contains: use of y/n, pistachio gelato 🫶🏼🫶🏼, readers's jealoussss, undressing and vague sexual activity, references to lines/scenes from here (about the girl) and here (about the slutty comment)
You had found your footing on Beechwood. Besides picking up on a personal code for peace (avoid the aunts and grandparents, physical affections were best kept for Red Gate, stick to the nibbles, etc), you'd formed a routine. Wake up as the sun rises, beaming through your window, go for a walk, a swim, then return to Windemere where the Liars were often waiting for you to start today's shenanigans. But you were called up from your dip this morning.
"y/n!" Johnny calls out, jogging down the sand of tiny beach. You reemerge from your muffled aquatic tranquility, pushing your hair back from your face with both hands before spinning to face the shore. "Breakfast at Clairmont!" he informs you. Right. You were hoping it was a Sinclair only thing forgot. You paddle in and take the towel he held for you.
"God, you look ridiculous," you smile, wrapping the towel around you. He didn't, really. White shorts with a navy Ralph Lauren logo on the left leg's bottom hem and a black, red, and white striped long sleeve didn't qualify as clownish. You just weren't good at expressing your thoughts verbally when flustered. Johnny learnt to pick up on the smile and heart eyes.
"You don't really think that," he states.
"You're right," you admit, "You look cute." You peck his cheek and run up to Windemere for an outfit.
With a cream coloured dress just above your knees adorned by a dainty red floral print, you skip up to the table on Clairmont's detached event patio, laid with a cotton white tablecloth, delicate flower bunches in small vases, and slip into the seat beside Johnny.
"Mirren, aren't you gonna eat?" Johnny questions, seeing her untouched plate still so after retrieving you.
"No, I'm feeling kind of pukey," she reasons, upset thick in her tone.
"Your tummy always hurts when you're keeping a secret," Johnny recalls, nudging her with his elbow.
"Tummy, Johnny? Stomach. I'm not five," Mirren corrects. You found her insistence on "tummy" being juvenile despite just using "pukey" amusing.
"Right," Johnny accepts. "Yeah, you're a grown up who has somehow sexted yourself into eternal virginity." Gat chuckles. You elbow him. "What?!"
"Don't be so flippant with the matter when you know first hand how people can be with it," you scold him in a whisper, Cadence holding in a giggle from across the table.
"Who was the guy who brought you a drink on the party boat?" Gat asks. "Golf bro, looked like his name was something like Shep Calloway?"
"Winchester Prescott?" Cadence chimes in.
"Tucker Asherton," Johnny mockingly declares in a pompous accent.
"It's funny you guys are speaking as Sinclairs," you remark. Gat laughs inwardly.
"Oh, well, if it isn't Brody Sheffield," Harris announces, voice thick as always, as the twins squeal about dad being back.
"Good morning, Sinclairs!" Brody greets, arms wide for the twins to run into. He hugs them with "hey, baby," "Bonbon, Liberty," and "I missed you, tornadoes," before Mirren abruptly gets up and jumps into his arms too.
"I thought you missed your flight," Bess says through a false smile.
"I-I did. So I woke up at the crack of dawn, and I made the drive in, figured I'd sneak in from the service dock and surprise you, but Harris blew my cover," Brody explains, all while Mirren watches with disgust. "Wow, look at that," Brody expresses at Mirren's sketch where her plate should be. "That's fantastic, little bug. You drew that water with pencils? Look at how the light dances through it." Your eyes dart down to your hands wringing in your lap. You hated father's day. "And our guest!" Brody exclaims, arms thrown up then directed at you.
"Hi, Mr Sheffield," you kindly address with an awkward palm wave.
"Please, Brody," he insists. You nod. "Didn't know if we'd see you this summer. Johnny's being a ladies' man and all," Brody playfully comment, ruffling Johnny's hair.
"I'm glad you could tear yourself away from the office," Harris tells Brody, grabbing his attention back from you two. Your eyes dart to the disturbed curls on Johnny's head and reach up to fix them.
"Oh, the office will always be there. Getting crushed by you on the golf course however, is a rare treat," Brody responds.
"Ahh, Harris' favourite father's day tradition, disappearing to the club all morning," Tipper chimes in.
"To give you space to prepare your favourite tradition...the feast," Harris replies. Harris and Brody go back and forth about specifics as Ed and Will come back up from main beach. Ed was a relief on this island. Someone who knew what was going on but also could acknowledge how rich what was going on was. But, like you, he played the game. Well.
"Hey, Ed, what do you say we take the boat into town, get some ice cream? Littles, Liars, you in?" Brody suggests, getting quick I'm ins from the twins. "Ed? You in, bro?"
"Sure thing," Ed agrees, "bro."
"I think that Gat and Cady were actually planning on staying here," Mirren mentions to Brody, something Gat swiftly rejects.
"No, no, no, I'm down for ice cream," Gat comments. Cadence looks clueless, then to you and Johnny, then agrees.
"Yeah, same."
"Awesome," Johnny remarks.
The ice cream cart served ice cream and gelato in one or two scoops, so you got one scoop of pistachio gelato and Johnny got two scoops of cookies and cream. Mirren opted out of any and Cadence and Gat both got chocolate. You overlooked the seasick blue water as you ate, couples and families sat in the umbrella-ed benches behind you. The sleeves of his shirt hugging Johnny's biceps were distracting but Mirren pulls you back.
"Can I tell you guys something and you swear to not tell a single soul?" Mirren asks. You all nod.
"Of course," you reply.
"Yeah," Cadence agrees.
"Okay," Mirren starts, taking a deep breath. "I saw my mom last night having sex with Salty Dan."
You: "Huh!?"
Johnny: "Oh, fuck."
Cadence: "Wait, like, the harbor service guy?"
"Yeah, the delivery pirate," Mirren confirms. "He had her all pressed up on the boathouse, their legs were just going...you know, there's one there—"
"Ugh! ugh, gross!" Johnny exclaims. You were all disgusted, but he was the last one to act holier than thou in this discussion — in your opinion. "Sorry. Enough detail about Aunt Bess getting railed, please."
"Yeah well, I can't eat and I can't sleep," Mirren states. "I'm gonna develop a weird sex complex, obviously, so..."
"You're pretty mentally developed at sixteen so you shouldn't," you note. Johnny taps your arm for your attention. You look to him. He shakes his head. You tuck your lips together at the fact you weren't helping.
"I'm gonna have to tell my dad," Mirren rues.
"I mean, I don't know, maybe talk to your mom first," Gat suggests, "there could be a reasonable explanation, right?" Your eyebrows shoot sky high.
"Like what? Fish boy is on my parents' celeb hall pass list?" Mirren rhetorically questions. There wasn't a reasonable explanation, especially not to Mirren, but of course Gat was defending cheating.
"Look, there's no excuse for cheating. Ever." Cadence states. "We're supposed to have values, honor, dignity." Gat was right in guessing these weren't Cadence's words, but deflecting her distain for cheating to her mother's opinion was so low of him.
"Wait, did your dad..."
"I don't wanna talk about it," Cadence shuts off.
"You guys ready to go home?" Ed asks.
"Uhh, I think actually y/n wants to do some shopping," Johnny answers. You had mentioned wanting to check out some of the stores in town on the boat ride here, but if everyone else was going back, you didn't want to keep them waiting. "Like a proper tourist," he teases.
"I'm fine, I don't have to if we're leaving now," you tell Ed.
"They can leave the boat taxi for us to take back later," Johnny suggests. You think about it.
"Okay," you agree.
"Yeah?" and you nod. "Okay, you guys can head back. I'm spoiling my girlfriend," Johnny playfully preens as he leads you away from the group and towards lines of stores. You overhear Mirren offer the bookstore to Gat and Cadence, but Gat quickly turns it down.
"Something has happened between them, I can feel it," you tell Johnny.
"So I'm not crazy? Gat just defended cheating?" Johnny checks.
"Exactly! Is he fucking insane, first of all, who openly tells on themselves like that? And two, is he fucking insane? He's defending cheating!" you express.
A bookstore and two souvenir shops later, you're in the third, trying on a bikini with the Vineyard is for lovers across the butt for laughs.
"Johnny Sinclair!" a shrill voice exclaims. "I knew I'd run into you here!" You pop your head out of the change room. "Come here!" Blonde girl in a mini triangle bikini top and daisy dukes shuffling towards Johnny with her arms open.
"Babe! Can you come tie the back of this?" you call out, halting the girl's movement. Johnny nods, coming to help you. His brows furrow after he closes the curtain behind him and sees you didn't need his help. "Who is that?" you ask in a whisper. Blonde, skinny, blue eyes, sharp jawline, you prayed she was some distant Sinclair relative.
"Remember that girl I nearly hooked up with but her mom walked in so we never did?" he inquires. You nod, hating where this was leading. "She's the girl."
"Right," you accept, clearly a million miles away in a second with how fast your mind raced.
"Hey, she means nothing to me," he assures you, hands holding your upper arms tight to keep you present. "I love you," he reminds you with a kiss on the lips. You nod. His eyes flick over you from head to toe. "And you look really good in that."
"Thank you."
"Whatcha up to in there?" that squeaky voice rings again.
"You nearly slept with that?" you question with so much judgement.
"Past me was stupid. We know this about like last week me," he reasons. You roll your eyes.
"Go deal with her, then we're going home," you tell him, stomach twisting. He nods. You get out of the bikini and back into your dress, mind going in circles of if they were going to have sex, what did they do before they got interrupted? And why was Johnny always getting interrupted? You exit the change room to her waving as she walked away. You were quiet the walk to the dock.
"Are you mad?" Johnny asks.
"No."
"Are you a tiny bit mad?"
"Stop asking me if I'm mad before you actually make me mad." He nods, looking around in the silence. Water sloshing and the boat's engine are all you can hear for a minute.
"Why would you be quiet if you're not mad then?" he questions.
"God forbid I'm trying to process something," you defend.
"Process what?! Nothing happened with her!" he insists. "Besides, you verbally process things—"
"You verbally process things."
"So do you. And you're not. So you're not processing anything; you're stewing."
You weren't mad at Johnny. You had no reason to be. So you continued like usual until he went off to swim with Gat.
"While we were in town, we ran into the girl Johnny nearly slept with before me," you spit out, rolling over to face the girls next to you.
"I knew something was off!" Mirren exclaims, sitting up from her previously horizontal position with her head off the edge of the wooden sunbed.
"What happened?" Cadence inquires.
"Nothing," you shrug. "She squealed his name, went to hug him, I called him over, claiming I needed help tying the back of the bikini I was trying on for laughs between us, I asked who she was, he said she was the girl he nearly had sex with, my stomach hurt at the thought, he got her to leave, we came back."
"So what's the matter?" Cadence asks.
"I don't know," you answer. "I think the fact that I know so little about what they did makes my mind go round possibilities, each one making me sicker."
"Can't you just ask him?" Mirren questions. "Like if not knowing is what's making you upset, why not know?"
"I guess," you reply. "I just, I don't know. Like, this sounds really possessive, but I hate the thought of him making out with another girl. Being attracted to her, chatting her up, kissing her, his hands touching her where he touches me—" you go on, holding back a gag at the thought.
"You're not helping yourself," Cadence interrupts. You nod, swallowing the saliva that was coating your teeth.
"What about Gat earlier?" Mirren suggests as a conversation topic. Cadence perks up.
"He was being weird, right?" She checks. You and Mirren nod.
"He defended cheating," you point out.
"He had two perfect opportunities for you guys to be alone together," Mirren states. "And he blew them off."
"I wish I could just ask him what he thinks," Cadence expresses.
"Guys don't really think a lot," you half jokingly claim. Mirren smiles with a huff exhaling through her nose.
"Sometimes moments are just fleeting, you know?" Mirren continues. "At least you know now. You can be cool. You can just go back to being normal. Pretend nothing ever happened."
"What happened?" you question Mirren in a whisper as Cadence stands up.
"Oh. Yeah. Gat kissed Cady," Mirren informs you. Your eyes shot wide before you blink them back. "Or, Cady kissed Gat. Either way, they kissed."
"But he's not acting normal," Cadence states, spotting the boys running back up from the water. "That's the problem."
"What up?" Johnny greets, reaching for his towel tossed over the sunbed head. You shuffle up and lean over to press a kiss to his cheek before criss-crossing your legs. He smiles faintly under the towel over his head to dry off his hair. He knew you probably just talked with the girls about it. He didn't mind. As long as you felt better. And were acting as usual you again.
"Hey, you guys wanna play Scrabble?" Gat asks, grabbing his own towel.
"Yes," Mirren agrees.
"Can we do it stoned?" Johnny asks back, making Mirren giggle.
"How was the water?" Cadence inquires, walking back to the wooden bed as Johnny pauses drying off to kiss the top of your head. You smile back up at him. Mirren pantomimes gagging.
"Oh, see, Johnny can kick my ass in tennis, but not in a swim race," Gat explains.
"Whatever, dude," Johnny dismisses, wrapping his towel around his waist. "My shorts got more drag," he reasons in jest, flopping over the sunbed head, feet landing in your lap that you push aside with an eye roll.
"Ew. Stop, Johnny," Cadence scolds.
"Ew," Mirren expresses. "Your girlfriend has spilled enough."
"I spilled nothing!" you exclaim, sitting up straight as Mirren recalls the event.
"I said "isn't all of him slutty?" jokingly and you hummed with wide eyes! What am I meant to take from that?!" she retorts. Your jaw drops. "With something in your mouth!" she adds, eyes on your open lips. Gat and Cadence's brows furrow.
"It was a spoon! We were eating ice cream!" you counter.
"Okay! Can we all calm down and get high now?!" Johnny interjects, tossing a small clear baggy into the space between you all. As Gat grabs it, Cadence notices the writing on the back of his hand. Black ink against the smooth brown reading Being & Nothingness.
"Oh, hey, is that next on your reading list?" she asks.
"This one? yeah yeah yeah," he answers. "I finished that Andrew Jackson biography. It was actually really interesting."
"Oh here we go," Johnny groans. You swat his leg. "If you skip the Trail of Tears lecture, I'll give you five Andrew Jacksons." It was true Johnny heard more from Gat than you did, therefore finding it more preachy and annoying when Gat spoke about something again, but it still pissed you off how dismissive he was of matters.
"Dude, you've gotta admit, it's fucked up he's still on our money," Gat proclaims. The glare Johnny caught from you kept him quiet at least this time. "Besides, don't you guys ever think about like who was on this island before Harris?"
"Harris' dad?" Mirren guesses. Gat scoffs.
"All I'm saying is that there should be limits to what one person can own, that's it," Gat explains.
