#hand blown vase

[yourcoffeeguru]

Vintage Milk Glass w Coloured Swirls Murano Footed Vase Ornament Home Decor // swtradepost - shop

[acocktailmoment]

Sempli’s drinkware !

This article was not sponsored or supported by a third-party. A Cocktail Moment is not affiliated with any individuals or companies depicted here.  

[alt-photography]

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Alfred knows Danny from long ago during his secret service days. He always found the other odd, but his company was enjoyable enough to overlook. They were friends for a short while. Danny even saved his life once or twice. However, despite their trust in each other, they didn’t keep in touch. It was like Danny disappeared and he never heard from the jolly man again. That is until Danny showed up at the Wayne manor decades later looking the same as when they parted ways carrying the daughter he talked so much about.

Danny stood on the front porch with a toddler Ellie in his arms. She’s been behaving wonderfully. The new environment gave her curious self something to look at and distract her from a tantrum.

He rings the doorbell awkwardly with her in one arm and a bag of supplies resting on his shoulder.

If things were any different he wouldn’t be here, but he’s got to do what he’s got to do even if it’s the last scenario.

Footsteps can be heard on the other side before it opens to reveal a boy in sweatpants and a hoodie. It’s a little warm for the summer and Danny expects they have an expensive electric bill for this large place.

The kid, Damian Wayne he remembers, scowls. He gives Danny a once over with narrowed eyes.

“How’d you get through the gate?” Damian demands.

Danny blinks and adjusts Ellie on his hip.

“I walked of course.” Damian grows even more suspicious and Danny decides to change the subject. “I’m Danny. Danny Fenton. And this little monster is Ellie. Want to say hello, Ells?”

Ellie looks at Damian for all of three seconds before losing interest.

“No.”

Danny sighs. Yea, he was expecting that answer. It’s her favorite word at the moment.

“Why are you here?” Damian asks.

Straight to the point then.

“I’m looking for Alfred Pennyworth. Is he around? It’s urgent.”

“What is it concerning?” Damian straightens his spine to appear taller but it doesn’t change the head difference.

Danny sets Ellie down on the brick when she won’t stop squirming to be let down. She doesn’t waste a moment wandering away to investigate her surroundings. Damian raises a brow while watching her.

“I’m cashing in that favor he owns me.”

That got the boy’s attention. He studies the adult for a moment before opening the door wider for the both of them to enter.

Danny manages to wrangle Ellie into the house with Damian’s judgmental gaze following them. The bag had slid down to his elbow when he bends down to hold Ellie’s hand to steady her.

It’s as Damian is closing the front door that a man comes around the corner in a butler uniform. The same man he was looking for.

Alfred freezes after registering who was in front of him. The older of the two sighs heavily. Shoulders back and chin high, as expected he approaches this situation with a level head and posh dignity.

“Daniel,” addresses Alfred. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Danny cringes. He really should have called with a warning but there wasn’t time. He also always hated it when Alfred refused to use Danny’s preferred nickname, a sort of teasing that was consistent. If Alfred was anything, he’s stubborn enough to do what he wants and get away with it.

“Sorry, Alf. Next time for sure.” Danny sends a cheeky grin that doesn’t impress anyone. He glances over at his daughter to see her trying to touch the expensive looking vase on a side table.

“Ellie!” He dashes over to pull her away which immediately starts a struggle war and fussing. He knows if he lets this continue it will turn into a full blown tantrum.

“That’s not ours, we can’t touch it without permission.” She whines in frustration. “Do you want to ask if it’s okay to touch? Gently?”

Ellie thinks about it a second before looking up at him. Danny nods in understanding and turns her a bit to look at the two spectators.

“Toush?” She asks with an adorable chubby arm raised to point at the vase.

“Are you going to break it?” Damian asks with folded arms.

“Master Damian, I’m sure that’s not her intention.” Alfred turns with a smile back to Ellie. “That vase is fragile. Can you be very careful?”

Obviously her answer is a confident nod of the head and immediately trying to reach out again. Danny helps to lift her and hold her wrist steady.

She pets the vase like a kitten, feeling the raised edges of the design with her little hand. After a few long moments Danny pulls her away to set her on his hip like before, earning an annoyed huff in his direction for his efforts.

“Very good, Ellie. I knew you could do it.”

She hides her face in his shoulder and he takes the opportunity to send a look at Alfred. The older man understands immediately and inclines his head before turning to walk further into the house.

“It was nice meeting you,” Danny shoots Damian before following Alfred to what appears to be a parlor a few rooms away.

“I shall fetch some tea.”

Danny shakes his head as he sits.

“No time. I’m in a rush.”

Alfred eyes him up and down before gingerly sitting in the armchair across from him.

“Yes, so I have noticed.”

In other words, spill your guts for abruptly intruding like you have.

“Something…urgent has come up-“

“I assumed as much.”

“-and I know how good you are with kids-“

“Daniel, you cannot expect me to-“

“You owe me,” Danny says firmly. Alfred leans back at the reminder. He knows Danny would never hold that over his head without a good reason. “I have no one else to go to, to look after her. I normally would just take her with me, but I- it’s gotten dangerous. Too dangerous for her.”

He looks to Alfred with desperate eyes. Ellie tries to squirm out of his arms, which reflexively tighten securely around her middle. He can see the dark bags under the younger eyes.

Alfred sighs.

“How long?”

Danny sags and Ellie slips out of her father’s arms as soon as the chance presented itself. Alfred would need to keep a close eye on her in the future.

“A week, two, three tops.”

Alfred sends an unimpressed look and Danny cringes but doesn’t redact his statement.

“Anything I need to know?”

Danny looks down at the hastily packed diaper bag like it had all the answers.

“We’re kind of in the middle of potty training so I threw in some pull ups but those will go quick. She hates carrots. Won’t go to sleep without a bedtime story. Don’t give her any sugar after four or she’ll turn into a monster. Oh, and her powers are coming in so I packed a shield for at night.”

Alfred raises a single eyebrow.

“Could you be more specific?”

Danny waves it off like it was no big deal.

“Just the normal stuff. Invisibility, intangibility, and flight. It’s all very weak and sporadic right now. Keep calm until she figures it out on her own. She’s just learning.”

“So you are leaving a child in my care for an unknown amount of time, a child that can disappear, walk through walls, and fly. Anything else?”

Danny rubs the back of his neck guiltily.

“Why do you always have to make everything sound so…” He sighs heavily, glancing over at Ellie who has managed to take every blanket out of the basket in the corner and crawled in to make a nest out of the materials. He smiles fondly.

“I’ve probably forgotten something, but I know you can handle it. You can take care of her.”

Danny then stands and pulls out a piece of paper, handing it over.

“My number is at the top in case of emergencies. Her favorite stuffy is in the bag, she won’t sleep without it. Her favorite word right now is ‘no’. I wrote down anything I could think of, which you probably can’t even read my chicken scratch…”

Alfred gently takes the paper from his hand and Danny slowly makes his way to the messy corner.

“Hey, Elles,” he says softly, far softer than anything Alfred has heard from him. Usually he was a rambunctious, jovial loudmouth, but right now he was hesitant. Prolonging the farewell they both know needs to happen with how urgent this mysterious problem was.

Ellie looks up for a moment before going back to maneuvering her fort.

“I gotta go away for a while. Alfred here will be watching over you while I’m gone, okay?”

That got her attention. For a child that young, she knew something was wrong, but didn’t know what. And now her dad, her protector, was leaving.

“No.”

Danny folds his lips together, expecting the response but still not ready to go through the hard part of leaving.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl. I am, but I have to go. I’ll be back when I’m finished.”

“No!”

Danny sighs and reaches in to pull her into his arms. She fights him valiantly, but he was stronger and bigger.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”

They might as well have been empty words for the lack of effect it had on the struggling toddler. Danny sways with her for a few beats until he gets an idea.

“Danielle, look.”

He makes sure she’s watching as he creates a loop of ice, infused with his ectoplasm and therefore, his signature.

“Hold out your hand,” he coax.

She does so with a sniffle and he gently moves the glowing green ghost ice around her wrist to make an indestructible, unmeltable bracelet. He shrinks it until he’s sure it won’t fall off and won’t be too tight either.

“There. Now you have a piece of me wherever you go. Even when we’re far apart.”

She pointedly doesn’t look at him.

“I love you, Ellie. I’ll be back soon.”

He kisses her forehead, breathes in her soft scent, and turns to Alfred. The older man is watching carefully and makes his arms available for a new passenger.

With a deep breath Danny hands her over, Ellie immediately starts whining and tears fall from her eyes.

“Hey, you’ll be okay. Alfred here is a mighty warrior. He’ll keep you safe. I trust him.”

He does his best to wipe away her tears but he has to physically step away when she reaches for him. Instead he looks to Alfred.

Alfred holds her securely and nods in assurance.

“Not to worry. Danielle and I will be too busy to notice your absence.”

Danny smiles at the effort but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He can’t resist petting her head one last time, her pigtails in disarray, and wiping her tears from her cheeks.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he promises, marking it with another kiss to her head before backing away again. He looks at Alfred sending his gratitude without words. Alfred accepts it with a slight incline of the head. Danny nods once and leaves before he can’t.

The door opens and the young boy from earlier stumbles back with a glare to hide his embarrassment.

“Master Damian-“

Danny holds up a hand to stop Alfred. Of course the boy would eavesdrop, what did either of them expect?

The young father leans down to get eye level with Damian, looking him straight in the eye with seriousness. Damian straightens at the attention.

“It’s very important Ellie is safe and occupied while I’m away. It would mean a lot to me if you would help Alfred do that.”

Damian folds his arms.

“What would I get out of that useless goal?”

“What would you want?”

“Daniel, Master Bruce would not-“

“A knife,” Damian interrupts. “Not just any knife though. It has to be special.”

Danny hums in thought, studying Damian for a moment, almost making the boy squirm.

“Deal.”

He holds out his hand and Damian shakes it after a second of hesitation. Danny nods to the boy, then nods to Alfred, and he’s finally out the door making a portal as he walks from the gentle breeze of outside to the chill of ectoplasm, transforming into his kingly attire as he crosses the threshold.

The GIW had a lot to answer for and he couldn’t hold his subjects back any longer. The United States had declared war against the Infinite Realms and he would be the one to answer.

[cherienymphe]

Escapism

Topper Thornton x Reader

Summary: Your brother always stayed up with you whenever you couldn’t sleep and nothing has changed now that his best friend is the reason for your late nights.

warnings: Dub-Con, stepcest, cheating, toxic relationship, semi-public sex, jealousy, secret relationship, side of Rafe x reader, lots of playing in Rafe's face, kook!reader, non canon ages

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

⭑

You were a shitty girlfriend.

Perhaps, in some ways, you were being too harsh on yourself because it wasn’t like Rafe would ever win boyfriend of the year. The blond came with a plethora of issues that could only be fixed with therapy—something you probably wouldn’t even be able to pay him to do—and he chose to handle every single one with one horrible coping mechanism after the next. When it was all said and done though, you really only had yourself to blame.

It wasn’t like you were a stranger to the man before you started dating him.

You knew Rafe well—you’d grown up with him—so was it really his fault that you chose to ignore every single thing you knew about him in the hopes that he would mature and change? Was it his fault that you forgave him time and time again with the hopes that he could still change? Was he the asshole for being him or were you the asshole for going into this with the expectation he’d be something he wasn’t?

“Come on,” Topper would say to you in the dead of night. “You and I both know what he’s like—what he’s always been like.”

It was usually after he’d listen to you cry over Rafe and whatever girl he’d kissed or whatever awful thing he’d said to you, pupils blown and alcohol on his breath. He’d pull you to sit back, hands rubbing over your arms in an attempt to calm you down. It was always well into the night when you both should’ve been asleep, but per your routine as of late, you’d be waiting up for Rafe to call or text or walk through the door.

Anything to let you know he wasn’t passed out drunk in a ditch somewhere.

“Rafe can take care of himself just fine.”

Or some variation of that would reach your ears, and you’d press your hands to your face in exhaustion. You’d never miss the bitterness—borderline malice—in Topper’s voice as he said something like that. You knew it wasn’t directed at you, but more so your relationship with the other blond as a whole and his frustration with it. Topper never wanted you to date Rafe, and you knew he took no pleasure in watching Rafe prove him right.

Rafe may have been his best friend…

…but you were ten and Topper was twelve when his mother married your father. He’d been protective of you since day one, having been an only child before that, and you knew that he hated having to let you make your own choices and mistakes with the guy you’d both once called a friend. If you and Rafe came out of this relationship intact, you doubted you’d ever call him ‘friend’ again.

He’d hurt you too much for that.

You weren’t a bad girlfriend for thinking such thoughts. Nor were you a bad girlfriend for trying to break up with him on several occasions, something Rafe would always talk you out of with promises of remorse and change. You didn’t even think you were a bad girlfriend for venting about your frustration and hurt to his best friend—your stepbrother.

You were a shitty girlfriend for allowing something to continue that should’ve ended years ago.

Fed up with talking about Rafe and how badly he’d hurt your feelings earlier in the day, Topper had pressed his lips to yours, effectively shutting you up with a kiss. A kiss that you returned, shoulders sagging and a weight lifting off of your chest as his arms circled around your waist. Rafe had called you a nag hours before, subsequently telling you he wouldn’t be staying over before hanging up without another word.

It had hurt you, but you were sure Topper was just relieved to have you all to himself.

Or at the very least, wouldn’t be tempted to fuck you anyway—Rafe under the same roof be damned.

You both were quiet in the dark living room—your parents asleep upstairs—and the longer you kissed him, the more you just wanted to forget about Rafe. The t-shirt you wore was bunching up under the blonde’s hands, and you gasped when his mouth trailed down to your neck. You could feel how much he wanted you, and any other night you would’ve loved to drag this out, but much like Topper…

You just wanted to feel him inside of you.

You never wore any underwear to bed, both for convenience and just because. It was something Topper had come to appreciate, and when you helped him pull his shorts down, cock springing free, you couldn’t slide down the couch fast enough. He hooked one hand under your thigh, helping you and dragging you closer, the other squeezing his cock with long strokes.

He rubbed the tip of himself against you a few times, coating the head in your essence, unsurprised at how wet and ready for him you already were. The feel made you bite the inside of your cheek, lifting your hips in an attempt to get him to sink into you even if just a little. You didn’t miss the soft chuckle that rang through the air.

“I’m sorry,” he huskily told you, pushing into you with one slow thrust. “Is that better?”

You hated his mocking tone, but not as much as you loved the feel of him stretching you out. You clawed at him, pulling him closer, sighing into his mouth when he finally kissed you again. The movements of his hips were slow, too afraid to do too much and make too much noise. The pace was enough to make your head spin and was definitely enough to make you squirm beneath him. When you started lifting your hips to meet him halfway, he groaned into the kiss.

Rafe was the furthest thing from your mind.

Sliding your hands up Topper’s frame, you threaded your fingers through his hair, nails lightly dragging along his scalp. By the way he shuddered against you, you knew that he liked that. Every snap of his hips into yours had you swallowing down every noise that threatened to escape. His cock stroked your walls in a way that made you squeeze your eyes shut.

Shifting, you felt his hand slide down to rest on the inside of your thigh, pushing it and spreading it until your leg hung off of the couch. At that, you did gasp, a choaked sound escaping your lips before you snapped them shut. His free hand was beside your head now, forearm resting on the couch cushion. You both were quiet, but your soft labored breathing could still be heard if you listened hard enough.

When you softly moaned his name, he shushed you.

“I want…” you fought to catch your breath enough to speak. “I want you to come inside of me.”

You felt another shiver travel up his spine, head falling into the crook of your neck at that. You knew he wasn’t close, but you felt like making that known. It wasn’t something you both made a habit of, but you loved the feel of Topper spilling into you, cock twitching as he coated your walls in his release. When you pushed against his hand, he got the hint, and you circled his waist with your legs, ankles hooking at the small of his back.

Topper took his time fucking you.

He often did, feeling no need to rush or no fear that you’d get caught. You didn’t know if he was just that confident in how quickly you could pull yourselves together or that it simply wouldn’t happen. Some part of you wondered if maybe he just didn’t care. You knew that couldn’t be true for several reasons, the most pressing being your boyfriend.

It was funny.

Rafe had probably cheated on you more times than you actually knew of, but the minute some other guy looked at you for even just a second too long, he was gearing up for a fight. You didn’t know if he was performative or just that skilled at compartmentalization, but you hated it. What good did it do for him to act so noble and possessive when way too many people knew how much he’d embarrassed you over the past six months?

You didn’t doubt that he’d try to kill Topper in some coked out rage if he ever knew.

Topper’s hand was cupping your breast under your shirt as he pressed kisses to your neck and jaw. He was whispering in your ear, telling you how good you felt and how wet you were, and how much he wanted to feel you coming around him. He knew what to say to send you over the edge, and at the first sound, he covered your mouth in another kiss to swallow your moans.

You squeezed him tight, walls clenching as he fucked you through your climax, cock plunging into your soaking cunt as he chased his own. His thrusts grew sloppy, and they weren’t as languid, and his blond strands kissed your forehead as they grew messy and awkward with sweat. Your legs had long fallen around him, and you pressed your hand against his lower back.

When he came, he buried his face into where your neck and shoulder met, groaning into the skin. You shuddered at the feel of him spilling into you, still clenching around him as remnants of your orgasm finally started to dissipate. His breathing was heavy against your skin before pulling back just enough to touch his forehead to yours.

You could only hear your efforts to catch your breath.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

You nodded, positive he could feel the action against his forehead. You fingered the top of his shorts, and you bit your lip. You didn’t say it back often—something you still had trouble accepting and admitting—but you told him enough so that he’d never doubt it.

“Can I stay in your room tonight?” you quietly asked him. “Rafe probably won’t come over until after noon…if he comes over, at all.”

You tried not to let your voice shrink at the thought, but Topper caught it anyway. Pulling out of you and sitting up, he grabbed your arm and pulled you with him. Righting himself, he pulled you to your feet, his other hand pushing his hair away from his face.

“You know you never have to ask,” he told you.

His hands were comfortably on your waist as he followed behind you, guiding you upstairs.

“What…? You got a problem or something?”

You knew it was coming when you were the only one who wasn’t laughing, unamused as he recounted his tale of how he’d cornered Pope. You’d never known the other guy to get into any trouble or bother anyone, and while you knew there would never be anything you could do about whatever petty rivalry your brother and your boyfriend and their friends involved themselves in, Pope just seemed like low hanging fruit.

He wasn’t even the type to fight back.

“I just don’t find it funny,” was all you said, squinting under the harsh rays of the sun. “You know Pope’s not even like that. I might’ve laughed if it were JJ or…I don’t know…someone who would actually put up a fight.”

Rafe’s entire demeanor clouded over at that, and you were prepared for whatever was about to come out of his mouth when Topper spoke.

“Rafe,” the other blond warned. “Chill.”

He seemed to anticipate Rafe’s ire just as much as you did, and Rafe paused, glancing at his best friend before huffing. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing you with that cold blue gaze of his. The sun shone off of his dirty blond strands, the tresses curtained along his forehead, and you watched him bring his hand up to rest against his lips before finally settling on a better response than what you both knew you almost got.

