But recently it's been so overwhelming that my heart seems to ache every time I'm away from him, and on the verge of bursting when I'm near him.

He's talking about football right now, the camp that his dad's sending him to at the end of the summer. The end of May lingers like perfume, the final days of school transitioning to the beginning of summer. I can't seem to find it in me to pay attention to what he's saying, knowing that what I'm about to do will change our friendship forever. For however terrified of losing him I am, I am equally as sure that I need to tell him.

"Conrad." I say softly, my voice shaky.

He doesn't hear me, continuing to talk about dreading the drills and the shallowness of the team. I shake my head, urging myself for confidence.

"Conrad." I say, slightly louder.

This time he pauses, his head turning toward mine as I halt in the sand. My sandals feel heavy in my hand, the midday sun blazing onto my shoulders. Conrad is standing in front of me now, with his hair blowing into the coastal wind.

"What's up?" His brows are furrowed, as if confused by my demeanor.

I think my heart might actually beat out of my chest.

"I-" I start, "I've known you for like my whole life and you're my best friend."

He nods reluctantly, eyes holding mine.

"And you're mine. What's going on?"

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath in through my nose.

"I think I love you, Conrad."

When he doesn't say anything for a moment, I open my eyes. But he's not standing in front of me anymore. Conrad Fisher is walking away from me, about twenty feet up the beach. I told Conrad I loved him, and he walked away. My brain tells me to follow him, to take it back, to have never risked losing my best friend at all. But he's walking away, and my feet seem to be sinking into the sand, where I will stay until the tide washes me away.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

The door of the bathroom creaks open, forcing my eyes to shoot to the intruder.

"Sorry, I was knocking but you weren't answering and I wasn't sure if you were okay-"

"Leave, Conrad."

I look at my reflection in the mirror, the yellowed light tanning my skin while I avoid connecting my gaze with him. Conrad doesn't leave. I need him to leave. Instead, he closes the door, enclosing us in the guest bathroom.

"Delaney-"

I whip around to face him, anger building in my core at his concerned tone.

"No! You don't get to say my name like that, Conrad. Not after everything."

Tears build in my eyes, two years of resentment boiling to the surface.

"We both said things we regret that night." His voice is low, dipping his head to catch my eyes.

"Yes, Conrad, we both drew blood. But you and I both know that those cuts were never equal. You ended our friendship over the fucking phone. You called me unlovable-"

My voice breaks, tears streaming down my cheeks at this point. Conrad's shaking his head like trying to forget the bad memory.

"I didn't mean it, Delaney. I didn't mean it. I was scared, and I had just ended things with Aubrey. Our friendship meant so much to me, and I was so scared of losing it." He pleads with me.

"That's exactly what you did though! I know that I started it Conrad, and I will regret that every day for the rest of my life. But I loved you, and you couldn't handle that, so you turned me into this villain."

"No, no," he shakes his head again, "you were never the villain, Delaney. I was scared because I loved you too."

The bathroom is quiet, not even our breaths daring to break the fragile atmosphere. Voices and music are muffled behind the door, and Conrad is looking at me so intensely that I swear I might have something on my face.

Conrad Fisher was my first love. They say that never really leaves you, it sticks like pollen to a hummingbird. Falling in love with him wasn't grueling, it just kind of snuck up on me. It was like I woke up one morning and realized that I had loved him this whole time. I loved the way that he snort-laughed when we would watch South Park on the couch and the way that he went to every one of my track meets. I loved the way that his hair never seemed quite put together and the way that he smelled in the morning when he picked me up for school. I was intwined with Conrad Fisher the way the moon is intwined with the tide.

"Two years-" I start, "You didn't talk to me for two years after that night."

"Because I couldn't find the words to say how sorry I was. I'd tried, Delaney. I spent months trying to figure our how to apologize. But then you got together with Braedon, and I thought that it was over, that nothing I could say would ever be enough to make you believe that if I could take back every word, I would. I never expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know that I did love you."