"Can you just shut up? Can we just play?" Mirren asks.
"Shut up forever," Johnny adds. You glare at him again.
"Shut up and Scrabble, seriously," Cadence tell him. You see the conflicting thoughts and feelings go through Gat's head. Cadence's waiting eyes, leaned in posture giving him a clear shot of her cleavage, gently parted lips, mixed with Johnny's vexed stare, Mirren's bored disregard, your silence.
"You know guys, my letters suck. I forfeit. I'm gonna go find a new book." You watch him walk away with the feeling you should follow. He was the person on this island you were in the most similar position too. You didn't agree with Johnny being shitty, but, also, you couldn't control his actions. Mirren and Cadence cared, Cadence more so than Mirren, but they were just trying to play Scrabble.
"Wait, Gat—" Cadence tries.
"Seriously, let him go. Okay? Ever since he got back from India, he's been obsessed with the evils of colonisation," Johnny explains. "I'm over it." You get up to follow Gat.
"Don't try to pacify me, y/n," Gat finally calls back to you after the walk to Windemere.
"I'm not," you reply. "I wanted to ask you something." He freezes up, standing just outside the backdoor.
"About what?" he questions, turning around to face you.
"What do you know about what Johnny did with the girl he nearly had sex with before me?" you ask. He seems relived.
"Basically everything," he answers. "Why?"
"What did they do?" He shrugs.
"Not much. They were drunk, she was upset at her boyfriend, she pulled him away from the party to her room, she cried to him about her boyfriend before asking if he wanted to have sex, he nodded, then her mom came in, upset about the party, and he sprinted," Gat explains.
"What happened between him nodding and her mom walking in?"
"Nothing. He nodded and then her mom walked in. No action happened between then."
"Did they do anything before that?"
"Nothing. It seemed very robotic from his description."
Red Gate felt warmer. Maybe it was your body's memory and the fact it housed more people (with warmer hearts), but it was probably just the late afternoon sun that burnt it up. Shells and rocks in bunches on tables and counters, family photos never including Ed, board shorts and boxers haphazardly around the place. It was the most lived in house on Beechwood besides the organised messy Bess had Cuddledown.
You knock on Johnny's bedroom door. Three equally spaced knocks, never varying in a mild intensity.
"Changing! One sec!" Johnny calls outs.
"I've seen you naked before," you playfully call back. The lock quickly clicks undone and he shuffles back as he pulls it open, using the door to shield his state of undress from the hall. You plop down on the foot of his bed and he recloses and locks the door behind you.
"You were a dick to Gat earlier," you state. He rolls his eyes, moving back over to his drawers for something to wear other than his boxers, expecting you to further lecture him. "But he is a cheater, so I don't really mind that part." His head snaps to you, eyes wide. "It was the subject matter, Johnny, you don't have to act so dismissive towards—"
"Yeah, okay, I get it, I know thousands died, but what happened with Gat?" he rushes out, taking a seat beside you on his bed.
"He kissed Cadence last night," you tell him.
"What the fuck!" he exclaims, standing back up.
"Yeah! So, if you're being a dick to him about like, you know, that, sure, but can you not act as privileged as you are when it comes to mass slaughter?"
"Yeah, okay, I apologise, I'll stop, but can we focus on the fact Gat kissed Cady?" he responds.
"Now we can," you agree.
"So he cheated with Cady?" he asks for confirmation. You nod.
"And that's why he's acting all weird now," you reason.
"That's why he defended cheating!"
Somewhere between shit talking Gat and praising Johnny, your dress came off, along with his boxers. You wiggle your hips to help slip your underwear off in place under Johnny before parting your legs for him to settle between.
"Sorry I was weird earlier," you apologise, wrapping your arms around his neck. Johnny's head drops to your shoulder with a groan as you gasp, his hand running up and down your side reminding you to relax.
"Doesn't matter," he pants.
a/n: 4/5TH INSTALLMENT BASED OFF IF I'VE DECIDE FOR OR AGAINST A PARTY BOAT FIC BETWEEN NOW (20/11/25) AND WHEN THIS GETS POSTED SOME TIME EARLY DECEMBER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway, as I said, typing this on the 20th of November, how you guys liking the series so far? no one's reading it because it's the northern hemisphere's winter? yeah...yeah...expected that...
also, whenever i write even the slightest bit more than "they made out" I FEEL SO GUILTY. LIKE "everyone in my life is going to find this and its going to be so embarrassing and I'm going to DIE." it's fanfiction, girl, chill out.
contains: use of y/n, pistachio gelato 🫶🏼🫶🏼, readers's jealoussss, undressing and vague sexual activity, references to lines/scenes from here (about the girl) and here (about the slutty comment)
You had found your footing on Beechwood. Besides picking up on a personal code for peace (avoid the aunts and grandparents, physical affections were best kept for Red Gate, stick to the nibbles, etc), you'd formed a routine. Wake up as the sun rises, beaming through your window, go for a walk, a swim, then return to Windemere where the Liars were often waiting for you to start today's shenanigans. But you were called up from your dip this morning.
"y/n!" Johnny calls out, jogging down the sand of tiny beach. You reemerge from your muffled aquatic tranquility, pushing your hair back from your face with both hands before spinning to face the shore. "Breakfast at Clairmont!" he informs you. Right. You were hoping it was a Sinclair only thing forgot. You paddle in and take the towel he held for you.
"God, you look ridiculous," you smile, wrapping the towel around you. He didn't, really. White shorts with a navy Ralph Lauren logo on the left leg's bottom hem and a black, red, and white striped long sleeve didn't qualify as clownish. You just weren't good at expressing your thoughts verbally when flustered. Johnny learnt to pick up on the smile and heart eyes.
"You don't really think that," he states.
"You're right," you admit, "You look cute." You peck his cheek and run up to Windemere for an outfit.
With a cream coloured dress just above your knees adorned by a dainty red floral print, you skip up to the table on Clairmont's detached event patio, laid with a cotton white tablecloth, delicate flower bunches in small vases, and slip into the seat beside Johnny.
"Mirren, aren't you gonna eat?" Johnny questions, seeing her untouched plate still so after retrieving you.
"No, I'm feeling kind of pukey," she reasons, upset thick in her tone.
"Your tummy always hurts when you're keeping a secret," Johnny recalls, nudging her with his elbow.
"Tummy, Johnny? Stomach. I'm not five," Mirren corrects. You found her insistence on "tummy" being juvenile despite just using "pukey" amusing.
"Right," Johnny accepts. "Yeah, you're a grown up who has somehow sexted yourself into eternal virginity." Gat chuckles. You elbow him. "What?!"
"Don't be so flippant with the matter when you know first hand how people can be with it," you scold him in a whisper, Cadence holding in a giggle from across the table.
"Who was the guy who brought you a drink on the party boat?" Gat asks. "Golf bro, looked like his name was something like Shep Calloway?"
"Winchester Prescott?" Cadence chimes in.
"Tucker Asherton," Johnny mockingly declares in a pompous accent.
"It's funny you guys are speaking as Sinclairs," you remark. Gat laughs inwardly.
"Oh, well, if it isn't Brody Sheffield," Harris announces, voice thick as always, as the twins squeal about dad being back.
"Good morning, Sinclairs!" Brody greets, arms wide for the twins to run into. He hugs them with "hey, baby," "Bonbon, Liberty," and "I missed you, tornadoes," before Mirren abruptly gets up and jumps into his arms too.
"I thought you missed your flight," Bess says through a false smile.
"I-I did. So I woke up at the crack of dawn, and I made the drive in, figured I'd sneak in from the service dock and surprise you, but Harris blew my cover," Brody explains, all while Mirren watches with disgust. "Wow, look at that," Brody expresses at Mirren's sketch where her plate should be. "That's fantastic, little bug. You drew that water with pencils? Look at how the light dances through it." Your eyes dart down to your hands wringing in your lap. You hated father's day. "And our guest!" Brody exclaims, arms thrown up then directed at you.
"Hi, Mr Sheffield," you kindly address with an awkward palm wave.
"Please, Brody," he insists. You nod. "Didn't know if we'd see you this summer. Johnny's being a ladies' man and all," Brody playfully comment, ruffling Johnny's hair.
"I'm glad you could tear yourself away from the office," Harris tells Brody, grabbing his attention back from you two. Your eyes dart to the disturbed curls on Johnny's head and reach up to fix them.
"Oh, the office will always be there. Getting crushed by you on the golf course however, is a rare treat," Brody responds.
"Ahh, Harris' favourite father's day tradition, disappearing to the club all morning," Tipper chimes in.
"To give you space to prepare your favourite tradition...the feast," Harris replies. Harris and Brody go back and forth about specifics as Ed and Will come back up from main beach. Ed was a relief on this island. Someone who knew what was going on but also could acknowledge how rich what was going on was. But, like you, he played the game. Well.
"Hey, Ed, what do you say we take the boat into town, get some ice cream? Littles, Liars, you in?" Brody suggests, getting quick I'm ins from the twins. "Ed? You in, bro?"
"Sure thing," Ed agrees, "bro."
"I think that Gat and Cady were actually planning on staying here," Mirren mentions to Brody, something Gat swiftly rejects.
"No, no, no, I'm down for ice cream," Gat comments. Cadence looks clueless, then to you and Johnny, then agrees.
"Yeah, same."
"Awesome," Johnny remarks.
The ice cream cart served ice cream and gelato in one or two scoops, so you got one scoop of pistachio gelato and Johnny got two scoops of cookies and cream. Mirren opted out of any and Cadence and Gat both got chocolate. You overlooked the seasick blue water as you ate, couples and families sat in the umbrella-ed benches behind you. The sleeves of his shirt hugging Johnny's biceps were distracting but Mirren pulls you back.
"Can I tell you guys something and you swear to not tell a single soul?" Mirren asks. You all nod.
"Of course," you reply.
"Yeah," Cadence agrees.
"Okay," Mirren starts, taking a deep breath. "I saw my mom last night having sex with Salty Dan."
You: "Huh!?"
Johnny: "Oh, fuck."
Cadence: "Wait, like, the harbor service guy?"
"Yeah, the delivery pirate," Mirren confirms. "He had her all pressed up on the boathouse, their legs were just going...you know, there's one there—"
"Ugh! ugh, gross!" Johnny exclaims. You were all disgusted, but he was the last one to act holier than thou in this discussion — in your opinion. "Sorry. Enough detail about Aunt Bess getting railed, please."
"Yeah well, I can't eat and I can't sleep," Mirren states. "I'm gonna develop a weird sex complex, obviously, so..."
"You're pretty mentally developed at sixteen so you shouldn't," you note. Johnny taps your arm for your attention. You look to him. He shakes his head. You tuck your lips together at the fact you weren't helping.
"I'm gonna have to tell my dad," Mirren rues.
"I mean, I don't know, maybe talk to your mom first," Gat suggests, "there could be a reasonable explanation, right?" Your eyebrows shoot sky high.
"Like what? Fish boy is on my parents' celeb hall pass list?" Mirren rhetorically questions. There wasn't a reasonable explanation, especially not to Mirren, but of course Gat was defending cheating.
"Look, there's no excuse for cheating. Ever." Cadence states. "We're supposed to have values, honor, dignity." Gat was right in guessing these weren't Cadence's words, but deflecting her distain for cheating to her mother's opinion was so low of him.
"Wait, did your dad..."
"I don't wanna talk about it," Cadence shuts off.
"You guys ready to go home?" Ed asks.
"Uhh, I think actually y/n wants to do some shopping," Johnny answers. You had mentioned wanting to check out some of the stores in town on the boat ride here, but if everyone else was going back, you didn't want to keep them waiting. "Like a proper tourist," he teases.
"I'm fine, I don't have to if we're leaving now," you tell Ed.
"They can leave the boat taxi for us to take back later," Johnny suggests. You think about it.
"Okay," you agree.
"Yeah?" and you nod. "Okay, you guys can head back. I'm spoiling my girlfriend," Johnny playfully preens as he leads you away from the group and towards lines of stores. You overhear Mirren offer the bookstore to Gat and Cadence, but Gat quickly turns it down.
"Something has happened between them, I can feel it," you tell Johnny.
"So I'm not crazy? Gat just defended cheating?" Johnny checks.
"Exactly! Is he fucking insane, first of all, who openly tells on themselves like that? And two, is he fucking insane? He's defending cheating!" you express.
A bookstore and two souvenir shops later, you're in the third, trying on a bikini with the Vineyard is for lovers across the butt for laughs.
"Johnny Sinclair!" a shrill voice exclaims. "I knew I'd run into you here!" You pop your head out of the change room. "Come here!" Blonde girl in a mini triangle bikini top and daisy dukes shuffling towards Johnny with her arms open.
"Babe! Can you come tie the back of this?" you call out, halting the girl's movement. Johnny nods, coming to help you. His brows furrow after he closes the curtain behind him and sees you didn't need his help. "Who is that?" you ask in a whisper. Blonde, skinny, blue eyes, sharp jawline, you prayed she was some distant Sinclair relative.
"Remember that girl I nearly hooked up with but her mom walked in so we never did?" he inquires. You nod, hating where this was leading. "She's the girl."
"Right," you accept, clearly a million miles away in a second with how fast your mind raced.
"Hey, she means nothing to me," he assures you, hands holding your upper arms tight to keep you present. "I love you," he reminds you with a kiss on the lips. You nod. His eyes flick over you from head to toe. "And you look really good in that."
"Thank you."
"Whatcha up to in there?" that squeaky voice rings again.
"You nearly slept with that?" you question with so much judgement.
"Past me was stupid. We know this about like last week me," he reasons. You roll your eyes.
"Go deal with her, then we're going home," you tell him, stomach twisting. He nods. You get out of the bikini and back into your dress, mind going in circles of if they were going to have sex, what did they do before they got interrupted? And why was Johnny always getting interrupted? You exit the change room to her waving as she walked away. You were quiet the walk to the dock.
"Are you mad?" Johnny asks.
"No."
"Are you a tiny bit mad?"
"Stop asking me if I'm mad before you actually make me mad." He nods, looking around in the silence. Water sloshing and the boat's engine are all you can hear for a minute.
"Why would you be quiet if you're not mad then?" he questions.
"God forbid I'm trying to process something," you defend.
"Process what?! Nothing happened with her!" he insists. "Besides, you verbally process things—"
"You verbally process things."
"So do you. And you're not. So you're not processing anything; you're stewing."
You weren't mad at Johnny. You had no reason to be. So you continued like usual until he went off to swim with Gat.
"While we were in town, we ran into the girl Johnny nearly slept with before me," you spit out, rolling over to face the girls next to you.