“So, what are you trying to say?”

Choosing to end this fight before it even began, you sighed, looking away.

“I’m not saying anything, Rafe. You can do whatever you want,” you murmured. “You always do.”

He heard that loud and clear, and the laugh he let out wasn’t humorous in the slightest. You heard him roughly get up from his seat, chair scraping against the wooden floor. You watched him snatch his glass off the table, mumbling something about needing a refill but not before making a comment to Topper that was solely intended for you.

“Get your sister, Top,” your boyfriend drawled, making you cross your arms over your chest.

You could feel the man in question’s eyes on you, and you avoided his gaze.

“Sometimes I swear you like fighting with him just as much as he does you.”

At that, you scoffed, looking at him in disbelief.

“I didn’t laugh because he beat up Pope Heyward…and that was apparently a problem,” you pointed out to which Topper merely shrugged, unable to disagree. “I apologize for not finding it funny.”

“Babe,” he softly said, reaching out and touching your arm. “He’s a Pogue, and you know how Rafe is.”

His excuse for Rafe’s behavior only made you roll your eyes, and you heard him sigh as you reached for your stuff. He said your name, trying to get you to sit back down, but you were only more determined to leave once you caught sight of Kelce walking up the steps to the restaurant too. Dealing with all three of them at once was enough to give you a coronary.

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t answer Rafe as you passed him on his way back to the table, ignoring Kelce too when he said hey to you. You hated to take it out on him when he didn’t actually do anything this time, but you knew his mindset was just as bad as Rafe’s, and so you figured it was preemptively deserved. You didn’t need to be a genius to know that Rafe was going to talk shit about you the second you were out of sight.

It was one of those days where you really felt emboldened to finally break up with him for good. Rafe hadn’t been good to you nor right for you since the beginning, and you knew that if Topper was a lesser person, he would’ve said ‘I told you so’ a million times by now. You were grateful that he didn’t make you feel worse for being naïve enough to ever believe in Rafe Cameron.

Although, some part of you wondered if having you crawl into his bed night after night was satisfaction enough.

It was hours later when he was softly apologizing for both his and Rafe’s behavior, fingers digging into your waist as you pushed yourself down onto him. Rafe had long fallen asleep, his light snores easing your worry as you’d snuck out of your room. Topper was awake—as you’d hoped—and it was true that you’d only intended to talk. Rafe’s attitude hadn’t been much better when you finally reunited again, something you were sure Topper had overheard.

“You really want to talk about Rafe, right now?” he’d whispered, hand sliding along your thigh.

“Topper,” you’d quietly hissed in warning. “Not…tonight. He’s…”

You didn’t need to finish that sentence, feeling no need to as you gestured towards his door. The blond had fixed you with a look that made your stomach flip, a hint of a smirk dancing along his pink lips as he held your gaze.

“That’s never stopped us before.”

You’d swallowed at that, feeling unsure, but that was a feeling that had never stopped the other man before either. The first time he’d ever kissed you, you’d felt unsure, but Topper hadn’t cared, holding you to him and fingering you on the back deck while his mother threw some grand party downstairs. You still remembered the way you came around his fingers, an admission of insecurities somehow leading to your first ever sexual experience—and with your own stepbrother no less.

“Topper,” you’d quietly warned when he brushed his lips against yours. “Rafe…”

“Do…not…talk about him, right now,” he’d slowly said, fingers grazing along your folds just as slow.

Despite your hand against his shoulder, he’d laid you down, lips finding the skin just under your jaw.

“He’s the last thing I want to talk about, right now.”

…and he’d meant it, curving his fingers into you while pressing open mouthed kisses to your jaw and throat and collarbone. Any protest you had was swallowed down and quickly forgotten at the slick feeling between your legs, Topper’s fingers sinking into your cunt with ease. Your own twisted into the fabric of his shirt, hips lifted towards his hand, fighting to swallow down a whimper each time his thumb circled your clit.

“Fuck,” he’d cursed into your skin. “I love how wet you get for me.”

It wasn’t long after that that he was hurrying to get inside of you, shirts and shorts discarded as he pulled you on top of him. When you sank down onto him, he’d sighed, throwing his head back and lifting his hips. With your hands on his stomach, you’d lifted yourself until the tip of his cock just barely remained inside of you before sliding back down.

You gently bounced on top of him, hyper aware of who was just in the other room. You could tell that Topper wasn’t a huge fan, feeling that you had to pick one between being on top and being gentle, but it couldn’t be both. When his hands slid up your frame, they rested on the sides of your neck before pulling you down. Your eyes fell closed when you kissed him, and you gasped into his mouth when he lifted his hips, driving himself up into you.

You mentally cursed, realizing you’d been tricked.

With his hands quickly sliding down to snake around your waist, Topper wasted no time in lifting his hips to push his cock up into you. The force of his thrusts had you squeezing him in more ways than one, lips parted and eyes tight as he roughly fucked himself up into you. His bed shook under his movements, and you couldn’t stop yourself from whining into his mouth, the sound of him sinking into you reaching your ears.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he hummed, one hand coming up to rest on your cheek.

When his bed knocked into the wall, he halted his movements, using the moment to both catch his breath and listen. Your own heart stuttered, digging your nails into his chest because you’d literally told Topper so. Once Rafe was knocked out, it was usually pretty hard to wake him up, but it would be just your luck that this night of all nights he’d be a light sleeper.

You really didn’t want to imagine the chaos if he left your room in search of you only to find his best friend balls deep inside of you.

When no worrying sounds reached your ears, Topper took that as a sign to continue, knees bent as he thrust up into you again. You could tell he was close by the way his cock twitched inside of you, and something nagged in the back of your mind about that. When you attempted to pull yourself off of him, he held you tighter.

“Topper,” you gasped, a warning in your tone. “Don’t-.”

Your words were abruptly swallowed when he rolled you both, pinning you beneath him and jerking his hips into yours. The rough and fast pace had you momentarily forgetting your train of thought, weakly pushing against his stomach. You both knew why you didn’t want him to finish inside of you, but he didn’t seem to care about Rafe possibly sinking into you in the early hours of the morning with his best friend’s cum dried along your folds.

You yelped when you came, a roaring sound in your ears as you felt him do the same, filling you up with a grunt. His hips didn’t stop snapping against yours the entire time, fucking you through it and fucking his cum into you. He had you completely caged beneath him, and all you could do was quietly milk his cock, toes curling as you scratched at his back.

When clarity finally hit, the fog lifting, you roughly pushed him away. You didn’t miss his quiet chuckle, and you didn’t spare him a glance as you reached for your oversized t-shirt—his t-shirt.

“You’re such an asshole,” you mumbled, pulling it over your head and slapping his hand away when he reached down to slide his fingers between your sticky folds.

You didn’t spare Topper another glance before hurrying out of his room.

You kept your eyes on Rafe as he flew down the road, the loud music making his truck almost vibrate. He was ignoring you, preoccupied with his conversation with Kelce who was in the passenger seat. It was funny because the only one with a right to be mad was you, recalling the fight you’d had on the beach not even an hour ago.

“She was all over you, and you just stood there and let it happen,” you’d yelled at him, feeling humiliated for the umpteenth time.

“I barely remember what that girl even looks like,” was his reply, pupils blown. “It was nothing, baby.”

You had slapped his hand away when he reached for you, unmoved by the way his countenance darkened. The sounds of the party just down the beach only served to remind you how you felt when you walked up on him with his hand on some girl’s waist, her lips trailing kisses along his neck. You could tell she was drunk, and instead of pushing her away, Rafe just entertained it.

Your eyes had only met for half a second before you were turning away.

You didn’t even know why he chased you down the beach, and that was what you’d told him.

“You’re not sorry…you don’t feel bad, and you know what? You’ll probably do worse two weeks from now, so why are you even here?”

You’d shrugged at him, certain your confusion was evident on your face.

“Look, it was nothing,” he’d spat at you. “Once again, you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

That had actually made you laugh, tears kissing your eyes.

“If you caught me cozying up to any guy with half the effort that she was with you…you would lose your shit, and you know it,” you’d sneered, watching his jaw tick. “I would love to see the look on your face if I fucked someone else.”

He’d gotten in your face, his finger almost touching your eye.

“I was barely touching her-.”

“That wasn’t the case three months ago,” you threw in his face. “…and I can only imagine what I don’t know about.”

Rafe’s nostrils had flared, and for a split second, you swore you saw some shame pass through his blue gaze. It was gone just as quickly as it came though, anger replacing it instead.

“You wouldn’t dare, you wouldn’t fucking dare,” he bit out, invading your personal space. “I said I was sorry, and you said you forgave me, so don’t think you can use that as an excuse to go fuck some asshole who clearly doesn’t value his life.”

His words had only made you angrier, and you had to bite your tongue to keep your face even, recalling the feel of Topper’s cock inside of you just thirty minutes before Rafe came to pick you both up. You and your boyfriend had stared each other down for a few moments more before he spoke again.

“I’d love to see you do that,” he finally said, shrugging. “I would love to see you try when you can’t even stick to staying broken up with me.”

His words had the desired effect, and you’d felt your face fall.

“Now, you’re trying to convince me you’d ever have the nerve to cheat on me?” he’d wondered, fingers grazing his own chest. “Don’t make me laugh.”

He’d left you with a scoff, and you hadn’t been able to stop your tears from spilling over. All you’d ever tried to do was routinely look for and believe in the best in Rafe, and you couldn’t believe that he threw that in your face like some insult. Maybe it was an insult though…because how many times were you going to let him show you exactly who he was? How many times were you going to let him play in your face?

The day after you’d confronted him about sleeping with some girl—only privy to the information because of none other than Topper—you’d cried yourself to sleep. It was always little things before that, but that incident was what broke you, allowing Topper to slip into your room and wrap his arms around you. It was reminiscent of a time where he used to sneak into your room almost every night, your parents none the wiser to what went on underneath their roof. You’d been eighteen then, Topper twenty, and you both mutually agreed to putting a stop to it.

However, that night, his mind had clearly gone to the same place yours had.

When he kissed you, you’d pulled him closer, and two years after you ended your forbidden dalliance, you resumed it again. For a few hours, you’d forgotten all about Rafe and what he did and just basked in the feel of Topper pushing his cock into you, embarrassingly turned on because of how much you’d missed him. You hadn’t paid any mind to the countless phone calls and texts that were blowing up your phone, no one else but Rafe and his vain attempts to fix what he did.

The day you forgave him, you knew you were making a huge mistake.

Rafe throwing the grace you’d shown him in your face had you stomping to his truck. You’d ignored the feel of eyes on you, knowing it wasn’t Rafe, opting to slide in the backseat without acknowledging him. Kelce—ever the standup guy—just pretended not to notice the tension between you and his friend as he slid into the passenger seat. The moment Rafe’s truck was on the road—music blaring through the vehicle—you’d grabbed Topper’s hand.

He didn’t protest at all when you dragged it across your thigh, pushing his fingers between your legs.

…and that was how you found yourself watching Rafe, keeping your eyes on him not because you actually wanted to, but because you didn’t need him looking over his shoulder. Even if he did, it was dark, but still, you weren’t exactly emotionless as Topper slid his fingers in and out of you. Your lips were parted, and your chest was heaving, and even though all that could really be heard was whatever rap song Rafe put on, you were still pulling your lip between your teeth.

You reached out to grip the door handle when Topper added another finger, his hand soaked in you, and you reached down to place your own hand on top of his. You spread your legs a little more, and you couldn’t stop yourself from lifting your hips a bit. You were thankful for the music, certain that if the truck were quieter, they’d be able to hear the wet sounds of his fingers pushing between your folds.

He pulled them in and out of you for the duration of the ride, just slowly stroking you and teasing you. Every time you started to tighten around his fingers, he’d stop, just letting them sit there long enough for you to come down from a high that quite never happened. Like clockwork, he’d start moving his fingers again, and he only fully pulled them out of you—underwear snapping back into place—when Rafe pulled into his driveway.

He'd sucked them clean by the time Rafe and Kelce opened their doors, and when your boyfriend saw that neither of you were moving, he paused. You crossed your arms over your chest when he glanced at you, throwing him a frown.

“I need to talk to Y/N for a minute,” Topper told him, and Rafe only scoffed.

“Please do,” he mockingly said, tone full of arrogance as he wrongly assumed what the conversation would be about. “…because I didn’t do shit, and I’m tired of your sister blowing things out of proportion.”

That last part was aimed at you, and you only coolly met your boyfriend’s gaze before he slammed the door shut.

“He’s such an asshole,” you mumbled, staring at his back as he walked away. “I’m breaking up with him. For good this time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Topper’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Yeah, we both know how much you’ll hate having me all to yourself again.”

The words were barely out of your mouth before you turned towards him, reaching to slip your hand down his pants the moment Rafe was inside of his house. Wrapping your fingers around Topper’s cock, you slowly stroked him, uncaring as to how risky that was. You were just angrier than you ever were at the realization that Rafe didn’t appreciate how gracious you’d been, and how many other girls would’ve dumped him months ago for everything he’d pulled. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if Rafe respected you less for it.

That realization didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would…because you’d long stopped respecting him in return.

You moved to settle in Topper’s lap, facing away from him as he lifted his hips enough to only just pull his pants down. One hand was pulling at your panties, yanking them aside just in time for you to sink down onto his cock. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning as he filled you up, throbbing inside of your heat. It was almost too easy, courtesy of his fingers and how wet he’d made you.

You lifted yourself slightly, moving over him and hanging onto the headrest of the driver’s seat while Topper lifted his hips too. His grunts and labored pants were a little loud, but that was only because you were alone. Rafe nor Kelce was going to hear anything from all the way out here in a closed vehicle. You clung to the seat harder as you thought about Rafe’s haughty tone and that challenging look in his blue eyes, so certain that you’d never do to him what he did to you.

So certain that you’d never have the guts.

Speaking of, it felt like you could feel Topper deep in your stomach as you rode him. His hands were tight on your waist as he bounced you on top of him, cheeks grazing his thighs with every movement. One of those hands slid around you, reaching under your dress and resting on you, fingers rubbing over your cunt.

“You’re doing so good, babe,” he whispered in the otherwise quiet truck. “Just like that.”

You knew that this couldn’t take long—and Topper knew it too—and feeling you come around him always sent him over the edge, so your eyes rolled when he started circling and dragging his fingers across your clit. He lightly pinched it, making you jerk, and the fact that you were fucking him in Rafe’s own backseat had you coming hard.

The broken moans that tumbled out of your mouth should have embarrassed you, but you were too concerned with sliding yourself up and down his cock, squeezing him tight and making him come too. Topper wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you back against him as you came together. Knowing that you’d stayed out here long enough, he was gently pushing you off of him the second he started to soften.

You could feel him dripping out of you, and you hurried to put your underwear back in place.

“Did you talk some sense into her?” was the first thing Rafe greeted you with the moment you both made it back inside.

You ignored him, hearing the tone of Topper’s voice as he said Rafe’s name. You knew that it would just be another useless talk of him almost begging Rafe to do better. The older blond never listened to his friend though, and you knew it didn’t twist Topper up too much, always happy to make you feel better when your boyfriend fucked up.

He took advantage of it every time.

Like now, for example.

Your hands clung to the railing of the back porch, head bowed as Topper drove into you from behind. Rafe was asleep in his own room—Kelce asleep in a guest room—and you couldn’t help yourself. You needed him again, sneaking into his designated guest room and begging him to fuck you. He was never one to protest, pressing his lips to yours and pulling you against him while murmuring something along the lines of ‘not in here’.

There were too many people in the Cameron household for him to touch you on the same floor as everyone else.

You kept pushing yourself to your tippy toes, thighs squeezing together with every slow stroke of his cock. Rafe’s t-shirt was pushed up your back, and the light slap of skin against skin reached your ears as well as the wet sound every time he slid between your folds. When he leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm curled around your waist.

“You love this,” he murmured, nipping at your ear. “You love fucking me right under his nose…especially when he really pisses you off.”

If you’d tried to deny it, the way you tightened around him would’ve exposed the truth anyway. You did. Rafe underestimated you, and you loved proving him wrong, especially with his best friend of all people. You moaned, pushing back against him at that. Topper only chuckled, twisting a hand at your roots and pushing you back down over the railing again.

After coming around him twice, the insides of your thighs were embarrassingly sticky, and when Topper eventually stilled against you, pumping you full of his cum, that only made your predicament worse. When he pulled out of you, you reached down to wipe away some of the mess, fighting to catch your breath and reminding yourself that you’d have to make a stop to the bathroom before rejoining Rafe.

Topper was silent the entire ride home, and unlike with Rafe, you had no one but yourself to blame in this situation. Whenever you happened to glance over, you’d catch sight of his clenched jaw, cold blue eyes—so much like Rafe’s—focused on the road. His knuckles were white from the strain of his skin pulled taut over them, a death grip on the wheel of his jeep.

You didn’t speak because there wasn’t much you could say.

So fed up with Rafe’s blatant disrespect—and the pitying looks the odd girl threw you at the party as he danced with some stranger—you hadn’t thought of who else you’d be hurting when you grabbed the nearest guy and pressed your lips to his. You were so far gone with the alcohol, and the satisfaction you’d felt only drove you to close your eyes at the feel of his lips moving against yours.

It had also caused you to momentarily forget about your boyfriend, a misstep that was quickly remedied when you found yourself covered in alcohol.

Several of his friends—Kelce included—had been struggling to hold Rafe back as he tried to make his way to you. His angry shouts could be heard over the music, and you suspected that the bloodthirsty glint in his blue eyes was what drove your poor unsuspecting victim to slip away. Watching him get further out of reach only drove Rafe crazy…until his angry gaze landed on you, as if just remembering your presence.

He was screaming at you, calling you every name in the book, and you’d taken a step back as his friends struggled to keep him from getting to you. Only one stood off to the side, and when you remembered Topper’s presence, you hadn’t been able to keep the sheepish look off of your face. Adopting the older brother role, he’d quickly stomped towards you, yanking your arm as he pulled you along and away from your enraged boyfriend.

“I think its time you call it a night,” he’d evenly said.

That was the last thing he’d said to you, holding you as you stumbled to his car.

When his phone rang again, cutting through the silence in the vehicle, he finally answered it.

“Rafe, she’s drunk,” Topper told him the minute he picked it up. “…and you can’t act like you didn’t have this coming a little.”

You shifted in your seat, thinking to yourself that you’d gotten back at Rafe many times over. You didn’t hear what your boyfriend—possibly ex-boyfriend—said on the other line, but it was loud, and you could pick up on his tone. Topper chuckled to himself, and if you hadn’t been looking at his face, you might’ve thought it was genuine. His frustration with both Rafe and you—mostly you at the moment—was all over his face.

“There’s a whole list of shit you’ve done while drunk or high. You can talk to her tomorrow,” he told his best friend, meeting your gaze. “I’m handling it, so if you come over, I’m telling you now I’m not answering the door.”

You looked out the window at that, swallowing at the venom in both his voice and his gaze.

Your parents weren’t home, out of town for the weekend, and you were never more grateful, certain you’d never been this drunk in your life. Topper was still ignoring you as he helped you inside, and when you stumbled away from him, leaning against the table by the entrance, you gave him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

Before you could do it, he was dropping to his knees, angrily taking off your shoes. You flinched at the way he threw them across the room, slowly rising and staring you down. The house was quiet—too quiet for comfort—and you licked your lips.

