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cupid-styles · 2 months

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omg bestieeeee i so need hocker h nd ballerina to talk and smooch !!!!! ngl i’m a sucker for protective and jealous h 🤭🤭🤭🤭 🐱

I feel like ive made you guys wait way too long for this one gvkdfjgkf

a continuation of this blurb! (and sort of this one)

word count: 2.3k (we had a lot of ground to cover)

content warnings: minor mentions of smut, slight angst but all is fixed by the end, not ramadan friendly

main masterlist | hockey h masterlist

talk to me

. . .

Two weeks.

Two weeks of radio silence from Y/N.

Two weeks of over-thinking everything he did that night.

Two weeks of Harry drunk texting her on lonely nights.

please just tell me if you hate me

im so sorry

ill leave you alone if its what you want, I just need to know

Each and every time, Y/N read his messages, eyes scanning over the words, and locked her phone.

The truth is, she doesn't know what she wants from him, if anything. She doesn't know why she felt so attracted to him that night — she was tipsy, not drunk, and in complete control of her actions. She never hooked up with people in public — no messy makeouts, but she certainly never let anyone finger her in the hallway of a bar.

The entire thing was completely unlike her. Maybe that's what scared her the most.

Deep down, she wanted to reply to him, but she didn't even know what to say. She didn't want him to leave her alone — maybe that was selfish, but she liked knowing he was at least a little okay. She'd even been keeping secret tabs on the hockey team. They had won their past two games, but Harry had been thrown out in the most recent one for unsportsmanlike conduct. Apparently, he'd gotten into a fight with one of the players on the other team.

Admittedly, that worried her, but she didn't want to be his babysitter. On top of that, the spring showcase was this weekend, and she'd thrown every last bit of her energy into rehearsing and practicing to make sure her performance would be absolutely flawless.

She didn't have the time — or mental capacity — to worry about Harry right now.

. . .

"You look like an idiot."

Harry rolls his eyes as he adjusts the collar on his button down for the third time. James and his girlfriend Melanie had helped him with ironing it out so it looked presentable enough on his body. Anything he ever did rarely called for slacks and button up shirts, but Melanie advised him to look polished and put-together for tonight.

He wasn't in a place to reject her advice.

The other teammates that James lived with weren't quite as kind. Stephen, a sophomore defenseman who was only on the team for the perks of sleeping with every girl he could get his hands on, wouldn't stop throwing sarcastic comments Harry's way.

"Shut up, Stephen!" Melanie calls from the living room. She marches into James' bedroom as Harry smoothes out a few leftover wrinkles in his slacks, swallowing tightly. "When's the last time you cared about something besides fucking random girls? At least Harry has some direction in his life."

"I'm just saying, the girl's been ignoring him for weeks. She's gonna laugh in his face."

"Leave!" Melanie exclaims, batting him on the shoulder. Stephen lets out a yelp of pain and Harry smirks, despite the anxiety throbbing in his chest. "You're not helping! Get out!"

Reluctantly, Stephen rolls his eyes as he follows Melanie's orders and leaves the room. She sighs and comes up from behind Harry before flashing him a hopeful grin.

"You look great, H. I think this is a really sweet gesture."

He nibbles on his bottom lip as he turns to face her. "Okay, but what if Stephen's dumbass is right? She could call security on me and have me removed."

Melanie gives him a sympathetic look, "Yeah, it's a possibility. But isn't it better to go down fighting?"

He shrugs.

"You said ballet is her everything. It's her entire life. Show her that you're willing to integrate yourself into that."

"Yeah," he breathes out, nodding slowly. "Yeah, you're right."

"I know I am." she grins. "Okay, let's get you over there. Don't forget the flowers you picked up!"

. . .

30 minutes later, Harry can't stop shifting uncomfortably as he sits in an aisle seat in the campus auditorium at Y/N's spring showcase.

The massive bouquet of flowers in his lap keep making his nose run and he feels like he's being suffocated by the buttons on his shirt that go all the way up to his neck. Best of all, according to the show program, Y/N isn't scheduled to go on until the very end. She mentioned to him once that being placed as the finale act is the best and biggest compliment, and he can't fight the bit of pride that thrums in his heart.

For an hour, he sits there, fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt and pinching his bottom lip between his fingers as he waits for Y/N to go on. He sits through mediocre singing showcases and even a violin solo that almost puts him to sleep, if not for the older man clearing his throat next to him. Melanie and James even text him during the intermission to see how it's going, but he doesn't have much to report back.

Finally, the show comes to a close and her name is announced, following by the title of the French piece of music she's dancing to. His heart throbs in his chest — he's so nervous for her, especially knowing she hurt her ankle just a few weeks back. But the second she graces the stage, she's a vision of beauty, strength, and delicacy all at the same time. It's enough to take Harry's breath away.

As he sits there watching her, he doesn't move a muscle. Not for a single jump, spin, or step. He doesn't know anything about ballet — not aside from what Y/N has told him — but in that moment, he realizes that he'd be willing to learn every little thing there is to know if it meant she let him back into her life.

She's gorgeous. She offers a flawless performance and the second she's finished, a look of relief washes over her face as she takes a subdued bow, her pretty eyes widening when she sees all the people — Harry included — standing and applauding her.

For Y/N, the hard part was over. For Harry, it had just begun.

. . .

Y/N is elated to have a moment of silence after her performance.

With the dressing room door shut behind her, she lets out a long, deep breath. The dance she'd been driving herself crazy over for months was finally over.

And yet, for some reason, she feels empty.

She shoves it down as sits, eager to get her pointe shoes off. She's ready to shed her costume and get into sweatpants and head home. She knows the rest of the performers are heading out to a party tonight, but she's exhausted.

She's sorting through the bag of clothes she brought when there's a soft knock at the door. She knows she only has around 20 minutes to get out before the janitorial staff starts cleaning, so she rises with a sigh, unlocking the door and opening it.

"I'll be done soon, I just need to change—"

It's not the janitor, though.

It's Harry. Standing there stiffly in a starchy button down with a huge bouquet of flowers that almost encompass the width of his broad shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" she blurts without thinking.

"I came to watch you perform," he replies gently. His throat bobs as he hands her the flowers. "These are for you."

"You didn't watch me." she snorts with a shake of her head. She hasn't accepted the bouquet yet.

"Yes, I did," he instantly fires back, "What, do you wanna see my ticket for proof? I was in seat F34, next to an old man who kind of smelled like soup, and he kept clearing his throat and it was really annoying but I didn't care because I came to see you, and I'd sit through hours of bullshit to watch you dance."

Harry can't read the blank expression of her face, but he takes it as a step in the right direction when she takes the flowers from him. She blinks as she glances past him and then steps aside, motioning for him to come in.

"I have to get my shit together and leave soon, so... just sit in here."

He nods. He's hesitant to allow himself to relax since he's not sure if he's in the clear yet. She closes the dressing room door behind her and places the bouquet on her vanity.

"I need to change," she says, spinning around to face him. "Close your eyes."

He chuckles until he sees the serious expression on her face. "Wait, really?"

"Yes, really."

"But... I— y'know—"

"Just turn the fuck around, Harry."

He does as he's told, shutting his eyes as he listens to her roll her tights down and step out of her leotard. One day, if she let him, he'd be more than happy to do that for her — not even in a sexual way, but he knows how tiring it can be to take off his own gear after a long game. He thinks it would be nice to be there for her.

"Okay, you're good," she murmurs. She's stuffing her things in her tote bag when he bats his eyes back open.

"Are you meeting up with anyone after this? I'm sure your friends came to see you, but I just wanted to maybe talk and... y'know, clear the air a bit." Harry says, wringing his hands nervously in his lap. Y/N furrows a brow as she analyzes his body language. She doesn't think she's actually seen him look anxious before.

"Um... no," she says with a shake of her head before quickly revising her answer, "No, I mean, I'm not meeting up with anyone and no one came to see me. Except you, I guess."

"Wait, really?"

She sighs as she pauses the process of gathering her things. "Really, Harry."

He swallows tightly. They're silent for a moment as she grabs her jacket and throws it over her shoulders.

"Come over and we'll talk. I borrowed my friend Matt's car for the night but— yeah, you can follow me to my place or whatever. And I can't promise I'll be awake for much longer but I think clearing the air could be... good."

A rush of relief makes its way through Harry's body.

"Okay. Yeah, let's do that."

. . .

"I never said it, but you were flawless tonight."

Y/N laughs breathily as she settles onto her couch, a cup of sleepy time tea in her hand. Harry rejected her offer for one (his response had been, "Y/N, do I look like someone who drinks tea with a sleeping bear on it?") but he'd be lying if he said it didn't at least smell good.

"I fucked up on one of my jetés — I'll get yelled at for it on Monday, but otherwise I'm decently content with the performance."

"Well, you couldn't tell," Harry replies, "Seriously. You were perfect."

Her cheeks warm and she stares down at her tea. Her legs are sprawled out in front of her while Harry sits on the other edge of the couch, giving her plenty of room to stretch out.

"So... clearing the air."

Harry clears his throat and nods, prepared to embark on the speech he'd been practicing in his head for weeks. But then, she speaks.

"I'm sorry for running out on you and ignoring you," she says, keeping her gaze down in her lap. "That wasn't... I'm not the best person. I'm bad at feelings and I use ballet as a crutch. I figure it's the one thing I'm really, exceptionally good at, and that should give me a pass in life but I know that's not true. I can't just go around treating people like shit because I'm... scared."

"What are you scared of?" Harry asks through furrowed brows. "I'm sorry if I stepped out of line that night, I should've been better—"

"You didn't. You were great. You did everything perfectly," she replies with a shake of her head. Her response surprises him, but he tries to hide the shock on his face. "I'm scared because you're you. You're a hotshot hockey player and, besides this showcase, you're the only other thing I've thought about these past few weeks. That's horrifying for me."

"Is this...?" Harry attempts to roll his lips into a thin line, preventing a smirk from bursting onto his face. "Is this a very Y/N way of telling me that you like me?"

She groans, as if it's the worst thing to ever happen to her, and it makes Harry laugh.

"Don't laugh at me!" she exclaims. That only makes Harry cackle even louder as he slowly crawls over to her, taking her warm cup of tea out of her hands and placing it on the coffee table.

"You're cute when you're exasperated." he murmurs. She pouts and his eyes crinkle with a grin as he peels her shaky hands away from her face.

"You're the one exasperating me."

"I know," he replies lowly, licking his lips as his face hovers over hers, "I like it."

"This isn't us agreeing to date, by the way." she quickly tacks on. He issues out a mhm as he leans forward, testing the waters, and pressing a light kiss to her nose. "We need to take it slow. Like, painfully slow. Or else I'll freak out and run away again."

"Whatever you want." he mumbles, kissing her right cheek. "I mean it."

"And you can't just overwhelm me whenever you feel like it."

He laughs and kisses her left cheek, then her forehead.

"Okay. Any other demands?"

He stops pasting kisses to her face then, instead choosing to simply loom his lips over hers. He can feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest and watches as she swallows nervously.

"No," she finally whispers. "Just kiss me."

And so he does.

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buryustogether · 1 year

Text

lilac - chapter 1

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: the father of one of your students is acting rather strangely - but when he smiles at you, you can’t help but forget your own name.

wc: 6k

warnings/tags: mentions of blood and violence, swearing, pining, stripping, strip club, sex workers, sexual fantasy, smut, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f! receiving), pet names, dom!miguel, single father!miguel, teacher!stripper!reader

author’s note: set in the universe where miguel replaces his father!variant with himself. ps - planning on turning this into a series/full fic.

New York

Earth - 9193

Since you could remember, the sky above the city, flecked with struggling stars and choking on itself over clouds of smog like cigarette smoke, had been deep purple. Some called it violet. Others named it plum. They were trying to make a prettier picture of an ugly reality, desperately ignoring the real world that held them captive. The purple held every soul in this city on a taut leash; each time someone was given a little slack, they wandered too far and discovered that, really, they hadn’t ever wanted to stray in the first place. Car bombings every week. Shootings. Back alley guttings. Innocence all but a foreign language to the citizens of New York.

You wished with every bit of you that one day you’d be able to escape and see the real color of the sky. Because deep down you knew, wanted to believe, wished and prayed… that it was not this shade of dark.

Your classroom was one of the only lit rooms here in Washington Elementary School, a beacon through dimly-lit hallways and the even dimmer streets outside your windows. A long, silent exhale managed to escape your lips as you continued to grade your third graders’ spelling tests, using a pink pen to correct their mistakes instead of a red one. You figured it was less harsh, more inviting to be open to learning from where they first failed. Your back was beginning to cramp from sitting in these damn little-kid chairs, your knees practically hugged to your chest due to how low to the floor you were. You would have been at your desk - hell, you would have been home getting ready for your second job right about now - had it not been for the young girl sitting across the table from you.

Gabriella O’Hara was, in your opinion, one of the most intelligent children you’d had the pleasure of teaching. She was quick and clever and friendly, not to mention, captain of her little soccer team funded by the taxes of PTA parents and the grumbling millionaires of the city. She was a frequent flier on your good-behavior list, and her name had made a home for itself on the principal’s honor roll long before she’d landed in your class.

She was a sweetheart, to say the least. She had been raised well by her father - who, uncharacteristically, had been a no show when it came time for pick up two hours ago.

Glancing up from your papers, you smiled gently at Gabriella as she scribbled along her homework page. “Briella, honey,” you said and leaned your chin in your hand. “Why don’t you check to see if your dad texted at all.”

Obediently, Gabriella dug her phone - a little flip-type, despite there being hundreds of smartphones out these days - and clicked the button to scroll through her recent texts. You watched as her face fell, thick brows and full lips pulling downward. “Nothing,” she said and placed her phone back. She looked to you, and it was obvious from the way she squirmed in her seat that her nervous stomach was starting to get the better of her. “I’m kind of scared, Miss Y/N. My daddy’s never late.”