He pauses, looking at the mirror behind me before looking back at me. His chest rises and falls at a steady pace, in sync with mine. My eyes soften involuntarily with his confession. I'm not sure that I forgive Conrad yet. But right here, in this bathroom, it feels like two years has been nothing more than a few days. I'll be going to Stanford in a couple weeks, leaving behind my life on the east coast, at Cousins Beach. Though it feels as though we're sixteen again, stressing over driving school rather than college. I know that we've both changed so much while we were apart, but at the same time it feels natural to be with him, even if we're arguing.

Conrad's gaze is heavy on mine and I feel my heart in my throat. Without thinking too much about it, I grab the back of his neck, pulling his lips onto mine. I think that I've made a mistake when Conrad pulls back startled, face inches from mine.

But after a second, his hand comes up to my face, lips dipping to meet mine more fervently than before. Our kiss is heated, Conrad's palm heavy against my skin, the feeling of his touch both familiar and foreign. It's strange to think that he's the Conrad that I've known my entire life, yet at the same time, not.

My arms are wrapped around his neck, and his hands come to the backs of my thighs, lifting me onto the bathroom counter. I quickly wrap my legs around his waist while his hands continue to hold my thighs. My sundress sits high on my hips from the position.

"You're so fucking stunning, D."

Conrad pulls back to run his gaze over me, his pupils blown out. I take the time to do the same, glancing over his worn t-shirt, jeans, and sun kissed cheeks. Conrad's head dips down to meet my neck, his hair tickling my jawline. He sucks at my skin, finding the sweet spot just under my ear and eliciting a soft moan.

"Don't leave a mark, Connie." I breath out as my hands tangle into his hair and pull slightly.

He nips slightly at the spot, the sting causing heat to explode throughout my body before running his tongue over it artfully.

"God, you don't know how long I've waited to do this with you."

"Bite me?" I laugh out, his hands holding onto my waist.

Conrad laughs too, before shaking his head.

"No, just touch you."

My breath catches in my throat at his words, the heat of his hands on my waist burning me. He moves them up, eyes on mine before twiddling the straps of my dress between his fingers.

"It is impossible to not want you, Delaney."

His voice is low, and he brings his forehead to connect with mine. Our breaths are intertwined, the feeling of his hair between my fingers as though I were home. Back to my Conrad. Our mouths touch briefly before we both give in again. Conrad pulls me flush against him, no space between our chests. I open my mouth, allowing his tongue to slip in, tangling with mine. The sound of his moan vibrates through me, every inch of us connected.

Conrad's fingertips dig into my thighs, rubbing them up and down while we fight for dominance. When one of his hands disappears under the hem of my dress, he pulls away slightly to look at me.

"Is this okay?"

We're both breathing heavily, and I can feel my cheeks flush.

"Of course."

Conrad looks down, watching as he bunches the floral fabric higher on my hips, revealing my light pink thong. He takes his time exploring my skin, hands groping at my bare ass, running his palm against my inner thigh. I just watch him, not daring to break the moment. And Conrad watches me, as though memorizing every piece that he touches.

When he dips down onto his knees, I feel my breath catch immediately. He looks heavenly down there, blue eyes heavy on mine as he plants a kiss onto my thigh. One kiss. Another. Each one higher up my thigh, his gaze never leaving mine as my breathing picks up. The feeling of his lips on my skin feels both right and wrong, paradoxical in the best way possible.

Conrad pauses, looking up at me from the floor.

"I need to taste you, D."

I nod, not letting myself look away.

"Words, baby."

My heart lurches at the name.

"Yes." I manage to get out.

He wastes no time, pulling the thong down my thighs and stuffing it into his back pocket. His hands pull my legs around his shoulders, and his head dips dangerously close to my core. I shudder at the feeling of his warm breath against my cunt, him still holding my thighs for support.

Conrad presses his tongue flat against me and I'm already soaking for him. I try to stifle my moans as he begins to work my clit, hands shooting out to grip his hair. When I pull a little, Conrad grunts against me, the sound filling my whole body.

My back arches with the pleasure of him this close to me, with his tongue exploring the most intimate part of me. He circles my clit some more, pleasure instantly building as I my hips involuntarily attempt to grind against him.

"Patience, baby." Conrad grips my hips and I feel him smile against me.

"Stop smiling down there, Connie. This isn't funny."