“Topper-.”

“It’s already bad enough seeing you kiss him and be with him and fuck him,” he spat at you, pointing outside. “Even worse when he treats you like shit, and you just won’t leave.”

You frowned at him, tears kissing your eyes.

“I’m…sorry for just hoping he’ll do better…”

“He won’t!”

Topper’s voice bounced off of the walls, and you shrunk away from him as he got in your face.

“How many times does he have to show you that? Why do you still expect better from him, so much so to the point where you’re kissing random guys, now?” he wondered, rearing back away from you with a frown. “Yeah, you wanted to make Rafe angry, but we both know the truth.”

You looked away, pressing your lips together when Topper stepped closer. You could feel his breath on your cheek as he exhaled through his nose, the atmosphere tense.

“Rafe’s mad because you dared to play his own game,” he slowly whispered. “I love you, and we both know it’s me you’re really with, not him, and I’m fucking pissed.”

You swallowed with one look into his eyes, finally finding the strength to face him, and your heart skipped a beat at what you saw there.

Before you could say another word, his lips were on yours, fingers digging into your arms. The sequence of events happened too fast for your drunk brain to catch up with, only gasping when he reached down to press his hand into the small of your back, yanking you closer. If it wasn’t for him holding you, you would’ve tripped over your own feet as he forced you into the living room.

Topper’s teeth nipped at your throat while he pulled at your dress, something Rafe had bought.

“I fucking hate this dress,” he quietly confessed as if reading your mind.

The sound of tearing fabric reached your ears as he forced you to bend back, his arm around you keeping you from collapsing. He kept you against him as he laid you down on the floor, in a hurry to get you at least half naked. His other hand reached behind his head to yank off his shirt, and you only had the sense to hold onto his arms while he kissed along your chest. When his pants were pushed down just enough, he pushed into you with a grunt.

You scratched at his skin at the rough entry, but it took no time for each thrust to become as smooth as they always were whenever he got his hands on you. One of your hands clawed at the rug, and you moaned—loud—when he gripped the hair at the nape of your neck. You suspected that Top had done a line or two tonight, gasping at his uncharacteristically tight grip.

He was fucking you so good that you almost missed the sound of a vehicle in the yard. When you did, your eyes flew open, and you attempted to look around towards the window. You guys were too close to the couch to see over it, and when you whined, pushing against him, Topper only grabbed your hands and pinned them down beside your head.

“Topper, I think…”

You couldn’t get it out, groaning as he curved his hips against yours.

“Fuck him,” he breathed, pounding into you.

The harsh knocks on the door didn’t faze him, and Topper only let one of your hands go to reach down and reach under your thigh. He rested that leg over his shoulder, pushing it towards you as his nose brushed yours, lips parted as he thrust into you. You were dripping around him, teeth sinking into your lip as Rafe knocked on the door again, trying the locked handle. Somewhere, you could hear your phone vibrating…and then Topper’s after a while.

The man on top of you didn’t care, stretching you out, pushing his cock into your tight hole.

“Break up with him, or don’t,” he whispered to you, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your nose. “…but what you pulled tonight is not happening again.”

You drunkenly nodded at him, mewling as he slowed down his thrusts, the sucking sound of his cock plunging into you reaching your ears. You heard your phone vibrate again.

“You know where to find me when he pisses you off.”

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Spencer Reid x reader, Rossi is readers father, she is not part of the BAU, Curvy and much younger than Spencer at 26, loves how smart he is and likes to learn about facts she’s just not as smart, loves baking. Smut?? Maybe?? Thank you!

comfortable (spencer reid x fem!plussize!reader)

in which you & spencer discuss telling your dad, David Rossi, about your relationship

warnings: NSFW!!! MDNI!!! smut, smol age gap, fingering, praise kink, soft!dom Spencer, pet names

word count: 3658

A/N: thanks for this request 🥹 it was really fun and I think maybe a pt 2 where they actually tell Rossi could be a lot of fun, can you imagine the way Rossi’s eyes would bug out of his head 💀

He was standing in the doorway of your off-campus apartment with this goofy grin on his face. He was older than you - only by a few years, but still in an entirely different stage of life - and he worked with your dad, but you’d never felt butterflies like these before.

It felt like movie love. Like romance novel love, and not those cheesy paperbacks with the Fabio-type model on the front. But like the more modern ones, the ones with the cartoon people on the covers and the big, colorful block letters. You had about a hundred of them on your bookcase. You could go reference them right now if you really wanted to.

Spencer Reid blinked those big, brown eyes at you and your mouth flickered uncontrollably into a soft smile. “Your doorbell doesn’t work,” Spencer pointed out by way of greeting. He still had that goofy grin on his face as you stepped aside so he could come in. You locked the door behind him.

“Didn’t I tell you that?” You mused, turning around to face him. He’d been to your apartment before, but usually trailing after you. Never meeting you here. He shook his head.

Then he lifted the bouquet of flowers in his hands and your smile grew into a full-blown grin. “What’re these for?” You squealed, taking the bouquet and immediately raising them to your nose. Baby pink carnations. He remembered your favorite flower.

He remembered everything, you reminded yourself.

“They’re your favorites. You said they reminded you of your mom’s house,” Spencer said, then took one of those sharp breaths that told you he was about to bequeath upon you a boatload of information. You barely had time to swoon over the fact that he remembered why carnations were your favorite.

“Did you know that carnations were actually mentioned in literature as far back as Ancient Greece? The name is believed to come from the Latin corona - meaning crown or wreath, as it was one of the more common flowers used to make laurels and crowns,” Spencer rattled off.

“We should make flower crowns out of them,” you proposed with an excited giggle, walking past Spencer and into the small kitchen of your apartment. He chuckled and followed you, standing behind you as you took the plastic sleeve off the bouquet, holding the flowers over the sink so water wouldn’t get on the floor. “Oh,” you murmured, not realizing how thick the stalks of the flowers were. “We can’t tie these together,” you pouted.

Spencer’s hands found your hips as he stood behind you, his palms contouring to match your curves. His lips met the side of your head, between your temple and your hairline. “You could put them on your table?” He suggested.

You felt stuck with the dripping flowers in your hand and the overwhelming desire to turn around and kiss your boyfriend silly. “Vase,” you blurted out instead of speaking like a normal human being. Spencer made your brain turn into mush.

“Where?”

“Shelf by the fridge.”

Spencer’s hands left your hips, but not before he gave them a gentle squeeze, as if to say I’ll be back soon. You turned your head to the side and watched as Spencer grabbed the vase off the shelf, returning to your side in moments to help you set the flowers in it.

This relationship was still very new. It had been about three months since you went out to lunch with your dad on some random Thursday, and he brought you back to work with him to introduce you to his team. It had been eight weeks since Spencer took you out for the first time - dinner and a walk around the nearest park, where Spencer had grabbed your hand for the first time, where he’d rambled off some fact about willow trees you couldn’t be bothered to remember because shortly after, he’d pressed his lips to yours and you’d made out underneath one.

He was away a lot, which was to be expected, given the nature of the BAU’s work. But he called you when he could, and he made every effort to see you when they weren’t on assignment. You couldn’t really talk with him about work - “it’s classified,” he’d always say with a thin-lipped smile, as if to say he’d really like to tell you, but he just couldn’t.

“What’re you thinking about?” Spencer asked as you floated from the sink to set the vase of flowers on the kitchen table. His voice always pulled you out of your own head.

“Nothing in particular, really,” you told him, turning to face him. Spencer reached a hand out and took yours, tugging you to him. “You, mostly,” you teased as his palms lay against your hips. “I think it might be time.”

“Time?” Spencer asked as he craned his neck down to kiss you, briefly, on the lips. So, his mind was obviously elsewhere.

“Time,” you confirmed. “To tell my dad. About us.”

Spencer pulled his head back so he could look at you properly, his fingers dug into the soft, sensitive flab above your hip bones, and you scrunched your nose up because it tickled, resisting the urge to giggle. “You do, do you?” He asked, a playful smile crossing his lips. “And here I thought you enjoyed the secrecy.”

“No, as a matter of fact, I hate it,” you laughed breathily. “I hate lying to my dad.”

“For the record, we haven’t lied about anything,” Spencer pointed out. “We’ve just withheld information. It’s entirely different.”

That was true, you supposed. When your dad asked you last week at your monthly dinner at his house if you were seeing anyone, you just nodded and told him you weren’t ready to tell him about it yet, and he respected that. You didn’t not tell him it was his coworker.

“I guess so,” you replied, your lips pursing into the corner of your mouth.

To Spencer’s credit, the whole keeping-it-from-your-dad thing was your idea. You’d done it for a multitude of reasons - mostly so you could figure out if this thing with Spencer was going to go anywhere before your dad was in the loop, so you could go with Spencer at your own pace, get to know him without any third-party interventions.

“We’ve talked about this, Y/N. It’s not anything to feel guilty about. Yeah?” Spencer reminded you, lifting one of his hands from your hips to curl his index finger and tuck it under your chin. He guided your gaze to meet his. “You’re an adult, and you can see whoever you want to see. When and if you tell Rossi is entirely up to you.”

“I know,” you nodded, sighing softly, your arms lifting and reaching up to wind around his neck. Spencer’s lips broke out in a soft smile at the action. “Isn’t it weird for you at work, though?”

“Not really?” Spencer phrased it as a question, shrugging his shoulders a little bit. “There’s never really time for personal conversation when we’re on a case, and if there is, I usually just deflect to someone else. Although, there was a close call while we were on our way back this last time,” he began, the hand under your chin dropping and moving back to your hip, guiding you back so you were flush against the kitchen counter.

“Oh, god, what happened?” You asked as you hopped up so your rear splayed out atop the counter, and Spencer moved to stand between your legs. Despite the lack of gap between your thighs, Spencer’s lanky frame fit comfortably between them. His fingers spread palm-side down against the tops of your thighs. You were biting your lip as your boyfriend continued with his story.

“I guess I was grinning down at a text you’d sent me, the one about your Short Fiction Analysis exam,” he explained, referring to one of the classes you were taking this term. “You’d said you thought Shirley Jackson was underrated, that The Lottery was one of your favorite short stories ever and you would stone anyone who disagreed,” you snickered at this, and Spencer’s hands slid just slightly further up your thighs. “That was the same reaction I had,” Spencer pointed out with a small laugh. “And Rossi’d been the one to catch it. He said that my expression was one that could only be caused by a beautiful woman.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. That sounded like your dad, all right. “And what did you say?” You asked, willing the blush in your cheeks to go away. Spencer knew already that he made you feel like you were on fire with just a simple touch, but still. Your lack of experience and the fact that you were younger than him, still in college… it always made you feel even more flustered.

“I said I could neither confirm nor deny,” Spencer laughed self-deprecatingly, rolling his eyes at himself. “And then I changed the subject. I pulled Derek in the conversation and asked him about his girlfriend.”

“Very strategic,” you commented with a bob of your throat.

“But if you want to tell him, and you think you’re ready, then I think we should,” Spencer added, and you smiled just slightly at this.

“Okay,” you smiled hazily, just as Spencer bent down to kiss you. His hands traveled to the waistband of your sweatpants and your breath hitched in your throat.

“This okay?” Spencer asked just as his long fingers curled around the waistband on either side of your hips.

You’d pulled the sweatpants all the way up over your belly button, and your tummy was incredibly ticklish. So your voice was breathy and shaky when you responded. “Mmhm.”

“If it’s not, you need to tell me,” Spencer reminded you in a low whisper, his lips planting along kissing your neck, each one tacky like a postage stamp.

“It’s okay,” you reiterated, forcing your voice to sound more full. Your hands had moved to lay flat against his chest, but now your fingers curled around the crinkly fabric of his blue dress shirt. You’d never dated anyone who dressed so grown up before. “I’m good.”

“Good,” Spencer murmured as his lips traveled up to your chin. He was mapping out your entire jawline with his lips, until finally your mouths met. He was slow and intentional at first, like he was savoring it, probably making observatory notes in his head. When his tongue teased your lips apart, you allowed him in, a small whimper escaping you.

You had scooted forward on the countertop, squeezing Spencer’s body between your thighs. Your toes curled as one of Spencer’s hands lifted to cradle the back of your head, holding your face to his like an oxygen mask. And he kept breathing you in, his tongue expertly dancing with yours, kissing you so that when he finally pulled back, you couldn’t breathe.

You were panting, your whole face red as Spencer’s hand moved from the back of your head to one of your full cheeks. His thumb swiped across your cheek and the corners of his mouth just flickered upward. “I really missed you,” he whispered, his hand moving to tuck your hair behind your ear. His other hand still rested on the waistband of your pants, fingers dipping beneath it and padding around your stretch marks.

“I missed you, too,” you murmured back, and Spencer just smiled at this lazily. “Do you… do you want to…”

Spencer’s smile slowly turned into a patient smirk. “Do I want to what?” He asked all-knowingly, his eyes meeting yours. Your cheeks flushed again, bashful and embarrassed to even ask him.

“Do you want to go to my bed?” You exhaled, and Spencer’s head dipped to press a brief kiss to your lips.

“What makes you think I can’t take care of you right here?” He smirked, and the hand on your cheek floated back down to your waistband. “Can I please take your sweatpants off, pretty girl?”

Your breath stopped and you nodded. “Yeah, but… Spence?” You pressed the pads of your fingers into his chest. His gorgeous brown eyes met yours.

“What is it?”

“If you’re going to, like, you know, right here,” you began, your chest rising and falling slowly. “I just don’t think I can, like, spread my legs apart enough for you to…”

“Would you be more comfortable lying down, Y/N?” Spencer asked. What you loved was that he wasn’t impatient about it, he wasn’t annoyed. He could just tell you were having trouble articulating your concerns and he wanted to help. He was reading your mind - well, scientifically speaking, he was probably reading your behavior and your body language - but he just got it so quick.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sighing softly in relief that he understood.

“Then let’s lie you down,” Spencer agreed. He kissed you once more, briefly, stepped back, holding his hands out to help you off the counter. Your knees were weak for multiple reasons as you wobbled towards your bedroom, letting Spencer guide you so you were flat on your back, looking up at him. “Is that better?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled as Spencer hovered over you. One knee outside your leg, the other very much in between them, his hands gripping your shoulders. Spencer craned down to kiss you again, as if a car had been jump started, and you were once again lost in it, unable to think about anything else but the man on top of you and how much you loved the way he touched you.

He wasn’t afraid of your body or how you’d react - rather, he seemed to find arousal in you being comfortable. His hands moved down to your waistband once again, obviously his fixation for the day, and he asked you again if it was okay that he remove your pants. You just nodded and told him, “yes.”

Even though the word had come out softly and raspy, in the back of your mind, you were screaming for the love of god, yes. If you stop touching me, I might commit heinous crimes.

Soon your pants were off, with some strategic shimmying over your hips and thighs, and you watched with a slightly amused expression as Spencer tossed them aside carelessly. He never did anything carelessly, so the action was a nice ego boost, knowing you could cause his system to glitch just as much as he could yours.

Spencer’s hands went back to your hips, sliding under the bottom hem of your t-shirt, inching closer to your breasts as your pelvis lifted, searching desperately for any kind of friction, your center making contact with Spencer’s knee between your legs. He dug his knee in a little further, your underpants acting as a thin divider.

“Can I take your shirt off, beautiful?” Spencer asked, and all the nerve endings in your face went numb.

“When are you gonna lose some clothes, pal?” You asked breathlessly, taken aback by your own sassiness. Spencer was too, but he laughed, a brimful sound that would have knocked you over if you weren’t already lying down.

Spencer’s laugh still lined his voice as he looked down at you. “I guess it’s only fair,” he chuckled. “Which would you-“

“Shirt,” you tugged at his collar pathetically, your fingers shaking as you tried to undo the buttons.

That stupid smirk rose on his face and Spencer kissed your nose teasingly before he took his hands in yours. “Need me to get those for you?” He asked, and you nodded. Deftly, his fingers worked the buttons until the shirt was shrugging off his shoulders. You watched with your mouth hung ajar like a garden gate.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Spencer bent down at his waist again to continue his cartographic exploration of your neck and jaw, his kisses feather light and so, so frustrating. His hands slid up your shirt again, gliding smoothly over your supple skin, his fingertips tracing your stretch marks. “Now that we’re on a level playing field,” Spencer said between kisses. “Can I please take off your shirt?”

A sound escaped you, a combination of breathy laughter and a desperate whine. “Yeah,” you murmured. Your hands moved to run through his perfect hair. It was so soft, so clean. How did he have time to keep it so clean? Your fingertips dug at his scalp as Spencer’s knee dug once again into the space between your legs. You groaned as Spencer guided you to lift your torso so your t-shirt could be tugged off over your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he commented, and you felt your cheeks redden. He kissed your lips, his swollen and plump against yours as his hands traveled down. He swung the knee that was in between your legs over so that he fully straddled you now. He seemed to want to be everywhere - your breasts, your stomach, your lips, between your legs. It was like he couldn’t decide.

“What do you want, Spence?” You asked him, and Spencer’s eyes snapped to yours. Your tongue jutted out to moisten your lips.

“What do I want?” Spencer repeated, looking at you with an incredulous expression. “I want to make you feel good, angel. Do you want me to do that for you? Do you want me to make you feel good?”

“God. Yes.” You huffed. Spencer’s mouth was on yours in an instant, kissing you repeatedly as his hand traveled down. Hovering over your underwear, Spencer’s thumb pressed against your fabric-covered center and you felt him groan, the sound reverberating through your mouth.

“You’re so wet, Y/N,” he observed and your back arched instinctively, needing him.

“Spence,” you rasped.

“Say it again,” Spencer’s eyes met yours and his brow arched just as you felt him dip his index and middle fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“Please, Spencer,” you managed to get out.

“That’s it,” he smirked, kissing your lips once as a reward before sliding your underpants down your thighs. You lifted your legs and he helped you out of them, tossing them aside like they were just collateral damage. His index finger was quick to tease at your folds, and you wondered if he had been thinking about this all day. “Open your legs a little bit more for me, angel,” he instructed.

You succumbed to his request almost instantly, and when Spencer’s finger rubbed against your clit, you had to bite back a moan. “What have I told you about holding back?” Spencer chastised you, and your eyes locked onto his. “I told you, don’t ever muffle yourself, baby. I want to hear every noise.”

“Spencer…”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. Don’t you dare.”

“That’s my girl,” Spencer smirked, and began to pump his two fingers into you. Your legs began to close on instinct, but Spencer’s other hand pushed your hair out of your eyes. “Keep ‘em open, beautiful,” he said patiently, his fingers increasing exponentially in speed. “You hear how wet you are?”

“Mmm,” was all you could say as the filthy, wet sounds emitted from your middle.

“And that’s all for me, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you choked out as your hips bucked towards his fingers.

Spencer’s fingers were relentless as he fucked you with them. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your vision going white and hazy from the pleasure, from your walls tightening around Spencer’s incredibly deft digits.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Just hang on a little longer, yeah?” Spencer cooed, his voice genuinely, tooth-achingly sweet, and you felt his lips beneath your ear. He kissed the skin there, and you felt him move his lips up to your earlobe, taking it briefly between his teeth. “You’re doing so good, baby,” he reiterated in a low whisper.