Setting down your pink pen, you reached across the table and placed a hand on her small forearm. You’d stayed late before when parents were late for pick up, or they forgot, or they were too stoned out of their minds to bother, but you had to admit, you were rather worried, as well. Her father had never been late once, not even by five minutes. So two hours was, really, something to bat an eye at. “I’m sure everything’s fine,” you assured her and offered a gentle smile. “He probably just got held up at work. Maybe his phone died.” Your gaze flickered briefly to the windows behind her, strung across with colorful drawings and decorations, as a number of wailing police cars zipped past. When she started to follow your eyes, you added quickly, “I bet he’s on his way right now. Why don’t you finish up your homework so you can have the rest of the evening free when you get home.”

As she went back to her work, you found yourself tapping your fingernail against the table, your gaze stuck to an empty corner across the room. Miguel O’Hara was nothing but punctual, not just to everyday events like after-school pick up, but to every single thing he did. Soccer practice and games. Parent-teacher conferences. Hell, you wouldn’t put it past him to be an hour early to that fancy job of his at Alchemax every Monday through Friday. He was a perfectionist, signing every grade card check and permission slip with the neatest signature you’d ever seen. And it was a feat to marvel at, considering he was a single father.

Once, at a soccer practice, you’d heard from a few of the mothers who had nothing better to do than gossip that he’d moved himself and Gabriella over from Queens years ago when he was hired as a geneticist. Her mother had apparently left them when she was born, and he’d done everything from that moment on for the good of his little girl.

You weren’t afraid to admit to yourself he was, by far, the best-looking man you’d ever laid eyes on. Cheekbones placed high on his face, wide, broad shoulders, a sinewy frame that nearly challenged the doorframes he walked through. He was friendly, sure. But that was all you knew. You’d never been able to get close enough to know much else. An enigma to your curious mind, Miguel was nothing short of a puzzle that you desperately wanted to put together and see the bigger picture for yourself.

Shaking your head slightly, you forced yourself to wind back into the present. God, you needed to get a fucking grip. Crushing on the father of one of your students? Fucking pathetic. You had a boyfriend, for God’s sake.

You had just begun to grade your papers again, nearing the end of your stack, when there came the sounds of footsteps pounding against the tile floor of the hallway outside. They were jogging, approaching your room at an alarming rate. You stood, thinking it was the janitor having locked himself out of his closet again, and prepared to fetch your keys when a much different - yet no less welcome - figure filled the doorway.

“Hi, daddy,” said Gabriella as Miguel O’Hara entered your classroom.

You looked up, lips parted as you took him in. God, he was stunning. Somewhere around six feet with dark, somewhat-tamed hair that matched his tan skin and the thick brows sitting above his sloped eyes, he stood with a chest that rose and caved rapidly, like he’d run through the entire school searching for your room. Which he shouldn’t have - he knew the classroom his own daughter was in. Didn’t he?

“Oh, baby,” Miguel said and rounded the table so quickly you could have blinked and missed it. He hauled her up into his arms like she was nothing but a sack of flour and hugged her tight to his chest, almost like he was trying to mold the feeling of her to himself. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I lost track of time. I’m so sorry.” As if just realizing you were in the room, watching the pair with a small smile, he set his daughter back down and pulled her backpack from the back of her chair. “Pack up your things, okay? We’ll go home in just a minute.”

He approached you where you stood beside your desk loading your purse, and you swore your heart skipped a beat as he towered over you. Thick, corded muscles and a frame that made your stomach churn excitedly, he was the perfect picture of a fucking masterpiece. “Hi,” he said in a low tone, meant for you to hear and not Gabriella. “I’m so sorry for keeping you here. Time got away from me, and when I got here, the front doors were locked.” He took a breath. “Thank you. For watching her, I mean.”

Forcing your heart to calm its thundering in the confines of your chest, you grinned up at him brightly. “It’s not a problem, Mister O’Hara. I was happy to.” You decided to say nothing about the fact that it was unlike him to lose track of time. He wore a watch that you recognized as one of the latest, expensive versions that were magnetic, not electric, so it was incapable of stopping. How exactly did time get away from a man who revolved around it? “I’m sure she’s going to crash when you get home, anyway. She had a big day.”

Miguel blinked a few times and placed a hand on his hip, jutting it out slightly. Fuck, you wished he wouldn’t do that. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. We had a soccer scrimmage against one of the other classes today and she pulled the winning goal. Then there was the assembly over fire safety, but I’m sure you saw that in the handout last week.”

His lips remained parted for a long moment as his dark, umber gaze traveled across the stack of next week’s announcement handouts. “Right,” he said after a moment or two. “Right. Do, uh… do you think I could have another one of those? For this week. And maybe next week’s, too. Has that been sent home already?”

Giving him a rather crooked smile, you opened a drawer in your desk and produced the light green paper with last week’s announcements. Then you stacked it beneath next week’s and extended it toward his hulking frame. “Sorry if this seems a little… personal, Mister O’Hara,” you said as he took the papers, “but are you feeling alright? I really don’t mean any offense, but you seem a little… off.”

Tilting his head slightly, Miguel seemed to hesitate, fumbling with his answer in his head. He was frozen for a brief moment before your attentions were drawn across the classroom, where Gabriella zipped up her backpack and began to trudge toward the door. “I’m alright,” he said as he turned back to you. “I just, uh… I hit my head this morning. Been a little out of sorts, but I’ll be alright.”

“Daddy,” whined Gabriella under her breath. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, princesa,” he said and met her at your door. After slinging her backpack over his own shoulder and taking her hand, he glanced back at you. “Thank you again…” You watched as his eyes flickered to your name written across the whiteboard. “...Miss Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Mister O’Hara.” A few more words sat on your tongue, desperately trying to fight against your lips and jump out before the moment escaped. You tried to fight them down, but eventually they won the battle and spilled forth. “And - and you can just call me Y/N.”

Miguel stared at you for a moment, and you thought briefly that you had crossed a line you had been unable to see. Then he smiled gently, his full lips spreading into a gentle grin. He opened his mouth to say something in return before Gabriella pulled him out the door and into the hallway. You listened as their voices and the sounds of their footsteps grew quieter before silencing, then turned away and finished gathering your things.

On your way out of the building, while slipping through the front doors, you noticed the steel bolt lock keeping them shut after dark had been snapped entirely in two - as if someone had pulled on the door hard enough to break the lock on their own.

You figured it to have been a couple students who got their hands on their parents’ bolt cutters and made a mental note to ask the janitor for a replacement.

Once you got to your car and flipped the engine, you took a breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. In that breath, you willed yourself to switch into the alternate persona you took on after the school days, after the sun had set and the night really came alive from its demented, hungover state during the lightest hours. You pushed your students into the back of your mind, your plans for tomorrow and upcoming projects and due dates into the recesses of your brain. You shoved back thoughts of Miguel O’Hara and everything about how much you wanted to fucking reverse time so that he could smile at you like he had tonight all over again.

It was time to really work, now.

The Menagerie was a club on the northeast side of the Financial District, where the warehouse fires and muggings weren’t quite as common. Police forces cruised through here more often than, say, Harlem or Queens; the people who ran the city had to keep their most well-paid workers protected and thriving, right? Who else would steal from the hands of the poor and throw it all away the first chance they got?

Thrumming, thundering music like a pulse, like the club itself was alive with the blood of money and alcohol pumping through it, pounded from speakers and shook the walls in their very foundations. Neon lights like jilted, water-colored sunlight shone from corners along the ceilings, creating shadows like both nightmares and dreams along the walls and the faces of the patrons. The bar was overflowing. Security was chasing their own tails. The place was packed. Everyone who was anyone wanted to get into The Menagerie, because between its four walls and roof, you could be anyone you wanted to be.

It was law in this gilded cage that everyone was to wear a mask, its paint and diamonds and ribbons designed to depict animals. Security wore the full-bodied faces of lions. Bartenders and servers played dress-up with rimmed eye gaps as raccoons. Guests were allowed to pick a mask ranging from creatures that roamed the sky to those that crawled the earth. And the girls - the girls were exotic, majestic things that no one would mistake for anything else. They were tigresses and peacocks, they were arctic foxes and lynxes, any animal that had long since gone missing or extinct in this world of yours. Why go searching for the real thing, when they could come here and find the women?

The Menagerie was not a club. It was a cage, for animals so desperate to get out they had bent the bars in an attempt to escape.

Staring at yourself in the mirror of the dressing room, you gingerly affixed the golden mask to your face so that it would stay spread across your features while you danced and entertained. The hard, fake porcelain covered your forehead and nose, leaving your mouth free for the lips and tongues that would attempt to claim yours as their own. Orange and gold butterfly wings blossomed from the center of the mask, disguising you as the endangered insect everyone else seemed to have forgotten about; the Monarch. Fluttering and beautiful upon the wind, never easy to catch.

That was, unless they flew right into a spider’s web.

To your left, a few of the other girls were perfecting their makeup and adjusting their outfits - what little outfits you all had. Zara, known throughout the club as the Panther, caught your eye in the mirror and flashed you a sharp smile.

“You seem quiet tonight,” she said and ran a stick of gloss over her lips. She examined herself close in her handheld. “Something on your mind?”

A few of the other girls tried to inconspicuously listen in, able to sniff out gossip from miles away. Perhaps in here, you all were a little bit more animal than human, after all.

Forcing yourself to smile gently, you waved a ring-garnished hand in Zara’s direction and turned back to your reflection. You hardly recognized yourself like this, despite seeing this version of you all week long. You hoped you never did recognize it. “Oh, it’s nothing,” you brushed off.

Across the dressing room, Shawna, the Owl, tisked her tongue and hummed from deep in her throat. “You know you’re an awful liar, girl,” she said from where she sat scrolling through her phone. “We all noticed when you came in an hour later than you do. Something happen tonight?”

Well, fuck. Now everyone was waiting for your answer, waiting to see if it was worth listening into or not.

Pursing your lips in an attempt to show that it was no big deal, despite how much your stomach and your heart and your brain screamed that it wasn’t, you shrugged a shoulder and tried to avoid their gazes. “Nothing too big,” you replied and began to absentmindedly twist the ribbon keeping your mask in place. “Just… had a student stay a little later. Her dad lost track of time.”

“It couldn’t be that Alchemax hunk you’ve been telling us about.”

Fuck - you really learned to keep your cards closer to your chest.

Your silence must have been enough for them to connect the pieces, because a few of them tittered and giggled. A newer girl, who was still earning her way up to being on stage, piped up. “Have you ever talked to him?” she asked. “I mean, besides school-related stuff. Find out if he’s attached?”

“Absolutely not,” you forced out and stood to straighten out your costume. Your breasts were barely covered by the flimsy top and your ass hung out of the bottoms, both orange and black and white, like a monarch butterfly’s designs. Gold fishnet stockings lined your legs, leading down to a set of heels that had taken weeks to not tip over in. You were supposed to wear a cape, a gown-like train, but it was stepped on too much for you to bother with it. “He’s not there to cruise teachers, he’s just trying to help his kid through the third grade.”

“More than you could’ve asked from my dad,” Zara puffed.

God, you thought, yours, too. And your mother, while you were at it. They’d never come to meetings and games and plays like Miguel did. Hell, they hardly ever even remembered to pick you up from school on their good days.

Gabriella really had hit the father lottery.

Shawna shrugged her shoulders as she rose from her seat and picked up her own mask. “Even if that’s all he’s there for,” she said, then pulled the owl-designed porcelain over her face and fixed you with a stare through the eye holes, “doesn’t have to hold you back from at least trying.”

Her words rang in your ears as you carried on with your work that evening. They stuck with you as you danced for drooling men and women who oggled at you from behind their masks, as you ran your fingers down arms to chase bigger tips, as you followed a man who paid top dollar for a private dance.

Her words rattled like bells in your head as you mindlessly ground yourself against your customer, allowing yourself to get lost in your own imagination while you willed yourself to work. You shut your eyes behind your mask and let yourself fall into a dangerous little scenario you cooked up just for yourself.

You imagined not your boyfriend, who was out there in the city somewhere playing with his stupid fucking band to a crowd of three, not of any celebrity crush or model, but of Miguel O’Hara. You imagined him beneath you instead of some man whose breath smelled like expensive alcohol. You thought of him, and his hulking frame, and his powerful thighs you had found yourself staring at anytime he entered your line of sight.

Mind running away with this little fantasy of yours, you ground yourself a little harder against the lap beneath you, pushed your chest further against the chest parallel to yours. In your head, Miguel let out a huffy breath and rested those large hands of his on your hips, slowly but surely guiding your movements until you were riding his thigh. You tried to imagine, so intensely and desperately, how such an event would go.

He would gently, but firmly, help move your hips so that your exposed clit rubbed perfectly against the rough fabric of his jeans. You would keen and arch your back into him, hands running over his sinewy shoulders, as he hitched his leg and sent a powerful jolt of pleasure running through you and right to your core.

“You like that, pretty girl?” he would murmur in your ear, lips brushing along the shell before his tongue, warm and soft and pink and wet, licked against your lobe. “Ride, querida. ‘Til I say you’re done, and then I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”

You would grind your hips against his leg, moaning aloud and unabashedly when he tensed his corded muscle so that you’d have something to hump into. His hands, wide and spread, would wander along your bare back, memorizing the skin there like it was his and his alone, and he would dip his head to attach his lips to your nipple. He’d suck the nub into a hardened bud, then kiss and lick and nibble the skin around it until it was marred with love marks that would darken the following morning, and then he’d switch and give the other one the same kind of attention.

“Miguel,” you’d whimper in a certain kind of tone, and suddenly you’d be on the bed, pulled to the edge so that the globes of your ass hung off and when he kneeled he had access to your cunt bared for him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he would say as he pressed open-mouthed kisses up and up your inner thighs, getting closer to where you needed him most. “All for me and me alone. Isn’t that right, bebe?”

You wouldn’t be able to give him a clear answer at first, not when he would lick a long, wet stripe up the center of your folds and up to your clit. He would expertly find that little bundle of nerves, wrapping his lips around it and fondling with his tongue until you couldn’t do anything but sigh and moan and card your fingers through his dark hair to pull him closer. He would suck on your sweet spot for a while, alternating between licking stripes and adorning it with kisses, before he would slowly drag his long, thick fingers toward your sopping folds.