He laughs softly before dipping his tongue into my cunt, the feeling immediately halting our bickering. The pleasure is unlike anything else, especially when his fingers begin to rub at my clit, working both of them at the same time. My breathing picks up, the pressure of an orgasm building low in my stomach.

When I feel myself getting close, I pull Conrad away.

"I need you."

He stands, his body in between my legs. With him close to me, my fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. I'd been around Conrad shirtless lots of times growing up. But it was never like this, never where I would touch him. Football had toned his body, and I take a moment to admire him.

"Done staring?"

I roll my eyes, reaching forward to cup his dick over his jeans, making his breath catch.

"Shut up Conrad."

"Mhm." He whimpers, rolling his hips into my hand.

Conrad holds his body up with one arm on the wall behind me, the other gripping my hip as if I could disappear any second. Despite him dry-humping my hand, I can't help but think that he's never looked this beautiful in our entire lives.

Needing him as soon as possible, my fingers fumble at his belt, pulling his jeans down. He takes initiative, sliding his dick out of his boxers and grabbing a condom from the pocket of his jeans. Fuck, he's big. I tentatively meet his hand, the feeling of his cock in my palm making me want him even more.

"Please." I practically beg.

His gaze his heavy on mine as my hand pumps his dick.

"Such a good girl for me, begging for my dick."

Conrad's hand comes to rest around my throat, and my thighs clench at the thought of him choking me. I nod at him, urging him to squeeze. When he does, I can't help the load moan that comes from me.

"Oh my god." He breathes out as I line his dick up with my entrance, the tip brushing against my folds.

"Are you sure?" Conrad asks as we both prepare to have him inside me.

"Always."

He pushes forward, his dick filling me up immediately, my eyes screwing shut from the feeling. He waits a second, allow both of us to adjust before he begins to move. I know that I won't last long, especially from coming so close when he was eating me out.

With him pumping in and out of me and his hand on my throat, Conrad dips his head to kiss me again. It's slow in contrast to his dick, feeling much more intimate than anything else we've done.

"You're it for me, Delaney."

When we both finish, Conrad slumps against me, face nuzzled into my neck. My arms are wrapped around his back, mine resting against the mirror.

'I've missed you." I hear him say, voice muffled as he strokes my hair.

"Yeah, me too. I feel like I got a piece of me back."

Conrad smiles at this, both of us not knowing what the future holds for us. All I know is I still love him as much as I did two years ago, when I confessed at the beach.

"Please don't walk away from me again."

"Never, baby."

#conrad fisher #the summer i turned pretty #conrad x reader #jeremiah fisher #tsitp #Spotify #tsitp conrad #team conrad #belly conklin

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alicerosejensen · 1 year

Note

Is there anyway we can see a head canon of Leon’s girlfriend learning about Ada and Claire? Would she feel insecure about them thinking ‘what does he see in me when he’s worked with someone who is way stronger than I am?’

Have a lovely day!

Ada and Claire are beautiful! Why are they so adorable? I'm complex 🤣

khl-khl, attention! I usually write texts only in my native language, but come on! You can throw tomatoes at me. This is a full-fledged text in English, written with the help of third-party Internet resources. There is a second part in my native language, and it seems to me that it is written much better (because it always happens, damn it!) I really liked this question, and I decided to give it such an unusual answer.

You may or may not like it. In any case, I like this work in the original language. (that is, my native).

So here's another warning: Angst, distrust of the partner, the reader does not want to tell Leon about his suspicions, It is implied that the reader has good parents, angst with an uncertain ending, parting, grooming, Age Difference,

You've never been jealous. In fact, you have decided to trust your partner, as your parents taught you, because you cannot build a family without trust. Even if there were no plans for a wedding, children or something like that, you still wanted to believe Leon. All your friends and family agreed that you are very beautiful. Her father's only daughter (his most beloved) and mother's little diamond. Therefore, problems with self-esteem almost never affected you. What are the problems if you were literally cherished and adored?

And Leon loved you, too… Well, that's what you thought.

Expensive gifts, attention, care. He even took you on a two-week cruise until he got a call from work, but you still had a good time together. Everything was wonderful!

You told him about your success in college, about your family, listened to his jokes and laughed at them. Hell, he even taught you how to swim when he found out why you persistently don't go into the water on a summer day with others.