Your hands clawed desperately against his bare back for some iota of purchase, moving from his back to his hair, to his neck as he fucked you senseless. You were getting so close, whiny, needy little whimpers escaping you as Spencer continued to pump into you. And finally - finally - you reached your peak. Spencer didn’t let up, letting you ride your orgasm for as long as you could. Stars blurred your vision, and all you could see were those dark brown eyes looking so lovingly down at you.

And when you finally started to come down, Spencer’s movements slowed. He was never the type to immediately pull out. No, he merely turned down the intensity as you caught your breath, rubbing your clit gently as his fingers - soaked with you - slowly came out of you.

“How do you feel?” he asked as you panted, your eyes meeting his.

You opened your mouth to say something - anything, but no words came out. “Baby, use your words,” Spencer encouraged, and you huffed, frustrated with yourself, that you couldn’t say much of anything right now.

“G-good,” you whispered with a hoarse voice. Spencer used his clean hand to brush your hair out of your face. “Very good,” you added.

“Very descriptive,” Spencer teased with a smirk, and you were too ravished to play back.

You managed to prop yourself up on to your elbows just as Spencer moved off of you, laying down on his side so he could kiss your neck soothingly. “Y/N?” He asked.

“Yeah?” you breathed, turning so you were on your side, so you could face him.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered, and your eyes widened. You thought for a second he might be playing some sick joke, but then you looked in his eyes and saw how clear, how serious they were. Your lips flickered into a small, tired yet ridiculously happy smile. “You don’t have to say it back if you-“

“I love you, too,” you whispered, your lips meeting his in a long, slow, lazy kiss, feeling deliriously, stupidly happy.

——

A/N 2: I’ve never actually written smut before (I’ve read plenty lmfao) so if something is weird OR if you have any suggestions plzzzzz tell me I can take constructive criticism on this front xD

[chaosandmarigolds]

Bc I’ve gotten so many requests!

MafiaLeadersdaughter (MLD Ig??) ! Reader x Simon Riley :p

Lil dribble Drabble series

“Aside from the obvious,” Simon motioned to the papers over the table, the photos taken of the obscure weapons dealers and organized crime leaders information and every little fact anything could be dug up on the few people they wanted to find. “What exactly am I needed to get ou’ of this?”

To that Price gives the lieutenant a small shrug, “Collateral. Get the information you can while undercover and when your cover is blown, bring the girl back.”

He looks down at the few pictures he had of the certain sects leader, a beaming smile across the face and an arm looped through a friend’s. Unassuming, pretty, sweet looking. Easy target- all the same, smart, probably wouldn’t let any information out.

Undercover had never been his thing anyway.

-

“Good morning, Jenny,” you happily chrip as you walk into the flower shop, looking through the new arrangements and you look over to the counter- expecting to see the same smile who had seen for the past four months. Instead you see an older person, maybe finish years older, a man- a medical grade face mask over his face but you still give him a kind smile. You set down your vase you were looking over and then walk over to the counter, “I’m sorry, I was expecting Jenny. But good morning to you too!”

With a quick introduction between you both you hum to the name and then leans forward, “Oh my gosh, I love that name. I have that name on my baby name list. ‘Simon’ ugh…so cute. Anyway-“ you tap the counter and then motion to the flower arrangements, “I’m picking these up for my dad, we have some guys from Italy coming and he wants to be all ‘ou look we’re so fancy.’”

“Right. Right,” With a short nod you watch as the man mutters to himself and then grabs the flowers. Only to falter to the sight of who you assumed to be Ivon.

You glance over your shoulder and then laugh, “oh! Let me introduce you- Simon this is Ivon, Ivon’s from Russia or something, owed my father money so he’s my bodyguard until his debt his paid. Ivon say hi!”

“Hallo.”

With a nod you look back to Simon, “Are you new to the area?”

With a glance between you and Ivon Simon sets the case down, “Moved about two weeks back.”

“Oh my gosh! Please, please please! Tell me you have friends or family here.”

“No ma’am.”

“Oh ew, don’t call me ma’am, that’s my mother- god rest her soul- but! You need an official tour of Manhattan, when do you get off?”

“Five.”

“Dinner? And Ivon can take you anywhere you wanna go! Not like uh…” you look him over, “you need a guard but Ivon’s the best, and I love to get to know everyone new to the community.”

-

“‘Ello.” Johnny had picked up the phone.

“Is capn there?”

“In a breifin wit Lasswell, made contact?”

Simon runs a hand down his face as he looks out the window of the shop, watching as Ivon ever so softly helped you into the car with the flowers. “Uh….yeah yeah.”

“Need backup?”

“Nah! Nah, I….she’s takin me to dinner.”

A silence.

“She’s fuckin doin what-?

“She’s as goody as she can get! I dunnae if it an act or somethin but—anyway, the meet between the Cortitalis? It’s happening.”

“Oi- how’d ya get that out of her-“

“Johnny she told me during our small talk.”

“…so she’s stupid.”

“No. She’s not and that’s the thing-“ the bell rung as another costumer is walked in and Simon takes a breath, “Gotta go.”

—

Annn…yeah, that’s all I got. I have a plot in mind but bear with me, if you have any feedback or comments please! I would love to hear them. <3

[ortut]

Loetz - Jack in the Pulpit Hand Blown Iridescent Vase, Czechoslovakia, c. 1900

[1d1195]

Faking It (Part 2)

You can read the first part here: Faking It it wasn't a great first part in my opinion because I wrote it on my phone while falling asleep but a lot of you wanted more:

@gem1712 @sunshinextemptress94 @fairytale07 @cherry01 @daniizstyles @igave-so-manysigns

so here it is :)

~3.5k words

warnings: smut. a lot of it. good girl, praise kink, doggy, oral, 18+ only please.

“We don’t have t’do this right now,” he offered. Maybe the conversation should have happened first.

“Scared you can’t make me come?” She asked delight dancing in her eyes.

He glared at her. “Don’t.”

Harry was the only thing that was on her mind. She was lucky her autonomic nervous system oversaw things like breathing because if it required any thought, she was a goner. Harry was kissing her. Her best friend was nipping at her lips and asking for permission to let his tongue into her mouth without words. His hands were touching, caressing, and moving all over her sides. He pulled on her belt loops to get her hips closer to his, angling her so he fit snuggly between her thighs, and she could feel the hard bulge through both their clothing.

Fortunately, her autonomic nervous system also controlled her heart rate and prevented a full-blown cardiac episode. Although, she felt as if it was still close. Only Harry could mess up the automatic responses of her body with just a press of his hard length against her core. She moaned softly at the thought of it inside her.

“S’good,” he murmured breaking his mouth away from her lips to press a kiss to just below her earlobe. “Good girl,” he cooed. “Keep moaning. Gonna make y’cum so hard,” he promised.

The only brain cell that wasn’t obsessed with Harry managed to squeak out her worry. “Um... sometimes...it’s hard for me t’cum,” she whispered. It should have been awkward to say that out loud. But this was Harry. Her Harry. If it was another guy, she would have blushed and felt worse but...Harry was kissing her skin and making her think of all the things she wished he would do to her so many times. Whenever he wore those sparkly vests that showed off all his muscles while he danced on stage... It was unfair that he was so hot. Now he was there, kissing her whole body, promising he was going to make her see stars.

“Oh?” He mumbled into her throat as he kissed down over her collarbones, his fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt at the same time coaxing her out of the clothing. “So y’better not fake it,” he murmured reattaching his lips to her making her wonder why they never did this before. “If it takes all night, love,” his voice was sultry, but she could hear the kindness of her best friend whispering a promise to her. Hiding in his practically pornographic whispers. “No faking it,” he repeated. “Wanna feel y’cum on my fingers...on m’tongue...on m’cock,” he was nearly whimpering into her skin.

Of course, she was flushed. “Can... we go in the bedroom?” She whispered.

Harry didn’t give any vocal affirmation, but she was suddenly in the air, over his shoulder as if she weighed less than a bag of groceries. She giggled slightly and pinched his butt since it was right in front of her face. It sparked a low chuckle from him, and they were in his room. It smelled like the candle he got her for Christmas. The bed was made with the sheets he got her for her birthday. “Don’t know how long I wanted this, kitten,” he promised as he deposited her on the bed so gently. No longer a bag of groceries but a delicate vase that needed to be wrapped in paper for storage.

Harry’s muscles were going to break her mind. “Me too,” she whispered.

“Yeah?” He paused his movements, which were undoing the button and zipper of her jeans and he looked at her with that face she adored so much. It was her best friend. The person she didn’t feel embarrassed or weird around. He probably knew her every thought before she had it. Harry had a knack for knowing what she needed. “Didn’t know that.”

“How could I not?” She asked. “You’re...you,” if it were anyone else it would mean Harry Styles. Boy band. Singer. Small time actor. Celebrity.

But on her lips...it wasn’t. It was just Harry. The person she told everything and never hid from. The one that watched her throw up with the stomach bug and hold her while she sobbed over heartbreak so bad that she got snot all over his T-shirt and he didn’t even care.

Harry already wanted to be inside her so very badly. He imagined it so many times while on tour buses and in hotel rooms. His hand fisted around his cock pretending it was her warm body imagining what she would feel like when she sent him voice memos of her singing to plants. He fell so hard for her just watching her wash dishes on FaceTime with him while he struggled to fall asleep in a hotel room that didn’t feel like their cozy apartment—although the was sure it would if she were there with him. She told bad jokes like he did and always laughed at his. Even when she had already heard it. Her smile lit up the room.

The moment he saw her he didn’t get butterflies. There was no symphony of classical music. Instead, his heart rate slowed. There was this glow around her. Like an aura of sunlight backlighting her figure. It was his best friend. The person he never felt like a celebrity around. It was just her and Harry when they were together. It should have been so obvious. This should have happened ages ago. But right now, he wanted to ask her all the thoughts he didn’t know; she wanted this. Had wanted this for a while.

Maybe he should have stopped and asked her more. They would have all the time in the world. But he wanted to prove that he could make her cum and that no one—especially her—would fake it with him. There would be time for questions later. Harry was certain that he could do it all with her. Everything.

Harry’s lips were back on hers, his kiss languid now and she felt it vibrate through every cell in her body. Her toes tingled and she had her hands fisted into his hair and pulled him closer to her. His hands pulled her jeans down her thighs and off her legs. His fingers trailed slowly up her shin, and he hooked it over his hip as he dipped down to grind against her and just the pair of underwear separating her from his clothing.

“You’ve never seen me naked,” she reminded him as he tugged his shirt over his head.

“Uh...” he chuckled sheepishly. “Might have caught y’leaving the shower a few times.”

She gaped at him. “Harry!”

“Oh please, kitten,” he rolled his eyes. “Know y’saw me when m’drunk.” Her cheeks turned this beautiful shade of red and imagined the times Harry came stumbling in the apartment and almost immediately stripping in front of her. “Mmm...” He unbuttoned his own jeans. “S’what I thought.”

“I like what I saw,” she admitted.

“Should have told me,” he murmured and dipped back down to kiss the length of her neck. “I loved what I saw,” he promised. “Take your shirt off.”

She had no choice but to obey him. She tugged her bra with her shirt leaving her nearly totally bare in front of him. She watched his eyes roam over her. Again, she expected it to be uncomfortable, but it was as if it was the only thing that made any sense at all.

Harry was looking at her as if she was a sculpture in a museum. His gaze was heavy and warm. “I don’t want t’stop looking at you,” he murmured. “You’re gorgeous, kitten.”

It felt like someone had set her on fire. His skin was warm against her body, and she tried to remind herself that this was her actual life. It wasn’t one of her really good dreams. His boxers were thin—so were her panties—keeping very little between them. The last bits of fabric separating each other from where she wanted him most.

“No faking it.”

“Somehow, I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” she tilted her head back to give him more access to her collarbones. She wasn’t one to have a display of love bites, but she wanted him to suck her skin purple and bruised with a reminder that he was really going to make her cum.

“Kitten,” he pulled away from her. He pinned her hands beside her head, pushed himself to hover above her. His cross dangled from his chest. It felt like it was hypnotizing her.

But Harry looked at her... like... like he loved her. “Any time y’want to stop, you say it,” he warned her. “Promise me.”

The air in her lungs felt like it was choking her. “Promise,” she whispered.

“Don’t y’dare fake it,” he reminded her again and pushed to the side of her body to tug his boxers off. She tried not to stare but he was so long and firm. It was impossible not to look.

“I can’t,” she spoke before she thought about what she was saying.

He smirked and looked down at her panties separating him from where he wanted to be most. “D’you have an attachment t’these?” He asked his finger dipping into the elastic of the half-lace, half-spandex fabric. She shook her head. “Good,” he murmured and ripped the hole he spotted in the lace when he pulled her pants down her legs earlier.

Oh, there was no way she would need to fake it.

“Gonna make y’cum so hard, kitten,” he promised bringing his mouth to the inside of her thigh and pressing wet, warm kisses on her soft skin. He was losing his mind being so close to where he wanted to be most. “Where’s y’cactus?” He asked teasingly.

She was gone. Harry’s breath was so close to the apex of her thighs. She was aching. He ripped her underwear off. His question didn’t even register in her clouded mind. She arched toward him wanting his mouth between her legs more than she ever wanted anything.

“Kitten,” he hummed his nose brushing against her sensitive thighs. She wanted to close her legs around his head. “Asked y’something.”

“What?” She asked.

He chuckled, his breath torturing her body in ways she never imagined. “Cactus.”

“No...” she shook her head. “Please no,” she whimpered. She didn’t want that. She wanted Harry. Wanted his lips on her and his cock inside her. She wanted him and only him.

“Just in case, love,” he promised. “Gonna take care of you, promise,” he kissed the inside of her legs. “Mmm...” he sighed. “Please, kitten,” he begged.

“Fucking hell,” she whispered and reached blindly behind her pillows and pulled the vibrator from the pillowcase and tossed it beside them on the empty space of her bed.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he moaned and pressed his lips to her dripping hole.

She gasped and arched immediately into his face, and he gripped the outside of her hips so hard they would certainly bruise. He was sinfully good at it. It felt like he knew exactly what he was doing. How on earth could he write a song about someone faking it? She was going to cum in seconds. His tongue dipped perfectly between her folds and pressed into spaces she didn’t know could feel so good. He slipped further up and flicked his tongue against her clit so expertly it felt like his mouth belonged between her legs.

“Feel like y’part of m’body,” he murmured into her thigh while he took a moment to breathe. The cool air made her spin as well as the words that came from his lips. She grabbed fistfuls of his curls and tugged him back to her center. “Y’like that, kitten?” He asked against her sensitive skin.

“Yes,” she whimpered. She couldn’t even give into the teasing in his voice. She couldn’t manage any sort of flirting. All she wanted was his mouth to lick her until she couldn’t move.

“Good girl,” he whispered as he sucked her clit between his lips so he could focus his tongue’s attention on the little bundle that would drive her mad. She keened and whimpered tugging on his hair. Her heels dug into his back as she tried to get him closer to her even though it was impossible. He couldn’t get closer. “Y’taste like heaven, kitten,” he murmured. He felt drunk on her. He would stay there forever. Even with the feeling of how hard he was had him rutting against her comforter. It was worth it. Just to smell her, taste her, kiss her most sensitive skin and lick every part of her that deserved the utmost attention. “S’good, baby,” he cooed. “Good girl,” he repeated as she pulled his hair harder. “Keep doing that,” he murmured. “Good girl.”

“Harry,” she whimpered.

“S’good, good,” he praised.

Holy shit. She could feel the heat spreading all through her body. She was going to explode, and she felt like she wouldn’t be able to stop if she didn’t do something right now. “Stop, stop, stop,” she begged, her voice breathy as she released his curls and removed her legs from their vice around his body.

Harry ripped from her immediately, alarm and worry painting his features. “What, s’wrong, kitten?” He asked. Her best friend was back. The person that worried about her when she fell asleep with a candle burning. The only one who seemed to care that she made it home safely when it was raining, and he wasn’t even in the same country as her.

Her breath came in pants, and she felt so utterly fucked out already she was so screwed when he was finally inside her. “Want you inside me,” she whispered her cheeks blushing with the request.

Relief replaced the terrified expression on his face. He even smiled so beautifully, like she was the most amazing thing he had ever had the pleasure of gazing at for any period of time. He thought she was regretting it. Hated it. Wanted nothing to do with him. The idea of losing his best friend was unbearable. This was manageable.

“Whatever y’want, kitten,” he promised. “Condom?” He asked. She tilted her head toward the nightstand.

“Uh...” she took a deep breath. “I haven’t had sex in a while.”

“How long is a while?” He asked.

“Uh...” she swallowed. “Like... a year?”

He paused his blindly felt search into her nightstand drawer looking for a foil square. “A year?” He asked in surprise.

She nodded. “I was kind of swearing off guys...till you came to your senses,” she was joking but Harry could see the worry the hurt in her eyes because this was his best friend.

He knew her last relationship fucked with her head a lot. He didn’t know it meant she had spent the last year fucking her fingers and toys because of it. “Me?” He mumbled.

“S’always been you,” she shrugged looking away from him. He knew that look. It was the feeling of inadequacy she got whenever she struggled with wanting to be the best in her class, her job, as a daughter, and a friend...a girlfriend. “You’re just...never here.”

This was suddenly not just about making her come so hard she would make her voice hoarse from moaning his name. This was to assure her that he adored her. Every single part of her. This was safe. This was okay because it was them. “Kitten,” he whispered. “You’re m’favorite person in the world.”

She nodded, feeling stupid to bring this up now. After he nearly had her in shambles from just his tongue. She didn’t look at him and Harry brought his hand to her face and turned her to look at him. His beautiful eyes. His perfect pink lips. The way he smelled like home.

“Kitten,” he leaned down to press his lips on her forehead. “Y’should have said something. Only an idiot would give y’up.”

“But you’re...” she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I know you’re my Harry... but you are someone... someone important,” she whispered. “I’m just...”

“No,” he interrupted. “No, love. You are the most important person I know.”

Looking up at him through her lashes had his heart skipping a beat. He smiled kindly at her. “We don’t have t’do this right now,” he offered. Maybe the conversation should have happened first.

“Scared you can’t make me come?” She asked delight dancing in her eyes.

He glared at her. “Don’t.”

“No...m’good. Also, if you don’t make me come...after all that, I might cry.”

“Well...” he ripped the wrapper open with his teeth and slid the rubber over his shaft. “Definitely don’t want that,” he smirked. “What’s your favorite position, kitten?” He asked pumping his hand gently over his length along with the condom. At the same time he brought his hand down to her center lightly rubbing his index finger over her clit.

She felt embarrassment flood her body. “Um...”