But he would stop just short.

“Say it,” he would tell you, dark, impenetrable gaze fixated on you from where he kneeled between your legs like a devout believer praying to his one and only love - his goddess. When you would whine and cry from the pausing of his ministrations, he would take his mouth, his wonderful, hot breath, away from your aching cunt. He would cock his head, allowing a bit of hair to fall across his face. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to, chica.”

“Miguel,” you would say again, because, really, that was all you could think of to say. “Miguel, please… need you, please…”

He would pull his fingers from your heat, gaze stony and immovable as a mountain standing tall in the midst of a storm. God, not even that could sway him. “Tell me,” he would demand again, this time in a low baritone that made your cunt clench around nothing because goddammit, even his fucking voice could send you into heat like a damn dog. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to. Now.”

“You,” would come the small, high-pitched answer, tumbling from your lips without another thought that did not involve him. “You, Miguel. Belongs to you. All for you, no one else.” You would babble, desperate to reach your climax before he let you fall back down that incline so, so cruelly, yet so, so deliciously. “Please, Miguel, need you. Need your fingers, anything. Just fuck me, please, handsome, fuck me ‘til I can’t remember my own name.”

He would tilt his head even further, like a predator toying with the prey he’d been chasing after for miles upon miles, before placing a gentle, feather-light kiss upon the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl,” he would say, then attack your clit with his full, thick lips, plunge two of his fingers into your heat, and begin to fuck you into oblivion.

The sound of his fingers constantly edging in and out of your dripping pussy, so wet you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs and your ass, would pull the most wonderful and pornographic-sounding moans and whimpers and whines of his name from your throat. Your own slick would coat his digits like honey, so sweet that for a moment he would stop his assault on your divine bundle of nerves and crane his neck to lick up a bit of it from where it dripped down your ass. The flat of his muscle would raise goosebumps along your skin as you cried out for him, one hand gripping his hair and the other buried into the sheets of the bed.

“Miguel,” you would cry and begin to rock your hips to meet the thrusts of his fingers, practically humping his face. He would take it like it was his last meal, returning to his sucking and licking and circling of your clit to send bolt after bolt of pleasure and heaven and everything else in between. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“That’s it,” he would murmur between licks through your soaked folds, feeling as your slick dripped down his wrist. “Say my name, bebe, tell them who’s making you feel this fucking good.”

He would angle his fingers then at just the right angle, his fingertips hitting that perfect, fucking perfect spot deep inside you. Stars would dance in your vision as your mouth would open in a silent scream, unable to get anything out but a tiny wail of heavenly pleasure. You would swear you’d never felt this goddamn good in your life, like you would gladly trade everything in the whole world just to stay here forever. His pace would pick up, aiming for that spot inside of you, and he’d lap at your cunt in a feverish craze, like it was the only thing that would save him from losing his mind.

All too soon, your thighs would begin to tremble and you would feel that beautiful, familiar coil tightening and winding deep within your soul. “Miguel,” you would cry out for the whole world to hear. “Miguel, m’close, I’m so close!”

“Come on, pretty bebe,” he would say between your thighs that would try to wrap around his head in a feeble attempt to pull him closer. “Cum f’me. I want it. All of it.”

His words would send a shockwave of pleasure through you, one that would white out your vision so intensely you would have thought he’d killed you and sent you on your way to the pearly white gates, and you’d have been okay with that. He continued to work you through your orgasm, his pace slowing but never stopping, his mouth pressing hot, wet kisses along your thighs, your hips, your naval.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl. Taking it so well, all for me. Look so pretty all laid out like this, like I could just eat you up. Would you like that, hmm? You want me to just devour you ‘til you’re left shaking and crying my name?”

“Miguel. Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“...My name’s not Miguel.”

Your eyes flashed open, suddenly brought back to the real world, pulled away from your fantasy. Through the holes in your monarch mask, you looked down to find your customer staring up at you with wide eyes and popping a boner put there by your mindless rocking against his hips. Feeling your cheeks flush, you slipped off of him and consciously tugged your outfit lower over your ass.

You pursed your lips, attempting to hide how mortified you were. “...That’s going to be another twenty bucks.”

It wasn’t until around one in the morning when you got home to your little apartment squished in a dilapidated little building wedged between two office towers because the landlord had refused to sell the place when they steamrolled the others ten years ago. The lights were off when you slipped inside, and a little piece of yourself inside wilted.

At once, you threw up a wall and dismissed that sinking feeling. Of course he wasn’t going to wait up for you. He’d had a show tonight, and he had another one tomorrow. He was tired.

Not nearly as fucking tired as you, though.

After wiping off your makeup and pulling off the fake little diamonds stuck on your temples, after changing into your pajamas and brushing your teeth, and after pinning a new drawing from one of your students on the fridge despite the fact you knew they’d never see it, you tiptoed back to the cramped little bedroom. You poked your head inside. Ferris, your boyfriend of six months, was spread out across the entire mattress, snoring gently into the fabric of the crumpled sheets.

You swallowed thick. You didn’t want to disturb him. He needed his rest.

You grabbed your phone charger from the wall and your pillow from beneath his arm, then slid on your socks back into the tiny living room. Plopping yourself down on the couch and plugging in your phone, you rolled yourself onto your side and stared at the dark screen. Willing something to happen. Something to come up, someone to reach out.

Because in reality, though you would rather throw yourself off the Brooklyn Bridge than admit it… you had never felt so alone.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #spiderman #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #sony spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv miguel

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makethatelevenrings · 1 year

Note

"back off" with Jaason?

TW: patronizing man

Scary dog privileges. That’s what Artemis called it once when she saw him in action.

Even if you were simply stopping by the corner store for some more bananas and yogurt, he was there. Anytime the sun set on Gotham and the criminals began to crawl out of the shadows, you couldn’t go anywhere without your guard dog.

At first it rubbed you the wrong way. Did he not trust you?

But then you learned quickly that it wasn’t you he didn’t trust. It was the leering monsters of Gotham who preyed on young women like you. You found solace in his presence, even if he insisted on following you the ten feet it took you from your work to your front door.

But this was the first time that Jason Todd had to go into scary dog mode during the day.

He had left the table the two of you were occupying so he could go help a woman outside who appeared to be struggling to juggle her grocery bags and her cane. You loved your kindhearted man and savored the sight of the way the corner of his eyes crinkled with his laughter. He took her bags in one of his big, strong hands and offered her his arm which she gladly took. Jason glanced at you through the window and jerked his head towards the left before holding up four fingers.

He wouldn’t be gone long so you could hold down the fort for a bit.

The humid Gotham air caused condensation to gather on the surface of your travel mug and you absentmindedly drew your finger through the droplets as you thumbed through some paperwork that Bruce asked you to take a look at. For Wayne Enterprises, that is. Not the night job.

The Bowery wasn’t just Jason’s territory. You pulled the marionette strings for the daytime practices. As he cleaned up the mob, you focused on filling in the power vacuums left behind by various murders and arrests. Job training programs, continuing education, supporting schools, that was your thing. So when Bruce approached Jason about building a new library in the Bowery, your boyfriend directed his father to you.

You were so engrossed in the details of the building plan that you didn’t look up when the chair across from you pulled away. You assumed it was Jason, of course.

“Did you know your dad wants the entire first floor to be for children and teens while also supplying a social worker program on the second floor for the unhoused?” you mused. When your question went unanswered, you raised your head to find a man who was decidedly not your boyfriend leering at you.

“Can I help you?” you sighed.

“Hi. I’m Mark. I was working over in the corner and noticed that you were really focused. Can I ask what you’re working on?”

“No, but you can fuck off,” you said as politely as your sharp words would allow. “If you saw me sitting here, then you saw my boyfriend seated here too.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I was just looking to make polite conversation but you’re over here jumping to conclusions. Can’t a guy just come say hello?”

You clasped your hands in front of you on the table and leaned forward. “Alright, Mark. What were your intentions when you came over here? Especially since you waited until my boyfriend was gone. That doesn’t seem to be polite conversation but predatory behavior.”

You flashed him a fake smile and batted your lashes. His lips screwed up tightly and he scoffed. “All of you females are the same. I mean, you really thought that I would want to hit on you? How arrogant can you be? Here’s a tip: learn to respect men an-”

He was cut off by a hand curling around the collar of his shirt. Jason yanked Mark up and out of the chair and pulled him in close, his lips peeling back in a sneer.

“Here’s a tip: you see any girl, but especially my girl, and you learn to back off before I break your arm off and shove it down your fucking throat,” Jason growled. You blinked up at the two men and then grinned, leaning your head on your hand and watching as your guard dog went into attack mode.

“Hey man, I was just trying to be friendly,” Mark gasped out. There was no way he could take on the over six foot tall tank that was Jason Todd. Your boyfriend’s jaw clenched and a vein throbbed under his skin, which you really shouldn’t find so hot.

“Yeah? I wasn’t. You should be glad I’m feeling charitable today. Now, you’re gonna pack your shit up and get out of my fucking sight.”

He let go of the weasel and stepped back so his thigh brushed against your shoulder. Jason crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating his already massive form with the bulge of his biceps. Mark raised his hands as he scooched around the mountainous man and darted back to his table.

“Sorry, Mallory,” Jason called to the owner of your favorite cafe. She merely waved him off and shot you a wink. You leaned your head against Jason and raised your hand to settle on his waist but he didn’t relax until Mark was out of the store, the bell ringing behind him as the door slammed shut on his ass.

“He didn’t touch you, right?” Jason asked. His voice still held that sharp edge to it but it softened when he turned to face you. One of his hands came up to cup your cheek and you smiled at his touch.

“No, baby. I wouldn’t let him touch me even if he tried.”

“Good.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he rounded the table and settled back in his seat. One of his hands remained clasped over yours as he gazed at you from across the table.

“Guess what your dad wants to do on the first floor?” you asked as you waved the building plans in front of his face.

“Tell me,” he hummed. Jason Todd might be your guard dog, but you never saw his fangs directed at you. Despite his size and stature, he was just a little puppy when it came to you.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #honey's 3k celebration

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evera-era · 9 months

Text

(nsfw, minors dni)

i feel like ellie is sooo turned on by risky situations with you. absolutely LOVES everything ab it.

loves your initial hesitation

loves how you always end up giving in

loves struggling to keep you quiet

and loves the fact that someone could pass by and find her four fingers deep in your cunt.

the two of you would be at a friendly get-together, everyone else talking and laughing on the porch. and ellie would have you inside, pressed up against the kitchen sink.

“shhh, shh.” she’d hush you, leaning down for a kiss. “gotta be quiet, yeah?” her hands felt like ecstasy under your dress, and it’s near impossible for you not to make any noise. you bite your lip.

ellie keeps an eye on the door as she sloshes her fingers back and forth inside of you. your pussy was so much wetter like this. tighter. she stifles a groan as her clit begins to swell.

you’re looking up at her through damp lashes, practically begging her to stop — telling her that if she doesn’t, you’ll cum! but she’ll take it as a challenge and finger you even harder.

“naughty girl.” she’d grin once she turns back to face you. “gonna cum from this, hm? from me?”

and hearing ellie talk like that only makes it worse. the pressure builds up deep in your tummy until you’re bucking and pleading for her to let you cum on her pretty little fingers.

“‘m so close, fuck— please—“

“oh… but you wanted me to stop earlier??”

“no, no— ellie—“

and she’ll keep teasing you until you admit that you love it — that you love her. only then will she let you cum, while she swallows up your moans.

And when she goes back outside, panties soaked, sucking your juices off her fingers… nobody bats an eye.

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams hcs

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woso-dreamzzz · 3 months

Text

Finally

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: The pining is finally over

There's a hand on your waist.

You've been in Spain for nearly two months now. You've completed preseason and played your first two matches for Barcelona.

You've gotten used to Natalia and her touchiness. In her home country, she's more touchy than she ever was out of it. It's natural to have her skin against yours, holding you tightly.

You're used to her hand on your waist.

But it's not her hand on your waist right now.

The game earlier was a good one. A clean sheet for you and a seven goal win for the rest of the team. You don't know who it was but someone had floated the idea of going to the club.

You'd tried to wiggle out of it. You avoided clubs like the plague when you could. The music, the drinks, the too little space had you feeling boxed in and nervous but somehow you had been convinced.

Which was why you were sulking at the bar all night, trying to make yourself look as small as possible, which was quite a difficult task.

Natalia had been by your side all night, hyperaware of how this was absolutely not your scene. She'd held you like you love to be held and whispered straight in your ear so you could hear her over the music.

Every shift of her body had goose bumps erupting down your body and you wish for her presence now as someone else reaches to touch your waist.

"I recognise you," This newcomer says," You play for Barcelona, right?"

There's an edge to her voice that you can't place and she looks up at you from under her lashes. Her fingers gently dance up and down your waist.

You don't like it.

It doesn't feel like how Natalia touches you and you don't like it at all.

Talia disappeared off to the toilet a few minutes ago, promising that it would only take a second.

A second was all it took for this new girl to come up to you.

"Er...yes..."

She giggles like you've said something funny but you don't think you have. She steps further into your space and you wonder if it's impolite to back up a few paces.

It's different in Spain to Sweden. You wonder if everyone is as touchy as Natalia is, even if it's toward a complete stranger.

"I'm a big fan," The girl is practically purring, her voice dropping low and you have to crane your head down closer to hear her over the heavy bass of the music.

Her hand skates up to your bicep, squeezing the muscle there.

"You're so strong," She says, trailing her finger up and down your arm," What are you drinking? Can I buy you a drink?"

People in Spain are very friendly, you think and you look down at your glass.

"I've just got a coke."

She pouts, batting her eyes at you as she somehow steps even closer. "Just a coke? You've just come out of a big win. Don't you want to let loose a little?"

You let out a few awkward chuckles, eyes darting around desperately in search of Natalia. "I don't drink during the season."