"I knew something was off!" Mirren exclaims, sitting up from her previously horizontal position with her head off the edge of the wooden sunbed.
"What happened?" Cadence inquires.
"Nothing," you shrug. "She squealed his name, went to hug him, I called him over, claiming I needed help tying the back of the bikini I was trying on for laughs between us, I asked who she was, he said she was the girl he nearly had sex with, my stomach hurt at the thought, he got her to leave, we came back."
"So what's the matter?" Cadence asks.
"I don't know," you answer. "I think the fact that I know so little about what they did makes my mind go round possibilities, each one making me sicker."
"Can't you just ask him?" Mirren questions. "Like if not knowing is what's making you upset, why not know?"
"I guess," you reply. "I just, I don't know. Like, this sounds really possessive, but I hate the thought of him making out with another girl. Being attracted to her, chatting her up, kissing her, his hands touching her where he touches me—" you go on, holding back a gag at the thought.
"You're not helping yourself," Cadence interrupts. You nod, swallowing the saliva that was coating your teeth.
"What about Gat earlier?" Mirren suggests as a conversation topic. Cadence perks up.
"He was being weird, right?" She checks. You and Mirren nod.
"He defended cheating," you point out.
"He had two perfect opportunities for you guys to be alone together," Mirren states. "And he blew them off."
"I wish I could just ask him what he thinks," Cadence expresses.
"Guys don't really think a lot," you half jokingly claim. Mirren smiles with a huff exhaling through her nose.
"Sometimes moments are just fleeting, you know?" Mirren continues. "At least you know now. You can be cool. You can just go back to being normal. Pretend nothing ever happened."
"What happened?" you question Mirren in a whisper as Cadence stands up.
"Oh. Yeah. Gat kissed Cady," Mirren informs you. Your eyes shot wide before you blink them back. "Or, Cady kissed Gat. Either way, they kissed."
"But he's not acting normal," Cadence states, spotting the boys running back up from the water. "That's the problem."
"What up?" Johnny greets, reaching for his towel tossed over the sunbed head. You shuffle up and lean over to press a kiss to his cheek before criss-crossing your legs. He smiles faintly under the towel over his head to dry off his hair. He knew you probably just talked with the girls about it. He didn't mind. As long as you felt better. And were acting as usual you again.
"Hey, you guys wanna play Scrabble?" Gat asks, grabbing his own towel.
"Yes," Mirren agrees.
"Can we do it stoned?" Johnny asks back, making Mirren giggle.
"How was the water?" Cadence inquires, walking back to the wooden bed as Johnny pauses drying off to kiss the top of your head. You smile back up at him. Mirren pantomimes gagging.
"Oh, see, Johnny can kick my ass in tennis, but not in a swim race," Gat explains.
"Whatever, dude," Johnny dismisses, wrapping his towel around his waist. "My shorts got more drag," he reasons in jest, flopping over the sunbed head, feet landing in your lap that you push aside with an eye roll.
"Ew. Stop, Johnny," Cadence scolds.
"Ew," Mirren expresses. "Your girlfriend has spilled enough."
"I spilled nothing!" you exclaim, sitting up straight as Mirren recalls the event.
"I said "isn't all of him slutty?" jokingly and you hummed with wide eyes! What am I meant to take from that?!" she retorts. Your jaw drops. "With something in your mouth!" she adds, eyes on your open lips. Gat and Cadence's brows furrow.
"It was a spoon! We were eating ice cream!" you counter.
"Okay! Can we all calm down and get high now?!" Johnny interjects, tossing a small clear baggy into the space between you all. As Gat grabs it, Cadence notices the writing on the back of his hand. Black ink against the smooth brown reading Being & Nothingness.
"Oh, hey, is that next on your reading list?" she asks.
"This one? yeah yeah yeah," he answers. "I finished that Andrew Jackson biography. It was actually really interesting."
"Oh here we go," Johnny groans. You swat his leg. "If you skip the Trail of Tears lecture, I'll give you five Andrew Jacksons." It was true Johnny heard more from Gat than you did, therefore finding it more preachy and annoying when Gat spoke about something again, but it still pissed you off how dismissive he was of matters.
"Dude, you've gotta admit, it's fucked up he's still on our money," Gat proclaims. The glare Johnny caught from you kept him quiet at least this time. "Besides, don't you guys ever think about like who was on this island before Harris?"
"Harris' dad?" Mirren guesses. Gat scoffs.
"All I'm saying is that there should be limits to what one person can own, that's it," Gat explains.
"Can you just shut up? Can we just play?" Mirren asks.
"Shut up forever," Johnny adds. You glare at him again.
"Shut up and Scrabble, seriously," Cadence tell him. You see the conflicting thoughts and feelings go through Gat's head. Cadence's waiting eyes, leaned in posture giving him a clear shot of her cleavage, gently parted lips, mixed with Johnny's vexed stare, Mirren's bored disregard, your silence.
"You know guys, my letters suck. I forfeit. I'm gonna go find a new book." You watch him walk away with the feeling you should follow. He was the person on this island you were in the most similar position too. You didn't agree with Johnny being shitty, but, also, you couldn't control his actions. Mirren and Cadence cared, Cadence more so than Mirren, but they were just trying to play Scrabble.
"Wait, Gat—" Cadence tries.
"Seriously, let him go. Okay? Ever since he got back from India, he's been obsessed with the evils of colonisation," Johnny explains. "I'm over it." You get up to follow Gat.
"Don't try to pacify me, y/n," Gat finally calls back to you after the walk to Windemere.
"I'm not," you reply. "I wanted to ask you something." He freezes up, standing just outside the backdoor.
"About what?" he questions, turning around to face you.
"What do you know about what Johnny did with the girl he nearly had sex with before me?" you ask. He seems relived.
"Basically everything," he answers. "Why?"
"What did they do?" He shrugs.
"Not much. They were drunk, she was upset at her boyfriend, she pulled him away from the party to her room, she cried to him about her boyfriend before asking if he wanted to have sex, he nodded, then her mom came in, upset about the party, and he sprinted," Gat explains.
"What happened between him nodding and her mom walking in?"
"Nothing. He nodded and then her mom walked in. No action happened between then."
"Did they do anything before that?"
"Nothing. It seemed very robotic from his description."
Red Gate felt warmer. Maybe it was your body's memory and the fact it housed more people (with warmer hearts), but it was probably just the late afternoon sun that burnt it up. Shells and rocks in bunches on tables and counters, family photos never including Ed, board shorts and boxers haphazardly around the place. It was the most lived in house on Beechwood besides the organised messy Bess had Cuddledown.
You knock on Johnny's bedroom door. Three equally spaced knocks, never varying in a mild intensity.
"Changing! One sec!" Johnny calls outs.
"I've seen you naked before," you playfully call back. The lock quickly clicks undone and he shuffles back as he pulls it open, using the door to shield his state of undress from the hall. You plop down on the foot of his bed and he recloses and locks the door behind you.
"You were a dick to Gat earlier," you state. He rolls his eyes, moving back over to his drawers for something to wear other than his boxers, expecting you to further lecture him. "But he is a cheater, so I don't really mind that part." His head snaps to you, eyes wide. "It was the subject matter, Johnny, you don't have to act so dismissive towards—"
"Yeah, okay, I get it, I know thousands died, but what happened with Gat?" he rushes out, taking a seat beside you on his bed.
"He kissed Cadence last night," you tell him.
"What the fuck!" he exclaims, standing back up.
"Yeah! So, if you're being a dick to him about like, you know, that, sure, but can you not act as privileged as you are when it comes to mass slaughter?"
"Yeah, okay, I apologise, I'll stop, but can we focus on the fact Gat kissed Cady?" he responds.
"Now we can," you agree.
"So he cheated with Cady?" he asks for confirmation. You nod.
"And that's why he's acting all weird now," you reason.
"That's why he defended cheating!"
Somewhere between shit talking Gat and praising Johnny, your dress came off, along with his boxers. You wiggle your hips to help slip your underwear off in place under Johnny before parting your legs for him to settle between.
"Sorry I was weird earlier," you apologise, wrapping your arms around his neck. Johnny's head drops to your shoulder with a groan as you gasp, his hand running up and down your side reminding you to relax.
"Doesn't matter," he pants.
a/n: 4/5TH INSTALLMENT BASED OFF IF I'VE DECIDE FOR OR AGAINST A PARTY BOAT FIC BETWEEN NOW (20/11/25) AND WHEN THIS GETS POSTED SOME TIME EARLY DECEMBER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway, as I said, typing this on the 20th of November, how you guys liking the series so far? no one's reading it because it's the northern hemisphere's winter? yeah...yeah...expected that...
also, whenever i write even the slightest bit more than "they made out" I FEEL SO GUILTY. LIKE "everyone in my life is going to find this and its going to be so embarrassing and I'm going to DIE." it's fanfiction, girl, chill out.
contains: insecurity/body consciousness, use of y/n, reader being down bad is not indulged 😔😔
Music hummed in your ears as the tendon across the top of your right foot strained, no different to the pain of yesterday's and the day before's burn. Everyone else on this island was in perfect shape; you couldn't give up and show how truly unfit you were. The views kept you distracted enough to power through. The cliffs with waves crashing against them at the bottom, then the spot you saw from your window soak in moonlight at night, tiny beach, main beach, the tree with a tire swing Mirren got dizzy just looking at, the tennis court, and back around to tiny beach for a reliving dip. But steps fell in tow with yours just before Cuddledown. Penny. Tight black zip up, active tights, hair tied back into a ponytail swishing behind her, running shoes.
"Mind if I join you?" she asks and you shake your head, taking out your earphones.
"Of course not," you answer. You hadn't had much interaction with Penny — no interaction with her in fact, despite her being the one housing you on Beechwood. In all honesty, she intimidated you. She was the picture perfect Sinclair daughter. Carrie had too many rehab stints and Bess was barely separate from still living at home.
"How are you finding Beechwood?" she inquires.
"Good. Amazing, actually," you correct. "I'm still getting used to everything. It's...perfect. It feels too good to be true." She chuckles.
"Well I'm sure it's quite picturesque for newcomers, but by the end of the summer, you'll be bored and ready to go home," she tells you. You didn't think that was possible. Maybe for people who'd only ever known sparkling summer, but not you. You felt forever enraptured. "Speaking of getting bored of things, Johnny..." she starts.
"Believe me, I didn't expect it either," you lightheartedly reply.
"Ahh, smart girls never do," she remarks. "It's just easiest to go along with the boys' wants though, huh?" Your brows knit.
"I've made our relationship anything but easy on Johnny, I assure you, ma'am," you half jokingly respond. Her brows raise.
"Really?" and you nod. "Hm. Interesting. Didn't pick Johnny for the type to deal with not getting his way. He's always been spoilt, eldest boy and all." You thought anyone whose family had a private island they only lived on during summer was spoilt. But, your main thought was, why is she talking to you about this? "Anyway, I'll leave you to your walk," she announces.
"y/n!" Johnny calls out, running — Mirren behind him — to catch up to you.
"And loverboy," Penny adds, continuing past tiny beach as you wait in place for Johnny and Mirren to reach you.
"Gat and Cadence are in the hammock together and Mirren and I were going to dump water on them, wanna join?" he asks through light pants. Mirren nods excitedly beside him.
"Why would we be dumping water on them?" you question.
"You know why. They took the boat out together—
"Alone," Mirren adds and Johnny points at her to echo her point.
"Yesterday and now they're all cozy in the hammock," Johnny reasons. You could gather why these were "reasons," but how could Mirren? Did Mirren? "I kind of told Mirren about Raquel," Johnny admits.
"Johnny," you express, upset.
"I know! But she noticed something was off so I kind of just told her," he explains. You roll your eyes.
"Great, so now the only person who doesn't know is Cadence, and you think that's going to make her feel any better when she finds out? That we all didn't tell her?" you question.
"You told me not to tell her!"
"Because Gat should! But when she's upset, she's not going to be thinking about the right thing but rather what's wrong for her," you explain. "Which, in this case, will be that fact that we also didn't tell her."
"Okay, fine, I'm sorry," he apologises. "Do you want to dump water on them or not? Mirren and I can do it alone," he asks.
"Go do it alone then," you tell him. "I'm taking a swim to cool off." He nods and is off with Mirren skipping to catch up behind him. The entire time you floated on the cool water of tiny beach the only thing you could think of was Penny's words. So little making you wonder so much. Her implication you'd get bored of Johnny didn't sit right with you.
You catch up with the Liars in the hangout spot. Beige sun shade tied to the surrounding tree like a canopy over a square of decking, wooden sunbed with a faded rug and old pillows covering it, a forklift palette at the end of the bed like a coffee table, and two ottomans acting like beanbags on the other side of that. The hammock sat between two trees on the left of the place. Wrapped in the pink and green striped beach towel from the beach linen closet in Windemere, you take a seat next to Johnny on the ottoman he sat on, facing the hammock Cadence and Gat were on like a chair. They were dry, so you gather Johnny and Mirren's plan didn't go how they wanted it to. You rest your head on his shoulder, wet hair making his light blue button up darken where it laid.
"Well, we should watch a movie," Mirren suggests. "Back to the future two or Romeo and Juliet?" she asks, playful look shot you and Johnny's way at the mention of Shakespeare's work.
"1968 or 1996?" you ask back.
"1968," she answers. "It's the one we have on vhs from when the moms were teenagers."
You bring Johnny back to Windemere for you to get changed before movies at Cuddledown. Not without tossing your towel aside as you close the door and joining him sat at the foot of your bed.
"I'm sorry I was a bitch earlier," you apologise, lips moving with his. Your skin was still cold to Johnny's warm touch on your waist. Your hands rests on his inner thigh, fingertips under his shorts hem.
"You weren't a bitch," he assures you. "I shouldn't have told Mirren," he admits as you move to kiss down his neck, fingers working on undoing his shirt buttons.
"Penny had just *smooch* talked to me *smooch* and *smooch* my mind was *smooch* all over the place *smooch*," you explain, kissing down his torso. His brows furrow. What did she say? What could she say? He sucks in a breath as you nudge down his shorts' waistband.
"Did I tell you I got an update about the party boat?" he asks, head that was tipped back to bare his neck to you back down to look at you between his legs on the floor. You were face to face with his crotch and he wanted to continue talking about a party boat? Right. You shake your head.