“No faking, I’ll know,” he promised dipping his finger lower between her folds. As if this was normal. A conversation that two best friends had all the time while they looked at each other naked. She closed her eyes and pushed herself over until she was on all fours. Harry moaned. “Beautiful,” he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her fleshy backside before he lined himself up behind her. “Say if it hurts, angel,” he mumbled. She felt the tip of him enter her, but it didn’t seem to matter that she was dripping with desire for him. He felt enormous as he slowly slid in. He was patient and slow and paused periodically until his torso pressed snuggly against her pretty bum. She moaned low and arched so her hands gripped the top of the mattress below the pillows, her face smushed against the comforter. He tilted his head back and moaned in response, the condom doing very little to prevent him from feeling like exploding inside her just from entering her. “Oh, s’good, angel. Good girl. Taking me so well,” he crooned. She felt like his voice was going to send her into a spiral. It never felt like this. It felt like she was meant to have Harry inside her. “S’that good, baby?” He asked hands gripping the outside of her hips. “Y’feel like heaven, love,” he moaned. “Think m’gonna last two seconds when I start moving.”

She managed a light laughter, but it felt so good to be wrapped around him. His fingers digging into her skin made her feel so...good. “You can move,” she told him.

“Yeah?” He croaked feeling so heavenly already. She dropped her chest to the mattress and Harry thought the curve of her spine dipping was so fucking gorgeous he practically wanted to cry. “Y’sure?”

“Please.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Slowly he pulled himself out till just the tip of his cock was in her warm, wet pussy and then slid back in a little faster. She moaned and Harry felt her clench around him at the same time. “Oh,” he groaned his hand sliding down the length of her spine and gripping a handful of her bum. “Careful, kitten,” he whispered.

She was backing herself up to him as he pressed forward creating this heavenly feel that made every part of her shake with desire for him. “No faking,” he murmured.

“No faking,” she repeated breathlessly.

“Good girl,” he cooed rubbing her sides as he snapped his hips toward her and enjoying the view of her naked skin before him. He smacked the side of her bum not quite hard, but not quite gentle. She whimpered and clenched again making Harry gasp out. “Oh good girl,” he grunted his voice hoarse with desire. “S’good. Do that again,” he spanked her with the same force again. “S’a good girl.”

“Harry,” she could feel the knot in her stomach unraveling. She moaned into the mattress, her heart rate skyrocketing. “I’m—”

“Good, good girl,” he praised. “Cum. Cum all over me, good girl,” he whispered. Leaning forward to reach around her hip and pressed on the bundle of nerves to set her over the edge.

“Oh, yes,” she whispered breathlessly her body slumping forward as Harry felt the waves of pleasure cause her to flutter around him making his mind spin while he tried to focus on riding out her orgasm so she felt it for as long as she could. She was twitching and whimpering as the waves subsided and Harry kept pumping into her.

“Good girl. Right there, kitten,” he whispered. “M’right there,” he promised croaking out the words thickly as he finally spilled into the condom with three final deep pumps. He pulled himself out causing a hiss to escape his lips. Her hips slumped down to the mattress and Harry twisted off and tossed the condom into the trash by her bedside.

He turned her over to her back so he could gaze at her lovingly. It made her stomach twist. “No faking?” He asked cupping her face as she took deep breaths. The smile on his lips made her crazy with adoration for him.

“Yeah,” she smirked. “Faked the whole thing.”

He chuckled. “Want your cactus?” He smirked.

She shook her head and pressed her face against his chest as she brought her hand to his face and kissed him softly on the lips. “M’good,” she promised.

“Good.”

“You didn’t fake it, did you?” She asked.

“Oh kitten. S’no way,” he kissed the top of her head. “S’all you. Always been you.”

-

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever @harrysxcarolina @st-ev-ie @lovrave

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

[simpforfandom231]

Throwing shit PT1

Just y/n and Reneé throwing stuff at each other but it ends well in pt2, i promise

————————————————————————

The apartment crackled with tension, the air thick with unresolved frustration. Reneé Rapp, the renowned singer, stood facing her girlfriend, Y/N, their voices rising in a tumultuous crescendo. Y/N's accusation hung heavy in the air like a discordant note in an otherwise perfect melody.

"I can't believe you're defending him again!" Y/N's voice cut through the room, her eyes ablaze with anger.

Reneé's own frustration boiled over. "I've told you a million times, there's nothing going on between me and my guitarist!"

Y/N scoffed, disbelief etched on her face. "Oh, please! I'm not blind, Reneé. I see the way he looks at you during your performances."

Reneé shook her head, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "That's ridiculous! He's just my guitarist, nothing more."

The tension thickened, suffocating the room with its intensity. Then, in a moment of rage, Y/N grabbed a glass from the countertop and hurled it at Reneé.

The glass shattered against the wall, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot. Reneé recoiled, her eyes widening in shock as she dodged the projectile.

"You're insane!" Reneé yelled, her voice trembling with anger.

Fueled by adrenaline and fury, Reneé retaliated, grabbing a nearby plate and hurling it back at Y/N with equal force. The plate crashed against the floor, scattering ceramic shrapnel across the room.

Y/N's eyes flashed with fury as she lunged forward, her voice rising to a deafening scream. "How dare you!"

Reneé matched her intensity, her own voice a fierce counterpoint. "How dare I? How dare you!"

The apartment reverberated with their heated argument, the walls practically vibrating with their conflicting emotions. Insults flew like arrows in a battlefield of words, each one striking its mark with deadly accuracy.

In the midst of the chaos, Y/N finally reached her breaking point. "I'm done! I'm going to bed, and you can sleep on the couch for all I care!"

Reneé's jaw clenched, her fists still trembling with anger. "Fine! Maybe I will!"

With that final declaration, Y/N stormed off, leaving Reneé standing alone in the wreckage of their fight.

The next morning dawned with a heavy weight lingering in the air, a palpable tension that seemed to seep into every corner of the apartment. Reneé awoke with a sense of dread knotting in her stomach, the events of the previous night replaying in her mind like a broken record.

As she stumbled off the sofa, her muscles aching from the restless sleep on the couch, Reneé found herself confronted once again by the aftermath of their explosive argument. Broken glass glinted on the floor, a stark reminder of the violence that had erupted between them.

Y/N emerged from the bedroom, her expression still etched with resentment as she cast a cold glance in Reneé's direction. "You're still here?"

Reneé bristled at the accusation, her own anger reigniting at the sight of Y/N's dismissive demeanor. "Where else would I be?"

Y/N scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I don't know, maybe off cozying up to your precious guitarist!"

Reneé's temper flared at the implication, her fists clenching at her sides. "For the last time, there's nothing going on between me and him!"

The familiar refrain of their argument echoed through the apartment, each accusation and denial adding fuel to the fire of their conflict. Before either of them could stop it, the tension escalated once again into a full-blown shouting match.

Insults flew like arrows, each one sharper and more cutting than the last. Reneé's voice rose to a fever pitch as she hurled verbal barbs at Y/N, each word laced with venomous intent. Y/N, equally incensed, launched her own barrage of insults in return, their voices melding together in a cacophony of anger and resentment.

In a moment of blind rage, Reneé seized the nearest object—a decorative vase—and hurled it across the room with all her might. The vase shattered against the wall, sending shards of porcelain cascading to the floor in a symphony of destruction.

Y/N's eyes widened in shock at the display of aggression, her own fury reaching a boiling point. With a primal scream, she retaliated, grabbing a throw pillow from the couch and launching it back at Reneé with surprising force.

The pillow collided with Reneé's chest, momentarily knocking the wind out of her sails. But instead of backing down, Reneé's resolve only strengthened, her determination to win this battle of wills burning fiercely within her.

The apartment became a battleground, each room a theater of war as Reneé and Y/N waged their verbal warfare with unrelenting ferocity. Furniture toppled, dishes shattered, and tempers flared hotter than the flames of their passion.

And yet, beneath the surface of their tumultuous conflict, a spark of something else simmered—a flicker of longing, of desire, of the love that still bound them together despite the chaos that threatened to tear them apart.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, casting its warm golden glow through the windows, Reneé and Y/N found themselves locked in a silent standoff, their breaths heavy and labored, their eyes locked in a silent battle

Reneé and Y/N stood amidst the wreckage of their argument, a sudden knock echoed through the apartment, breaking the heavy silence like a discordant note in an otherwise somber melody. Both women turned towards the door, their expressions a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

Reneé hesitated, her hand hovering uncertainly over the doorknob. "Who could that be?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, her frustration palpable. "Probably just the neighbors, complaining about the noise again."

With a resigned sigh, Reneé opened the door to reveal their neighbors standing in the hallway, their faces drawn into expressions of thinly veiled annoyance.

"We couldn't help but notice the, uh, passionate discussion you two were having," one of the neighbors said, their tone dripping with sarcasm. "We were just wondering if you could keep it down a bit. We're trying to watch TV, you know."

Y/N's jaw dropped in disbelief at the audacity of their neighbors. "Are you kidding me right now?"

The neighbors merely shrugged, their indifference infuriating in its arrogance. "Just a friendly request, that's all. Thank you very much."

As the neighbors retreated back into their own apartment, Reneé and Y/N exchanged incredulous glances, both equally appalled by the encounter. But before they could dwell on it any further, the reality of their situation came crashing back down upon them.

With a heavy sigh, Reneé turned back towards the apartment, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Well, I guess we should start cleaning up this mess."

Y/N nodded in agreement, her own frustration still simmering beneath the surface. As they began to pick up the pieces of their shattered argument, the tension between them remained palpable, a silent barrier that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

"It's always the same," Reneé muttered under her breath, her voice heavy with resignation.

Y/N heard the words, her own anger flaring once again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Reneé glanced up, her expression guarded. "It means that no matter how many times we fight, nothing ever seems to change."

Y/N's eyes narrowed, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Maybe if you understood how it felt, you'd do something about it."

Reneé bristled at the accusation, her own frustration boiling over. "Oh, and what exactly am I supposed to do?"

Before Y/N could respond, Reneé dropped a bombshell that sent shockwaves rippling through the room. "I invited Evan over to have dinner with us tonight."

Y/N's mouth fell open in shock, her anger giving way to disbelief. "You did what?"

Reneé met her gaze evenly, her resolve unwavering. "You heard me. Evan's coming over, whether you like it or not."

With that final declaration, Y/N stormed off towards the bedroom, her footsteps echoing loudly against the hardwood floors. Slamming the door shut behind her, she left Reneé standing alone in the aftermath of their latest confrontation, her heart heavy with regret and uncertainty.

The day dragged on with an oppressive weight, each passing hour stretching into eternity as Y/N remained holed up in the bedroom, her anger simmering beneath the surface like a dormant volcano waiting to erupt. Meanwhile, Reneé tried in vain to carry on with her day, the tension between her and Y/N hanging heavy in the air like a thick fogge

As evening approached, Reneé knew that she couldn't avoid the inevitable any longer. With a heavy sigh, she approached the closed bedroom door, steeling herself for what lay beyond.

"Y/N," Reneé called out, her voice tentative. "We need to get ready for dinner."

There was no response, only the sound of silence echoing back at her like a mocking reminder of their strained relationship.

With a resigned shake of her head, Reneé pushed open the door to find Y/N sitting on the bed, her expression stony and unreadable.

Reneé tried to mask her disappointment as she crossed the room to the closet, her fingers trailing over the fabric of her dresses as she searched for the perfect outfit.

Y/N remained silent as Reneé changed into a cute dress, her eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the confines of the bedroom walls.

Once they were both dressed and ready, Reneé made her way to the kitchen where she had already prepared dinner, the savory aroma of her cooking filling the apartment with a tantalizing scent.

As Reneé set the table with meticulous care, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. She knew that Evan's arrival would only serve to further exacerbate the tension between her and Y/N, but she had made a commitment and she intended to see it through.

Just as Reneé finished setting the table, there came a knock at the front door, the sound echoing through the apartment like a harbinger of impending doom.

Reneé shot Y/N a warning glance as she made her way to the door, silently urging her to behave herself in front of their guest.

Y/N rolled her eyes in response, her expression a mask of indifference as she reluctantly followed Reneé to the living room.

With a deep breath, Reneé opened the door to reveal Evan standing on the threshold, his smile charming and disarming in equal measure.

"Hey, Reneé! Thanks for inviting me over," Evan said, his eyes lingering on Reneé in a way that made Y/N's blood boil.

Reneé returned his smile, though her own unease was apparent in the tightness of her expression. "Of course, Evan. Come on in."

As Evan entered the apartment, Y/N forced herself to plaster on a fake smile, her teeth gritted in a silent display of restraint.

Reneé led Evan to the dining table, where he took his seat with a flourish, his eyes never leaving Reneé's form as she bustled about the kitchen, fetching plates and serving dishes with practiced ease.

Y/N busied herself with pouring wine, her hands trembling slightly as she struggled to maintain her composure in the face of Evan's unwavering gaze.

Throughout the meal, Evan's attention remained firmly fixed on Reneé, his compliments bordering on the excessive as he praised her cooking and commented on how good she looked in her dress.

Y/N seethed with silent rage, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms as she fought to keep her temper in check.

Reneé, for her part, seemed oblivious to the tension that hung thick in the air, her own anger towards Y/N overshadowed by her discomfort at Evan's overt flirtations.

As the evening wore on, Y/N found herself growing more and more agitated, her patience wearing thin as Evan continued to push the boundaries of propriety with his incessant touching and suggestive comments.

Finally, unable to contain her frustration any longer, Y/N rose abruptly from the table, her chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor as she stormed off towards the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her with a resounding thud.

Reneé and Evan exchanged awkward glances across the table, the silence that followed deafening in its intensity.

With a heavy sigh, Reneé pushed her plate away, her appetite ruined by the palpable tension that now filled the room.

As she met Evan's gaze, a flicker of uncertainty passed between them, both keenly aware of the rift that had formed between Reneé and Y/N—and the role that Evan had unwittingly played in widening that divide.

[beyondspaceandstars]

"You deserve all the flowers."

Relationship: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader Drabble Summary: Peter brings you flowers every night and you're just not sure why. Word Count: 740 A/N: what?? what??? a new drabble - a FRESHLY written drabble? i got so excited last night when I finally had the motivation/inspiration to write. this is over on the word count for my usual drabbles but it's under 1k so i think it still counts lmao i hope you enjoy!!

Masterlist

You swore one of these days Peter was going to turn your apartment into a full-blown greenhouse. You didn’t know how it started or why he always showed up with flowers but your kitchen was crowded with vases and it was slowly spilling over into your living room.

And now here Peter, still in his Spider-Man suit, was once again entering your apartment through your fire escape window while gripping another bouquet. He brought you daisies this time. They were very fragrant; their scent filled your bedroom immediately.

"Hi, sweetheart," Peter muttered after he pulled off his mask. "I picked these up for you tonight. I hope they’re okay, I don’t think I’ve gotten you daisies in a while."

You couldn’t help but smile as you took the fresh flowers from him. "Thank you, Peter. They’re lovely," you replied. He had most certainly just gotten you daisies last week but you weren’t going to mention it. That bunch was in your kitchen, blooming and bright.

Peter planted a kiss on your cheek before shuffling aside your open textbooks and flopping on his unofficial official side of your bed. You were just finishing up studying for your college midterms when he came in.

You took in Peter’s exhausted form. He didn’t look too beat up, just a bit tired, which put you at ease. You weren’t a stranger to this situation. Peter would come to your apartment following his patrol, flowers in hand, ready to talk about nothing and everything before you both inevitably drifted off to sleep. But you’d never go to bed before the flowers were taken care of. Even though Peter brought you a plethora of them—so much so you were having to seriously get creative with the vases—each one melted your heart. Each one was special and deserved proper attention.

You cared for them because he cared enough to get them. But you never quite understood why it was so consistent. Did other girls want this many flowers?

"What were you working on?" Peter asked as he flipped through one of your textbooks. You watched his eyes skim the page.

"Philosophy," you answered, but it wasn’t like you had to. "I have a midterm coming up."

"Oh, yeah, we’re at that time of the year," he sighed. "Do you want me to quiz you on anything tonight?"

You shook your head and gently pulled the book from his hands. You closed the cover and shut your notebooks all while still coddling the bouquet of daisies. "Peter, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he responded, his voice very level. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, of course," you assured him, "I just wanted to ask about the flowers."

He frowned. "The flowers?"

You nodded as you fiddled with the stems of the daisies. "They’re really beautiful and so thoughtful of you, it’s just…"

"What?" Peter gulped. "Do you not like them?"

"No," you insisted, "no, that’s not it at all. I love them so much. But I’m just curious… Why? Why do you bring me flowers every night?"

Your sweet boyfriend let out a sigh of relief at your question. "That’s what that big build-up was for?" He teased.

Your cheeks grew warm. "My apartment is drowning in flowers, Peter."

"There’s still room," he said with a shrug. "But to answer your question I… I guess it gives me something to focus on, a goal to have at the end of the night. It’s not always crazy out there but there’s been some things that have gotten to me and it’s just part of what keeps me going. I gotta protect the great people of this city and I gotta bring you flowers." Peter sighed. "I love you so much, sweetheart, and you deserve all the flowers."

An ache stabbed its way through your chest. Your grip on the flowers tightened as a tear threatened to spill out. Your reaction felt a little dramatic but your boyfriend’s words were just what you needed to hear.

"Oh, honey…" You nearly cried as you leaned over to place a kiss on his lips. He was also almost crying but still happily reciprocated the affection.

Peter sniffled. "I’m sorry I’ve been drowning you in flowers."

You shook your head and let out a breathy laugh. "I don’t mind anymore. Please drown me in flowers forever, babe."

"Forever," Peter repeated with a smile. "Absolutely. Forever. I can do forever."

[inuyashaluver]

Hi could you write something for Niamh Charles? In which she and y/n and Niamh say their first I Love you?

i love you - niamh charles

niamh charles x reader

description: in which you and your girlfriend share your first ‘i love you’ to each other, the four times you both almost said it and the one you finally did

warnings: i don’t think there’s any?

a/n: hiya!! this request is so cute, hope you enjoy!!, thanks for the request, love ❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, niamh have been compared to 2 little puppies absolutely smitten with each other. your teammates love to tease you and niamh for your mutual obsessions with one another.

you and niamh have always had feelings for one another and everyone knew it, ever since playing in the youth teams for england.

the two of you would shamelessly flirt with each other, the line between friendship and romance hazy and almost impossible to see. it was until niamh moved to your club, chelsea, which made your relationship blossom.

in the beginning stages of your relationship, both of you desperately want to say ‘i love you’ but don’t know if it’s appropriate.

—

[ you almost said it when niamh joined chelsea ]

you were stretching in the gym, facing sam and millie as you worked on your legs, chatting with them until you felt gentle hands on your hips while a pair of lips grazed your ear gently.

“hi, pretty girl” niamh whispers, you swore your heart momentarily stopped when you heard the familiar voice of the girl you think about almost everyday. you snap your head up to look at the owner of the warm hands squeezing your hips, both of your faces brighten when you lock eyes. “niamhy!” you wrap your arms around the girl and tackle her to the ground, niamh lets out a bright laugh when she feels you nuzzle into her neck as you hold onto her tightly.

millie and sam share mischievous grins while you hugged on the floor.

“what are you doing here?” you say breathlessly, moving off her to sit next to her. “here for you, obviously” niamh mocks, grabbing your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

you both have blown out pupils, wide grins and pink cheeks present on your features. “you’re stuck with me, babe” niamh winks, pulling you up by your hand and pulling you into another quick hug before letting go reluctantly.

you pair up for training, conversations and giggles coming easily. it was easy for both of you to recognise that this was an opportunity to take your relationship to the next step. and so, you invited niamh to dinner that night at your place, to which she instantly agreed.

