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kingkatsuki · 2 months

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— for you

Based on this gorgeous art that I still can’t stop thinking about by @rabbbitseason. You’re single-handedly feeding Togame nation, lovely. Please don’t stop💕

Pairing: Togame Jou x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, dirty talk, blowjob, cum swallowing, not proofread soz.

Word Count: 2.2k.

The Shishitoren jacket should have worked as a vibrant yellow strip of warning tape wrapped around you, paired with red flashing lights to alert anyone in the vicinity to danger. Keeping you out of trouble as you sat on one of the high tables with your girlfriends as Togame lingered not too far behind, sitting beside Choji in a booth as he kept one eye on you across the room.

Stealing glances at him between your conversation as you’d wave over at him as though you’d just seen each other for the first time, Togame doing the same as he tipped his glass towards you. He’d give it at least another thirty minutes before you were making your way back over to him to plant yourself on his lap, legs draped over his thighs to lean your body against his.

But apparently the jacket alone wasn’t enough.

Just as you raised your drink to take a sip through the straw, you were caught off guard by a guy inviting himself into your circle and intruding on the conversation. Shifting in your seat as you pulled Togame’s Shishitoren jacket a little tighter around your frame when you felt the guy try to steal a glance down your top, irritated that he was blocking your line of sight so you couldn’t signal across the room to Togame or Choji that he was being a bother.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’m not interested.” You purse your lips, holding back the insult that sits on the tip of your tongue as he takes a step closer.

“Why not? It’s just a drink—”

“My boyfriend already bought me a drink, thanks.” You reached across the table to sip it for emphasis, wondering if Togame would buy you another if this one ended up all over this guy.

“Boyfriend?” The guy scoffed, “Then where is he—”

But this guy must have been either very drunk, or very stupid when he chose to approach you. A cocky, confident smile on his face as he slung an arm around the back of your chair, leaning close so you could smell the liquor on his tongue as he tried to introduce himself. Asking to buy you a drink as you shifted back, feeling his hand press against your side, dangerously close to the curve of your breast.

And before you had a chance to tell him to fuck off or throw your drink all over him, your boyfriend stepped up behind him. Reaching out to grasp the wrist of the hand that was touching you as his green eyes darkened menacingly.

“Did no one ever tell you not to touch things that don’t belong to you?” Togame glared before his features softened when he turned to face you, “Is this guy bothering you, baby?”

But he already knew the answer. With the way the guy had been touching you, he’d be lucky to get out alive. Swinging a fist as he made contact with the guys nose, a horrid crack sounding over the bustle of the dingy dive bar as he shrieked back in horror.

It hadn’t taken many punches to leave Togame bloody.

Your eyes widened in fear when you looked down at his bruised knuckles, the vibrant crimson glistening against his skin as he assured you that none of it was his. The man’s cheek now bleeding onto his t-shirt as he fled the bar, Togame’s links to Shishitoren were the only reason that you hadn’t been kicked out for fighting as you led him towards one of the back rooms.

You’d intended to find a first aid kit, much to Togame’s annoyance with the insistence that he was fine. Your entire body felt warm over the blatant display of possession over you, and it had your cunt pulsing around nothing between your thighs at the sight of him like this for you.

“I gotta say, sweetheart,” Togame cooed, “I didn’t think this was how my night would go.”

He groaned as you pressed hot open-mouthed kisses along the length of his half-hard cock. Circling it with your palm as you followed the forking veins that littered the underside of him, following a map until you met the curve of his balls. Looking up at him with faux innocence you mouthed at the middle of his scrotum.

“Are you complaining?” Your lips curled into a grin as you licked a stripe back up his length, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock as he shuddered under your ministrations.

“Me? Complain? Never—” Togame groaned when you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip as you began to suck gently.

“This is what he wishes he had isn’t it, baby?” Togame drawled, “Your lips around his cock.”

You moaned in response, your tongue following the line of a prominent vein that travelled along the underside of his cock. His chest caved at the motion, his shirt pulled up just enough to expose his Adonis belt and the curve of his pelvis. A deep scar settled against his right hip that travelled towards his inner thigh as you reached up to press your palm against it, letting your fingers card through the messy hairs that littered his skin.

“Fuck, baby.” He leaned back in his seat, thighs spread as he watched through half-lidded eyes. His tongue peeking out to wet his lips as another low groan rumbled in his chest, “Prettiest damn mouth there is.”

“Just showing my appreciation.” You murmured around the tip, swiping your tongue against it sloppily before delving deeper.

“That’s why everyone wants you huh?” You keened at his praise, hollowing your cheeks to suck harder as your hand reached up to squeeze his balls, running your thumb along his taint as you drew another desperate moan from his throat.

Togame really was pretty like this. His head was thrown back in ecstasy, as you got the perfect view of his chiselled jaw, the three-day-old stubble casting a shadow against it as you took a moment to breathe. Pulling back from his cock to press a glossy kiss to the swollen tip of it, gliding the tip of your tongue along his slit to gather the fresh pre that leaked out.