"That's so disciplined. You're so disciplined, so in control of yourself. Are you always so in control of yourself?"

Somehow, she's pressed herself against you. Your chests are pushed together as she looks at you, a half-smirk present on your face. You don't like this at all but she's Spanish so you assume it's another one of those cultural things that confuse you.

You don't want to shove her away and be impolite but you don't want her touching you anymore, skin crawling.

A hand lands on your waist again but you recognise it this time.

Natalia hooks her chin over your shoulder and stares down at this new girl.

"Can we help you?"

The girl moves to speak, to say what you don't know but it's clear that Natalia doesn't care because she gently nudges you to move.

You relocate closer to the doors and Talia keeps glancing over at the other girl, face set firmly into a frown.

"Why did you let her do that?" She asks, her eyes not straying away from the girl at the bar," Touch you like that? Touch you like how I touch you?"

"She was just being friendly," You say. Your brow furrows and you're sure that your little crinkle has appeared.

Natalia scoffs, swirling her drink around angrily in her glass. "She wasn't being friendly. She was flirting." She spits out the last word like it personally offends her.

"She was?"

Finally, Talia cuts her gaze to you. Her features soften slightly as she looks at you. She downs her drink in one go. "You're so oblivious," She says. The words are soft and low and barely audible over the loud music but you still hear them perfectly.

"What?"

Talia's looking at you in disbelief, shaking her head before she's got your waist in her hands and she's pulling you closer until her lips ghost your ear.

"You're so oblivious. I couldn't believe it at first but it's true. There's so many girls trying to throw themselves at you. That girl from earlier, girls at matches. They touch you in ways that aren't friendly and you jump through hoops trying to convince yourself it's platonic. You're so oblivious."

Ever so slightly, her hands tighten on your waist and she pulls back to look at you.

She isn't that much taller than you so you're practically at eye level as she stares.

Her eyes flick from your gaze down to your lips and then back up at your eyes again.

That's when everything comes crashing into you.

All those hugs, those private 'friend' dates to coffee shops and restaurants, those naps you took on her sofa together.

"You don't even know," Talia continues, like she doesn't even care about the bomb she's just dropped on you," I think that's even worse. You can't even let them down easy but you just don't know. It's infuriating."

Your heart's in your throat or, maybe, it's in Natalia's hands because you can't tear your eyes away from her.

She's still holding your waist, her hands familiar and welcome. Her gaze is hypnotic and your chests rise and fall in sync with each other.

"Natalia-" You say before breaking off. Your eyes dip down to her lips, barely even a glance but you know she catches you looking. "Talia...I...I think I'm in-"

"I know."

She kisses you like you're the only two people in the room. It's different to the kiss you shared as teenagers when you were scared and unsure.

Her lips mould against yours easily and everything else blends away until it's just you and her.

"Natalia," You breathe out when she pulls away," Do you...Do you want to go on a date with me?"

Talia laughs, pecking your lips. "Ask what you actually want to ask, mi vida. You will like the answer."

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"Yes."

You go home with Talia in that moment, completely forgetting that you had told your mothers you would call tonight.

#hardersson x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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bonesandthebees · 1 year

Text

guys. we are missing out on the potential of an elementary school PTA au for qsmp. think real housewives kind of drama. quackity is the PTA president because he's old friends with a lot of the school board even though he doesn't show up to like half the meetings because he's busy. there's so much gossip about who the father of his kid is and he definitely gets judgemental side eye from the other parents about it. tilin is doing well at least? even if they do spend more time at roier and jaiden's house than their own sometimes.

bad is another other single parent but he doesn't get gossiped about because he always runs the bake sale fundraiser and does a great job at it so no one wants to upset him. bad and dapper are the type of parent child duo where bad keeps dapper up to date on ALL the drama going on with the other parents (to a child friendly degree) and dapper is going to grow up to be the worst gossip just like his dad.

no one knows what the fuck is going on with charlie and mariana's marriage. if you ask charlie they're in the middle of a divorce. if you ask mariana they're doing perfectly well they just got into a couple's spat this week and charlie is dramatic. what do you mean it happens every week? no no you misunderstood they're doing fine they're definitely not getting a divorce. literally the only thing they have going for them is how both of them went to bat for juanaflippa when she told them she was a girl it's the sole reason the other parents respect them. what's a more pressing issue is that juanaflippa keeps trying to start fights on the playground and instead of discouraging her charlie and mariana both cheer her on and give her lessons on how to punch people.

phil is one of the older parents and is already experienced since he has an adult child and wasn't planning on having another, but he's done the parent game before which is probably part of why chayanne is at the top of his class while also excelling in his karate classes, softball practice, cross country team, etc. missa is his trophy husband who's just happy to be there. literal "she's everything / he's just ken" moment.

yknow when there's that one mom in the PTA group who is very stereotypically attractive and everyone is convinced she was the mistress for her current husband and caused his last divorce? that's foolish. no one trusts him to be around their partners despite the fact that he didn't cheat!!! at the same time, the minute doors are closed everyone is trying to flirt with him and gets frustrated when he insists he's loyal to vegetta. at least leonarda seems happy.

jaiden and roier are like the picture perfect parents with bobby. he and chayanne constantly compete for the top spot in their class. both jaiden and roier work as lawyers and there was a rumor going around that they were representing charlie and mariana respectively for potential divorce number 3 but this didn't seem to cause any tension between them. roier takes over to lead the PTA meetings when quackity can't make it while jaiden sits in the corner awkwardly trying to keep charlie from getting into an argument with mariana again.

no one has seen spreen in ages. there's another rumored divorce going on between him and fit but instead of making it as public as charlie and mariana's problems fit just makes snide comments about his absent husband here and there.

tallulah transferred to the school in the middle of the year and phil invited wilbur to the PTA meetings so he could be involved in the school. quackity and wilbur are exes and while wilbur insists tilin isn't his kid no one quite believes him. he's a very young single parent though and clearly has no idea what he's doing so even if it's a bit strange that his kid is almost the same age as his little brother chayanne, the other parents are relieved that phil seems to be taking the reigns to help him out. also wilbur is a famous musician and he's gotten asked for autographs from some of the other parents of kids in tallulah's class.

dan and maxo only showed up to the first PTA meeting and never came back. trump transferred schools and no one has heard from them since.

#help this setting is just so funny to me #the drama potential is insane #qsmp #qsmp pta au

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junkdrawerfics · 1 year

Text

Game On

(one of my favorite clips, lowkey)

Jasper X Reader

Summary: A little snippet of wolf!reader playing baseball with the Cullens. You and Emmett have a little rivalry going, and you'll do anything for some Jasper scratches.

Word Count: 1021

---

“You sure you can keep up with us, wolfie?” Emmet calls from the batter’s box with an absolutely snarky grin.

You cock a brow at him, settling into a crouch with an equally vicious smile, “Just you watch me, Em, you won’t make it to first base.”

“I’d like to see that,” he taunts back, twisting his grip on the bat and posing it over his shoulder.

Jasper chuckles from across the field, the sound easily reaching your sensitive ears, “Take it easy on him, darlin’.”

“No can do, Jas.” Your friendly rivalry with Emmett started as soon as you and Jasper got together, only made worse by you being a shifter. Competitiveness runs deep in your blood. “Someone has to put him in his place, and you pansies sure aren’t going to.”

“Ooh-” Emmett hisses through his teeth dramatically. “-you gonna let her talk to you like that?”

“I’m not one to get offended by a few words,” Jasper shoots back, smirk all too cocky, “Not like when you whined a full week when she called you a cream puff.”

“Hey-”

“It’s time!” Alice chimes before Emmett can stand up for himself.

You snicker and he throws a glare your way.

Game on.

With your enhanced speed and strength, you put up a good fight against the vampires. It’s almost unfair, you and Jasper working perfectly in sync, getting them out one at a time. On your turn to bat, the feeling of smashing the ball, brutal and unrestrained, makes your whole body spark to life, driving you through the plates like a flash of lightning. It’s exhilarating.

Nearing the end of the thunderstorm, the game is close, your team up by one run. Emmett is back up to bat. Chest heaving, heart pounding, you make eye contact with him and, with the most wolfish smile, mouth a silent, ‘Bring it.’

Emmett scowls, eyes focusing back on Alice, and you hear Jasper chuckle softly.

Alice winds up, moving with practiced ease, and launches the baseball straight down the line. A crack of thunder overlaps the loud ring of the bat slamming into it, and it goes flying. You go flying after it.

You tear through the trees, eyes bright with glee as you follow the ball. The wind whips your hair around wildly, the damp ground giving way under your feet. You feel free. Out of breath, every muscle aching, but free. The moment right before your feet leave the ground, adrenaline surges through every cell of your body and you explode into a mess of fur and snapping teeth.

You jump, far too high, far too fast. But your teeth clamp down on the baseball, practically ripping through the leather, before you go crashing to the ground in a flurry of dirt and grass. The earth shakes at your impact, the sound louder than the storm’s thunder.

“(Y/n)!”

The family of vampires freeze, eyes wide. Jasper races after you. Worry burns through his veins as he comes to a stop at the crater’s edge. Gold eyes narrowed, he desperately searches through the haze of dirt for a sign that you’re okay.

Then you pop back up, and all his concern dissipates. You, in wolf form, look up at him with happy, squinted eyes, the ball still clamped firmly in your jaws. Your whole body practically shakes with how hard your tail is wagging.

“Well look at you,” the blond sighs, shaking his head, “I didn’t know wolves could fly, darlin’.”

Shaking off the dirt clinging to your fur, you scramble out of the hole you created. Without hesitation, you push into Jasper’s open arms. He chuckles as you wiggle in his grip, letting out little happy huffs as he scratches your head. You love it when he gives you scratches in wolf form, it’s like getting a massage in human form.

“You know-” You perk your ears and pause to look up at his slanted, mischievous grin. “-Emmett won’t like this.”

You let out a muffled ‘woof’. He better not like it, because he just signed his defeat. You won. The thought makes you growl happily as you adjust the ball in your mouth. Time to show off your victory.

Jasper sticks by your side and you trot back to the field. The moment you reach the tree line, Emmett lets out a loud, rumbling groan.

“That has to be cheating!”

“Umpire?”

Everyone turns to Esme. Emmett looks so hopeful, but then she looks at you and winks. You’ve never been so happy to see someone’s face plummet.

“You’re out, Emmett.”

You drop the ball and let out a small victorious howl. The man glares at you playfully, but you catch the smallest glimpse of a smile when you do a few happy stomps and throw yourself at Jasper. The blond grunts as your full weight takes you both to the ground.

“Darlin’,” he wheezes out a bright laugh, “you’re crushing me.”

You huff, not caring even a bit as you drop your head on top of his chest. More scratches. You deserve more scratches, you won the game! Jasper can feel your insistence, having grown accustomed to reading your more chaotic emotions in this form, and gives in when you nudge him with your nose, licking his face. He curls his fingers through your thick fur, earning a happy grumble from you.

“We’re going to head back to the house,” Carlisle announces, voice ringing with amusement, “Feel free to join us when you would like to.”

Which ends up being far later in the night because there is something so lovely about just curling up with your vampire and watching the stars come out. He eventually goes and retrieves your extra clothes (he started keeping some with him after several phasing accidents) and you return to the Cullen household, where you mercilessly mock Emmett.

“How does it feel to lose to a wolf, cream puff?”

“(Y/n), I swear to God I’m gonna-”

You dash up the stairs, giggling wildly. Jasper follows behind slowly, tossing the bigger vampire a smug grin.

“Next time, you shouldn’t underestimate her.”

---

This idea came to me at like midnight and I wrote down the idea and I love it. I hope you guys enjoyed it too!

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper x reader #wolf reader #baseball scene #wrote this listening to super massive blackhole

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br7ght · 5 months

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Little Slut millie bright

summary: Your on-pitch rivalry with Millie Bright turns into a night you'll never forget

warnings: dom!millie, sub!reader, hate sex, gagging, degradation, praise kink (shocker), fingering, spanking, cunnilingus, and an embarrassingly large amount of dirty talk.

pairing: millie bright x reader

word count: 6000 [i genuinely could not stop writing and it's still going to be a two-parter ;)]

SMUT 18+

Just a simple reminder that this is fiction! If you don't like this content then simply do not read it! You have been warned

It was the third day of training camp and Sarina had you and the rest of the team playing a five-a-side game, just a friendly practice, but with Lucy and Millie playing it was never going to be anything like a friendly match. You were usually a semi-aggressive player, sliding in for tackles when you felt the match wasn’t going your way, but nothing in comparison to the other two. You were upfront, Millie Bright marking you as if you had hurt her in a previous life.

You two never really got along anyway, you both rubbed each other up the wrong way and you’d barely spent any time with her in comparison to the rest of the girls. You played for opposing teams and even fans had started to realise the tension between you two. One of you always seemed to end up on the floor when you played against each other, and Millie’s shirt was never the one covered in grass stains. She was relentless against you and by the time you’d finished the full 90 minutes you always looked like you’d been through the wars.

The ball falls to your feet for the third time in the last 15 minutes, you try desperately to dribble it around Millie but she was so much stronger and more athletic than you so you could barely more a few steps without it leaving your possession. You knew you were a good player, but she made you doubt yourself and that’s where you presumed the frustration originated. What made it worse was her smug looking smirk that she wore as she passed the ball up the pitch, turning back around and catching your eyeline. You hear Lucy shouting at you, her hard work getting it away from your goal ruined again as you just couldn’t get it by the force of Millie Bright.

The ball gets kicked out and you’re practising your teams corner kicks now, working on your positioning in the box, waiting for Greenwood to release the ball. You’re slightly leant over, trying to take up as much of the offensive line as you could. A strong hand fell against your back, the finger span reaching almost over half of your waist. You knew it was Millie even without looking. You pushed back into her, a groan leaving your lips as she holds her ground, and you swear you could hear a laugh as she can see you get more and more wound up by her behaviour.