—

frantically making your flat look perfect was extremely stressful. it was even more stressful for you to make yourself pretty for niamh, as well as preparing dinner. the thought of niamh charles being in your house when you’re finally ready to make a move had you extremely flustered.

the doorbell rings and you scramble towards it, taking a deep breath before opening the door to see niamh looking perfect with a bouquet of your favourite flowers with a sheepish grin on her face.

you instantly move forward to pull her into a tight embrace, “hi” you breathe out, her scent overwhelming you, making you completely hazy. “hi” she giggles, giving you a gentle squeeze before pulling back and handing you the flowers. “oh, niamhy, you didn’t have to do this” you smell the flowers and grab her hand to pull her inside. “yes i did, be quiet” she jokes, winking and closing the door behind her.

she takes in her surroundings as you find a vase for the flowers, your flat was a reflection of you and she loved it. you both engage in small talk while she walks towards a specific part of your flat that was decorated with photos, a specific one catching her eye. it was an individual film photo of her when you both went to the beach on camp years ago. her breath hitched to see a lot of the photos on the wall featured her in them and her heart soared.

“you look so pretty in this one” you say adoringly beside her, pointing at the photo she was looking at, catching her off guard completely. she looks down at you and swallows the lump in her throat. “you’re really pretty” she murmurs, her eyes glancing at your lips quickly before looking back into your eyes. you do the same before regretfully informing her that the food was ready.

you both ate on your couch and watched a movie, snuggled up together under a blanket. you could feel niamh moving closer to you every couple of minutes, feeling her thigh brush against yours.

you couldn’t take it anymore and paused the movie, facing her with a nervous expression. “you okay?” niamh asks genuinely concerned, grabbing your hand cautiously as she looks at you. “niamh” you breathe out, “i lo- like you, i can’t hold it in anymore” you rush out, looking down at your lap out of embarrassment at almost saying you love her so soon, hoping she didn’t catch it. niamh’s face immediately breaks out into a bright smile, placing a finger under your chin to direct your eyes to her, “i like you too, (y/n), a lot”,

niamh knew you better than anyone and knew you were about to tell her you loved her but she let it slide. you smile at niamh, eyes flooding with affection as you stare up at her. she glances down at your lips again and looks at your eyes again and you give her a nod as silent confirmation. she moves forward to place a sweet kiss on your lips, both of you move together in harmony, familiar yet foreign at the same time.

but somehow, it worked, both of you meeting in the middle and expressing all the pent up emotions in the kiss. she pulls away and rests her forehead against yours, both of you letting out a little breathless laugh in slight disbelief that this was finally happening.

when you both arrived to training for chelsea and england, everyone was elated that all the pining was finally over.

—

[ she almost said it when it snowed ]

it was snowing, niamh begged you to go outside to explore. in a short amount of time, the girl had slowly moved into your flat, the home becoming infused with bits of niamh with bits of you. “baby, please” the taller girl pleads, you were currently bundled up in bed while she lay on top of you over the top of the covers. her chin rested on your chest while she looked up at you. you card a hand through her hair and she hums at the contact, leaning into you.

“but it’s cold” you pout and she immediately moves up to kiss it away, proving to be quite successful as you smile immediately. “please” she’s hovering over you at this point, you look up at her and give up. “fine! come on, charlesy” you groan, she grins brightly and kisses all over your face, both of you giggling.

you both move to get dressed, you were dressed appropriately and niamh just wasn’t. it was genuinely freezing outside and she only wore a hoodie and a puffer. you shake your head when she excitedly runs to the front door to wait for you.

you notice she forgot her scarf so you stuff it into your puffer to see if she’ll remember.

“forgetting something?” you say cheekily, walking up to her with a mischievous grin. she narrows her eyes in confusion and moves to kiss your lips quickly. you laugh brightly and pinch her cheek affectionately, leaving her even more confused.

her face lights up when she sees the all the piled up snow, holding your hand excitedly and dragging you along. you can tell she’s cold, she looks at you and takes the end of your scarf and attempts to wrap it around your neck. both of you giggle when she pulls you closer as you share the scarf. you push her off you gently and she pouts. she watches as you pull her scarf out of your puffer and hold it up to her teasingly.

you stand on your tiptoes and wrap in around her neck, making sure it fully covers her. she watches you with wide, affectionate eyes as you pat her chest to indicate you were done. before you pull away, she pulls you into a hug and sways you gently side to side. pulling away to hold you at arms length while she looks into your eyes.

“i-” she wants to say ‘i love you’ but she stops herself, thinking it was too early and doubting herself. “thank you, baby” she kisses you quickly and you both walk in the snow with pink cheeks and noses.

—

[ you almost said at dinner ]

you were on camp for england, you and niamh unfortunately got separated for rooming situations, everyone planned it to see how long you and niamh would last without each other (you both knew nothing about this btw).

you were rooming with alessia while niamh was rooming with ella, when the rooms were announced, you and niamh looked at each other wordlessly and knew you could swap the rooms easily. it was the first night and you all decided to go out for a team dinner. you and alessia got ready and just as you were doing your final adjustments, a knock sounded on the door and you just knew it was your niamh.

you answered the door to your smiling, beautiful girlfriend, your cheeks burning when you see her. “well don’t you look beautiful” she beams, moving to grip your hips and kiss you gently, you smile at the contact and she walks you back into the room and closes it behind her while staying attached to you.

“listen, you guys are cute but please wait until i leave the room” alessia teases, “better be quick, russo, my girlfriend is looking a little too good right now,” niamh mocks, alessia’s eyes widen and she stumbles outside, you giggle in your girlfriend's arms as you hear alessia slam the door.

“she’s probably thinking the worst now” you whisper, as your girlfriend pulls you closer. “let her, baby” niamh winks, kissing your lips again, just when she’s about to deepen it, you push her chest gently. “dinner” you remind her breathlessly, giggling when she chases your lips for another kiss.

“mhm” she hums against you, pulling away with a slight scowl when you squeeze her bicep warningly. “don’t be pouty, i’ll kiss you later” you tease, pecking her cheek affectionately and running your hand over the skin of her arm.

she throws you a half-assed glare but interlaces your fingers to walk you to where the girls were waiting in the hotel lobby. “here’s our little lovebirds!” millie exclaims and the girls laugh and send kissy faces your way, niamh rolls her eyes at all the teasing and pulls you closer to her side.

when you got to the restaurant, niamh pulls you down to sit next to her, grinning at you when she sneakily pulls your chair to sit flush against hers, your thighs basically on top of hers at this point. she places a hand on your thigh as you share a menu, “what do you feel like, baby?” niamh questions, running her thumb over the skin of your thigh as you scan all the options, getting slightly overwhelmed by all the choices.

“i think i’ll just get this” you point at a random option and niamh raises her eyebrows, “are you sure?” you nod and she’s not convinced, so she orders something she knows you’ll like.

when the food got there, she could tell you didn’t want what you ordered and instantly swapped the plates, kissing your cheek when she placed the new plate of food in front of you while she ate yours. you look at her appreciatively, when she looked into your eyes you almost said it, ‘i love you’, but stopped yourself in the extremely public setting. “thank you, love” she smiles at you, kissing your lips quickly before nodding her head towards the food.

—

[ she kind of almost said it in bed ]

that night after dinner, she walked you to your room, both of you sitting on your bed while niamh looked at alessia challengingly. “just swap with me, lessi” niamh insisted, giving the girl an exaggerated pout as she clung to your body. it took her a full 20 minutes to convince alessia to swap rooms at the promise of paying for all alessia’s coffees for the remainder of the trip.

when niamh dashed off to her old room to retrieve your bags, she gave you an excited grin as you lay on your single bed. as soon as she got in, she dropped her bags and slotted her body on top of you, “finally” she hums, nuzzling her face into your chest. “wait, baby, don’t get too comfortable, let’s fix the room first” you giggle, niamh groans and rolls off you.

you both push the single beds together, doing your regular night routine together and immediately hopping back into bed. there was seemingly no point of pushing the beds together, niamh insisted you needed to be as close as possible, ending up on your side completely.

you fell asleep quickly on niamh’s chest, she draws random shapes on your back as you sink into her. she smiles as she takes in your appearance, you’re dressed in her clothes and cuddled up to her, her heart jolted when you slip your hands under her shirt to rest on the skin of her back. since you’re fast asleep, she ends the night how she always does when you fall asleep first. “i love you” she whispers, kissing the top of your head while she cuddles you, dozing off herself.

—

[ you both said it at the game ]

two days later, you’re both playing for england. niamh was starting and in the second half, you get subbed on. niamh smiles proudly when she sees you running towards the midfield, she throws you a wink before the play starts again.

the score was currently 1-1, a seemingly tight game for both sides. everyone was desperate to get ahead, trying to make as many opportunities as you could.

it was into extra time and the score hasn’t changed, everyone was getting restless and stressed. you were passed the ball from ella and see niamh nearing the goal, you pass to her and it connects effortlessly, niamh hitting it into the bottom left of the net. the crowd roars, niamh sprints to you, hoisting you up on her waist.

time seemed to slow at this moment, all you and niamh could focus on each other, she looks up at you breathlessly, “god! i love you!” she exclaims, you look at her in slight shock but break out into a wide grin, she smiles at you so lovingly, it has your heart beating out to your chest. “i love you too” you breathe out, the whistle had gone off and the girls pat you both on the back while niamh places you on the floor.

she traces her eyes all over your features, both of you with lovesick expressions as the girls move around you. she kept an arm on your waist the entire time shaking hands with the other team and doing your appreciation lap. as soon as it was done, she lifts you over her shoulder and runs into the change rooms, you laugh gleefully as you pass your teammates who were looking at you full on endearment.

she places you down before sitting in her cubby, tugging you down to sit in her lap as soon as she was sitting. “i love you” she cheeses out, kissing your cheek repeatedly, you giggle when she gets closer to your lips. you turn your head so she can kiss you properly, lasting for a couple seconds before you pull away and kiss the tip of her nose, “i love you” you grin, her smile growing impossibly bigger at your confident tone.

you celebrate with the team in the change rooms before making your way to the hotel again.

sitting on the bus, you were listening to music while scrolling mindlessly on your phone, pausing a couple times to take a photo with niamh. while you look through the photos, she takes out one of your earphones to whisper in your ear, “i love you” you look up at her with a flustered expression that she smiles at, loving when she could make you melt just with a whisper.

you pull her closer by tugging her hoodie strings, her ear now directly next to your mouth, “i love you” this time, your girlfriend has her own flustered expression, she smiles before hiding her face in the crook of your neck, an awkward position but you both didn’t care.

—

now, in present times, you and niamh say “i love you” pretty much in every sentence you say to each other. it comes so easily in conversation and you both needed to say it whenever you could.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - just pretend it’s you xx ily ellie

liked by alessiarusso99 and 44,232 others

niamhcharles17: when she shoves her phone in my face to watch a video but she’s cute and i love her

view all comments

yourname: it’s a game day necessity, baby

↳ niamhcharles17: you’re a game day necessity

↳ yourname: cheeky

alessiarusso99: are we watching my highlights?

↳ niamhcharles17: why would we watch your highlights?

↳ alessiarusso99: i would, what is it then?

↳ niamhcharles17: i’m not saying

↳ alessiarusso99: what! tell me!

↳ yourname: i make her watch this one couple edit of us when i gave her a BANGING assist :))

↳ alessiarusso99: you’re joking

↳ niamhcharles17: baby! why’d you tell her!

↳ yourname: i love you?

↳ naimhcharles17: thin ice.

[cherienymphe]

House of Balloons

Topper Thornton x Reader

Summary: It was storming the night he told you that no man in Outer Banks will ever love you like he does

warnings: Dub-Con, stepcest, loss of virginity, jealousy, underage drinking, kook!reader, non canon ages

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

⭑

You should’ve guessed that things weren’t right the night your brother punched your very first boyfriend in the face.

Your anger over his actions was only trumped by your embarrassment. The other unsuspecting teenager had been completely blindsided, falling out cold on the floor of the party while you had been temporarily frozen with shock. No matter what excuse Topper gave that night—words slurring and pupils blown—you hadn’t wanted to hear it. Your humiliation and confusion and irritation had made you shut him out completely, only made worse by your fears coming true when you were swiftly dumped two days later.

“He was too old for you, anyway,” was his only comment on the situation.

You’d been fourteen then, and your boyfriend was the same age as him.

Your dating life after that was sparse to say the least, hardly anyone wanting to go near the girl with the overprotective brother. Nonexistent wasn’t the right word to use. After all, you still took the odd brave guy or two up on their offers, skipping class and sneaking out of your room just to have something like the same experiences your friends were having. It worked for a time.

Until they decided they wanted something with less effort and trouble, and you supposed you couldn’t blame them.

“If you’d actually been honest with me, I could’ve long told you those guys were assholes and not to waste your time.”

That was what Topper told you the night you’d finally decided to confide in him, his expression lacking anger…but only holding disappointment. You didn’t know why that bothered you more than him being mad. Maybe it was because you looked up to Topper in ways that should’ve been reserved for your father. The day he married Topper’s mother, it was like you became less in his eyes, the older man finally gaining the son he always wanted.

Topper could be a suffocating dick sometimes, but the way he cared about you was comforting.

“What did you expect from me when you literally ran my first boyfriend off?” you wondered with a roll of your eyes, applying your blush. “Sue me for wanting to have the life you did.”

You could see the blond lounged along your bed in the reflection of your mirror, his blue gaze briefly lifting from the phone in his hand. He watched you sift through the myriad of lip glosses in your drawer before finally speaking.

“Yeah, I remember him. He was an asshole who with a preference for ‘fresh meat’, an asshole I explicitly told to stay away from you,” he told you.

You paused at that, catching his gaze in the mirror, and the corner of his lips twitched when you sighed.

“You could’ve told me that,” you mumbled. “You just kept saying that he was an asshole who didn’t deserve me. Surely, you knew that was like catnip to a high school freshman, right?”

You threw him a look.

“I blamed you for months when he broke up with me.”

Topper only shrugged.

“I knew you’d thank me one day,” he smugly replied, and you bit your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction even though the damage was done. “Besides, I did what any good brother should do—look out for you until you’re old enough to make your own choices.”

Done with your makeup, you merely pursed your lips, staring at him through the mirror as he scrolled on his phone. The longer the silence stretched, that was when Topper finally lifted his gaze again, and you scoffed the moment his eyes met yours.

“You’re trying to pretend like you’re still not a controlling asshole, and it’s actually upsetting,” you huffed, standing. “Like I didn’t see your eyebrow twitch the other night when I told your mother I had a date.”

Before you could grab the dress at the foot of your bed, Topper beat you to it. You watched him run a hand through his blond strands, making his way to your closet as your words hung in the air.

“That’s because you don’t have the best taste in guys,” you heard him throw over his shoulder.

He was in your closet, and the sound of shuffling fabric and moving hangers reached your ears. When he came back out, there was an entirely different dress hanging off of his hand, and you could only eye it as he neared you. He slowly held it out to you, blue gaze boring into your own.

“Your graduation dress looks better on you,” was his only comment.

You eyed it again, silently—and reluctantly—agreeing. You were slow to take it, met with the very smirk you didn’t want to see, and Topper’s voice carried into the bathroom as you shut the door behind you.

“Still, you’re eighteen, now, and I have to let you do what you want,” you rolled your eyes at his remark. “Even if what you want are lower-class Pogues who can’t even afford to take you on a proper date.”

Your dress wasn’t even zipped all the way when you swung the door open, face pinched as you glared at the other man. Topper was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom, and the lack of humor on his face told you that wasn’t a joke. You told yourself that this wasn’t surprising, very much aware of how classist your brother could be, but it didn’t do anything to lessen your anger.

“Could you be any more of a snob? His family doesn’t have a vacation house and a two-car garage, so now he’s low class?” you scoffed.

Topper tilted his head at you, an expression on his face that begged you to be serious.

“He’s not even picking you up. You’re meeting him at the beach. You call it romantic, I call it cheap and lazy,” he elaborated, straightening and invading your personal space.

You clenched your teeth when he reached out to gently touch your arms, forcing you to turn around without a word. One of his hands lightly touched your hip, holding the dress in place while his other pulled on the zipper. You could feel his cool breath against your neck, and you were unsurprised when another nagging comment met your ears.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to be the asshole you think I am if you actually picked men worthy of your time,” he whispered.

When you looked at him over your shoulder, Topper merely shrugged, his expression telling you that he wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t going to stop you. Again, there was that disappointment flitting across his features, and it unfortunately had you second guessing things. Some part of you knew that Topper was right, but his quick dismissal of your potential boyfriend made your stubbornness rear its ugly head.

“Don’t wait up for me,” was all you told him as you grabbed your purse.

The only response you got was a slight snort, but Topper said nothing otherwise, both of you knowing that despite what you requested, he was absolutely going to.

The night Topper kissed you, you were drunk out of your mind.

That potential boyfriend became an official boyfriend who turned out to be a piece of shit. Your breakup coincided with some silly party your parents were throwing, Topper being your only age mate on the whole property, so it was only natural that you found yourselves on the back deck that connected to his bedroom. It was dimly lit and hidden away from any curious gazes that might be in the yard below.

“Can you just…not say I told you so?” you mumbled, finger tapping against the glass in your hand. “It’s bad enough that I told the whole family to account for him being here tonight.”

When Topper reached over to steal your drink, fingers grazing yours as he did, you let him.

“You know that’s not my thing,” he said, voice low. “Besides, it’s not like it’d do any good.”

You couldn’t hold in your soft chuckle, louder laughs in the yard overpowering yours, but theirs lacked your bitterness.

You didn’t even know why this breakup bothered you so much. The whole relationship lasted a month, but that did nothing to soften the blow. You’d dived head first into the relationship—as you always did—and so those thirty days just felt like ninety in your mind. You’d been hopeful, excited, and you recalled something a friend said once…about so much of the relationship happening in your head.

You were reluctant to admit that she’d been right.

Not unlike before, you’d made up so much of his personality. You’d given him attributes and an entire personality that didn’t align with reality, and that was why you felt blindsided. Looking back, there was nothing about him that told you he was a patient and loving and understanding guy, so was it really a shock when broke up with you? It’d been a month, and you weren’t ready to have sex with him, and so he responded in a way that guys like him usually did.

Anyone could’ve seen that coming, and yet…

“What’s wrong with me?”

You almost didn’t realize you’d said that, the words coming out in a small whisper before you could swallow them down. You liked to think it was the alcohol talking, but you knew that the brown liquor you’d snuck away was only just making you more honest. You were entertaining thoughts you normally preferred to ignore and shove down.

“Hey…”

Topper’s tone told you that he’d heard you loud and clear, and you only shook your head when his hand gently touched your arm.

“I mean…” you shrugged, throwing a hand out. “Am I not good enough to actually get to know?”

Topper said your name, and you heard him sit the drink down.

“If I don’t put out, am I just…not worth the effort?”

His voice was firmer this time when he said your name, and you hadn’t realized that he moved closer until his hands were on your arms and making you face him. There was a frown on his face as he eyed you, that blue gaze of his tracing your features.