"No. What is it?" you indulge him, getting up to pick out clothes.
a/n: 3RD INSTALLMENT!!!!!!!!!!!! this is notably shorter than previous (thank god) but also they're still having fun and everything's new so !!!!!!!!!!!! I've also caught myself going "she's so real" about reader KNOWING DAMN WELL I'M PROJECTING.
contains: Johnny Sinclair x nerdy!reader (but it's fairly ambiguous minus their history), insecurity/body consciousness, use of y/n, heavy making out and undressing
You slip out of bed and gather your dress from last night, tossed over the back of Johnny's desk chair. It was too good to be true. An island off the east coast where you didn't have to do anything but exist in the sun, and sea water, sand, and gorgeous mansions. This was Johnny's (and Cadence and Mirren's, and Gat's since eight years old) every summer. It was hard to ignore your envy, but you sneak out of the room and rush back to Windemere to not get caught.
There was an empty chill through Windemere. Maybe it was from the sheer size of it and lack of people or simply the walls were thinner than Red Gate's. You'd decided on morning walks as a way to start your days here. Free from responsibilities also meant a non-existent routine, something you've always strived with. You'll go for a swim afterwards to cool down so you pick a pink bikini to wear underneath. After picking your further wear (active tights and a loose t shirt), you grab a pair of balled up socks and sneakers, taking them downstairs to put on. You pass Cadence in the kitchen; dainty florals on a baby tee and sleep shorts with lettuce trimming around her perfectly thin thighs.
"Hey!" Cadence greets, perking up at the sight of you.
"Hey," you copy, coming to sit on a couch to put on your shoes.
"I was wondering if you wanted to hang out today," she tells you, moving to you in the living room. "I feel like I'm so behind everyone else in knowing you," she lightheartedly remarks as she plops down beside you. You nod.
"Yeah, of course," you answer, putting your foot back down after double knotting your laces. "If Mirren's any indicator, Johnny's gonna say you're stealing me — if yesterday was any indicator," you jokingly recall, standing up.
"We were excited," she reasons, following you up. "How do you and Mirren know each other though?"
"Debate semis. Johnny had told me about her previously then my coach introduced me to her, and I saw the Sinclair trademarks immediately," you explain. "I didn't want to be awkward though, so I introduced myself with my full name in an attempt to get her to say her last name after she'd only said her first name. It worked and she replied "Sinclair Sheffield. Two last names, it's weird, I know." and I, if I do say so myself, smoothly responded with "my boyfriend's Sinclair Dennis so it's not weird at all to me," and we've been like best friends ever since." Cadence nods along, giggle at your saying so. "I was gonna go for a walk," you inform her, pointing to the door.
"Maybe I could come with you!" she suggests. "I'll take like five minutes to get ready." You were looking forward to enjoying the views by yourself, just you and your playlist, but you didn't want to be rude.
"Okay, yeah, I'll wait here," you respond.
"Okay," she smiles before speeding to her room. You further examine Windemere's decor. White ceramic sea creatures, silver frames around mother daughter portraits from yesteryears, coastal interior design books and magazines on the ottoman Penny was clearly using for her Windemere revamp this summer.
"y/n!" Johnny exclaims as he enters, arms wide, Mirren trailing behind. "Gat's grabbing our wetsuits, wanna come swimming?"
"I'm going on a walk with Cadence now but after that?" you reply.
"Oh, yeah! yeah, of course," he nods. "So you are, like, adjusting?" he asks, voice softer as he drops down beside you on the couch.
"You're speaking about her like she's a fish in a new tank," Mirren laughs, taking a seat on the other side of you.
"Jesus, can I do anything right around you, Mirren?" Johnny questions.
"I'm fine," you assure him, hand on his arm.
"Good," he accepts. "Because I was a bit worried when I woke up and you weren't there," he adds in a light sing-song tone towards the end.
"Okay! I'm ready," Cadence announces, skipping down the stairs. You look to Mirren on your right.
"Wanna come?" you ask. She takes a moment, eyes darting between you and Cadence, before nodding, getting up with you. You peck a kiss on Johnny's lips and walk out with the girls.
"The perimeter has the best views," Cadence comments.
"So we'll walk the perimeter?" you decide. The girls nod.
"So...how did you and Johnny actually meet?" Cadence inquires. "Because the story you told last night was too tidy to be Johnny."
"Through tutoring," you answer. "That part was true. The part that was tidied was Johnny actually invited me to a party, and we ended up making out in his bedroom, then got interrupted, then next session I tried to weasel my way out of being his tutor by being like "am I even a good tutor? Like are you actually understanding anything?" and to prove he was, he opened the book we were analysing, which was Romeo and Juliet after I had helped him through Macbeth, and read aloud "give me my sin again" and described the scene surrounding it, which was obviously topically and just insisted I gave him a chance. If he completely fucked it up and I never wanted to speak to him again after that, fine, but at least give him a chance. So I did and now I'm here and he's great and blah blah blah."
"They love each other to a sickening degree," Mirren chimes in.
"Love isn't sickening-" Cadence starts.
"No, Mirren knows basically all the details, she can say that," you assure her. Mirren looks forward, content with her words and self.
"Well, either way, to me it's sweet," Cadence declares. "It's weird though. Like I've thought about our futures before, and we had spouses in them, but I never actually thought about Johnny in love. It seemed like a foreign concept," she explains.
"Oh, trust me, it's a foreign concept to him too," you respond. "But he tries, so hard, God, does he try. It hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows but we've grown and very much learnt from those mistakes." Cadence solemnly nods.
"Okay! Enough about your relationship, I wanna know you," Cadence says and you spend the further rest of the walk answering her questions. Favourite food, favourite subject, favourite sport if any, favourite colour, hobbies? Mirren was right, you and Cadence were super similar. As much as it made you more comfortable, there was a nagging thought in the back of your head.
Your ankles and calves burn by the time you reach the water; arms crossed over your stomach as you wade in, sighing at the cool relief on aching muscles.
"How's the water?!" Cadence calls out.
"Heavenly!" you call back. It was the only word for this island. A heavenly paradise. You jog back up to the girls and lay with your stomach on the towels as you pick at the fruit platter.
"Gat got...taller," Cadence voices. You smirk at that glimmer in her eyes.
"Stop obviously staring at your girlfriend's ass!" Mirren scolds Johnny. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. His mouth drops open at the accusation, stuttering for a defense.
"Am not!" he tries. No one believes him. "It was right there, you can't blame me," he whispers to you as he comes to lay down with you all.
"Hey, at least it's an upgrade from when you'd be feeling me up and complimenting my brain," you teasingly remark while shifting to sit up, making him groan as he rests his head in your lap.
"What?!" Cadence laughs.
"That's what I meant by he really tries while having no clue," you respond, nails mindlessly scratching his scalp.
"Can we not talk about all my failures and focus on how we're getting on that party boat this weekend?" Johnny questions, tone lathered in bliss at your touch.
"Failures like leaving your drunk, humiliated girlfriend for me to deal with or failures like the English class that led you to meet her?" Gat playfully question, copping a glare from Johnny.
"Why do you even want to go on that stupid boat? It's a bunch of trashy tourists looking to hook up," Cadence asks.
"Orr, it's something fun on this incredibly boring island," Johnny counters, turning to face her.
"Oh no, your family's private island with four mansions, a tennis court, your four favourite people, during the summer, how bored you must be," you mockingly pity. The girls and Gat giggle while he rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it, I'm incredibly privileged and ungrateful," he deadpans, sitting up beside you. You roll your eyes and press a kiss to his straight lips. The early sun had already reddened your nose and kissed your skin in a way he longed to. Your eyes so bright and loving, looking at him like he was the world. You'd never looked better in his opinion. But he shoved those feelings down, clearing his throat as he focused back on the Liars. "Okay, two truths and a lie about your off-island time," he starts. "Uhhhh, Mirren!"
"Fine. Um... I've been sexting with an older guy...I got a flower tattoo on my bum, and I met Taylor Swift," Mirren goes.
"No way sweet little Mirren is sexting. That's the lie," Johnny dismisses like his lip trills after she'd said it.
"What kind of flower?" Gat questions. Mirren takes a moment to think. Rookie mistake.
"—a daisy?"
"Okay, that's the lie," Gat reveals, making you all laugh. Cadence's smile was shining though. "Who's the sexter?"
"He's a senior I met in the debate semis," Mirren tells you all. She goes on but you're tuned out. She's still talking to Blake Beaumont? You thought it would dissipate after he didn't get what he wanted from Johnny— or rather Carrie. He must be trying something with Mirren. You only realise with Johnny's flippant attitude that he doesn't know it's Blake.
"Yeah, good luck with that," Johnny sarcastically replies to Mirren desire for nothing to be sticky between her and Blake. It brings up memories you put aside as Cadence pushes herself up.
"Okay, fine," she sighs. "Uh, I crashed the Beemer that my mom got me...I got a short story published in write city magazine anndd I kissed three unimportant boys." When was Gat going to tell her he was with a personally important girl that wasn't her? Gat clears his throat, dusting off his hands.
"Yeah, you didn't wreck the car," he states.
"You just know her too well. We can't play this game with the two of you. It'd be like Johnny answering y/n's turn," Mirren complains.
"She has tells," Gat insists. "Plus, I, uh...I read that short story. I liked it." You share a glance with Johnny.
"Thanks," Cadence accepts, basically beaming. It was going to crush her.
"Your turn, Gat," Mirren declares.
"Let's see, uh, oh ok, I got busted for stealing a six pack from the bodega. I got my junior motorcycle license, and..." And I got a girlfriend? And I went on a double date with y/n and Johnny to a Knicks' game? But this had to be a lie. "I pulled a fire alarm and ended up in Saturday detention with a bunch of other delinquents who actually, I don't know, turned out to be pretty cool—"
"Lie," Cadence calls, "I've seen that movie."
"You have a motorcycle?" Mirren questions.
"Okay, it's just a written text in New York," Johnny states as he gets up. "Anybody want an ice pop?" he asks. He glances at you to join him.
"Ooo, ice pop, I'm coming with," Mirren announces, pushing herself to stand up, same as you.
"Wait, wait, Johnny. You skipped your turn," Cadence points out.
"What? You can't handle my truths," he says, making Mirren laugh.
"What? That you got put on Carrie-bation for the Knicks game we went to with Gat and..." you trail off, not wanting Mirren to know and tell Cadence when that was Gat's cross to bear.
"You shush," he tells you.
You race into Red Gate, flawless red paint and windows for walls blurring past you. Stumbling down the hall to Johnny's room, his hands cup the back of your thighs and lift, your legs wrapping around his waist. The door clicks closed as Johnny presses you back against it, hand on your lower back pressing you into him. Heat spreads through you and finds an out with parting your mouth further. You feel down his arms, toned muscle encasing you.
"You're trying to kill me this summer," he murmurs, kissing down your neck. "You can't seriously expect me to be normal when you look so pretty," he mumbles, sucking on the skin covering your collarbone.
"You'll leave a mark," you whine, tugging him back by his hair. The absolute last thing you needed was his family seeing you with hickeys.
"Right, sorry," he remembers, pressing soft kisses to the skin. You spin around and lead him back onto his bed. You shimmy up the bed and he crawls over you, pushing down and off his wetsuit.
Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!
Johnny's head drops to your shoulder, your fingers raking into his hair.
"Yeah?" he calls out, irritation clear as day in his tone
"Gran said to come get you for the sandcastle building competition," Will's voice answers from the other side of the door.
"Be there in five!" Johnny calls back. Will's footsteps pad down the hallways and Johnny groans into your neck.
"Sandcastle building competition?" you question, amused by the very concept.
"It's stupid," he murmurs, kissing down your neck again. His affection continuing down your chest is an obvious sign he didn't want to attend, but you had to see this. He dips his head down to the comforter just beside the curve of your waist where your bikini top string laid to take it between his teeth. His eyes flick up to yours as he pulls back, expecting you to sit up so he could get your top off, but you don't. Your mind swims at how hot the image is, thighs tensing either side of him, but you couldn't continue.
"Drop it," you order. He rolls his eyes, freeing the string from his teeth as he sits up. "Oh come on, don't get moody," you say, moving to kneel behind him on the edge of his bed.
"I'm not being moody," he denies, "just give me a minute." Your eyes meaninglessly search around his room for what to do. Old tennis rackets framed, a poster of his favourite player, photos and postcards stuck to the wall with blu tack, metal racing car on the window sill that was surely blisteringly hot in this weather.
"Should I go get dressed?" you question. You didn't want to be bare besides some nylon around his family. He shakes his head.
"No, uh," he clears his throat, "we'll all be in swimwear anyway," he assures you, fingers raking back his hair. You nod.
"Are you okay? You seem really tense," you inquire. He sighs.
"Pent up is maybe the word," he replies.
"We can be quick if you really need—"
"No, no, just in general," he explains. "All though that's also kind of a contributing factor," he mutters bashfully.
"Wanna talk to me about it?" you offer, scooting to get up and fix up your top.
"Do you think Gat's ever going to tell Cady?" he asks. You shrug.
"I don't know. He should. It's all I could think about before when they were flirting back and forth and Cadence is so obviously head over heels for him," you respond, retying the straps into a bow on your back. "That was flirting, right?" you check, "we didn't really do that. I was just weird and awkwardly polite and you were horny enough to be into it apparently." Johnny chuckles.
"We flirted," he claims.
"Really?" you question with knitted brows.
"Yeah. Like compliments and teasing and stuff," he insists, getting up for a pair of swim shorts. You shrug. If he was happy remembering that, you weren't going to ruin it for him. "Maybe I should tell Cady," Johnny suggest, stepping into his shorts.
"I thought about saying something, but I really think it's Gat's story to tell," you respond, sinking back onto the edge of his bed. Neither of you really knew Raquel. She was just a girl. She wore black the time you'd met her, and you found out from her very bare social media that she was a dancer. That's it. They met in India or something? You weren't sure. So you shouldn't be the ones telling the story to someone else. "Also, none of you call Cadence Cadence; it's always Cady. Is that a nickname or does she prefer Cady?" you inquire.
"A nickname," he shrugs.
"Okay, so I'll stick to calling her Cadence?" you question. Your analytical nature on something so simple and mindless to him was amusing.
"I'm not sure she minds," he answers, sitting back down beside you.
"Just like, nicknames are something you give someone close to you and I don't think Cadence and I are that close," you reason.
"She loves you," Johnny dismisses.
"Well, yeah, I don't think she totally hates me or anything but we aren't that close either. We've known each other not even 2 whole days," you go on.
"We're gonna be late," he reminds you. You nod, focusing back on what was actually at hand.
The setting sun casts a golden glow over the beautiful Sinclair family. Blonde heads shining and blue eyes fixed on the sand mounds their offspring patted into shape. And Ed and Gat, who fit the descriptor of handsome more than beautiful and definitely didn't fit in with the blonde heads and blue eyes.