Greenwood finally whips the ball in your direction, you go to jump for it but as your feet leave the ground, Millie shoves into you with her shoulder making you lose your balance in the air and you slam against the floor, knocking all the air out of your lungs as you grasp your ankle in pain. Millie offers you a hand, but you’d reached your limit of Bright today, batting her hand away and jumping up in response. You feel your anger bubble out of you, bravely getting in her face and shoving her hard. She looks taken aback by you as she stumbles backwards but it was no way strong enough to actually push her over, you don’t think you’d ever seen anyone successfully shove her to the floor.

“What the fuck was that?” Millie growled; you could hear the anger in her voice as she gets equally up in your face. However, she towers over you, she had a good extra 6 inches of height against you but you don’t see yourself backing down.

“What was what? I’m just throwing my weight around like you have to me this entire fucking game.” The anger was rising uncontrollably now, both of you in a stand-off against each other, both of your cheeks glowing red.

“God, Don’t be so fucking precious.” There was a suspicious smirk plastered across her face as her dark glaze caught you off guard. You were convinced you hated her, but now you weren’t so sure as you felt a gulp choke you in the back of your throat at her words.

“Oh fuck off Millie you’re doing my fucking head in.” The words left your mouth, and it was too late to take it back. By this point the rest of the team had noticed what was going on, all of them just watching as you stood in each other’s faces. It all got too much in your head and you started to walk away from her, but you were stopped by a strong grip on your arm spinning you straight back into it.

“No what is your fucking problem?” She demanded an answer, giving you a quick effortless shove and you could feel your body begin to burn as you stumble backwards, the combination of absolute rage but now also the confused arousal at her physical dominance over you. Your fists clenched and before you knew it, you’d been grabbed by someone, guiding you away for the situation, gripping hold of your shoulders. You could barely think straight, completely embarrassed of the altercation that you’d started, but she just made you so angry you couldn’t help it.

Lucy continued to guide you off the pitch, throwing her hand up to Sarina who just looked sick and tired of the team drama that always unfolded at training camp. As soon as you reached the tunnel you felt your anger build and build again.

“What on earth do you think you were doing, why start something with Bright when you’re that short.” Lucy joked, but also wanting you to answer her question. She was easily your favourite person in the group, despite you and her being the youngest and oldest in the starting XI.

“She just winds me up Luce, that fucking smugness on the pitch it’s so exhausting playing against her.” You admit, stopping in the middle of the tunnel as you knew Lucy had to make it back to training while you calmed down.

“I bet it winds you up, what all that dominance.”

“Not like that, fucking hell get your mind out of the gutter Bronzey.” You were even beginning to get agitated with her now. She shrugs in response to you, knowing in her head that she was right, but she didn’t want to be on the wrong side of you either.

“All I’m gonna say is you wanna sort this out.” She advised truthfully, “The one person you don’t want to start a physical rivalry with is Millie Bright, especially when she is twice the fucking size of you shorty.” With that she patted your back and ran back onto the pitch. You were seeing red at this point, storming off and finding your way back to your room to sort the mess in your head out once and for all.

You were sat in your room about an hour later and your brain hadn’t stopped spinning since you were dragged off the pitch. You never shared a room at camp, thanking yourself as you laid back on the bed, finally feeling some level of calm. Still, you kept switching your phone on and off, flicking onto millies contact number before talking yourself out of it. You don’t know why you felt the need to apologise, but something Lucy had said had found its way deep into your brain and you couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. Yet as soon as the guilt washed over, you were back to being reminded how she had done everything she could to push you over the edge and the frustration bubbled back up.

You didn’t remember when you’d typed her username into Instagram, but you’d found yourself shamelessly stalking the older woman. You were observing her form, her muscular frame and the tattoo sleeve that covered up her biceps. You continued scrolling and you came across a certain picture of her in a white polo, the angle of the photo from below and it sent you into overdrive. Your mouth was ajar, and you finally let the feelings of arousal pool between your legs, your thighs subconsciously squeezing together.

You were barely in control of yourself as you reached your hand into your joggers, lifting up the waistband but before you could even do anything there was a knock at your door and you jumped out of your skin, removing your hand quickly and getting up.

You rearranged your hair, unlocking the latch and opening up the door. You were greeted with Millie, still in her kit, her Captain’s armband clasping around her muscular arms, her hair up in her signature bun, hair spilling out over the sides. She was still sweating, and you presumed she’d come straight from training.

“Millie what are you doing here?” You ask, your eyes rolling, and she was already scoffing at your reaction.

“I need an answer to my question, what’s your fucking problem with me?” She stepped into your room, and you felt your back hit the wall as she towered over you. That same Millie smirk was glaring right through you.

“Oh, shut up Bright, how can you be bothered to come here to start this again.” There was a deep annoyance to your tone. You were embarrassed that you’d let yourself believe she was turning you on, you nearly touched yourself thinking about her and now you were just writhing in anger all over again.

“I want to know what I’ve done that’s wound your pretty little head up so much.” Your breath hitched at her words, and she could see how much she was messing with your emotions. You ignored your arousal at her interruption, beginning to get angry as you felt her dominance intimidating you.

“What? So, you can keep doing it?” You couldn’t help but gaze down her frame, her wide stance doubling over you.

“God do you really think that bad of me?” You felt as though she was mocking you, you couldn’t tell, Millie was so difficult to read. You couldn’t tell what her intentions even were for barging into your room like this. Her words were having a huge effect on you, but you couldn’t tell whether this was what she wanted, turning you into a desperate mess.

“You know what Millie, yes, I do, you fucking strut around on the pitch throwing your weight around. You’ve barely said anything to me since I joined, and I’m convinced that this nice girl persona is all just a-” She forces her lips against yours and you swear you could see stars as she steps into your space, backing you fully against the wall, her hand cradling your back.

You couldn’t quite believe what was happening, but you kissed her back, fighting for dominance against her mouth but losing it quickly. She was never going to give into you, she had her own plan for the evening, and it didn’t involve fighting you for control.

She pulls back, smiling at your flushed red cheeks. Her fingers tuck the strand of hair behind your ear, dragging the tips down your neck, nails grazing against your skin.

“Well, I’ve worked out how to get you to shut up now haven’t I” She grimaced down at you, her dominance announced itself to the entire room. You could barely string a sentence together, your emotions running through your head, too many to keep track.

“Millie, I- “

“I think that’s what’s been going on hm?” She finished her sentence hovering over your neck, latching onto your skin and making her mark against you.

“What?” You ask innocently, your head hitting against the wall as you felt her teeth dig into your neck, a small moan exiting your lips and her grip against your back tightened.

“You need me to fuck all this stupid talk out of you.” Her words came naturally to her, and you couldn’t even bare to admit to yourself how wet it was making you. The only thing you can do is nod at her comment, reaching for the back of her neck and pulling her close to you again. You needed her lips against yours, the burning heat between you growing as she slid her tongue against your lips pleading for entrance into your mouth.

You allowed it, her tongue swiping against yours. She gripped your thighs, making sure to squeeze your ass before lifting you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around her waist. This was effortless for her, slamming your back against the wall again making you gasp into her mouth. She used this moment to take your bottom lip between her teeth, pulling it back before letting it go again, inciting a string of breathy moans of excitement as she held you tightly.

She moved you from the wall, not once breaking your forceful, desperate kisses. You felt her grip let you go, and you fell against the bed right next to your unlocked phone that was still on Millie’s Instagram. She smirked as she looked at you unaware that she had already seen what you were looking at before she arrived.

“What’s this babe?” She questioned with fake curiosity; she knew exactly what you were doing with the picture that it was frozen on. She picked up your phone, kneeling next to your horizontal body, waving the screen in front of your face. Your face must have been a deep red colour, the blood rushing to your head and you didn’t even know what you could say to hide what you’d really thought about doing when you saw that picture. “Tell me what you were doing with this picture of me.”

“Nothing, I was just looking.” She didn’t believe you, the shaky delivery of your lie not helping disguise your shame. Millie runs her fingers over your shirt until she reaches your nipple, rolling it between her fingers and thumb, pinching lightly through your shirt.

“Tell me the truth or you’re going to regret it.” Her words were serious, but you were lost in the way your shirt was being shifted up your body, your bare breasts reacting to the cool breeze that was drafting through the room. She swaps her hand for her mouth, flicking her tongue harshly against the hardening nub.

“I wasn’t doing anything I swear.” You lied again but you couldn’t stop the aching arousal that was growing inside of you as she moved to focus on your left nipple, taking it completely into her mouth. A little sweet moan slipped from you lips as she starts sucking and licking it in a strong, relentless rhythm. Her strokes worked harder, her tongue now lashing across your sensitive nipple, her nails digging into the sides of the other.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, not when I have you moaning like this already.” With no warning, she bit her teeth down hard against your left nipple, you yelped in pain, and you knew she wasn’t going to stop until you admitted what you’d done.

“Fuck Millie fine I was going to touch myself while looking at you.” The words fell desperately from your lips, and she soothed your sensitive chest by flattening her tongue over your nipple, her saliva cooling the searing pain she’d caused a few seconds ago.

“That’s better babe, you’re learning already.” Her words were making you weak as she reaches her arm underneath your back, cradling you in her arms as she toyed with you, teasing you, working you up until you were trembling. She was placing kisses up your chest, only touching you with her fingertip, her nails leaving a tingle wherever she touches. These gentle touches just letting you know that what you had admitted was turning her on.

“Millie please just do something.” You whimper in suspense, looking up at the blonde who was domineeringly leaning over your body, her hands roaming every part of you. She untied your jogger strings, slipping them down off your legs and you watch as her cheeks flush red at the sight of your black lace lingerie.

“Mm, these are pretty baby girl, did you put these on for me?” Her tone was getting harsher, her grip on your skin getting rougher and you could feel her lust behind her fingertips. You nod and she smiles against your thigh, her hands could fit around the width of your leg and there was something incredibly seductive about the way she was spreading them open, licking her lips in anticipation. “Let’s get these off now though.” By the time her sentence was finished she had your underwear halfway off you, her movements becoming rushed and desperate herself, but she could hold herself together and she was planning on doing so.

You feel the cold air of the room hit your bare skin, the warmth of her hands not going to where you needed her the most and she knew it. She could see the desperation behind your eyes, but she wasn’t going to just give it to you. Millie had you completely naked and you suddenly became aware of her being fully dressed, now kneeling in-between your legs. You had been so distracted by her touches and teasing that this was the first time you were really watching her. The way her blonde hair was messily sat on top of her head, her captain’s armband still gripping her muscles. You were desperate to see what was underneath, but there was something so alluring about her fucking you in that kit.

She grips your head, pulling you in to an upright position, kissing your forcefully as you are readjusted to fit where she wanted you to be. “You are so fucking gorgeous, look at the way your nipples are just permanently hard when you look at me.” She teases, pinching the left with force and making you moan into her mouth. “I want you to watch yourself.”

You felt your breath leave your lungs at her words, she moved out from between your legs, fingers under your chin as she moved your gaze to the mirror that was on the wall opposite the bed. You had a perfect view of yourself, sat legs spread, dark marks all the way up your body. You watch as Millie moves to sit behind you, letting you fall back into her arms. “You are going to watch as I touch you.” It was an order and you felt yourself get all shy, hiding your face in her arm as you twist and squirm, your face bright red with embarrassment.

“I said watch. I mean it baby don’t make me angry again.” Her voice was harsh, the combination of praise and dominance doubling the arousal between your legs. Her captaincy coming out of her as she forces you back into position. She hooks her legs over yours, forcing your legs to stay wide open. You catch your own gaze back at you, watching as Millie’s hands roamed your chest again, pinching at your nipples and watching you in the mirror as your head flung back and you gasped against her neck.

Your legs were spread wide open and every time you looked forward you could see her eyes burning on you, watching as she brought her hand down to your inner thigh, tracing small circles and itching up higher and higher until she was so damn close but still not giving into you. You were entranced by the scene unfolding in front of your eyes, her tongue was on her own lips again and it was a look that you couldn’t ever recover from.

“Please Millie, I need you, I just want you to fuck me.” The urgency was clear from your voice, but she just laughs at your desperation, continuing her small circles around your thighs. “Millie please.”

She pulls your hair back hard and the gasp that came from your lips was completely involuntary. “Stop being a fucking whore, you will get what I give you.” She spat, her voice turning to a growl as she lets your hair go, her hand cupping your heat, not giving you any pressure, and not letting you grind yourself against her. “Talking of whores, you’ve made a fucking mess of yourself, haven’t you?” Her grin was so intimidating as she felt your wetness against her hand, you were a whining mess against her palm, and she was loving it.

“Millie-” You were cut off again, the same hand moving up to cover your mouth and you groan against it, hips thrusting against nothing but the air in the room, desperate for some sort of contact.

“You’re pushing your luck sweetheart.” Millie whispers, her other hand moving around your throat, cutting off your oxygen completely. She had a tight grip around your marked neck as you twist in attempt to remove yourself from her hold. You give in and she lets go of you, trailing her hands back down your body as you catch your breath. You watch everything she does to you, observing the smirk that she made in reaction to your noises when she got closer to where you needed her before moving them back up your body. She was driving you crazy on purpose, punishing you for making her so angry a few hours earlier.

“Would you like me to touch you baby?” You nod, not speaking or begging, doing everything she asked of you. The power she held over you as she had you vulnerable and trembling between her legs. “There’s a good girl.” She praises and you watch as her hand found its way back down to your aching pussy, dragging her finger through your folds, swiping gently through the wetness that she found between your legs. She brings her hand up to her mouth, making direct eye contact with your reflection as she tastes you. You moan just from watching her and your hips buck upwards involuntarily just trying to contact something as she wound you into a frustrated arousal.

She teases your entrance, pushing just the tip of her finger inside of you and you feel your head fall back to rest on her shoulder. The pleasure making it difficult for you to keep your head held. “No baby, watch as I enter you.” You do as she says, knowing you wouldn’t get what you wanted without it. Your lips pressed together as you watch her finger move fully inside of you, pumping her arm, her muscles flexing as she starts to thrust her wrist.