Sometimes it seemed that he simply could not be so perfect! That's why your friend Cary kept telling you to be careful with him. In general, she rightly believed that you were just a fool who fell in love with a man who just needed a young body for sex, and his gifts and attention were nothing more than a bribe.

Indeed, unlike your frankness with him, Leon himself was a very secretive person. You tried to ask him about his work, to which he replied sternly, but with a slight smile, that it was "classified" by his family (again, he hated this topic and avoided it in every possible way, preferring to listen to you). Sometimes it seemed that all you knew about him was that he liked leather jackets, rock, motorcycles and your food.

it wasn't fair. And Cary's suspicions have also begun to creep into your head.

Even though he introduced you to Claire. A chance meeting in a cafe, but you liked this girl. She was quite sharp, but very friendly, you might even think that she and Leon could have met before, but Leon just laughed and replied: “Just friends. We had an incident with her in the past - and you believed him. Sometimes you corresponded with each other, you could have a coffee if you accidentally ran into a coffee shop and ran into her. She even invited you and Leon to her birthday party.

She seems to like you too. And if not, then at least you didn't conflict. All you knew about her and Leon was that they were close friends.

Sometimes you could catch meaningful glances between them, but they were hardly intimate, although Carey's words that you were "fresh meat for fucking" were increasingly spinning in your head.

And you started to feel terrible, constantly thinking about it.

Then for the first time there came a moment when you felt insecure. Yes, college guys were still trying to ask you out with subtle compliments, but you were so focused on this thought that you didn't notice how you started to move away from your boyfriend.

You weren't tall enough without a steady job. Damn it, you've only been doing fitness once in a while! But it is unlikely that you would be able to fully stand up for yourself if the situation with the stupid courtship of peers was not in your favor. Anyway, Claire, you've been losing in a lot of ways. Starting from beauty and ending with personal qualities. Dear TerraSave employee, providing all kinds of humanitarian assistance to victims or… student of the College of Arts and Culture. You didn't suffer from excessive humanism towards strangers, while Leon was trying to save everyone and everything.

Oh, yes, one more fact: Leon dreamed of becoming a policeman and even worked for one day. Now nothing is missing for sure! He knew everything about you, and you knew almost nothing.

-"Please, baby, open your eyes! He doesn't care about your high feelings. Shit, you have a wonderful father, why the fuck did you fall in love with an older man?!"

You were trembling with terror. But you damn well want to be with him! You love him, even if he leaves home for a long time! Even if you didn't have a common future! You were the place he wanted to go back to after his shitty job. Leon himself admitted that your appearance in his life was the only good thing. Could he be lying? A romantic dinner together in an Italian restaurant did not inspire any faith in his words about love and they remained unanswered, which is why Leon seemed worried about your detachment from him

- "Did something happen?"

LOVE.

Where could you find the strength to look at him? Crumpled, torn by uncertainty feelings slowly turned into fragments. But some part of you wanted to erase your memory to forget about all suspicions.

You have not seen all the facets of Leon, blindly admiring his bottomless blue eyes and diving into the pool of love. Knowing that after this Garden of Eden you will have to pick yourself up piece.

The body is wrapped in sharp thorns, shackles, it's worth thinking about what Leon himself really thought to you. Were you an easily accessible fool for him to fuck or pure love?

You keep thinking, trying to find the answer in his behavior, words or movements, instead of asking directly, and unfortunately for some reason your clouded brain finds the very answer that you were so afraid of.

And then you met her…

The mystery woman in red. She was peerless. Like an actress in a Hollywood movie that everyone is crazy about. Men lose their heads from such, because they are incomparable in everything, and the way Leon looked after her finally broke your heart.

Ada Wong.

A woman worth killing for. As ridiculous as it may sound, it was the real truth. Tears stung your eyes, so you tried to brush them away faster before someone noticed them. And mentally scolded herself.

Everything Carey said was true! What were you even thinking about when you gave him your phone number in that crappy bar?!

"The part of you that you can never give up"

One message. One broken love.