"What were you two up to?" Mirren teases.
"Nothing," Johnny answers, which she doesn't believe.
"We were discussing whether we flirted or not before our relationship," you answer, sitting next to Johnny as he sits next to Mirren, across from Cadence and Gat.
"You'd have had to, right?" Gat questions. You shake your head.
"I think, as I put it, I'm socially awkward and get overly polite when I'm awkward and he took it as flirting," you share. Cadence, Mirren, and Johnny nod, figuring that made sense.
"Carrie?" Bess calls the attention of, Carrie looking up to her from the sand with a hum. "Your son's girlfriend's got that post makeout look," Bess comments. Penny snickers into her wine glass.
"Sure, just make out," Penny mutters.
"My daughter in law is a lovely girl and if so, good for her," Carrie responds, "I'm happy she's comfortable here." You hear panting and a jiggling collar trotting up to you before a wet nose bumps your shoulder. Your eyes rivalled the sun with how bright they got at the sight of a dog.
"Have you met the Goldens yet, y/n?" Cadence questions. You shake your head. "That's Eleanor," she tells you, "and Franklin's around somewhere," she adds, looking around.
"I'm keeping Eleanor," you jokingly decide, arms wrapped around her chest and chin resting over her body.
"Show us what you're made of, Sinclairs. Winner gets my eternal respect," Harris announces. Tipper laughs.
"Winner gets a pound of fudge from Murdick's!" Tipper corrects, making Cadence put her arms with a "whoo!"
"And who is the judge?" Carrie asks.
"Who do you think?" Tipper answers. Harris compliments the Little's sandcastle and Tipper sneaks over to yours. Well, the Liars'. "You need more decoration," she tells them in a hushed tone, crouched down beside Cadence and Mirren.
"Unfair, Liars," Harris calls out. "You're stacking the deck with a professional."
"Oh, as reigning champion, I'm allowed to sprinkle my magic anywhere I want," Tipper declares, taking Harris' hand to get back up. You overhear Ed taking his vision for the sandcastles design way too serious before Johnny's voice brings you back.
"Alright, so, party boat," he starts again. Cadence "ugh"s and Mirren laughs a no.
"Let it go, bruh," Gat groans. Johnny looks to you.
"You're looking to me to be on your side about a party?" you say back to him, hoping he realises it was a lost cause.
"Let the party boat go," Cadence tells him.
"So annoying," Gat groans. That didn't sit right with you. Johnny could be annoying, absolutely, you were the first one to say it, but at least he wasn't the type of guy to flirt with other girls while dating one.
"We have everything we need right here," Cadence reminds him.
"That's the problem. Our youth is passing us by while we build fucking sandcastles! What is that?!" Johnny exclaims.
"It's for the fudge, man, I need it," Gat insists.
"It's the best fudge," Cadence seconds.
"The best fudge," Gat repeats.
"No, fine. You need the fudge, cool," Johnny responds, getting up, Eleanor adorably following after him and making his dramatic walk away a lot less dramatic.
"Why's he moody?" Cadence asks you and you shrug, pushing yourself up to find out. You wade into the knee deep water and press a kiss to his shoulder.
"What's up?" you question. He was being dramatic, he didn't exactly have grounds for an answer, so he doesn't say anything. "Gat calling you annoying while borderline cheating on his girlfriend is rich," you mutter.
"Thank you!" Johnny expresses. "I knew something about him was pissing me off."
"Your grandparents and aunts intimidate me," you confess after a beat. He slings his arm around your shoulders as you turn to walk back in.
"They're harmless," he assures you. You sit back down next to Mirren as Johnny scoops up a heap of sand and dumps it on Gat. You have to hold back a laugh. Gat's quick to shoot some back and Carrie starts on her scolding "hey hey hey hey hey hey."
The outdoor shower was a must after the thin coating of sand from the Liars. Not understanding how they were so comfortable bumping together to fit how they were under the showerhead, you waited aside till Johnny pulls you in, just him left. His skin was okay. You wipe the sand off yourself and help Johnny get sand off his back.
"You have the faintest back dimples right here," you inform him, poking the spots. His brows furrow.
"Is that good or bad?" he asks, turning around to face you.
"Neither, they simply are," you answer. "I just think they're cute like your little board shorts," you comment, playfully about the shorter cut shorts.
"You say that like they're booty shorts," he accuses through a smile.
"They do make your ass look good," you half jokingly respond.
"Wow. Objectifying," he feigns earnest offence. You roll your eyes, smile wide as you press your lips to his.
a/n: 2ND INSTALLMENT!!!!!!!! aren't they so cute? I hope everything stays this simple all summer 😊😊 anywayyyyyy
contains: Johnny Sinclair x nerdy!reader (but it's pretty ambiguous in this), swearing, use of y/n, making out, kissing down one's neck, petting, reader's parents are divorced and their dad is a slob
"You're fucking kidding me," you express, Beechwood filling the horizon as the boat moves closer. Johnny had told you about this place countless times but you also weren't fully sure he was sincere. Now you realise he was downplaying it. Its beauty was unnatural in the most beautiful sense; picturesque. Lush green grass coating the hill an old coastal style manor sat upon, sand glowing golden under the sun that felt ten times as radiant as usual in Beechwood's vicinity. He grins. "You just got like at least sixteen percent hotter," you tell him, smile pulling up your lips.
"That's Clairmont. Red Gate's around the island," he informs you.
"And Windemere's..?" you question. You weren't staying at Red Gate. Harris was very clear on that. You were to stay with Penny and Cadence at Windemere. Johnny was dreading it and just decided you'd sleep with him anyway.
"The other side of the island," he reluctantly answers. Carrie lands a pat on his back before rubbing her hand in a large circle.
"You're gonna have to sneak your girlfriend in the old fashioned way," she lightheartedly remarks, getting a short glare from him.
"Throw rocks at my window, Romeo," you joke, sitting down on the boat's side to run your fingers through the crystal-clear, turquoise water splashing up. Carrie and Johnny smile.
"You guys are gross," Will comments. Johnny ruffles his hair.
"Absolutely disgusting," Johnny jokingly agrees. You roll your eyes.
"You're vile," you correct, Carrie's head snapping to you. "I'm a perfectly well mannered, lovely girl your grandmother can't wait to meet," you sarcastically preen. The boat docks and Johnny and Will race up to Clairmont for photos, Johnny giving him a five second head start. It wasn't like you to be so open, but you couldn't help it with Carrie for some reason, especially not now.
"I'm really nervous," you admit and her arm slides around your shoulders.
"Everyone is going to love you," she assures you with a kiss on the temple. "We have family photos now so you can head to Windemere and get suited there before you have to introduce yourself to anyone at all."
"y/n!" Mirren squeals, sprinting down to you.
"Mirren!" You catch each other and squeeze tight.
"I'm so glad you're here, I think I'd die if I had to spend the summer with Johnny moping around because you're not here," Mirren explains. "Are you staying at Cuddledown or Windemere? Because I know Harris would lose it if you were at Red Gate."
"Windemere," you answer and she nods.
"Well, I'll introduce you to Cady," she declares, skipping forward. "She'll love you. You guys are so similar." Mirren jogs up to Clairmont, you trailing behind, before displaying you with her arms wide, keeping the jazz hands to a minimum. Cadence was insanely pretty, even in a paint splattered shirt. She prances over and extends her hand to shake.
"I'm Cadence, and I'm guessing you're the girlfriend that's staying with me at Windemere?" she introduces her with a smile. You nod, hand coming to the other behind your back to nervously wring again after the shake.
"Cuddledown is also an option but my mom will probably lose her mind if she has to deal with another girl in that place she's already calling too small," Mirren chimes in, clearly exhausted with her mother's complaint.
"Windemere's massive; you won't have to worry about that," Cadence assures you and you nod with a smile again.
"Cadence! Come here for the mother daughter photo please!" Penny calls out.
"Alright!" Cadence answers. She looks back to you.
"I'll give you a tour of Beechwood after the photos, okay? For now, go get settled at Windemere," she tells you.
"Okay, thank you," you smile, heading to the other side of the island.
Cadence was right; Windemere was massive. Hard to miss with its grandeur and unmistakable for another mansion on this island with its titled plaque, Windemere was stunning. Another Sinclair signature. Its roofs high and sharp, housing the attic. Glass room that cut off from the left back corner of the house. Interior colouring was a cold dark blue shade and muted white, grey wood floorboards everywhere that wasn't pristine tiles in white or grey to match. With five bedrooms, it was quite the hunt for what room had been selected for you. Blue and white gingham bedspread, white drawers, shelves with miscellaneous books filling the space between photos of you and Carrie's fraction of the family tree. It was perfect.
"Back off, she's my girlfriend!" you hear Johnny shout from outside of the half open window. You look out and see the three of them running up to house's back across the grass, still in their photo outfits.
"She's not solely yours, Johnny! Women aren't property anymore!" Mirren exclaims.
"I promised to give her a tour!" Cadence shouts.
"A tour I would've given her anyway!" Johnny retorts as he pulls open the glass door, Mirren ducking through first and Cadence sneaking in behind her, leaving Johnny stumped at how he accidentally held the door open for them. There's a rush of footsteps through the first floor, then up the stairs before Cadence appears in your doorway, Johnny sliding behind her, hands braced on the doorway, and Mirren slipping in the hall behind them, hitting the deck with a yelp, that Cadence and Johnny ignore.
"We're here to give you a tour," Cadence pants. Johnny nods and Mirren scrambles back up to nod over Johnny's shoulder. You smile.
You stroll down the wooden walk as Johnny points out things of note.
"There's Cuddledown," he announces, pointing to the cabin style two story with an outstretched arm, his right around your shoulders.
"You're not even mentioning the places that actually matter," Mirren accuses.
"The tennis court?" Johnny tries.
"I doubt y/n cares about the tennis courts," Cadence remarks.
"Of course she does! She loves watching me play," Johnny states.
"Is everything about you?" Mirren questions.
"No, everything's about you, Mirren, and you trying to steal my girlfriend," he deadpans.
"I'm here, you know that, right?" you speak up.
"Yeah, you're speaking like she's not even here, Johnny," Mirren critics, making Johnny dramatically groan.
"You also kind of are," you whisper to Mirren on your right. She tucks her lips together.
"When's Gat arriving?" Cadence asks, leaning forward to look across at Johnny. He shrugs.
"Around six," you answer.
"Showing me up," Johnny mutters in your ear.
"Isn't it six?" Mirren questions. The Liars exchange a look before sprinting off. You take off after them. Cadence runs right into Gat's arms as he drops his bag on the front law of Clairmont. Mirren wraps around them, and Johnny around them, then you around all of them. Johnny pulls his arm out from under you to include you in his hold. You all break apart and Cadence taps Gat's chest.
"Tag! you're it," she says. Gat smiles before chasing after her, and Mirren after him, and you after Mirren, and Johnny after you. You follow them to the staff dock and Johnny scoops you up in his arms as they all brace to jump.
"Johnny!—" you squeal, the Liars yelling covering it up.
"CANNONBALL!"
Johnny walked back to Red Gate shirtless while you wore his shirt over your white one, not wanting to parade across the island on your first day with your bra on damp display. Johnny rinsed off and threw on a shirt and pants while you washed and blow dried your hair, tossed around every dress you brought till you found the "right one," and went light on the makeup to be presentable and show effort but not so much that it was trying too hard.
"Hey," he greets, hand slapping the bathroom doorway on his way in.
"Hey," you copy, brushing a spoolie through your brows. Your voice was monotone and you had that hard look in your eyes you got when nervous, and or focusing.
"It's dinner, not a meeting with the president," Johnny attempts to ease your worry, hands resting on your shoulders mindlessly digging into your tight muscles.
"Yeah, it's just dinner with a man who has had dinner with the president," you sarcastically respond, as if that was going to calm any nerves. Johnny rolls his eyes.
"He hasn't had dinner with the president," he corrects. "I think."
"No, he just graduated top of his classes from the university that has produced the most presidents," you clarify.
"You're not helping yourself here," Johnny comments.
"Thanks, Sherlock," you mutter, leaning over the counter edge to get a closer look at your lips as you apply a tinted lip balm.
"You're gonna be fine. They're gonna love you," he assures you, scooping your hair aside, baring your neck to him that he starts kissing down. "Let me do the talking; I'm good at that," he murmurs, breath sending a tingle down your spine.
"God no," you deny, turning to face him as you recap your lip balm. His brows knit. "How many of our issues have stemmed from you speaking out of turn?"
"Out of turn?" he repeats with raised brows.
"Yeah, out of turn," you confirm, lips melting into a smile he leans in to kiss, arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. Your hands slide up his chest, finding home in his hair. He scoops his free arm under you, picking you up to place on the counter. You smirk against his lips.
"You look so good," he mumbles.
"So do you," you reply as you sit back on your hands; the bench top marble cold under your palms. Johnny's hands run up your thighs as he takes you leant back as a hint on how to continue, kissing down the front of your chest. "No, no, Johnny, no," you giggle, raking your fingers into his hair to pull him back. "We should head to dinner," you remind him. The corner of his mouth curls and you place a finger over his lips before he can get the joke out. You smooth your skirt down and hop off the counter. Johnny begrudgingly follows you out.
Harris sat at the head of the table, Tipper on his left and Penny to his right. Carrie beside Tipper and Bess across from her. Ed next to Carrie and an empty seat across from him. Mirren next to Ed and Cadence across from her. Johnny beside Mirren and Gat opposite of him. Then the twins and Will on the end.
"Mirren, move across," Johnny instructs, gesturing to the empty seat between Cadence and Bess.
"I'm not sitting next to my mother," Mirren mutters to him.
"Yeah, well, neither is y/n," he retorts. You pull out and pat down your skirt in the chair.
"And I get the new arrival," Bess lightheartedly comments, smiling to you on her right. "How you doing, kiddie?"
"Good! This is all really new but I'm getting the hang of things," you answer. "I hope," you playfully add.
"Well, you're very welcome," she assures you.
"Yes! I forgot to welcome the visitor," Harris declares. "Welcome to Beechwood."
"Thank you, sir," you accept with a dipped head before starting to eat.
"Food's complimentary of my wife," Harris comments at your visibly pleased expression with a mouth full of buttery corn. You swallow and cover your mouth as you speak, just incase something was in your teeth.
"I have to say, this is the best food I've ever tasted, Mrs Sinclair," you tell Tipper across the table. She places her hand on her heart.
"All Lydia and I," she proclaims. "And call me Tipper, dear," she tells you and you nod.
"Outstanding praise to you and Lydia then," you respond, smile plastered on your lips already having Tipper's favour.