“Fuck Millie, I need more, please.” You beg accidentally, but she turns a blind eye, giving you what you want. She adds a second finger and your eyes slam shut, focusing on the feeling of Millies fingers curling upwards and hitting your spot every time she entered you. As soon as your eyes shut you felt her movements still, her fingers buried inside of you but not moving. You whine and when your eyes open and catch her gaze in the mirror she continues. You understood the rules and Millie was definitely going to stick to them.

“Good girls get what they want baby, so I suggest you keep looking at yourself while I fuck you if you want this to end nicely.” The words came out her mouth so casually, but it sounded so goddamn attractive, the eye contact in the mirror making it so much more intense as you watch your pussy stretch around her fingers.

“My clit, please touch me.” The frustration was building up and you could barely hear yourself speak, your mind foggy at the sight of Millie fingering you.

“God you’re a needy girl aren’t you.” She smirked, shifting her hand so she could rub small circles around your clit with her thumb and you gasped in pleasure as the built-up pressure inside of you was released. She was getting you closer and closer, the little groans she kept making in your ear combined with her little nips against your neck all adding to your building orgasm. “Look at yourself baby, look how hot you look taking my fingers.”

You could feel your legs beginning to shake, your moans growing louder as she applied a stronger pressure to your swollen clit, thrusting her fingers quicker. You were so close, and she stopped, removing her hand from you, letting you come all the way back down. You look at her with confusion, turning your head to look at her properly.

“That’s what you get for being so whiny baby girl.” You whine in response, fittingly of course. Squirming around, trying to shut your legs to gain some sort of contact but Millie’s legs were pinning them apart, not letting you get your own way. She started her teasing again and you thought your body was going to collapse at the lack of contact she was making with your body again.

“Millie, you’re driving me crazy, please just fuck me again, make me cum for you.” You felt pathetic and desperate, her small smile making you realise this was exactly how she wanted you to feel. The kisses on your neck changed when she sunk her teeth into your skin, making you cry out.

“Stop fucking begging.” Her sentences were getting shorter, her patience running dry with you. You wanted to rile her up to, there was a sense of curiosity about her growing anger and how her face was growing redder as you fought back against her dominance.

When her hand reached to your entrance again, you felt your bratty side begin to shine through. She pushed two fingers inside of you again and after a few thrusts you decided to wind her up even more. You were watching her in awe as she worshipped your body. “Fuck me harder, please I need you to fuck me properly.”

That was the last thing you remembered saying, your bratty side being broken down as she pushed you down onto the bed, switching her position so she was straddled on top of you, your arms pinned down next to your head. “You’re feeling brave hm?” She asked, you felt way more intimidated as you were forced to look at her face rather than the reflection of her behind you. You nodded your head, using up the last ounce of your bratty side. She grabs your chin, forcing your head up as she leans over making sure the only thing you could see was her face.

“You wanna be fucked like my little slut?” She growled, you nod, and she wasn’t having your silent responses anymore. She chokes you, harder than before, your head going fuzzy for a second. “You better fucking answer me, or I’ll leave you here, pathetically trembling for me.”

“Yes Millie, fuck me please.” This was all you could come up with in the heat of the moment and when she laughed at your response you knew you weren’t getting away so easily.

“Tell me what you are then.” Her patronising tone and strong grip around your throat making you squirm but her legs straddled your stomach, keeping you pinned down against the mattress.

“Your little slut.” You whisper, your voice being taken away with how nervous you were in her presence. Seeing Millie so in charge of you was a normal occurrence on the pitch, but your pleasure being in her hands was something that made you so vulnerable but so desperate for her.

“And trust me, you’ll know it.” She kisses you with such force you could barely think straight, her hand still remaining around your throat, her teeth biting down on your lip, everything about this was rough and dirty. She continues to mark your neck and you were moaning in desperation, every bite she made you knew would leave a souvenir of this night, being able to see every mark that she makes on you. You felt your core ache and each mark she made down your neck and on your chest was making you whine, and you could feel each time you pushed her buttons as her teeth sunk in harder, sucking your skin with the intention of making you feel it for hours afterwards.

“You need to stop fucking whining.” Millie sits up, her fully dressed form starting to drive you mental with curiosity of wanting to see what her clothes was underneath. She reached for her Captains armband, sliding it quickly off her arm and shoving it into your mouth. “That should keep you quiet for me.”

You couldn’t believe the position you were in, underneath your captain with her armband gagging you, stopping you from moaning when she touches you. She places your hands above your head, her eyebrow raises telling you to keep them there. Millie pulls her t-shirt off, your eyes widening at the sight of what you’d imagined a few seconds ago, her toned stomach glistening in the hotel room light. “I want you over my lap.”

You moaned into the armband, the thought of being leant over her lap making you shake with anticipation. Before you could react, she was sat on the edge of the bed, her hand in your hair pulling you onto all fours, your stomach falling flush against her closed thighs.

Without a warning you felt two fingers being pushed into you, a quick relentless pace not allowing you to get used to the stretch needed to fit around her. You were moaning unashamedly against your gag, gasping as her flat handed palm hit your ass with a sting. She kept this going until you were a trembling mess over her lap. Each spank was met with her fingers curling harshly against your g-spot, her own groans making you dizzy as she worked hard to roughly thrust her fingers in and out of your cunt. “If only everyone could see you now.” She hummed, your pants getting more laboured as you felt your orgasm building in your stomach. “Bent over my lap with my armband stopping those pathetic little noises that you’re making for me.”

You felt yourself getting closer and when her arm snaked around your body to find your throbbing clit, she barely drew three circles against it and you were crying out against the armband every time you felt her fingers slam against your sweet spot. Your thighs were shaking, and your nails were gripping into her thighs as you felt your inevitable orgasm building. With one more spank you feel your core collapse with blinding pleasure and your orgasm burns through your body, your hips jolting uncontrollably as she fucks you through it.

You were so sensitive, but Millie was still thrusting her fingers into you, adding a third finger and your muffled moans spurring her to continue fucking you, her pace getting quicker as your thighs never stopped shaking. She was not in the mood to let you have any say in how she was taking you, the addition of her third finger stretching you out more than before. Her endless circles against your clit were getting stronger as you desperately winced through the overstimulation. “Come on, give me another, I know you can do it for me.” The mix of praise as you were degraded over her lap did it for you, the last orgasm still fluttering through you as the next one came out of nowhere.

Her harsh thrusts and small circles sent you into a state of shock, this orgasm lasting twice as long as the last and your hips now pushing back against Millies fingers. “Oh baby,” She sighed, removing her fingers, your body rigid over her lap. She tugs on your hair again, forcing you up onto your knees, your legs barely able to hold your own weight up. “Look at the mess you’ve made.” She said, gesturing towards her hand dripping in your arousal. You watch as she takes a finger and places it against her tongue, sucking up every last drop. Her eyes were dark with lust as her eyes trailed down your naked body that was kneeling to the side of her, the florescent green armband the only item of clothing in sight between your teeth.

“I think this will shut you up on the pitch now hm?” She questioned, squeezing your cheeks, and taking the armband out of your mouth, the drenched fabric being thrown to the side. “Each time you see me wearing this you’ll be imagining yourself bent over my lap.” With the gag out of your mouth, your groans and gasps sounded more intense than before, and you could see the lust behind Millies eyes. With your noises now at full strength, each moan was creating a pool between her own thighs, but she was too focused on you to even notice it.

“Come lie right here, legs spread.” She demanded, pointing to her face as she lied back on the bed. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion; you thought you were done. The throbbing sensitivity between your legs signalling that you couldn’t take any more and while the thought of riding Millie’s face was driving you crazy you didn’t think you had it in you to go again. “What’s wrong? You wanted to be fucked like my little slut so you’re going to do as you’re told and come and straddle my face. Now.”

Within seconds you found your knees spread, planted on the mattress, one on either side of her face. Her hands were holding your waist tightly, her strength keeping you stuck in place, disallowing your hips from grinding against her tongue. You were moaning into the mattress as her tongue explored your folds, swirling it around your oversensitive clit. Each time you felt the push of her tongue against your bundle of nerves you were met with a pleasurable shock that was sent right through your body. Her hands were gripping the back of your thighs before her fingers crawled towards your well fucked pussy, deciding she wasn’t finished with you just yet.

With the immediate push of three fingers into your entrance you moaned loudly, you felt your hips being lifted, allowing her to speak against your pussy. “That’s its baby, moan for me, make those pretty noises now you can. This is the only way I want to hear my name on your lips.” You gasp as her tongue instantly reconnects with your clit, swirling those same excruciating circles that were drawing your third orgasm closer.

You couldn’t control the sinful noises that were escaping your open mouth. You were being railed over Millie’s face and her thrusts were still getting stronger. Her stamina was unsurprisingly relentless, her muscular build finally being of somewhat use to you.

“Fuck Mils I’m so close.” You pant, moans interrupting your words, with her movements speeding up a fraction you took this as permission, but you couldn’t stop it either way. The orgasm that came made your knees buckle, your body unable to hold itself over Millies’s mouth, your thighs squeezing her head into place against your clit. Her tongue flicked back and forth over your nub as you rode out your orgasm, her hands no longer keeping your hips in place as you grind against her mouth. Her name, as predicted, was tumbling out of your mouth as the overwhelming waves of your prolonged orgasm continued to ripple through you. You could feel her moans vibrating through your body as you rode it out, this one was mind-blowing and your brain felt frozen in this moment for way longer than the last, which you didn’t believe was possible.

Millie was still smiling when you finally gained the strength to remove yourself from her face, you were aided by Millie’s grip that was helping you move your body down to match how she was laying. You were snuggled in her arms now and this felt strangely right as your head was hidden in the crease of her neck.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson now.” She grinned, her fingers running through your sweat drenched hair.

“If anything, I’ll be shoving you more.” This gained you a swift slap to your ass and you wince immediately, your skin still sensitive from when she had you bent over her lap. This gave you the confidence you needed, you were desperate to touch her and you had been since she kissed you in the doorway. You reached your hand down the waistband of her shorts that she was still wearing, and Millie looked at you with surprise.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She protested with her tone of voice but the way her hips rose to meet your hand was anything but resistance. It was your turn to smirk now as it seemed that Millie seemingly didn’t know you well enough to know that you’d want so desperately to return the favour.

“I want to show you that your little slut can do more than making pretty noises.”

(hope everyone is ready for a part 2)

#millie bright #millie bright x reader #millie bright smut #woso fanfic #woso community #woso fic #woso x reader #woso smut #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso blurbs #woso #engwnt #millie bright fic #millie bright fluff #millie bright fanfic

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envysparkler · 2 months

Text

hugs

It’s not that nobody else’s hugs are good. Dick is the master of cuddling, Cass always knows when to go for a hug and when to back off, and Damian’s hugs are the most adorable thing in the world. Tim does hugs like he thinks they’ll disappear if he doesn’t grip tight enough, Steph hugs like she’s trying to break ribs, and Bruce, as always, is warmth and love and home.

But. But a Jason Todd Hug is special.

Jason is still prickly, still determinedly straddling the line between outsider and family no matter how many people want to pull him back, and he rarely ever attends the family dinners or parties or any get-together when he’s not in the mask.

But sometimes he forgets, forgets that he’s pretending not to be their brother, forgets that he’s keeping them at arm’s length. Sometimes he wraps his arms around them – easily, because he grew up to be the tallest, grew up the most like Bruce – and envelops them in warmth and leather and gun oil and protection.

A Jason Todd Hug is special because it means he cares. Because it feels like a victory. Because it feels like family, like returning home after a long vacation, like sleeping in their own bed and knowing that nothing will ever get them.

Nobody makes the colossal mistake of daring to say this out loud, lest they get cut off forever.

Until Damian squirms out of Dick’s grasp and snaps, “You’re not Todd, you can’t hug me.”

Dick’s mind goes blank. Tim, on the Batcomputer, stops typing. Steph pokes her head out of the medbay, eyes wide.

Dick recovers and then immediately scans the Cave. No Jason in sight, thank god.

“You can’t just say things like that, Dami,” Dick hisses, “Do you want him to sulk and never come back here again?”

“You’ve gotten a Jason Todd Hug?” Steph asks, eyes wide and betrayed, “How? How did the baby assassin get a hug? I’ve been trying for months!”

“You’ve been trying to get a hug from Jason?” Tim blinks at her, while Dick mouths ‘months?’.

“Sure, after I saw you practically melt into it,” Steph says, pouting, “You never do that with Dick’s hugs. I thought it must be something special.”

“That’s because you never encourage Dick, he will hold on and never let go,” Tim says, eyes dark as he grumbles over his coffee. Dick magnanimously chooses to ignore that statement.

“It isn’t that difficult,” Dick smiles at her, “Either you go for the ‘looking pathetic’ route, or you ambush him.”

Steph looks like she wants to take notes. Damian huffs, “Who made you the expert on Todd’s hugs?”

“Well, I get the most hugs, so I should be the expert,” Dick explains reasonably.

Damian and Tim eye him speculatively. Oops.

“Care for a friendly wager?” Tim asks with a shark smile.

That’s when the whiteboard goes up.

Steph’s in favor of writing ‘Jason Todd Hugs’ on it, but Dick convinces her to keep it to initials because if Jason ever finds out, the competition will be over permanently. They all add their names to the list.

“Alright, any time anyone gets a hug, we add a tally mark,” Dick says, “No maiming, bribery, or blackmail allowed.” Standard rules.

“When do we end the competition?” Tim asks.

Dick frowns. If Jason’s in a Mood then it might be weeks before anyone gets a hug from him, and he wants this to be fair. To give the munchkins a chance.

“First to ten?” Steph suggests.

“Sounds good,” Dick agrees, “Though if we’re getting Jason’s hugs, we’re already winners.”

They all shake on it, and the whiteboard goes up near a board of other miscellaneous stuff, not hidden but definitely out of visible line of sight for anyone who enters the Cave through the garage entrance and spends only five minutes before leaving again.

~#~

C is added to the list of participants the next day, without any notice or explanation.