“Stop letting these assholes get to you,” he told you. “You’re better than every single one of them.”

His advice was easier said than done, and so you didn’t respond, only frowning back at him before your eyes fell to the wood, tracing the lines in it.

“You have to say that, Topper,” you sighed. “It doesn’t exactly hit the same coming from you.”

You heard him release a heavy sigh too, his hands coming up to frame your face. When you were forced to look at him again, there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t name. Topper’s blond hair wasn’t in its normal neat state, the light strands kissing his forehead as he ran his gaze over your face. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and so you were relieved when he voiced his thoughts.

“I’m saying it because it’s true…because I don’t actually have to say anything,” he continued, an edge to his voice. “I don’t have to tell you that I think you’re an insecure little girl who dates losers because you don’t have your father’s approval.”

You flinched at that, frown deepening.

“I don’t have to tell you that it pisses me off that you just don’t learn,” he bit out, and you hated how much his words stung.

…because they were true.

“You go after these guys who shouldn’t even have the confidence to approach you, and what kills me is that every time they break your heart, you go out prepared to repeat the process-.”

“Jesus, Topper!” you slapped one of his hands away. “What the hell?”

You sat up straight, tearfully glowering at him. The other guy didn’t look all that sorry, and you angrily wiped your face with a scoff.

“Is this your idea of comforting me?” you choked out.

The blond briefly looked away, and he at least had the sense to have some shame, a sheepish glint passing through his eyes. You watched him swallow, jaw clenching as he seemed to be choosing his next words carefully.

“You could just do so much better,” he finally said, tone thick with disappointment. “…and you choose not to.”

You bristled at his words.

“Let you tell it, no guy is good enough for me, so you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t take your critique to heart,” you spat.

“No guy is good enough for you.”

Topper wasn’t looking at you, but instead was staring straight ahead, one arm resting on a bent knee. The sounds of the party still provided some background noise, but you weren’t focused on that. You were more focused on the tightness in your brother’s jaw, a coldness in his blue eyes that wasn’t unfamiliar to you. Of all his friends, Topper was considered the nice one—the respectable one—but you were probably one of the few people who knew just how nasty he could be.

It was something that only one other person was able to bring out in him.

So…you didn’t know why you said it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

You were trying to get under his skin…but you didn’t know that you were already there.

“Maybe I am…”

Topper’s tone was even, devoid of all humor, and he slowly turned to look at you.

His response took you by surprise, and your lips parted, prepared to jokingly tell him to shut up when his expression gave you pause. There was no mirthful twinkle in his eye, not even a mocking or condescending glint that told you he was playing along and trying to bother you just as much.

Topper was serious.

“Maybe I am jealous,” he continued, shifting to fully face you, now. “So, now what?”

You frowned at him, blinking a few times as your mouth opened and closed. You were all too aware of your heart in your chest…among other things. Like the fact that you two were alone and Topper was really close, and you’d had way too much to drink. The party downstairs felt so far away, and you briefly squeezed your eyes shut.

No, you and Topper didn’t share blood, but this revelation you were slowly coming to terms with unsettled you beyond belief. Topper couldn’t be jealous…not of your exes…because that implied that… You shook your head, looking away and having the strong urge to lie down.

“Do you know what it’s like? To know you give asshole after asshole a chance, and there’s nothing I can do about it?”

“Yeah, because-!”

“I know what I am, Y/N,” he cut you off. “You don’t have to remind me.”

He bitterly mumbled that last part, and you finally looked at him again.

“Topper…you can’t be jealous of my exes,” you slowly told him, the words coming out in a whisper like you were afraid to say it out loud.

You were all too aware of just how close he’d gotten, and it was hard to focus on anything else. You wanted to leave—needed to leave—but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You watched his blue eyes flit over your face, studying you and drinking you in, and you sharply inhaled when you saw his hand lifting out of the corner of your eye.

“Well, that’s too bad,” he quietly responded, hand coming up to take hold of your jaw.

You pushed against his arm—and chest—but the blond wouldn’t budge, and a bout of panic took hold of you.

“Topper-!”

The rest of your words were swallowed and forgotten, his lips moving against yours in a kiss. It—in combination with the alcohol—made your head spin, and you gasped against his lips. He took the opportunity to taste the inside of your mouth, moving closer and pressing his chest to yours. One hand against his chest and one against his arm didn’t deter him, and you jumped when an arm tightly snaked around your waist.

You were practically forced into Topper’s lap, and the more he kissed you, the more you forgot about the party downstairs.

The alcohol made it hard to focus on what was important, your brain getting distracted and becoming preoccupied with the taste of alcohol on his tongue. You were hyperaware of his hand pressing into your waist and the way his other hand was so warm against your jaw, his thumb tracing patterns into your skin. The ministrations had your body heating up, and although you knew why you needed to stop, you couldn’t work your limbs to try harder to.

Your head fell back when Topper’s lips traveled to your throat, and he let your face go, fingers dancing down your frame.

When they found comfort on your thigh, your dress riding up in the commotion, you shuddered. They felt so hot against your skin, and the heat traveled all the way to your stomach, settling deeply there. Without thinking, you parted your thighs a bit, and you felt Topper hum against your throat. The sound was soon followed by his hand disappearing between your legs, and you involuntarily bucked your hips closer.

You were shocked at how easy it was for him to push a finger into you. It dragged a breathy yelp from your lips, your hand coming up to grab onto his shoulder when he added another. You spread your legs more, hips lifting, and you heard Topper curse as he sank his fingers into you. You couldn’t stop moaning, the alcohol making you lose all sense of caution, so you weren’t shocked when he kissed you again.

“Topper,” you gasped against his mouth.

It was wrong, and you remembered why it was wrong…but you couldn’t stop. Before where you’d been trying to push him away, you were now pulling him closer, lifting your hips to meet every curve of his fingers and toes curling against the wood of the balcony. You were dripping around him, now, something that would’ve embarrassed you had you been in your right mind, but at the moment, you only wanted to come.

When you did, he let your waist go to cover your mouth.

You couldn’t stop murmuring and mewling into the palm of his hand, his other hand still pushing fingers into you and circling your bundle of nerves with his thumb. Stars danced in your vision, and you felt the blond lean in and press kisses against your throat and collarbone. You were still trembling when you started to frown, all too aware of his fingers inside of you as you wondered what you’d just done.

You ignored the heat of familiar gazes as you grabbed your things, wanting to be literally anywhere else.

Hitting a few balls with Rafe turned into hitting a few with Kelce and Rafe and then eventually Topper and Kelce and Rafe. The arrival of your brother had triggered a drastic mood shift, and as much as you’d tried to hide it, you didn’t think you were doing a good job. Especially once the gathering was moved inside to get something to eat. Unable to pretend anymore, you feigned an illness.

“Y/N, at least let me drive you…”

“I’d rather walk,” you told Topper, avoiding his eye and declining his offer.

There was no doubt in your mind that the other two picked up on the tension, confirmed when Rafe’s voice carried as you exited the building.

“Geez,” he’d exhaled. “What’s going on with you two?”

The question still lingered in your mind all the way back home.

What’s going on with you two… How loaded that answer was, and you yourself couldn’t even convey it fully. Memories of the party had plagued your mind for weeks, now, and despite how you should feel about it, you were learning that it wasn’t so simple. Your stomach flipped for multiple reasons as you recalled the feeling of Topper’s hands on you.

The entire ordeal was beyond dubious, your head in the toilet later that night only proof of how much you’d had to drink. Finding out that your brother thought of you in ways a brother shouldn’t should’ve gone in a whole other direction. The lack of blood relation did little to lessen your uneasiness and guilt, chest aching uncomfortably at the memory of his fingers inside of you.

Your parents were married, had been for eight years, now.

You were well and fully settled in as a family unit at this point…and yet…

That did nothing to lessen the heat deep in your gut when you thought about Topper kissing you and touching you in ways no one ever had before. It was something that kept you up at night, and on particularly bad nights, you found your own hand drifting between your legs to try and replicate the same feelings he’d pulled from you under the cover of darkness while your parents had been none the wiser.

To say that things were awkward and messed up was an understatement.

You were angry with him…but you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was a source of great conflict for you, and unsure of how to act around the one person you’d trusted the most, you simply opted with ignoring him and avoiding him as best as you could. Not only was this noticeable to any and everyone you knew—your combined presence a normality—but it also pissed Topper off.

Very much.

“You can’t ignore me forever.”

Those were the words that greeted you a few days later as you washed dishes. His mother was out, and your father was upstairs in his study, and despite the fact that you very much wanted to do what he said you couldn’t, you acknowledged him, anyway.

“I can try…”

When he said your name, it was softly spoken, but you weren’t oblivious to the edge in his voice.

“Can we talk for a sec…” he suggested. “I mean, like, a real conversation.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you-.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it,” he breathed, his hand coming up to rest on your arm. “You have a lot to say to me, and I don’t care if you just want to curse me out because you’ve never held back before.”

Roughly dropping a plate back into the water, you took a deep breath. Facing Topper, you really looked at him for the first time in weeks. You hated that despite the circumstances of what happened that night, he looked different to you…less like a brother… Such a thought made you briefly close your eyes, and when you opened them again, you were angry again.

“What is wrong with you?” you breathlessly wondered.

Your tone had his jaw clenching, and you watched him look away. You didn’t pull your gaze away as he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, and when he looked at you again, you were surprised to find a hint of anger in his blue eyes.

“You’re treating me like…like I’m some kind of pervert,” he whispered.

Your heart did clench at that, and you couldn’t pretend to ignore how that accusation made you feel. You were closer to Topper than you were to anyone else, and despite your anger, you still loved him—cared about him. No, you didn’t think that, but the circumstances of that night—and the circumstances surrounding this entire situation—were messing with your head.

“…and instead of like the guy who has always cared about you.”

You swallowed.

“I fucked up that night,” he admitted to you. “I messed up, and I can see that it’s freaked you out, and I’m sorry.”

Your eyes burned at his apology, and even though some part of you wanted something else just as much, you knew that an apology was what you should want more than anything. That night had to be a one-off thing, something to never be repeated. If you wanted to keep your sanity and have things go back to normal, you had to forget about it, and you had to convince Topper to do the same.

“Topper, we can’t…we can’t do anything like that ever again,” you whispered, and you watched his face even out. “I can’t tell you how to feel…”

The blond nodded, swiping his tongue between his lips.

“…but I’m telling you that I need things to go back to normal…”

Topper’s shoulders sagged at that, and you struggled to swallow.

“You’re the one person that I can talk to about almost anything…and the one person I know I can count on, and… I’m feeling really unsure about that, right now, and I don’t like that, and it’s scary…”

You trailed off when Topper wrapped his arms around you, gently shushing you.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly apologized again. “I’m sorry, and you’re right.”

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, and you shuddered when his lips grazed your skin as he spoke.

“I was being a selfish asshole that night,” he whispered. “Obviously this can’t be anything else.”

His hands moved up and down your back in soothing gestures, and while it was reminiscent of something he always did to calm you, you couldn’t help but let your mind wonder about what other meaning it might’ve always had. Telling yourself that Topper cared more about what you wanted instead of chasing the high of an alcohol fueled night, you hugged him back, accepting his apology.

It was storming the night you lost your virginity to your stepbrother.

The loud rain and harsh winds and booming thunder all seemed to work together to drown out the sounds of your breathless moans and surprised gasps. Topper’s forearms were pressed into the pillow on either side of your head as he snapped his hips against yours, the mix of pain and pleasure jumbling your brain. With the power out, the only source of light came from the occasional flash of lightning.

A late-night conversation had dwindled down into nothing the longer the night dragged on. Dozing off at his side wasn’t abnormal, your descent into fatigue made all the more quicker when accompanied by the sound of rain hitting the window. Despite your brief rough patch after that night, you and Topper started treating each other like you always had. It wasn’t without difficulty. After all, there were nights where you still woke up with the memory of his lips touching yours, but it was easy enough to ignore…

Waking up to the feel of an arm around your waist and a hardness against your thigh was not.

You feigned sleep, unsure of what to do or how to proceed and even unsure if Topper was awake and wholly aware. The wind knocked the shutters against the window, and the room was briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning. The thunder and rain were all you could hear, even deaf to your own breathing, but especially Topper’s. However, when you turned your head, you learned that the blond was very much awake.

You didn’t have time to properly gather your thoughts about the kiss, Topper pulling you against him and rolling on top of you before you could. Your mind had been going a mile a minute to make sense of what was happening, and by the time you did, it was too late—his bare chest was pressing against yours and his arms were caging you in.

“Oh my God,” you’d breathed the moment he pushed his cock into you.

The words had escaped from both the shock and the pain, repeating them as you also registered the way your stomach flipped.

“It’s okay,” he whispered in the darkness, a miracle that you could hear him. “You’re okay.”

Were you?

“Topper,” you’d murmured, your tone making your thoughts clear.

“I fucking love you,” was his defense. “Don’t you get that?”

He remained still inside of you for some time, both of you quietly going back and forth.

“We can’t do this,” you’d hissed.

“You saying we can’t isn’t the same as you saying you don’t want to…”

It was the truth, and you weren’t going to lie, but you could only manage to shake your head.

When he started to move, you gasped, somehow getting used to the feel of him in the time you argued. Feeling him pull out before pushing his way back into you had your back arching, absentmindedly lifting your hips. Every reason as to why you shouldn’t do this became less and less important the longer he fucked you. Your nails clawed at his skin, and Topper hissed at the feeling.

He nipped at your neck, teeth gently pulling at the skin while he plunged his cock into you. You felt so full and so stretched in a way that your fingers—nor his—could compare to. All that was left of the pain was a dull ache, even that becoming overshadowed by the pleasure his thrusts brought to you. You were thankful for the storm, sure you wouldn’t even be able to keep quiet if you tried.

“None of those assholes loved you,” he panted against your lips, fingers twisting into the hair at the nape of your neck. “None of them will ever love you like I do.”

Your fingers pressed into his arm and back, breath hitching at a particularly hard thrust.

When he kissed you, just like that night, you kissed him back. Only this time, you weren’t drunk. You were perfectly sober, and you moaned against his lips at the feel of his cock sinking into you. This was the wettest you’d ever been, dripping around him and making a mess of his sheets, no doubt. His hair was damp with sweat, the soft strands pressing against your forehead, and his skin fared no better. Your hands slid over him with ease, a thin layer of sweat coating both of your frames.

Topper was still fucking you when the thunder stopped, and the rain slackened. It was still dark, but you found yourself biting your lip in an effort to not give yourselves away. You found it difficult, the blonde’s cock hitting something inside of you that made you shudder and clench down onto him. When his hands trailed down to grab onto your waist, his fingers dug into your skin as he lifted your hips for you.

You could just make him out in the darkness, his gaze holding yours as you held onto him and fluttered around his cock. You could feel him push himself to his knees, and you dazedly reached down to cover his hands with your own. He stroked something inside of you that pushed you closer and closer to the edge, and the moment you fell over, you sank your teeth into your lip so hard that you tasted blood.

Your vision momentarily went completely dark, only able to focus on the feel of you tightening around Topper. You took note of his hands on your waist, your hands on his, the movement of the bed and the soft rain outside. As your breathing slowed, you also noticed the sloppiness of his thrusts, and your vision refocused just as the blond pulled out.

His sigh reached your ears as he came onto your stomach.

Aside from the rain, the only sound in the room was that of your soft and labored breathing. You were equally awed and shocked, almost feeling like you’d just had an out of body experience. You were trembling, but not just because you were cold, and sensing this, Topper wrapped his arms around you.

“Topper…”

Your tone was unsure, too many emotions fighting for dominance as you marinated in the aftermath of what just happened. His chest was to your back—heart still racing—and his only response was a quiet ‘tomorrow’. The hand that wasn’t resting on your stomach found a home on the front of your throat, and Topper softly repeated himself when he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck.

[justmystyles]

Now You're In My Life - Part 3

part 1

part 2

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 1.8k (it's a shorty, but I promise the next one won't be)

summary: a chance meeting at a diner turns your world upside-down.

warnings: some curse words, but other than that it's tame.

a/n: i am absolutely blown away by the reception i've received over the last couple of days. i just had these stories in my brain that i wanted to write down to get out of my system, i never in a million years thought anyone would read them, let alone actually like them. i'm so thankful for all of the likes, comments, reblogs, lurkers. thank you thank you thank you! 🖤

i say it's a plus size reader, while i don't focus a lot on that aspect (because your size should not define you), it will come up, so i just wanted to be upfront about it.

tag list: @bethanysnow @cute-as-ducks420 @gem1712 @golden-hoax @groovychaosavenue @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @tenaciousperfectionunknown @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @youknowwhaaat

The day after your night with Harry, you sat at your desk willing your eyes to stay open as you reviewed the end of month report. By the time you got home, and the adrenaline of the evening had worn off, you only really got about an hour and a half of sleep. You figure you probably should have called out, but you had been holding onto your PTO so that you could end the year with two months of short weeks. 

You were startled by a soft knock at your cubicle wall. You turned to find one of your coworkers, hiding half of his body and displaying a suspicious smile on his face. “Hi Y/N.” 

“No way that’s a good greeting,” you reply cautiously. “What’s wrong?” 

“You always think the worst of us,” he chuckled. “I’m just here to hand off the delivery that just came for you.” He stepped to his left, revealing an elaborate flower arrangement. 

Your eyes went wide and you reached out to take the vase, pulling it up to your face to inhale the scent of fresh sunflowers, orange roses, safari sunset, and yellow solidago. The perfect combination of fall colors. 

“You guys got me flowers?” You ask. Sure, you worked with some great guys, but they were typical mid-forties construction guys, you didn’t think it would ever cross their minds to get you flowers. Especially for no reason.

“Not us.” Your coworker shrugged before returning to his desk. 

Even more confused than before, you place the flowers down on your desk, and remove the attached card. Pulling it from the envelope, her heart leapt as she read over the words. 

Thank you for last night. Especially that last bit.

-H

PS - This should also cover your train ride. ;)

They were from Harry. He was thanking you for kissing him. 

That’s it, you clearly never made it into work, you’re still at home in your bed. This has to be a dream. 

You sat back down, and reached for your phone on the other side of the desk. You didn’t want to bother him, but it would be polite to thank him for the flowers, right? Just one text, that’s not too much of a bother. He can read it when he has a moment and respond whenever he wants. If he wants. You take a deep breath, building up the courage, and quickly open up your message app, typing Harry’s name into a new message. 

Thank you sooooo much for the flowers. Completely unnecessary, but very much appreciated. :) 

Before you even had a chance to lock your phone, a FaceTime call from Harry lit up the screen. Your eyes went wide, you weren’t even really expecting a reply text, let alone a FaceTime. 

You swipe to answer, and before you know it, you’re staring at Harry who’s looking into his phone with that wide, dimpled grin. 

“Harry, you really didn’t have to do this.” 

“I know, but I wanted to. Do you like them?”

“They’re beautiful. Really.” 

“Well, let’s see them then.”

You swap the camera view, the flowers coming onto the screen. You see Harry’s brow furrow and his head shake in disapproval. 

“No no no, this won’t do at all. I’m going to have to let you go. I’ve got to give that florist a piece of my mind.” 

“What?! Why? They’re so beautiful!” 