"So, how did you and Johnny meet?" she inquires, slicing into her food with the polished silverware.
"School! I volunteered to tutor other students and got assigned this one," you answer, shooting a teasing look Johnny's way. His expression was baffled, perplexed at your sudden socialite like charm. "We were always friendly through the sessions, and one time, he asked me on a date, I said no and tried to weasel my way out of it, but he persisted until I gave him a chance. And look where we are!" You weren't lying per se, just, cleaning up the story.
"Never take no for an answer, good job, son," Harris tells Johnny. Johnny distantly nods.
"He's been a peach, really, I'm as surprised as you are," you comment, light laugh in the ending.
"Oh well, we always knew we raised him right," Tipper remarks, and Carrie's brows furrow before a nudge from Ed reminds her to reel in her expression.
"And, y/n, your family, how are they? What does your father do for work?" Harris asks.
"Well, my father isn't in the picture. My parents divorced when I was younger; a major reason in that whole debacle being that he was a jobless slob. No one in the family quite knows where it came from, given he's the only one lacking such a work ethic. But my mother has worked a variety of positions over my life. As of right now, she deals with marketing logistics," you explain.
"You're quite the articulate young lady," Harris notes.
"Thank you, sir, I've been told so my whole life," you answer.
"Who the fuck is this and what did they do with y/n?" Gat mutters through a grin across to Johnny, still staring in awe. Johnny shrugs.
"She's killing it with the grandparents," Mirren whispers. Johnny nods.
"What about college? Any ideas?" Tipper inquires.
"Harvard," you answer.
"Dad's gonna love that," Penny mutters.
"I was a Harvard man myself," he informs you.
"Really?" you question, feigning surprise. Harris nods. "Heavens, Johnny will have to be a credit to the family when we attend then, huh? Live up to the legacy of one of their beloved alumni," you lightheartedly respond, looking to Johnny as the Aunts' heads snap to you then each other. Harris chuckles.
"Mom? Will you have Amira send some fabric swatches? I want to redecorate Windemere this summer," Penny requests and the attention is off you.
"What was that?" Gat mouths to you, and you shrug. Johnny's still reeling but his attention is quickly captured by a party boat Harris calls gauche.
"Heavens, he's been a peach, what other things did she say?" Johnny mocks as you all walk the perimeter together.
"Be a credit to the family," Mirren adds and he points to her as you giggle.
"The moms seemed shocked by that," Cadence notes.
"Okay, I laid it on thick, I'm aware, I was nervous and I'm embarrassed enough so can we stop it?" you question.
"No, it was perfect," Gat comments, "the grandparents lapped it up."
"I laid it on thick," you insist. Johnny shrugs.
"Either way, my girlfriend's approved," Johnny flexes, pleased with himself. Cadence seems to sense a pit in your gut and rests her hand on your left upper arm as you walk.
"They probably took you were nervous and know you'll loosen up in a week or two, you don't have to worry. Just focus on having fun with us, yeah?" Cadence assures you and you nod.
"Speaking of fun, I'm pretty sure Harris and Gran would be asleep now," he mentions, spinning back to face you as he walks backwards ahead. "if you, you know, wanted to stay at Red Gate. First nights somewhere new are always difficult and I just think you could really use a comforting presence, you know?" Mirren, Cadence, and Gat roll their eyes while you look at him, unimpressed. "What?!"
"You two are gross! If you want to go have sex with your girlfriend, at least don't make it so obvious!" Mirren laughs.
"y/n struggles with change! I'm being a good boyfriend," he insists.
"Right, in the same way you were just trying to help me relax earlier I'm guessing?" you tease.
"Exactly," he answers with full dedication.
"You're annoying," you state.
"Your annoying," he corrects with a point up then to you.
There's barely a second between him closing his door and you shoving your tongue down his throat. He didn't complain, couldn't; this was his idea of heaven. You move back onto his bed and he pushes up your dress.
"Stop," you giggle. His hands freeze but his lips continue down your neck.
"What?" he hums.
"I just want to make out," you clarify. He shrugs.
"Yeah, okay," he agrees, moving to get more comfortable on his bed. You kiss until your lips are numb and you're too tired to keep moving them. One of Johnny's t-shirts replace your dress, that you toss over the back of his desk chair, and you curl up in bed.
"This is going to be the best summer ever," he mumbles, nuzzling his face into your neck from behind.
a/n: wrote this on october 24th and now it will sit in my drafts for 38 days to be released on december 1st! anyway, since you'll be reading this after that, FIRST DAYLIGHT SERIES INSTALMENT!!!!!!!!!! the scene I was referencing in this post is the bathroom scene, mainly him scooping her hair aside to kiss her neck 🤭🤭
contains: skinny dipping (so nudity, undressing, you know), sickeningly like flirting??, swearing, sexual references (freaks!!!! they match each other's freak!!!), making out, feeling each other up
"Have you ever gone skinny dipping?" Johnny asks, drying off from his dip as you tanned. Life had been slow on Beechwood since Tipper's death, and subsequent funeral, held at the earliest possible convenience, which was Sunday. The Sinclairs woke, floated around, ate, and slept. All in their respective mansions. Johnny had been the only one trying to keep energy high. A swim, a run, a prank, a makeout session, like Tipper's death didn't affect him at all. You toted along with a situationally conscious somberness. You lift your head up from its reclined position to stare at him through your sunglasses' lenses.
"What do you think?" you ask back.
"No?" he guesses, wrapping the towel around his waist. You nod, resting your head back down on the towel covered wooden boards. "Do you want to?" he questions as he takes a seat next to you.
"Now?" He shrugs.
"We could," he points out, looking over his shoulder to the barren Beechwood. "No one's been out of their houses in days. It's seriously depressing."
"A wife, mother, and grandmother, your grandmother, died, Johnny," you remind him. Having a figure like that die was a valid reason to act depressed. And it'd been two days. The minimum number of days to be days and not a day.
"Yeah, I know. We saw her, remember?" he retorts, clearly not enjoying the insinuation he "should" be acting any other way than how he was. "And you don't see me being all boring," he mutters, slipping his own sunglasses on before laying back on the burning hot dock boards, hotly stinging his bare back, making him shoot back up with an "ow!" You laugh inwardly.
"That's because you're never boring," you respond, rolling over to prop your elbows up on his thighs, hands creating a cradle for your lower face as you look up to him, eyes flicking between both of his. You weren't clueless (the polar opposite in fact); you knew what you were doing.
"Don't do that," Johnny half heartedly scolds with a tap to your forehead.
"Why not?" you question with a smirk.
"Because you're basically eye fucking me whenever you look up to me," he accuses. Your jaw drops in exaggerated offence. "Don't act like you don't! You know you do! You do it on purpose!"
"And since when was that a bad thing?" you coyly ask, lifting yourself to kiss his lips, holding your upper body weight up with your hands on his lap. His hands cup the back sides of your head at first, fingers raking into your sea salt soaked strands after a minute. You smile against his lips. You loved when he was the one with their hands in the other's hair.
"So *smooch* skinny dipping," he inquires. There was a thrill in the idea of skinny dipping right now. In broad daylight, anyone could see and catch you both. Higher the risk, higher the thrill. But you really didn't want to get banished by a grieving grandfather. You pull back with a smile.
"Later? Like when it's dark?" you suggest.
"Yeah, yeah, perfect," he nods.
You were terrified of getting caught. Johnny assured you that you wouldn't — no one could see down on tiny beach in the dark. You slip out after dinner at Red Gate and up the wooden walkway to the cove.
"Nervous?" Johnny playfully asks as you tread down the sand, nudging you with his elbow.
"Petrified of getting caught," you answer, Johnny joining in as he knew the end of your sentence. You'd only said it about a million times this afternoon. You shoot him a short glare. "But pretty excited to get you naked," you add, matching his previous energy.
"Really?" he questions, raised brows.
"Yeah," you nod, stopping at the edge of the water to start stripping off.
"Damn, you'll get me hard too in a minute," he half jokingly remarks, pulling down his shorts. You giggle, taking off your shirt. You drop it beside you and unbutton your shorts, wiggling your hips out of them then tugging them down your legs. You step out of the denim and lift up and off your bralette. Then slide down your underwear, freeing your ankles from the cotton and placing them on your shirt. You look up to Johnny, also in the full nude now. It was dark but he could make out the colour of your face, your filling and deflating chest, fidgeting hands. "Ready?" You nod. You sprint into the water, diving under a late night wave while Johnny trips from an unexpected drop in the sand underneath. You resurface and search for Johnny's place, finding it where the flying droplets were coming from. You swim over, smile wide, and wrap your arms around his neck. Big eyes so full of love —that only appeared when you looked at him — searching his, no different in their reverence. Water droplets adorned the expanse of his bare skin, each one catching the light and making it seem like he glowed. Maybe to you, he just did. Your soaked hair like the midnight ocean, carrying the moonlight to your face. Johnny doesn't waste a second, kissing you like a man starved. His hands squeezing your hips for some restraint, something you don't give a second thought, throwing yourself into the kiss with undying passion, gripping his wet curls like a lifeline. Small waves crashing on the shore before being lapped back into the larger body and your unadulterated moans, only muffled by Johnny's lips and vise versa, are all in the air tonight. "For someone so worried about getting caught, you're sure not quiet," Johnny teasingly comments. You really had left all your inhibitions on the shore. You shrug, smile brighter than the nearly full moon.
"What can I say? I really needed this," you reply, hands gliding down his front.
"Really needed to feel your boyfriend up in the ocean?" You nod.
"Hey, you can feel me up too," you insist, lifting his large hands on your hips to your chest. For such a tease, he sure got quiet in the face of boobs. After a dumb minute with his jaw slack, contemplating his next move,
"Okay, fair," he agrees, leaning back into the kiss. Your hands fly to the back of his head, pulling him even closer.
a/n: HELLO EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! wrote this after figuring out a plothole so I was on a high (and horny clearly) ALSO. WHEN I'M POSTING THIS, IT'LL BE MIDNIGHT ON THE 31ST. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
teen dad!Johnny Sinclair loves your toddler's babbling. He has no clue what she's saying at the start, but knows it's adorable, so he nods along, encouraging her to keep going with an overly theatrical reaction and/or “then what happened?” Occasionally catching a “mama” or “dada” prompts him to ask “what about mama?” “this is about me?” whilst pointing to himself. It's his favourite thing to hear from the sidelines, followed by you shushing her, unable to contain your smile at its cuteness either, whispering how she had to be quiet now and could talk to daddy later. Somewhere along the line he starts to pick up on what words she's trying to say, holding pride in being fluent in baby babble. Her nonsensical blabbering became the only commentary he cared for and he played along like it was incredibly insightful, “you know, she has some valid points; believe babies' babbling.”
teen dad!Johnny Sinclair loves your toddler's babbling. He has no clue what she's saying at the start, but knows it's adorable, so he nods along, encouraging her to keep going with an overly theatrical reaction and/or “then what happened?” Occasionally catching a “mama” or “dada” prompts him to ask “what about mama?” “this is about me?” whilst pointing to himself. It's his favourite thing to hear from the sidelines, followed by you shushing her, unable to contain your smile at its cuteness either, whispering how she had to be quiet now and could talk to daddy later. Somewhere along the line he starts to pick up on what words she's trying to say, holding pride in being fluent in baby babble. Her nonsensical blabbering became the only commentary he cared for and he played along like it was incredibly insightful, “you know, she has some valid points; believe babies' babbling.”
— theo learns the hard way that the only thing worse than a clingy couple is being roommates with them.
📘 0.5k — mattheo riddle x fem!reader, established relationship, morning fluff, theo nott = romance’s number one hater
masterlist : navigation
gif on pinterest | divider by @/lavendergalactic
The soft glow of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains of the Slytherin dormitory, the faint light painting the room in hues of gold and grey. The quiet hum of the early morning surrounded you, and your eyes fluttered open, instantly drawn to the figure lying next to you.
Mattheo Riddle.
His dark curls spilled messily over the pillow, a few strands brushing against his forehead. His lips were slightly parted, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. You couldn’t help but study him—your gaze tracing the curve of his jaw, the faint freckles scattered across his nose, and the softness in his expression when he wasn’t wearing his usual smirk.
He looked so peaceful, so unlike the sharp-witted, often sarcastic boy who loved teasing you. Your hand itched to brush away the stray curls, but you didn’t dare move, not wanting to disturb this rare moment of calm.
As if on cue, Mattheo shifted slightly, his brows furrowing as though he could feel your gaze. His lashes fluttered before his eyes opened, hazy with sleep, and he blinked a few times before focusing on you. A lazy, lopsided grin spread across his face.
“Morning,” you murmured softly, your voice still tinged with sleep.
Mattheo’s grin widened as he groggily replied, his voice gravelly, “You know, it’s nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.”
A laugh bubbled out of you, warm and quiet, as you leaned forward, burying your face in his chest to hide the sudden rush of affection flooding through you. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.
“Do you practice being this charming, or does it come naturally?” you teased, your voice muffled against his chest.
Mattheo chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through you. “Both. I’ve got to keep you around somehow, don’t I?”
You smiled, your heart feeling far too full for this early in the morning. The quiet moment was perfect, the world outside forgotten as you stayed wrapped in his arms, soaking in his warmth.
The peace didn’t last long.
The curtains of Mattheo’s bed were flung open, and Theodore Nott stood there, glaring at the two of you with a look of utter exasperation.
“For Merlin’s sake,” Theo groaned, shielding his eyes with a hand. “It’s not even breakfast, and you two are already sickening.”
“Morning to you too, sunshine,” Mattheo drawled, not bothering to hide the smirk on his face.
“Disgusting,” Theo muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back. “Couples should be outlawed. You’re both revolting. I hope your breakfast is burnt.”
Mattheo chuckled, his lips twitching into a smirk as he tightened his hold on you. “Jealous, Theo?”
“Of you?” Theo shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’d rather kiss the Whomping Willow.”
You couldn’t help it—a laugh escaped you as Mattheo grinned, clearly pleased with Theo’s annoyance.
As the curtains swung shut, muffling his footsteps, you and Mattheo burst into laughter.
“Poor Theo,” you managed between giggles.
Mattheo shrugged, his fingers trailing lazily up and down your back. “He’s just mad no one wants to cuddle him.”
You laughed again, feeling lighter than ever. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
Summary - Your boyfriend didn't know what love was until you. Not passion, not admiration... not guilt. When he heard you split your precious knuckles over him, he ran to his love.
Warnings - Sexual innuendos (barely), cursing, physical assault, mention of wounds, abusive period cramps. That's it <3
WC: 1K
Manic.