You put Leon's phone back on the table when the screen goes blank, leaving the message unread. It seems that the body freezes when you secretly watch him write an answer with a sweet smile. It hurts so much. But the bitter truth is better than endless sweet lies.

Fingers are freezing. All you want at this moment is to run away and hide from the pain caused by this person. Barefoot, in the rain, not taking apart the road until you find some safe haven where you could heal from the deep wounds inflicted.

At this very moment you need shelter.

Need another way.

Because you're ready to water the whole world with your tears. Everything is covered in the dust of false promises, and from the feeling that you were superfluous in his life, your eyes went out in one fucking second.

How do I get out of this hole now? Why were you so stupid?

Leon sees your wet cheeks together with complete detachment, as if you are somewhere in prostration, when in fact Armageddon is happening inside. He puts the phone down after sending a few more messages to this woman, for whom you have absolutely no hatred. She's beautiful. And you'll never be half that.

"Angel, what's the matter?" Leon squats down, trying to grab the icy palms of his beloved, as he said…

Or lied.

He was your sun, but his rays never fell on you.

They were meant for Ada, whose compact you found this morning when you were dusting the bedside table. If it meant nothing to him, then Leon would never have kept it in such a place. Having put the object in its place, you understood everything and accepted the truth. And yet it hurts.

You didn't demand answers and you didn't whine like a dog that was locked under the door. It would be preferable to pull the trigger. So you get up from the sofa, throwing a hasty "I need fresh air" without even looking at him.

Run.

Run away from him.

Leon grabs your hands, reminding you that it's night outside, but you just want to disappear. It turns into a kind of fight, during which your words push him away.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

This discouraged him, but gave you a chance to escape, leaving all belongings in the apartment. Torn to shreds, repeating to herself one thing: "Breathe." In some shorts and a T-shirt, in old (favorite) sneakers, run through the streets wet from the rain in a coat that is probably already wet. It seemed that your lungs were ready to burst from the endless running, but you ran as if you were afraid that he would soon catch up with you.

You'll never be like Claire!

Moreover, you are not even a faded shadow of Ada Wong, but you need a place where you could stay. A person who will take you by the hand and say, "There is no pain that has no end. Everything will pass, and you will be alive again."

You need to go home.

Leon was left behind. He's left somewhere in his apartment with messages from Ada and her compact on the bedside table, but you'll come home tired, and there's a good old cat waiting for you. Leon won't find you until you're strong enough to face him again. And you will never heal yourself with the help of other people, as he did with himself using you.

You're not Ada Wong.

You're not the fearless Claire Redfield.

No belongings, no phone… after a cold night, because of which a cold caught your throat. Your friend invited you to her house for the night when you told her about everything, but you never broke up with your boyfriend. While she endlessly reprimanded something for your stupid infatuation, you drank hot tea, thinking only about why your love was not enough. Was it because Kennedy wanted to make you Ada's replacement? But you didn't hate him. Not him, not Claire, not even Ada.

Emotional blackmail that you have arranged for yourself. Did you run away penniless, almost naked, without means of communication, hoping for luck? Now you haven't thought about whether Leon wants to find you. Suddenly he asks people which way a crazy girl in just shorts and a T-shirt ran? Or did he try to call you, immediately realizing that the phone was left somewhere near him?

To tell the truth, you are proud of yourself. A little bit. Anger will not fill the remnants of the heart, and you believe that one day it will blossom again with renewed vigor, retaining its light. He only needs a little time and warmth.

You're not Ada Wong.

You don't look like her.

You're just a heartbroken student returning home to a man with a thick gray beard whose biceps are bigger than Leon's. With a warm smile and the smell of engine oil . Into a house filled with your childhood photos, and into an old room that is still clean, as if it had never been left.

You'll be back at college in a month or two. Pick up your stuff from Leon's apartment, where you tell him you're not a piece of cake. Maybe now you just need the strength to gather the courage and tell Leon that you are not going to replace the girl in red. After all, your self-esteem is not so bad, no matter how low it has fallen over the past few weeks of mental anguish.

Leon was and will be an important episode in your life, but your mother said that you were born for love, not for replacement.

Maybe there will be a goodbye kiss but right now you don't want to think how much he's going crazy with worry not knowing where you are and what's with you.

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