“I made it very clear to them that I wanted the flowers to be as beautiful as you are. These aren’t even close.” 

Your heart melts immediately, but you’re quickly snapped out of it by the sarcastic ‘awws’ and kissy noises from the cubicles around you. Everyone was listening to your call. You were mortified. 

“Y/N, can you flip the camera back around, please?” Harry’s voice rings out over the taunting of your coworkers. You quickly comply, and he starts to chuckle. “There’s that adorable blush. I wish I were there to pinch those cheeks.” 

You cover your eyes with your free hand before rushing into a nearby conference room for some privacy. You take a seat at the table, placing your elbow down and burying your face in your hand. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Harry says before taking a brief pause. “Well, maybe a little.” He chuckles. “But more than that, I wanted to make sure you know that last night meant a lot to me.” 

His words pull you from your spiral of embarrassment, you stay silent for a moment, making sure you heard him correctly before uncovering your face. “Really?” You ask tentatively. Harry nods his head with a sweet smile. “Me too.” 

“Yeah? Excellent! I’d really like to see you again, would you like that?” 

“Yeah, I really would.” 

“Great, New York City isn’t that far from you, right?” 

“No, it’s a few hours. Not a bad ride, I’ve done it a few times.” 

“Would you like to do it this weekend? I’m at Madison Square Garden Saturday and Sunday, I would really like you to come.” 

Your smile widens at the thought of spending the weekend with Harry. “Yeah, that sounds really great. I would love to.” 

“Great! Can I book anything for you? Travel? Hotel?” 

“No Harry, I’ve got it. I’ll book everything and let you know my itinerary.”

Harry smiles, and you can see the excitement in his eyes, even through the phone screen. “I can’t wait. Oh! And don’t forget your costumes!” 

“Costumes?” 

“Yeah, it’s Harryween! You’ll need to have costumes for the shows.” 

“Harry… ween?” You question.

“Yeah, it’s Halloween, and my name is Harr--”

“No no no, I get it,” You interrupt him, waving your hand at the camera. “I just… it’s cute.” You smile. 

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. I’m a sucker for a good pun.” 

You see a sparkle in Harry’s eyes, and his dimples re-appear. “I knew I liked you, Y/N.” He joked. “The costumes don’t have to be too elaborate or anything, you can just reuse one of your old ones.” 

Your chuckle at his suggestion. “I don’t think that’s going to work, I haven’t had a Halloween costume since I was like twelve.”

Harry’s jaw dropped at your confession. “You don’t go out on Halloween? No parties or anything.” 

You shrug in response. “Never get invited anywhere.” You pause for a moment, suddenly remembering the one time you actually did get invited to a Halloween party. As a plus one. You were dumped two days before the party, and it was too late to return the costume, so you threw it in one of your basement storage bins. “Actually, I may have something.” 

Harry could see the sadness in your eyes as you recalled the memory. He hated the sight, and silently swore to himself that he’d do everything in his power to make sure you never made that face again. 

“Perfect. I’m sure you’ll look stunning in whatever it is.”

You grin through your blush, a knock at the door brings you back to the present. “Well, I uh… I should get back to work. I’ll see you this weekend.”

Definitely. And I’ll be texting and calling you well before that. You don’t really think I’m just going to go three days without talking to you, do you?”

“I mean, you went all those years without talking to me before we met.” You shrugged. 

“Then I guess we’re going to have to talk all that much more to make up for lost time.” The sincerity in his voice makes your heart race. “I’ll talk to you soon, Y/N.” 

“Bye, Harry.” You smile before ending the call and returning to your desk. 

When Harry said you had to make up for lost time, you didn’t think he meant it literally. But he would text you often throughout the day. He would let you know what he was up to, ask you what you were doing and tell you how excited he was to see you this weekend. 

He had a show Wednesday night, and he had been texting you right up until the last moment before he went onstage. He asked if he could call you after the show, you told him of course. You figured it would be around eleven or so, which was pretty late for you, but you’d just go to bed and leave your ringer on. The sound of the phone would wake you up, and you could talk to Harry and hear all about the show before going to bed properly. 

The plan worked… mostly. 

The sound of your phone woke you from your slumber. Still half asleep, you reach over to your nightstand, swiping to answer the call. “Harry?” You say groggily. 

“Y/N? I can’t see you.” 

See?! It’s a phone call, what is he talking about? You pull the phone from your ear and look at the screen, you sit up with a jolt when you see Harry’s face on the other end.

It wasn’t a phone call, it was a FaceTime. He was on your screen, hair perfectly tousled from performing onstage. He looked amazing. You were in bed, hair in a sloppy topknot, no makeup, a couple of pimple patches, probably some eye crusties. And Harry wanted to see you. 

“I… uh… I thought you were going to call?” 

“I was, but I missed your face. I wanted to see you.” 

Harry wanted to see you. Not if he knew the horror show that was waiting for him on the other side of that phone. “That’s really sweet Harry, but I wasn’t expecting to see you. I don’t have any makeup on, I’m all gross and night face-y” 

“Turn on the light, darling. Let me see you.” 

Darling. He called you darling. Nothing that had happened over the past three days felt real. 

How could you say no now? “Alright, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” You sigh and reluctantly lean across your nightstand, turning on your lamp. You look into the phone, Harry’s eyes soften when he finally sees you. A look of adoration spread across his face. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”

“Harry…”

“I’m serious. Thank you for being vulnerable with me.” He had seen it the night you met, but your insecurities and difficulties letting people in became even more obvious to him the more he spoke with you. He wanted nothing more than to be trusted with your heart. He wanted to know everything about you; the good, the bad, he wanted you to let him in, and he was willing to take as much time as you needed. 

You talked for a few minutes, getting a recap of his show, talking about your schedules for the next day. But Harry could see you were tired, he didn’t want to keep you up too long. You said your goodnights, and he blew you a kiss through the phone. You smiled shyly and ended the call, placing your phone back down, turning off the light, and snuggling into your blankets. You drifted off, replaying your conversation in your head. 

Especially the part where he called you darling. 

[slytherhys]

I choose you and me, religiously

Prompt: Clandestine Meetings (week two) @elriel-month

You can also read this story on AO3!

A/N: I was so happy when @elainsweetcobalt asked me to write a story to accompany this amazing fanart for this week's prompt. Shout-out to her and @tessorange-art for the incredible job because holy shit it's such a good fanart

It was nearly 1am when Elain finally got the courage to get up from the couch and lie to her family.

“I’m exhausted.” She said with what she hoped was a soft, convincing smile – so at odds with the erratic spike of adrenaline coursing through her body, numbing her limbs. “I’m going to call it a night.” She added a bit apologetically, aware of her sister’s knowing gaze on the side of her face. Elain paid Feyre no mind, feigning obliviousness as she dropped a good-night kiss on Rhysand’s cheek, happy to see that no suspicion lingered in his star-speckled eyes. Feyre, however, was waiting for Elain with open arms and an intrigued look on her face.

She knew her sister wouldn’t ask questions while her mate was watching them so closely, but nervous bubbles still fizzed in her tummy as she wondered what, exactly, was going through Feyre’s mind. Nevertheless, Elain smiled – a doe-eyed, innocent grin that did absolutely nothing to fool her sister, who remained mercifully silent as Elain wrapped her arms around her – and it was all she could do to keep her composure as she turned around and climbed up the stairs, the curious gaze of her family on her back the only reason why she didn’t rush to her room.

Truth be told, neither Rhys nor Feyre had any reason to be suspicious, no reason to believe Elain to be anything but the stickler for rules she’d always been. The reliable if not predictablesister is what they saw every time they glanced at her, and it was an image Elain was all to happy to sustain if it meant one more night with him, his lips on her skin, his weight on top of her.

Her entire body was a riot of sensations – hot yet cold, numb yet buzzing with energy – yet there was no reluctance, no hesitation in her step as she entered her room – silently locking the door behind her – and made her way past the neatly made bed, past the overflowing vase of colourful tulips and towards the balcony door, throwing it open with gusto.

Only to find that no one was there.

Which was to be expected, if not a bit underwhelming. So what if her throat was dry with thoughts of running into his arms? So what if she could barely breathe with the anticipation that pounded through with every beat of her heart?

Elain turned, walking towards her vanity in a futile attempt of distracting herself, pointedly ignoring the tulips that seemed to taunt her from beside the balcony door. Her reflection watched her from the mirror with feverish, wide eyes and flushed cheeks the same pink as her satin dress – one she had picked specially with him in mind. Goosebumps covered her skin as a cool gust of wind caressed her ankle, wrapping around her calf-

Elain looked down – at the dark tendril stroking her skin – and her gaze immediately snapped up again, looking through the mirror at the man standing behind her, so silent and so still she blinked to make sure she wasn’t imagining him. But there he was. She parted her lips, every word fleeing her mind as she took him in – a midnight-dark shadow and impressive, leathery wings, carefully tucked in behind him. His lush lips were tilted up ever so slightly, hair wind-blown and wild. A familiar swarm of shadows lazily coiled around her, reaching for her, touching her – gently wrapping around her legs, brushing against her arms.

Her name on his lips was a greeting, a plea, and before Elain could greet him back his scarred hand were caressing her neck, his thumb stroking her delicate skin. In a woosh of relief, Elain tilted her head to the side, wild eyes urging him to touch her more, to wrap his hand around her throat. But Azriel’s touch remained soft, languorous. His hazel eyes, however, betrayed his otherwise calm expression, chaotic as they traced her face, her bare neck, the plunging neckline of her satin dress, and then flickering to her face in obvious appreciation.

Elain’s mind went quiet as his hand trailed slightly down, playing with the strap of her dress, teasing her until she was squirming in her seat, spreading her legs open. She couldn’t even bring herself to be embarrassed by the needy sound that left her lips as she pressed against him. A whisper of a touch made her gasp, and Elain watched with hooded eyes as shadows trailed up her skin, brushing against her upper thigh.

Azriel leaned down and pressed his lips against her pulse point, nibbling and licking at the sensitive skin. Elain watched him through the mirror, fighting not to close her eyes and lose a second of the sinful image he painted tasting her. Azriel looked up, as if sharing her exact thoughts, and Elain’s breath caught in her chest as his hazel eyes flared and he smiled wickedly.

“Yes.” Elain answered the unspoken question, making Azriel chuckle at her eagerness. Elain did her best to glare at him, but then Azriel was pressing soft kisses to her shoulder, and any urge to fight was quickly forgotten.

“Were they suspicious?” He asked instead. The rumble of his whiskey voice sent a thrill down her spine, straight to her core. Elain bit her lip and shook her head. “Are you sure?” He knew damn well she was sure – just as she knew he had checked if it was safe to come into her room before even stepping foot in her balcony. But this was a familiar game to them, and they were both beyond pretending the thrill, the rush of sneaking out, of getting lost in each other when, on all accounts, they shouldn’t, didn’t excite them.

At that moment though, Elain couldn’t care less – not as she got up on shaky legs, turned around and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him with such force that Azriel staggered back before righting himself. He groaned low in his chest, kissing her back as if it were second nature. His shadows, Elain noticed fleetingly, had made themselves scarce, now replaced by Azriel’s hands as they reached for her legs and wrapped them around his waist.

“Does Rhys know you’re back?” Elain mumbled, pressing kisses to his jaw as he carried her to bed. Azriel pulled her hair back, holding her body close while pulling a strap of her dress down her arm, exposing her nipples to the cool breeze. He groaned, kissing her bare shoulder, down her chest until he was wrapping his lips around the peaked bud. Elain almost let him distract her. “Az?” She urged.

Azriel pulled back, kissing her temple, and laying her down the bed with such care her heart squeezed inside her chest. “He’ll know in the morning.” He finally said. Which meant no one knew Azriel was already in Velaris, back from his week-long mission. Which meant he could spend the night with her, unafraid of being sought out by anyone else.

Despite the leathers that still covered his body, he wasn’t the Shadowsinger, he wasn’t the Night Court’s Spymaster. Tonight, he was just Azriel. He was only hers.

So Elain smiled, leaning back on her elbows as she watched him take his top off, his eyes never leaving hers. And she didn’t look away either - not even as the sound of his pants hitting the floor echoed through the room. In what felt like slow-motion, he climbed up the bed and pushed the hem of her satin dress up her legs. The caress of his scarred hands against her tender skin made her squirm where she lay, and a needy whimper left her lips as his thumbs caressed her inner thighs. Elain spread her legs, mindless with want and too desperate to feel ashamed of her wanton display.

Azriel didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest – and with a groan, his fingers found her soaked center. With a muttered cursed, Azriel’s gaze turned to Elain, his lips seeking hers, his tongue battling hers as his thick fingers entered her, his thumb swirling around her clit. He fucked her with his fingers, going slow and fast then slow again, playing with her body until Elain was bowing off the bed, hips moving as she sought the sweet pressure of his fingers. Azriel knew what she needed – harder, faster – but still he kept his lazy pace, watching her with a satisfied smirk and hunger in his eyes. Like he couldn’t get enough of seeing her squirm under his touch, cheeks flushed while the sounds of his fingers fucking her echoed through the room. Azriel kissed her jaw, her neck, her chest, all the while muttering sweet praises against her skin.

Good girl.

You’re so wet for me.

You make me so hard.

His dirty words were enough to send her over the edge, and before Elain could help it, she cried out, legs shaking as she came hard around his fingers. There was nothing in her mind but pure bliss, her entire body seemingly bursting at the seams as she kept clenching rhythmically around him.

He shushed her tenderly, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You need to be quiet, or I can’t make you feel good, baby.” He muttered against her lips, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth. Elain, still panting and probably looking as debauched as she felt, didn’t give him a chance to deny her a thing. Before he could mutter any more idle threats, she was pushing him until he fell on his back, bed bouncing with the impact. “Elain–” He tried to scold her, but she was beyond reasoning. Elain straddled him with ease, pulling the dress that had pooled around her waist up her body and throwing it behind her, caring little for where it landed. Azriel went silent, but the sight of his hands gripping the sheets spoke of his restraint. He wouldn’t touch her if he didn’t think he should – and hadn’t that been their problem for so long?

No longer, though.

Elain leaned down, dropping a kiss to his chest, eyes locked on his. “What if I want to make you feel good, too?” She murmured, kissing and licking his neck until he was panting under her. She would mark him tonight, right there so everyone could see. Let them ask where he had gotten it – let him remember it all again and come up with an excuse that could never do them any justice. “Will you be quiet?” She asked softly, hand reaching for his cock where it strained between their bodies. Azriel groaned, head dropping back as she pumped him slowly.

His hands finally reached for her waist when she bit the lobe of his ear, squeezing her fist around him and the sight of his naked body under her, strong muscles writhing and completely at her mercy sent a new wave a wetness to her core. She started pumping him harder, kissing him as he tried not to moan too loudly. Suddenly Elain understood why he enjoyed seeing her at his mercy.

“Holy fuck–” He groaned and power rushed through her at seeing this unbreakable man panting for her touch, nearly begging her for more. But Elain wasn’t as cruel as him – she raised her hips ever so slightly and aligned his member with her aching center. Azriel seemed to have stopped breathing, his own hands holding her still as she started to drop down his cock. “Shit.” He rasped and Elain had to agree. He fit perfectly, stretching her, and filling her in a way that sent starts bursting behind her eyelids.

She leaned down, hands holding her weight on his chest as she tried to move, but Azriel stopped her. “Give me a second.” He asked. Elain nodded, eyes closed as she fought the instinct to ride the man under her until both of them were screaming, secrets be damned.

“Azriel, please.” She begged when she couldn’t handle it anymore. “Don’t make me wait anymore.”

He smiled softly, pushing a lock of hair away from her face. “Go ahead, baby.” He rasped, hands dropping to her hips. “Ride me.”

She hardly needed to be told twice. She moved her hips slightly, finding the perfect pace until both were panting, fighting not to make too much noise. But it was impossible – not as Azriel bent his legs and started thrusting up, hips meeting her own until the only thing she could hear was the sound of his skin meeting hers, his pained groans that sent sparks up her legs. A large hand grabbed her ass, guiding her up and down his cock as Azriel, with an impressive show if strength, sat up, his mouth wrapping around her nipple and sucking.

“Yes.” She mumbled, hands holding onto his shoulders as he kept filling her, fucking her until there was nothing she could think about the feeling of his body pressed against hers.

Euphoria crashed down her body as his skilled fingers found her clit, his lips on her neck as he rasped, “Come for me.”

Elain’s entire world ended and was made anew. Pleasure like she had never felt before numbed her limbs, turning her into putty in his hands. She felt herself fall onto him as he held her close, seeking his own pleasure in erratic thrusts and soft praises muttered against her sweaty shoulder. She felt him come inside her with a groan, filling her until they were both sated, drained, and falling down on the bed with whatever sliver of energy they had left.

“Holy fuck.” Azriel panted and Elain couldn’t help but giggle where she laid, splayed on top of his body and unwilling to let go.

She smiled lazily. “You’ve said that.”

“It bears repeating.” He smirked, chuckling softly as he glanced at her. He stroke her cheek gently, lost in thought. Elain didn’t ask him what was going through his mind, not even as he watched her with so much tenderness Elain almost looked away. Azriel leaned down instead, kissing her slowly, deeply. “Can I hold you while you sleep?” He asked, a soft frown on his face.

Elain pouted. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“You’re back from Rask, and I’m the one who’s exhausted?” She teased, but Azriel just looked at her, letting her see everything going through his mind.

“I just need to hold you tonight.” He said, and Elain said nothing else. Because he would be leaving soon. Because she’d be waking up alone, any trace of him gone, his scent already fading from her sheets. And like always, despite her sore body and the vivid memories that would make her blush early in the morning, she would wonder if it had all been a dream. That is until she looked at the lovely vase by the window, where a new tulip stem would’ve joined the others. A different colour every time so Elain could tell them apart.

So Elain nodded as she reached for his lips once again. She wondered if maybe it was time to talk to Feyre. If there was a way for him to stop going away every other day. Not for the first time, she wondered if Rhys kept Azriel away for a reason – if in his concern for the people he loved, the High Lord wanted to avoid Azriel coming around Elain as much as possible, believing distance to be the key to a situation no one wanted. If he thought time apart would make them forget each other, want each other less.

If only he knew.

“I’m probably leaving again soon.” He murmured against her lips, as if he could muffle the words and stop them from coming out. From happening. “I won’t be able to tell you when I’ll be back.” He frowned, as if only now realising he’d be spending nights away from Velaris again.

A pang twisted in her stomach, but Elain smiled serenely, pressing a kiss to his chest. “That’s okay.” She reassured him, even if she knew every cell in her body would spend the entire time longing for him, too busy missing him to care for anything else.

Azriel eyed the balcony door, the gauzy curtains still blowing with the night breeze. “I don’t want you to wait for me without knowing when I’ll be back.”

Elain raised her head, eyes heavy with sleep as she watched him. “Won’t you come to me when you get back?”

“Always.”

“Then I’ll be waiting for you.” She reassured him.

“Elain–”

“Sleep, Az. You need to rest.” She laid her head on his chest, snuggling closer to him just as he interlaced his fingers through hers. He sighed in defeat and Elain felt her heart trip inside her chest as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, smiling happily as she closed her eyes. “I always leave the door open for you, anyway.”