That's what that stubby-cocked 5'4 badger had the gall to call your boyfriend.
It was oh so purposeful too, that whole friend group dragging Mattheo's name while you sat idle in the row behind them in class.
You didn't know why it got you so riled, usually you would have just ignored it, took the high road — made their chair magically collapse — but for whatever reason, you couldn't. The cramps in your stomach felt like your ovaries were trying to find their way out of your body, and Matty — your sweet, darling, little angel — couldn't cuddle them away.
Because last night, he had accidentally slammed your door, and it sent you into a fit of rage. You told him to leave, and when his face looked betrayed, you just slammed the door off the hinges; even rougher than he had done. Your punch to that Hufflepuff was out of pure passion bubbled with guilt.
Your knuckles ended up split, which Mattheo would usually congratulate, if it was anyone else's hand. Not yours. The moment he'd heard from Daphne that you went bat-shit in the seventh floor corridor, he stamped on his cigarette and practically ran to your room.
The password was muttered so quickly that the door didn't register it on first attempt, and he had to repeat "Pink pygmypuff." as if he was testing out a tongue-twister from The Quibbler.
Then he touched the cold knob, and pushed it open. Silk swallowed you, laid under your thick duvet, looking at your hurt hand with a quivering lip — not from the pain. Mattheo couldn't stand the sight. Fuck's sake, your stubborn ass never letting him offer comfort until you were a puddle of tiny shards.
God, he shouldn't have left you all alone last night, why did he even… He forced himself to speak. "Baby." He murmured, quietly and gruffly as he walked over, face twisted at your expression.
You sniffled like a little bunny when you heard his voice, weakly looking up at him, a half pout on your lips, laced with equal amounts of self-pity and self-loathing.
"Oh, darling…" His deep voice said quietly as he took your wrist in his palm, lifting it to inspect your poor knuckles while he kissed the back of your hand. "What did you do?" He almost whispered. No one could quieten Mattheo Riddle, no one but you.
"This twat.." You murmured, voice filled with annoyance that was honestly for no one but yourself.
Riddle hardly knew who he was looking at. You — his conscience who usually wouldn't dream of laying a hand on anyone — decked some bloke for insulting him.
"Sweetheart, don't fight my battles."
You looked away, that purse of your lips, and scrunched nose being the sign that tears were about to fall.
Mattheo sighed softly, sitting on the edge of your bed. With you, when it rained, it always poured. He let your wrist free, and held your chin, making you stare into his massive brown eyes, so dark they looked almost black.
"Don't cry, not for me, baby."
That just made your eyes well even more, and you let out a half-laugh, half-sob. "But Matty-"
"But what?" His other hand reached for your cheek, a calloused thumb brushing the smudged mascara on your under-eye. He whispered your name like it was the password to his caged heart.
You squeezed your eyes shut, not being able to look at those puppy-dog eyes while in this state. "Last night…" You could barely get your words out, it felt like your lungs were filling with water.
"Oh, come on. I'm not mad at you, babe." His tone was like a cushioned eyeroll, as if to rub in the fact that you were utterly delusional.
He leaned in closer — if you wouldn't see his gaze, you'd have to feel his breath against your cheek. "I know you're in pain. I was a dumbass slamming that door, and I was massive, ginormous dumbass for leaving and not coming back on my knees with a hot water bottle.
A soft, watery laugh escaped you as you peeked through your eyelashes, leaning your head into his palm.
Merlin, you'd melted this boy completely. If someone had told him a year ago that he would say those last few sentences, he'd probably knock them out for their troubles. Now? Now, even Draco hears that shit while Matt shamelessly holds you on his lap, no matter the situation, conversation, or company.
"'M sorry… I shouldn't have kicked you out. I was mean." You whispered shamefully, remembering the sad furrow of your boyfriend's brows, as if you'd denied him of his favourite toy.
"It was deserved." He — carefully — wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest with quick ease. "You had a migraine, and I was stomping around like a giant learning to walk."
You chuckled again, less watery now that your tears had seemingly fled.
After you'd fully calmed, Matty stripped off his uniform so every contour of his muscles could be seen — the sight a remedy to every illness — and let you revel in the astronomical heat of his body.
He held you from behind, rubbed his palms with your moisturiser — that he secretly lays on himself when you're in the shower, because he loves to smell of you — and carefully stroked your sides to ease the pain. He was so practiced that you ended up drifting off. His lips pressed against your shoulder, eyes on those faintly scarred knuckles that he aided with his most commonly used potion.
It hit him suddenly that his girlfriend had literally punched someone for him.
As much as he hated the thought of you with even a splinter, a rotten sense of satisfaction welled inside him. You defended him. You cared about him so much that you risked punishment — even injury. No one — bar maybe Nott, but it's not like he snogs him — has shown loyalty quite like you.
You, with your intelligence, pretty face, hilarious personality — do you want him to keep going? He can, in fact he happily woul- — truly loved him. And fuck, if he didn't love you.
Mattheo Riddle m.list
hi i’m sorry for dropping off the face of the earth
i swear i have things coming, i’ve js got so busy all of a sudden and don’t want a hobby i love to turn into a chore
so i’m recharged, yay.
i have a lil (2k) smth smth for u next with with theo, but for now i hope you enjoyed matty!!
Summary: the one where Sidney wants to knock you up
Warnings: 18+ content
Series Masterlist
Sidney Crosby has a problem.
The problem is twenty-three years old, brilliant, currently writing her dissertation on social inequality in youth sports access, and sound asleep in his bed wearing nothing but his old Team Canada t-shirt.
The problem is that he’s thirty-nine years old and having thoughts that would probably get him canceled if anyone could read his mind.
The problem is that he wants to get you pregnant.
He’s lying awake at three in the morning having this realization, and it’s not sitting well. You’re in the middle of your PhD program. You’ve got at least eighteen months left before you defend. You’ve explicitly told him that kids are “someday, maybe, when I’m done with school and have established my career.”
He respects that. He does. He would never actually try to derail your education or pressure you into something you’re not ready for.
But god, he thinks about it.
He thinks about it when you’re curled up reading journal articles with your reading glasses on, looking adorably academic. He thinks about it when you present at conferences and he watches you command a room with your intelligence. He thinks about it when you cook dinner together and you laugh at his terrible jokes and he imagines a little girl with your laugh sitting in the kitchen with you.
He thinks about it most when you’re underneath him, when you look up at him with those eyes and say things like “yours” and “please” and “daddy,” and every caveman instinct he has screams “mine, keep, breed.”
It’s primitive and probably problematic and he’s never going to say it out loud because you would rightfully point out that you are not, in fact, a broodmare, and he’s supposed to be a modern enlightened man who respects his partner’s autonomy.
But he thinks it.
Fuck, does he think it.
You shift in your sleep, the t-shirt riding up, and Sidney very deliberately thinks about hockey statistics instead of the curve of your hip. Corsi percentages. Fenwick close. Expected goals. Anything but the image of you pregnant, round with his child, glowing and beautiful and his his his-
“Nope,” he mutters to himself. “Not doing this.”
He gets out of bed carefully, heads downstairs, and does what he always does when his brain won’t shut off: he watches game film. Pulls up last night’s game against the Panthers and starts analyzing his shifts, looking for areas to improve.
He’s twenty minutes into a particularly sloppy line change when you appear in the doorway, sleepy and rumpled and so fucking beautiful it hurts.
“Can’t sleep?” You ask, padding over to the couch.
“Just restless,” he says, which isn’t a lie. “Sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t,” you assure him, curling up against his side. “I just reached for you and you weren’t there.”
He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. You smell like his body wash and sleep and something uniquely you, and he’s struck by how perfectly you fit against him.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, because of course you can tell something’s off.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says.
“Sidney,” you say patiently. “You only watch game film at three in the morning when something’s bothering you. What is it?”
He considers lying, but you’ll see through it. You always do.
“Just thinking about the future,” he says carefully.
“What about it?”
“What we want. What our timeline looks like.” He pauses. “Kids, specifically.”
You’re quiet for a moment. “Okay. What about kids?”
“I know you want to finish your PhD first,” he says. “And I respect that. I do. I’m not trying to pressure you or anything.”
“But?” You prompt.
“But I’m thirty-nine,” he admits. “And I’m not getting any younger. And sometimes I think about it … and I want it. A lot.”
“I want it too,” you say softly. “Just not right now. I need to finish school first. Establish myself. I can’t do that with a baby.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “And I’m not asking you to. I promise. Your education comes first. Always.”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
He sighs. “Honestly? I think I’m having some kind of early midlife crisis where all I want to do is knock you up and keep you barefoot and pregnant, and I know that’s incredibly sexist and regressive and not at all in line with my actual values, but apparently my lizard brain didn’t get the memo.”
You’re quiet for a long moment, and he’s worried he’s just irreparably weirded you out, but then you start laughing.
“It’s not funny,” he protests.
“It’s a little funny,” you counter. “Sidney Crosby, feminist ally and supporter of women’s hockey, having caveman breeding urges.”
“I’m aware of the irony,” he says drily.
“You know I’m on the pill, right?” You point out. “Very effective birth control. We could …” You trail off, and he can feel the shift in the air.
“Could what?”
“Pretend,” you say simply. “You could stop using condoms. Fill me up as much as you want. Talk about it. Get it out of your system.”
Sidney’s brain short-circuits. “What?”
“I’m saying,” you continue, shifting to straddle his lap, “that maybe I’m a little into the idea too. Of you being possessive and primal and wanting to breed me. As long as we’re both clear it’s fantasy right now.”
“You’re into it,” he repeats, his hands automatically going to your hips.
“Yeah,” you say, and he can see the flush creeping up your neck. “I like the idea of you being so into me that you want to … you know. Claim me like that. Mark me as yours.”
“Jesus,” he breathes.
“So maybe,” you continue, rolling your hips against him, “we could explore that. The fantasy of it. You could fuck me raw, come inside me, tell me all about how you’re going to knock me up. And we both know it’s not actually going to happen because I take my pill every morning at eight AM like clockwork.”
“That’s-” He swallows hard. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure,” you say. “I’ve been thinking about it too, actually. About what it would be like. About you being so desperate to breed me that you can’t help yourself.”
Something snaps in Sidney’s carefully maintained control.
“Bedroom,” he says, his voice rough. “Right now.”
You grin, clearly pleased with his reaction, and climb off his lap. He follows you upstairs, his mind already racing with possibilities.
Once you’re in the bedroom, he strips off his clothes while you watch, then reaches for the hem of your t-shirt.
“Can I?” He asks.
“Please,” you say, raising your arms.
He pulls it off, revealing all of you to him, and takes a moment just to look. You’re so beautiful it makes his chest ache sometimes.
“On the bed,” he directs. “On your back. Legs spread.”
You obey, and he kneels between your legs, running his hands up your thighs.
“We’re going to try something,” he says. “And you’re going to tell me immediately if anything feels wrong or if you want to stop. Understood?”
“Yes, daddy,” you breathe.
“Good girl,” he praises. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to fuck you. No condom. Just me inside you, bare, the way it’s supposed to be. And I’m going to fill you up with my come. Over and over. Until you’re dripping with it.”
Your breathing has already picked up, your pupils dilating.
“And while I do that,” he continues, “I’m going to tell you exactly what I’m thinking about. About getting you pregnant. About seeing you round with my baby. About everyone knowing you’re mine because you’re carrying my child.”
“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, please-”
“Is that what you want?” He asks, letting his fingers trail teasingly close to where you need them. “You want daddy to breed you? Want me to knock you up?”
“Yes,” you admit. “Want it so much-”
“Even though you’re supposed to be focusing on your PhD?” He teases. “Even though you’re a smart, independent woman with career goals?”
“Don’t care,” you whimper. “Just want you-”
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs approvingly. He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock just barely pressing against you. “Ready?”
“Please,” you beg.
He pushes in slowly, and the sensation of being inside you with nothing between you is overwhelming. He’s used condoms with you for the entire time you’ve been together, and this is … different. This is intimate in a way that makes his breath catch.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You feel so good. So perfect.”
“You too,” you gasp. “So deep-”
“I’m going to get deeper,” he promises, starting to move. “Going to bury myself so far inside you that you feel me for days. Going to fill you up so much it leaks out of you.”
“Please,” you moan. “Want it, want you-”
“You’re going to take all of it,” he continues, his pace increasing. “Every drop. Going to pump you so full of my come that there’s no way you don’t get pregnant.”
“Yes,” you cry out. “Yes, knock me up, make me yours-”
The words shoot straight through him. He adjusts the angle, hitting that spot inside you that makes you arch off the bed.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Take it. Take all of me. This is what you were made for — taking my cock, carrying my babies.”
He knows he should probably feel guilty about the sexism inherent in that statement, but you’re moaning and clinging to him, so clearly you’re on board with the fantasy.
“I think about it all the time,” he admits, his rhythm getting harder, more desperate. “About you pregnant. About your belly growing round. About your tits getting fuller, your body changing because of what I did to you.”
“Tell me more,” you gasp. “Tell me everything-”
“I think about everyone knowing,” he continues. “Everyone seeing you and knowing that I knocked you up. That you’re mine. That you let me breed you like a good girl.”
“Yours,” you agree breathlessly. “All yours-”
“I think about you in the stands,” he says, “pregnant with my baby, watching me play. Everyone knowing that the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins went home and fucked his girl so well she ended up barefoot and pregnant.”
“Oh god,” you moan. “Sidney-”
“Think about you staying home,” he continues, knowing he’s getting filthier but unable to stop. “Taking care of our baby. Waiting for me to come home so I can fuck another one into you. Keeping you constantly pregnant and full of me.”
“That’s so-” you gasp. “That’s so wrong-”
“I know,” he admits. “I know it’s backwards and problematic and you’re going to have an amazing career. But right now, when I’m inside you like this? All I can think about is breeding you. Making you mine in every possible way.”
“I am yours,” you promise. “Already yours-”
“But not pregnant yet,” he says. “Not full of my baby. Not showing the world that you belong to me.”
His hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit, and you cry out at the additional stimulation.
“Going to make you come on my cock,” he tells you. “Then I’m going to fill you up. Going to pump so much come into you that it has to take. You’re going to be so full of me.”
“Please,” you sob. “Please, daddy, I need-”
“I know what you need,” he assures you. “Need me to breed you properly. Need me to knock you up. Need everyone to see you’re mine.”
“Yes,” you cry. “Yes, all of that-”
“Come for me,” he commands. “Come on my cock and I’ll give you what you need. I’ll fill you up. I’ll breed you like you’re begging me to.”