~#~

There is a little scribble of a bat on the whiteboard by the end of the week. There is also a W squeezed in between the T and H in the title.

The competitors look at each other across the Cave and nod. The battle is on.

~#~

Cass is the first one who gets on the scoreboard, mainly because she drops in on top of Jason on one of his rare visits to the Cave.

Jason was arguing with Bruce, his jaw tightening, his expression shifting from irritation to frustration when the Black Bat drops from the rigging and knocks him flat against the mats.

Jason stares up at her, bewildered. “Did you fall?” he asks. Cass widens her eyes in lieu of outright lying, and flops on top of him. Jason automatically wraps his arms around her and she relaxes into the hug.

“You should be more careful,” he says quietly.

Cass hums, and lets her head rest against the thump-thump of his heartbeat.

When Jason has left, motorcycle roaring away, she takes the marker and draws a single line below the C.

Tim shoots her a dirty look.

~#~

“It’s not fair,” Tim glowers at Dick, hair half-sticking up on one side, as Dick dramatically and pointedly adds another tally to his score, bringing it up to four.

Jason nearly stabbed him, but it’s worth it.

“I gave you my secrets, baby bird,” Dick laughs, “What more do you want?”

“You and Cass just. Attack him with hugs,” Tim waves his hands to make his point, “That’s not fair!”

“You could attack him with hugs too,” Dick points out.

Tim gives him a flat look. “Somehow I have a feeling that won’t go over well.”

Dick shrugs, hiding his smirk. “That sounds like a you problem.”

~#~

He notices it on a visit to the Cave, a whiteboard that’s clearly a new addition, emblazoned with JTWH in Dick’s handwriting. The W is smaller than the rest, like it was squeezed in after.

Underneath it is a long line of initials with tally marks underneath. D, T, DW, S, C, and a little stylized bat. The whole gang. (Except him.)

Dick is clearly winning, with five tallies under his name, though someone seems to have scrawled in ‘cheater’ underneath those. Cass is in second place with three, Replacement and Batgirl have tied for third with two, Babs has one, and Damian has a half for some reason. Bruce, he’s happy to see, is losing.

He doesn’t mention it. He’s distracted by the case they’re working on, and then by patrol, and by the time he remembers it, he’s irritable and sleep-deprived and bitter enough that the idea that they left him out of their competition fits right at home with his aching heart.

~#~

“What’s JTWH?” he asks, because the whiteboard is in his line of sight and it never stopped bothering him. Jason tries to keep his voice casual, tries to not ruin the pleasant mood in the Cave, but his next words are a little too sharp. “And why am I not on the scoreboard?”

Everyone goes silent in a way that’d be freaky if they weren’t all piled on top of him. He can practically hear the looks being exchanged around him.

“What, afraid I was going to smoke all of you at your competition?” Jason asks. More looks. Jason tenses, waiting for it – the ‘you said you’re not part of this family’ and ‘you never asked’ and ‘we forgot’.

“You are,” Cass says simply, patting his head.

“I am what?”

“On board.”

Jason squints at the whiteboard. Nope, he can’t see his name on it. “No, I’m not. And no one told me about any competition either.”

“Silly goose,” Cass says, which has become her favorite phrase ever since Bruce used it once, “You are. Top.”

Jason frowns, because he still doesn’t – JTWH. Oh.

“And what do the rest of the letters stand for?” Jason grumbles, wondering what they’re tracking. How many days since he killed someone. How many days since he’s threatened them. How many times he’s yelled at them. “Jason Todd Was Here? Jason Todd Water Hose? Jason Todd –”

“Wayne,” Bruce says quietly from next to him. “Jason Todd-Wayne.”

Jason swallows. He can’t quite look at Bruce. “What does the H stand for?”

Everyone gives each other shifty looks.

“Oh, wow, that bad, huh.”

“Hugs,” Steph rolls her eyes, “Jason Todd-Wayne Hugs. So, no, actually, you can’t win, because you can’t give yourself a hug.”

Jason blinks at her.

“Steph,” Tim whines from somewhere near his elbow.

“I said that no one was allowed to tell,” Dick sighs, “I said it explicitly. I warned you all.”

“Tt. If the competition ends because of you, Brown, I will take my vengeance.” Damian’s grip tightens on Jason’s leg.

“Well, it was either the truth or whatever his imagination was coming up with,” Steph shrugs. She’s looking at him like he’s going to disappear.

“Wait,” Jason croaks, because he lost the thread of this conversation somewhere, “You’ve been having a competition…over hugs?”

“Over your hugs.”

#my snippets #jason todd hugs #there was supposed to be more in here #about the competition #but I got bored #and now I don't remember the rest of it

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 1 year

Text

TENDER LIKE A BRUISE ─── ethan landry 𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “A lover? Maybe. Something tender, anyway. But tender like a bruise.” — ‘The Winner’s Kiss’, Marie Rutkoski

pairing. spiderman!ethan landry x reader

warnings. swearing, mention of blood + death, mildly suggestive

summary. its late at night when you get a knock at your window. first, its a familiar mask, then a really, really familiar face. (1) (2) (3) (4)

a/n. i honestly just wanted an excuse to write about patching up this lovable dork. this is also the weirdest crossover ive ever made but hey! if the shoe fits, the shoe fits (ethan landry is 110% spiderman nerd coded). an early warning: this is sooo all over the place. i fr do not know where this is going or if i should make a part 2

You’re staring at your monitor, half-asleep and half-wishing your econ class got a bomb threat so you didn’t have to get assigned homework, when you hear a knock at your window.

It was four-am on a Thursday in the middle of March, so you were expecting a knock. It was probably Quinn, or maybe even Tara, knocking on your window to get into the flat because they lost their keys somewhere at the frat party and didn’t want to alarm Sam.

Having the room with the fire-escape window was a blessing and a curse. For one, the view was beautiful, and you could sneak out without any of your roommates knowing. On the other hand, however, any stranded friends of yours snuck back in through your window.

Well, whatever. You slammed your laptop shut on your desk, and walked to your window. In the journey, however, you paused.

The crime rate in New York had gone up terribly recently, and you had remembered that case just a few weeks ago about a man who broke in through a fire escape window…

You weighed your options: open the window, oh it’s just Annika, shoo her out of your room, continue Econ homework. Open the window, oh it’s a murderer! Die, don’t finish Econ homework.

You opened the window.

Then: “Spiderman?!” You all but screamed, taking a hesitant step back.

It was Spiderman, the guy in the spiderman suit, New York’s “friendly neighborhood Spiderman”, the hero who fought crime in Brooklynn and swung around Times Square, that Spiderman.

And he was here. On your fire escape, awkwardly shuffling (which reminded you of a certain dork who was at that Halloween frat party right about now), hands behind his back.

“Spiderman? What the— fuck, are you—?” You repeated, and you could practically hear his stumbling thoughts as he gestured incoherently to himself, arms flailing about.

“Hi?” He settled on, then groaned, lifting himself into your bedroom. You took another step back, tentatively eyeing the little league baseball bat you had in the corner of your bedroom, a keepsake from home.

Once more, the thoughts of those recent window-entry break-ins flashed in your head, and even though it was Spiderman, what if it wasn’t? What if it was just some weirdo freak in the costume, about to use your trust of the hero to their advantage?

Spiderman, solemnly, seemed to notice this hesitation in you. “I’m not— I’m not going to hurt you, I just…” Spiderman sighed, and then all at once and far too fast, he pulled his mask clean off.

Suddenly, a familiar head of curls were splayed out on an equally as familiar brown-eyed face.

“Landry?” You said in the same tone as before, except this time it was Ethan Landry, Quinn’s awkward, younger-by-3-minutes brother, who ended up rooming with Chad, your own friend from highschool, after Quinn moved in with you.

Your only conversation had been nods in Econ, handing him a drink at a party, asking if he’d seen Quinn, him asking if you’d seen Chad, and now… whatever this was.

“This” was Ethan Landry in the Spiderman suit — because he was Spiderman(!!!!), the biggest mind-fuck you’d had since you found out Sam’s bio-dad was a weirdo murdering loser rotting in jail with his oddly homoerotic, equally as murderous, bestfriend — politely closing your window and dusting himself off so as to not get your room dirty.

This was not the shock you were hoping for right before midterms.

Then, you saw how pale-faced and sweaty Landry was, a red-and-blue gloved hand pressed against his abdomen, slowly hunching further.

“Sorry— I,” He sucked in a deep breath, letting it out between his teeth, “I got cut, and I— your apartment was closer than Chad and I’s place, and I also couldn’t go there, because I lost my keys while I was swinging—“

“Hold on— Landry! Back up a moment!” You protested, interrupting his anxious rambling. “Let’s get you patched up first, okay? I won’t accept any of your answers until then.”

Quickly, you wrapped an arm around him, helping him limp over to your small, crowded apartment bathroom.

You situated the 6'0 giant you’d only referred to as “Landry” for the better half of the past six months onto the toilet, then rummaged through your bathroom closet, searching for the first-aid kit Quinn had used on her latest hook-up just last week after he bonked his head on her bed frame.

(That was hilarious and disgusting, having to sew stitches onto one of her hookups while she wore a police costume and him a bright prison suit. You were not going to pry, but crudely speaking, it was a shock to find out Quinn was… kinky.)

When you finally got it, you turned, having expected Landry to have pulled the top half of his suit off. Instead, he sat, head leaning against the tiled bathroom walls, cloaked hand still pressed firm against his wound.

“That thing’s got a zipper on it, doesn’t it?” You said, taking a peek at the backside of Landry’s suit.

He nodded.

“So?” You said, expectantly placing your hands on your hips. But Landry stayed still, as if something was holding him back.

“By gods, Landry, are you embarrassed?” You said, aghast. By the looks of his increasingly red face, you were right.

Extremely affronted at his ill-timed shyness, you swiftly found the zipper to his Spiderman suit and helped the boy peel off the top half.

“Jesus, Ethan, you’re practically bleeding to death. Stop being so shy, I can handle you of all people.” You whispered to him as you did so, and he let out a shaky breath.

(Not because of the wound, but rather how close you were, his real name on your whispering lips as you almost graced the side of his face, your hands undressing him. He felt like he was on fire.

Fuck, Ethan thought, then, immediately after, shook himself mentally of such thoughts.)

Then, with several beads of sweat dripping from Ethan’s forehead, a low groan coming from him, you saw just how bad his wound was.

It was a messy, leaking gash on the left of his lower stomach, blood staining his thin skin. Landry seemed entirely focussed on the pain, eyes squinted and body wincing with every labored breath.

So, you moved swiftly, opening up your bottle of rubbing alcohol and throwing the cap behind you, informing Ethan it was going to “hurt like the time Sam punched you square in the nose because she thought you were hooking up with Tara” (to be fair, that did hurt a lot — Ethan cried a little, after it, and you had to silently hand him tissues) before dousing his wound in the solution.

Ethan’s back immediately arched in pain, head thrown back, and you could hear him bite back a soft whimper. His now-bare hands grabbed at the closest thing he could — your sweater sleeve, which was apparently at the perfect height for his incredibly lanky, though shockingly well-built, arms to hold — squeezing down in pain.

“I’m sorry, truly,” you whispered, on your knees in front of him, as he was far too tall to perform this stitching up without doing so.

(You continued by knotting your needle and thread, ignoring the odd predicament you had found yourself in, on your knees in a cramped bathroom, so close you could feel Ethan’s warm breath on your neck. You swallowed, head fuzzy, then blinked rapidly, trying to get your thoughts back on track.)

If that had bothered him, you were more than worried at how he’d react to your poor stitching ability. You’d only ever fixed up a hole in your shirt, so any sewing knowledge you knew, you were going to apply to Ethan’s skin now.

“I’m gonna stitch it up now, okay?” You said, in a soft, dulcet tone, considering the pain he was going through.

Ethan nodded vehemently, probably more so interested in getting it all over with.

You made quick work of the operation, sewing his skin together, back and forth, back and forth. Your concentration drowned out any and all of your thoughts, except for a stuttered keen or bitten curse word from Ethan every now and then, that effectively shattered the mental wall you’d been building.

Finally, you unraveled the white roll of bandages sitting on the counter, and wrapped a thick dressing around his abdomen, crossing over his left shoulder to give it some stability.

(Your elbows had been propped up on either side of Ethan’s thighs, and you were so carefully focussed on wrapping his gash correctly that you hadn’t realized how close you were to his… well, him.

Ethan had, however, and gulped at how suggestive his view was, looking down and just seeing the crown of your head over his lap. So Ethan looked away, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately focussed on keeping something down.)

Finally, you finished, rubbed your sweaty palms on your thighs, and looked up at Ethan, who was leaning back, head on the wall. Your cheeks dusted pink, seeing how he stared at you through his long, brown lashes, slowly blinking, lips parted.

You coughed, looking away from the boy, and got up. “You okay to stand?”

Ethan blinked, then nodded, heaving himself up from the toilet seat. He limped across the hall to your bedroom, then sat on the chair sitting by your desk.

“You should sleep here tonight. I don’t think your sister will ever forgive me if I let you go to bed alone with a knife-wound.” You flashed him a smile. “But first: what the hell was that?”

Ethan bit his lip. “Surprise?”

You gave Ethan a look, settling on your bed across from him. “I thought you were at that halloween party, with Chad and Quinn?”

“Okay, fine. I was at that party, but I… kinda sort of stole a police’s walkie talkie, like, two years ago and I’ve been using it since to hear about any crime going on. There was a 10-31 — an active burglary,” he said, noting your confused face, “at a local bodega, so I told everyone I was going home, and left. They’d run into an alley by the time I got there, so I followed them, and things got a little… messy.”

You nodded, following the story carefully. “And when did… all of this start?” You gestured to him in the half done up Spiderman suit.

“Well,” Ethan averted your gaze, “When I was seventeen, I went with my dad to a crime scene during a stupid Bring-Your-Kid-to-work-day activity. The place was a real hole-in-the-wall illegal animal testing lab, and I was being dumb, touching things I shouldn’t have, geeking out over whatever latest smuggled in Oscorp tech they had blown up, when a spider bit me in the neck. After peeking through the case files, I found out it was a radioactive spider. The next few days after that I got sick, then got better, and one day after that I woke up and I could do crazy shit like climb my bedroom walls.”

You blinked, digesting the large threshold of information. Just as you were about to ask another question, Ethan let out a large, teary eyed yawn.

All at once he seemed so much more tired than you thought he’d been, all the pain he’d experienced showing clearly on his delicate features.

Your brows knit together. “…Okay, I think it's time you change out of those clothes, I order food, then you go to bed.”

Ethan agreed numbly, hunching over on the chair he was sitting on. Quickly, you began digging through your closet for clothes that might fit his muscular frame — a feature that surprised you as much as finding out he was Spiderman, considering you thought him to be a skinny and lanky tree.

After a moment, you pulled out two pieces. “It’s all I had that would fit you,” you said quietly, handing him a pair of pink Hello-Kitty pajama pants you bought in the wrong size, and a “I Survived My Trip To NYC” shirt Mindy gave you back in highschool. “Sorry.”

“No, I—“ Ethan fumbled awkwardly, taking the clothes from you, ears tinged red, “thanks. For everything.” He settled on, looking from his hands to your face.

You peered up at him, analyzing the boy-hero. His deep brown eyes, the freckles that danced across his cheeks, how his lips pursed, watching you look at him.

The air between the both of you had suddenly turned static, and you were so much more aware of how flush you were against one another.

Ethan’s gaze flitted from your eyes to your lips, trailing across your face almost unbearably slow.

But then you blinked, sobered, and stepped away from him. “I’m— gonna,” you caught your breath, “I’ll let you change.”

You quickly exited, leaving Ethan in the room alone.

(Ethan’s face burned, terribly red while he felt feverish just by the slight touch of your fingers on his own. How you had stared at him, your eyes coursing over his entire being—

There had been something there, but Ethan could not find it in himself to pry.)

#jack champion #ethan landry #scream 6 #scream vi #ethan landry x reader #spiderman crossover #jack champion x reader #scream imagine #spiderman!ethan landry

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theemporium · 1 year

Note

Full moon Remus being possesive! I just think that if anyone dare to look at you he would just hold you tight and be like “mine 😠”

It’s so basic but I love it!

FULL MOON REMUS IS BECOMING MY FAVOURITE REMUS RN I CANT LIE🫡thank you for requesting!🖤

It should have been a nice day out to Hogsmeade with your friends with very little chance of anything going wrong.

So, of course something had to go wrong.

It was a warm day, exams were far enough to not cause you enough stress just yet and Sirius had convinced the group that Saturday would be the perfect opportunity for a day out to Hogsmeade before they got sucked into studying and stress. And truthfully, you all needed the break.

You ate breakfast together, meeting just after ten before you headed out to the nearby town. You went from shop to shop, laughing and joking and enjoying the little sun the Scottish weather seemed to bestow on you. It was truly the perfect day.

The problem didn’t arise until the sun was beginning to set and you had made your way towards the Three Broomsticks to enjoy a drink or two before you headed back to the castle. Remus had been needier and touchier than usual, but it was nothing you weren’t used to. You knew it was just him being a little on edge with the full moon approaching in the next few days, and truthfully you didn’t mind the extra affection.

So, it wasn’t odd when he threw an arm over your shoulder when you were talking to Dorcas. And it wasn’t odd when he placed a line of soft kisses along your jaw to gain your attention. But then he was practically pulling you onto his lap and it was enough for you to turn around, a look of concern on your face at the rage in your boyfriend’s eyes.

You followed his gaze and found him glaring at a classmate you recognised from your herbology class. The boy seemed to look over just at that moment and flashed you a smile, giving you a friendly wave and you returned the gesture.

That was the last straw for Remus.

The rest was a blur of fists flying, blood spilling and James, Sirius and Frank having to tear Remus away from the boy before you could even reach him. You had barely said a word other than ‘follow me’ as you grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the pub, only giving the wizard a glare when he tried to wrap his arms around you.

And now you were sitting in one of the bathrooms, cleaning up the cuts on his face with as much skill as you could without having to take him to Madam Pomfrey.

“Don’t give me those damn puppy dog eyes,” you grumbled to him, your eyes focusing on the cut by his eyebrows instead of the soft expression your boyfriend was giving you.

“M’sorry,” he murmured, his hands wrapping around your thighs and tugging you to stand between his legs. You couldn’t bring yourself to bat his hands away.

“Are you actually sorry or are you just saying that because you know I’m angry at you?” you asked in a blunt voice.

“Both?”

“You are something else, Lupin.”

He let out a soft groan at the use of his last name, his forehead pressed against your stomach as his arms wound themselves around your legs. “I am sorry, baby, he just…he kept staring at you,” he grumbled, a flicker of anger in his chest as he noted the way the boy had been staring at you all night. “It pissed me off.”

“So you just had to swing at him?” you retorted.

He lifted his head, his chin pressed against your stomach as his darkened gaze met yours. “He needed to know who you belonged to, sweetheart.”

You raised your brows. “So now I belong to you?”

“Yes,” Remus stated simply, his hands running up and down your thighs until they moved up to squeeze your ass. “And I belong to you.”

“Stop saying stuff that makes me swoon, Lupin,” you grumbled as you raised a hand to push the hair away from his face, watching with some amusement as the boy growled in delight at the feeling. “I’m trying to stay mad at you.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured, his nose nudging against the hem of your t-shirt as it started to rise. “Let me make you scream my name.”

“You’re such a cocky bastard.”

“And you love what this cocky bastard can do with his—”

“Remus!”

“Don’t worry, baby, there will be plenty of time to scream my name.”

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sanguineterrain · 7 months

Note

Hii I am more of a silent reader but really want to start making requests but if you don't like this request you totally don't have to do it. All so if this is too long sorry.

So maybe a Jason prompt with "why not them why me" like they have been spending more time with the Bat boys, making Jason jealous. They confesses they did it to be liked by her boyfriend's family.

Hey anon! Thanks for the request. I tweaked it a little, but it's got the same theme you requested. Hope you like!

jason todd x gn!reader. jealous/sad jason, happy ending, proposal, established relationship. he's the goodest boy. ft the batbros.

****

It's close to nine PM when Dick finally drops you off home.

You turn to Damian first and hold out your hand, expecting him to give you his usual handshake goodbye.

Instead, Damian pats your shoulder and gives you a nod. You blink, startled.

"Today was enjoyable," he says, holding the book about saltwater creatures that he got from the zoo. "I will inform Todd that he has chosen well."

In Damian speak, you may as well have gotten a hug and a blessing.

"Oh," you say, trying not to tear up. "Thank you, Damian. I had a good time, too. Thank you both for spending the day with me."

"This was a test," Damian says, and Dick rolls his eyes in the rear view mirror.

"Dami, stop calling it a test. It wasn't a test."

"Richard, I don't know why you insist on lying. They obviously have figured out that it was a test. In any case, they've passed, so it doesn't matter."

You hide a smile as Dick gives up and gets out of the car. He opens your door.

"I'll see you later, Damian," you say. "Good luck with your science test."

"I do not need luck," Damian replies. "But I appreciate the sentiment. Goodbye."

You follow Dick into your apartment building. You're happy; last week, you spent the day with Tim and Cassandra. The week before that, you officially met Bruce and Alfred.

Dick and Damian were the last "test," and the ones you were most nervous about. From what Jason's told you about his family, Dick and Damian, while total opposites in temperament, are extremely shrewd in their judgments of character, and not easy to please. For all that Dick is friendly and warm, you know he's studying your every move to ensure that you're a good match for his little brother. Not that you blame them; you're sure that being children of a billionaire has resulted in some awful dates.

Today was your fourth outing with Dick, and your second with Damian. At first, Damian seemed totally closed off to you, which you understood. You're his brother's partner; what twelve year old gives a shit about that?

But you feel you've made good progress today. You feel like the Wayne's really like you, and don't just tolerate you because they have to.

"Please don't listen to him," Dick says while you wait for the elevator. "Damian thinks every social interaction is a test. We're working on it."

"It's okay," you say, because it is. "I get it. I'm glad I passed."

Dick shakes his head. "It was never a matter of passing. We thought you were great the first time Jason introduced you to us."

"Dick..." You melt at that, both out of relief and fondness. Dick is probably your favorite one of Jason's brothers, after Damian, of course. He's the most sympathetic to your attempts at connecting with the family and the one who's the gentlest with you.

He smiles, all sunshine, and you're abruptly glad that Jason has a family like this one.

"Are you gonna ask him this week?" Dick asks.

You bite your lip, unable to hide your smile. "I think so. What do you think?"

"I think it's perfect. He doesn't like all that fuss. And you'll be letting him know that you want to marry just him. Not when you're dressed up, on a date, but all of him."

"I do," you say, voice thick. "I do want that, D."

He nods, eyes soft. "I know. I'll see you next week," he says. "Don't worry about the dinner, okay? You're practically family now. And I expect to see a ring!"

He pulls you into a quick hug, and you sag in relief. You did well. It's been confirmed.

"Thank you," you say softly.

The elevator doors open. Dick lets you go, and you wait for the doors to close before you go to your apartment.

"You're out late."

You jump, almost dropping your bag of zoo souvenirs. Jason is leaning against the couch, arms folded. You laugh a little, holding your chest.

"Jay, you scared me! Jeez."

You go to him and lean in for a kiss. He dodges you, slipping away to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

You blink owlishly, trying to process what just happened.

"Um," you begin. "Is everything okay?"

"So where was it this time?" Jason asks. "Escape room? Art museum? Some other place you can't be seen with me?"

"Jason, what are you talking about?"

He finally looks at you. His gaze is intense, lethal. It makes you take a step back. He turns away.

"Where'd you go today? And be honest."

"We went to the zoo, and then we went to dinner. Me, Dick, and Damian. Jay, what's this about?"

Jason looks up. His gaze is no longer lethal; now it's just melancholy.

"Are you with me to get to them?" he asks.

"Get to who?"

"The Bats. Gotham's finest. Bruce Wayne's rag-tag group of orphans he can't stop collecting."

"Are you asking me if I'm in this relationship to get to your family?" you ask, unable to keep the frustration out of your voice.

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm asking. I'm asking if you like my media-trained, not-undead family who you can actually spend time with publicly. I'm asking if you like my Boy Wonder brother, who'd probably show you a better time than I can."

"Jason Wayne, I have never cheated on you or thought about cheating on you. With Dick or anyone else," you say firmly. "Now, what's this about?"

Jason's face falls.

"You're right," he says quietly. "That was stupid 'f me to say. I know you're faithful, baby."

He won't look you in the eye now. It is reminiscent of the beginning of your relationship when Jason would retreat whenever you argued. It wasn't until you confronted him about it that you learned that he thought every argument was your last and that you'd break up with him the next day.

"Jay," you say, getting closer. "Something's obviously bothering you. Talk to me, please."

He stays quiet. You get close enough to touch him, but you don't, in case he's not ready to be touched yet.

"Why me?" he rasps.

"Why you what?"

He takes a sharp breath. "Why not them? Why me? Why d'you bother with me?"

"Jay, baby, where's this coming from? I don't bother with you, I love you. I am in a relationship with you because I want to be."

"You've hung out with them this whole month," he mumbles. "And I know we can't go out anytime 'cause I'm technically dead, but I just—I mean, we could work something out if you really wanna go. I wanna do that stuff with you too."

"Jason, no, no," you say, and reach for him. This time, he lets you pull him into a hug, and you kiss his chin. He makes a soft sound in his throat.

"Oh, honey, is that what this is about? You think I'm replacing you?"

"'S happened before," he mumbles, and you screw your face up so you won't cry at that.

"Jason, I—" You take a deep breath and release him until you're holding his hands. "Fuck me, I guess there's no time like the present."

Jason squints. "What're you—"

"I met them to ask for their blessing," you say before you can lose your nerve. "I hung out with them because I wanted to make sure they'd like me, and I should've told you, but I wanted to keep it a surprise."

"Keep what a surprise? Sweetheart, what's—"

You let go of Jason's hands and get down on one knee. Jason's eyes go wide.

"Holy fuck," he says, and you laugh wetly.

"Jaybird, we've been together for a long time, and I'm positive that you're the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I hung out with your family this month so I could be sure that we'd get along. Because I know they're important to you, even if you have your rough patches."

"Holy fuck," Jason says again, eyes glassy.

You smile and pull out the black velvet box with the ring that Alfred had helped you choose.

"Jason Wayne, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you—mmph!"

Jason is on you in an instant, and the box tumbles from your hand. He presses you to the floor and kisses you hard, his hands squeezing your waist.

"Jay, this part is supposed to come after we get married, not before," you say when he finally lets you break for air.

"What can I say? Commitment gets me hot."

You wrap your arms around his neck, comfortable under him. Jason kisses you again, softer and sweeter.

"So is that a yes?" you ask.

"It's an emphatic yes, oui, si, ja, da..."

"Okay, I get it, Bruce put you in private school," you say, rolling your eyes. Jason pinches your hip and you squeal.

He rolls you over so you're atop him.

"I'm sorry I said those things," he says. "I didn't—I know you wouldn't do that. I was just upset, but I shouldn't have accused you out of anger."

"I forgive you," you say and kiss his temple. "It's not the last fight we'll have, and if I was afraid of a few arguments, I wouldn't ask you to marry me, Jay. Thank you for communicating."

"Fuck, I love ya," he whispers, and hugs you tighter.

"Ditto!" you say, and he snorts.

"So my entire family knows I'm getting married then, huh?"

"What? No. I only told Dick."

Jason laughs. "Yeah. Everybody definitely knows."

"Jay, I didn't mean..."

"Aw, baby, no, it's okay. I never thought I'd actually make it this far, so it's really okay." He kisses your nose when you start to frown. "And I'm the first Wayne to get married for real. Suck it, B!"

"Please don't put that in your vows, Jay."

Jason grins so hard, his cheeks puff out.

"No promises, fiance."

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