You fall apart with a broken scream, your whole body trembling, and the feeling of you clenching around him with no barrier between you pushes him over the edge. He buries himself as deep as possible and comes, and it feels different like this, more intense, more primal.
“That’s it,” he groans. “Take it all. Every drop. Going to knock you up for sure.”
He stays buried inside you as you both come down, breathing hard, and some rational part of his brain is screaming that he just said some absolutely unhinged things.
“Holy shit,” you finally say, your voice rough.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Was that—was that okay? I got a little carried away.”
“A little?” You laugh breathlessly. “You basically wrote a manifesto about keeping me barefoot and pregnant.”
“I know,” he says, mortified now that the moment has passed. “I’m sorry. That was-”
“So fucking hot,” you interrupt. “Oh my god, Sidney. That was incredible.”
He blinks. “Really?”
“Really,” you confirm. “I’ve never—I didn’t know I was into that, but apparently I very much am.”
“The breeding thing?”
“The whole thing,” you say. “You being possessive and primal. The dirty talk about knocking me up. All of it.”
“Even the sexist parts about keeping you home and pregnant?” He asks carefully.
“Even those parts,” you admit. “I know it’s not what I actually want in real life. I have career goals and ambitions and I’m going to finish my PhD and probably become a professor. But in the moment, when you’re talking about claiming me like that? It’s absurdly hot.”
“Okay,” he says, relief flooding through him. “Good. Because I was worried I just revealed some deeply problematic kinks.”
“Oh, they’re definitely problematic,” you say. “But they’re also hot. And since we both know it’s fantasy and I’m religiously taking my birth control, we can indulge in the fantasy without any actual consequences.”
He’s still inside you, and he can feel his come starting to leak out. Without thinking, he reaches down and pushes it back in with his fingers.
“Can’t waste it,” he murmurs. “Need to make sure it all stays inside. Need to make sure it takes.”
You moan, your hips shifting. “Again?”
“You want more already?” He asks, but he can feel himself starting to harden again inside you.
“Want you to breed me properly,” you say, echoing his earlier words. “Want you to fill me up so much there’s no doubt.”
Something possessive and primal roars through him. “Yeah? Want daddy to knock you up? Want me to fuck baby after baby into you?”
“Yes,” you gasp as he starts to move again. “Want everyone to know I’m yours. Want to be round with your baby. Want to give you everything.”
“Fuck,” he groans, his pace already picking up. “You’re going to kill me. Talking like that when you know how much I want it.”
“Good,” you say breathlessly. “Want you obsessed with it. Want you thinking about it every time you look at me.”
“I already am,” he admits. “Can’t stop thinking about you pregnant. About your body changing. About your tits getting bigger-”
His hand moves to your breast, thumbing your nipple, and you arch into the touch.
“They’re going to be so full,” he continues. “So sensitive. And I’m going to spend hours just playing with them, making you squirm.”
“Sidney,” you whimper.
“And your belly,” he goes on, his other hand splaying across your stomach. “Going to grow so round. Going to see my baby in there, moving around. Going to know I did that to you. That I knocked you up.”
“Want it,” you moan. “Want you to see me like that-”
“Everyone’s going to see you like that,” he says. “Going to see you pregnant and know that I fucked you. That I bred you. That you let me.”
“Let you?” You gasp. “I begged you for it-”
“That’s right,” he agrees. “You begged daddy to knock you up. Begged me to fill you with my come. Such a good girl, taking everything I give you.”
He angles his hips, hitting deeper, and you cry out.
“I’m going to keep you full of come,” he promises. “Every single day. Multiple times a day. Going to make sure there’s never a moment when you’re not dripping with it.”
“Yes,” you sob. “Yes, please, I want that-”
“Want me to breed you constantly?” He asks. “Want me to use this perfect body whenever I want? Want to be my good girl who’s always ready for me?”
“Always ready,” you promise. “Always want you-”
“Even when you’re pregnant,” he continues. “Especially when you’re pregnant. Going to fuck you every day, keep you satisfied, make sure you know how beautiful you are carrying my baby.”
“I’m close,” you gasp. “Daddy, I’m so close-”
“Come for me,” he commands. “Come on my cock and I’ll fill you up again. I’ll give you another load. I’ll breed you until it takes.”
You come with a broken cry, and he follows immediately after, burying himself deep and filling you again.
This time when you both collapse, he pulls you against his chest, still inside you, not ready to separate yet.
“I think I might have a problem,” he admits.
“What kind of problem?”
“The ‘I’m a thirty-nine-year-old man with an apparently massive breeding kink’ kind of problem,” he says.
You laugh, the sound breathless and satisfied. “I think it’s hot.”
“You would,” he says fondly. “You’re a menace.”
“You love it,” you counter.
“I do,” he admits. “Even when it makes me realize I’m apparently a dirty old man.”
“You’re not old,” you protest. “You’re experienced. There’s a difference.”
“I’m fifteen years older than you and I just spent twenty minutes talking about breeding you,” he points out. “That’s textbook dirty old man behavior.”
“Only if I’m not into it,” you say. “Which I very much am. So it’s just hot.”
He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You’re very generous with your definitions.”
“I’m very into my boyfriend,” you correct. “All of him. Including the parts that want to knock me up and keep me pregnant.”
“Even though it’s not happening for at least eighteen months,” he confirms.
“Even though,” you agree. “We can fantasize all we want. And when I’m done with my PhD, if we both still want it, we can make it real.”
“I’m going to want it,” he says with certainty.
“I know,” you say. “I’m probably going to want it too. But right now, we get to have all the fun of the fantasy without any of the actual consequences.”
“Best of both worlds,” he murmurs.
“Exactly,” you say. “Now stop having an existential crisis about being a dirty old man and get some sleep. You have practice in the morning.”
“Yes ma’am,” he says, finally slipping out of you. He immediately feels his come start to leak out and has to resist the urge to push it back in.
You seem to read his mind. “Tomorrow,” you promise. “You can do it again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.”
“You’re going to spoil me,” he warns.
“Good,” you say. “You deserve to be spoiled.”
He pulls you close, your back to his chest, and tries to ignore the voice in his head that’s already planning exactly how he’s going to breed you tomorrow.
“Sidney?” You murmur sleepily.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for telling me. About what you’ve been thinking.”
“Thank you for not running away screaming,” he says.
“Never,” you promise. “You’re stuck with me. Breeding kink and all.”
“Good,” he says, and means it. “Because I’m not letting you go.”
“Possessive,” you tease.
“Extremely,” he confirms. “You knew what you were signing up for.”
“I did,” you agree. “And I signed up anyway. What does that say about me?”
“That you have excellent taste,” he says, making you laugh.
“Or terrible judgment,” you counter. “The jury’s still out.”
“Go to sleep,” he says, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Before I decide I need to breed you a third time tonight.”
“Promises, promises,” you murmur, but you’re already drifting off.
Sidney lies awake a little longer, holding you, thinking about the future. About finishing your PhD and starting a family and all the things he wants to give you.
But for now, this is enough. You in his arms, satisfied and his, with the promise of tomorrow and all the tomorrows after that.
The thing about Sidney Crosby is that he knows what he wants.
And what he wants is you. In every possible way.
He can wait for the reality. But he’s going to enjoy the fantasy in the meantime.
꒰ bartender!theodore who is definetely in love with reader ꒱
makes the best cocktails but hates small talk, barely sparing a glance at customers who try to chat him up—until it’s you, leaning over the bar with that wicked little smile, eyes shining under neon lights. he sighs, pretends you’re a nuisance, but his hands are already reaching for your usual without a word
never lets you pay, no matter how many times you try. you slide a bill across the bar just to be difficult, and he slides it right back with a lazy smirk. “cute,” you hum, tucking it into his shirt pocket instead
pretends he’s annoyed when you steal cherries from his garnish tray, but his eyes drop to your lips when you wrap them around the stem, twisting it into a knot with a smirk. his jaw clenches, his grip tightens on the cocktail shaker. you grin. you win
doesn’t do small talk but always listens when you talk, filing away little details like they matter. you offhandedly mention your favorite song, and the next time you’re at the bar, it’s playing. you raise a brow, smirking, and he just shrugs. “coincidence.”
pretends he doesn’t notice when you’ve had one drink too many, but the second you start swaying, there’s a glass of water in front of you. you groan but drink it anyway, and he huffs, shaking his head. “good girl.”
glares at guys who get too close, leans against the bar with his sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing, jaw tight, like he’s daring them to try something
walks you to the door at the end of the night, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward the ground. you’re tipsy, a little reckless, but you catch the way his eyes linger, the way his breath hitches when you lean in just a little too close. you grin. “goodnight, theo.” he exhales slowly, low and deep. “yeah. goodnight, trouble.”
a/n: been a hot minute since i’ve been on this blog due to business but i am back !
The music was loud, but that did little to your ability to sleep as you laid ontop your boyfriend, Mattheo, who was sat with a cup of whatever alcohol in his left hand. Right hand holding your waist. Your friends spread out in the Slytherin dormitories.
Theo chuckled as he took a puff of the blunt him and Pansy was sharing. Sitting on the couch right in front of you guys. “She out cold already?” He hummed.
Mattheo laughed, looking down at your sleeping form against his body. “Yep.” He sighed. Bringing his free hand up quickly to move some of your hair out of your face. Speaking with a softness reserved only for you as he smiled down at you. “My sleepy girl.”
✧[Summary]✧ It had been months since you two divorced. A moment your life stopped living. It was all painfully tolerable until one night you completely lost yourself and called your ex husband while alcohol was erasing every intelligible bit of your system, including your memories of separating with him.
✧[Content]✧ Angst, ex-husband!mattheo, fem!reader, use of alcohol, modern au.
✧[A/N]✧ These mood swings will kill me one day.
It was a loud friday night. Atleast that was what your foggy mind was replaying over and over again as your unsteady high heels clacked in the quiet pathway leading to your once shared house. Club music still ghostly blaring in your ringing ears as you lift your drunken self straight. Legs weighting more each step, occasionally tripping over nothing.
You haven't been drunk since Mattheo. Restraint over powered the need to drink because there wasn't anybody to take care of you. Except tonight when you stepped foot at the club, resistance wasn't a competition to the strong captivating smell of alcohol.
Just one drink.
Although as time passes by, you couldn't really tell if the bartender refills without command or it was your mouth without it. Either way, you were too busy blabbering incoherent complaints under your breath about how the stools at the bar should be adjustable and had cushions instead of hard wood.
The dance floor was even more irresistible. You loved to dance. This night though, the club didn't seem any different than when you were here with Mattheo, but there wasn't any courage in you to move. Your body was still, staring into the abyss, the music then suddenly blurred in your ears. Vision slowly made out what looked like dark brown eyes.
His eyes.
The same ones that squinted when he smiled and always reassured you everything was okay. The ones that made you believe that was true, and it was, just not anymore. You saw tears in those eyes, and you would wipe them away.
But as you looked straight into those same pupils at this exact moment, you thought you'd see the same version that was in the past.
No.
Those eyes were his, but behind them was lifeless. It wasn't reassuring, neither it was anger or sadness. You couldn't help but find it worse that those eyes that once made you feel everything had now made you feel nothing.
No, he's not actually there. But you couldn't help but yearn for his presence in the slightest way, even if it meant digging deep into the core of your skull just to vaguely remember.
Once the front door of your house creaked opened, the torturous heels were kicked off to the side and tapping of feet was heard around the place.
Where is he?
Reaching into your small purse for a phone, you dialed a number that was still pinned at the top of your messages.
The ringing phone vibrated in Mattheo's pocket as he clicked his apartment door shut. He just came home from work. Still in his work attire, tired eyes and messy hair, he confusingly reached down his pockets to answer whoever at this hour was calling him.
Much to his surprise, your name was the one on the screen. All these months without his ex wife were hell to him. Instinct was to press the glowing red button so he can move on like what was supposed to happen, but his heart ached at the thought of getting one more chance and leaving you once more like he did last time. Mattheo's heart hammered against his chest. Hesitantly, his thumb swipes to answer.
"Where are you? You didn't pick me up and now you're not here!" You slurred, clearly out of your senses.
"I'm sorry?" He already had an idea you were drunk, but not this drunk. He curses himself for caring. Even then, he can't admit he absolutely misses hearing your voice.
"My Mattheo.." You giggle, "You always work too much, when will you come back?"
My Mattheo.
My Mattheo.
My Mattheo.
That's what you always used to call him. It ringed in his ears as everything else you said was in consistent blabbering and mumbling. His mind dissolves into a cloud of memories.
"Helloo??" You pout. Mattheo registered your soft soothing voice and his grip on the phone tightened, blinking a few times.
"I can't come home." He strained, he knew your memories struggled to catch up when intoxicated, but he didn't have the heart to tell. "Something came up, don't wait up for me."
"Okayyy." You dragged, "I'll leave the porch light on, turn it off when you come back."
"I need to go." Mattheo forced out, grinding his teeth shut to hold back.
"Whennn?" You blurt out.
"Now." He hurried. He was holding boulders up on his shoulders just to not come over there and bring you back to him like he failed to do the first time.
"Do you have anything else you wanna say?" You asked, like you used to do before hanging up.
If you pushed a little harder, he might of sobbed. "No." He responded quietly, if he went a little louder you probably could've hear the way his heart breaks through his words, "Do you?"
"Hmm?" You hummed drunkenly.
"Do you have anything else to tell me?" His voice stern once more, but the tears pooling his vision said otherwise.
"I love you."
Your voice soft, though landing harsh. Mattheo closed his eyes as a tear slipped and a lump in his throat prevented him from responding. It was a phrase he knew all too well coming from your tongue, not on his. And it hurts him knowing that because it's so simple, yet he couldn't bring himself to say it. It made him feel vulnerable, but everyday since he got a taste of what it was like without hearing it, he wished he said it more times than you did.
His fingers trembled against the phone, "I.." His voice shook. He bit down on his bottom lip hard, restricting his sobs.
Just fucking say it.
He covered his mouth with a free hand, not wanting you to hear him. His knees buckled before landing a thud to the wooden floor, why can't he just say it?
Everytime he tried parting his lips to respond, an audible sob that came in chains emerged painfully instead.
I love you too.
Mattheo knew you were drunk. Maybe if he just hanged up you'll forget about it tomorrow.
But..
Part of him really needed to say it. Not because he wants to lead you on if you ever remember, not because he needs to get off his chest, not because he has to, but because he means it.
He still does.
"Fucking hell—" Mattheo muttered under his breath when he got a boost of strength and before restrained pulled him back in chains,
"I love you too."
Work written by me. Some dividers aren't mine and credits go to those who owns them. Please do not copy, translate, or feed my work to AI.