“Luckiest fuckin’ guy in the world.” He hummed, stroking his thumb against your cheek before moving his hand to the back of your head. Cradling it gently as he let you set the pace, choose the movements as he basked in your attention.

The metallic tang of blood permeated the air as blood began to dry against his skin, most of it from the guy who had dared so much as glance at what was his. Togame’s rings pierced his skin when he swung, hearing that disgusting crunch when his fists connected with bone and cartilage.

“I feel pretty lucky now too,” You hummed, pulling his cock from your mouth as you tapped the underside of it on the flat of your tongue, “Had my big, strong boyfriend there to protect me. That was so hot—”

Your words of praise had a deep timber groan rumbling at the back of his throat, eyes rolling back as his cock pulsed hot and heavy beneath your warm palm. You’d coaxed Togame into this back room under the guise of ensuring he wasn’t hurt, despite his insistence that something was perhaps wrong with you. As though the guy had harmed a single hair on your head and this was enough to declare gang warfare. Rolling his eyes when you sat him down on a rickety old chair in the corner before slipping down onto your knees.

“Fuck, I’ll always protect you,” He rasped as you took him back inside your mouth, rolling your tongue along the length of his cock as the swollen tip hit the back of your throat causing you to gag slightly, “Ain’t that right? Everyone wants my girl.”

Spit began to pool in your throat as you bobbed your head along his length, drooling down your chin and onto his balls as you soaked the front of his sweatpants. Feeling him begin to give slow, shallow thrusts into your mouth as you continued to stroke your tongue around his girth, your fingers squeezing each of his sacs gently as Togame continued to sing your sweet praises. His jacket began to slip from your shoulder as you changed the angle, tilting your head as you leaned forward on your knees to take him even deeper inside your mouth.

“The fucker should’ve known better.” He leaned forward, shifting position to pull his jacket tighter around your shoulders, “You’re wearing my jacket after all.”

You hummed in response as you looked up at him from under thick lashes, watching his Adam’s apple bob as you sent delicious vibrations through his cock as Togame groaned. Tightening his grip on your head as his fingers weaved through your hair to tug at the root, his knuckles throbbing from earlier impact as the blood began to dry against his skin.

You pushed forward, feeling the head of his cock hit the back of your mouth as you took him in your throat. Drawing another debauched groan from his chest as he watched your nose pressed into the messy hairs at the base of his cock, feeling a slight pressure on the back of your head as he held yourself down on him until the desire to breathe became too strong.

Wet tears began to clump in pretty pearls in your lashes, blurring your vision as you tried to blink them away. Your throat started to constrict with the desire for air as your nails pressed half-moons into the muscle of his thigh, feeling Togame’s grip loosen as you pulled back. The wet smack of his cock leaving your lips sounded in the room as silvery lines of spit and pre kept your bodies connected.

“F-uck,” The word rolled off his tongue as you moved your lips to take the entirety of his cock in one go, deliberately palming his balls at the same time as Togame’s grip in your hair tightened. His hips bucked as you drew him closer to the edge of his climax, setting a constant pace as you sucked hard.

“My pretty baby is so good at sucking cock, huh?” Togame groaned at the debauched sight of you on your knees for him, listening to the lewd sounds that slipped from your mouth as you squeezed your thighs together to try and give your neglected clit some slight relief.

“Is that poor little pussy feeling left out?” He cooed knowingly, flexing his fingers against the back of your head as his other hand reached out to palm one of your breasts through your top, “Bet those pretty panties are drenched.”

You whined around Togame’s cock at his crude words, feeling the persistent throb between your thighs as you continued your pace, bobbing your head as you rolled your tongue around his head with each upward motion. You could tell he was close from his laboured breathing, his grip on the back of your head almost painful now as his fingers curled into your hair to tug at the root. The sensation had you moaning around him as you moved your hand to jerk the base of his cock to work him towards his release.

“Oh fuck, baby.” He swallowed thickly, sandals clacking against the floor as he spread his thighs further apart, “That’s it, that’s it—”

You cupped his balls, feeling them begin to tighten in your palm as he teetered on the cusp of his climax. Holding your head down on his length as he found his end, spilling his release into your mouth as you felt hot ropes of cum paint your tongue and splash against the back of your throat. Giving a few sloppy ruts of his hips as he wrapped his hand around yours at the base of his cock. Letting you see his bloodied knuckles as he increased your movements, milking his cock of every drop of spunk he had to give as he rode out his bliss. The heady taste of it settled on your tongue as you made a show of swallowing it all for him before leaning forward to clean the last beads of it against his spent cock.

“I dunno what I ever did in a past life to deserve you, sweetheart.” Togame groaned, chest heaving as he came down from his high, “I must’ve been a real good guy.”

“You’re still a good guy now,” You smiled, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “You always look after me.”

“I’m not sure about that, baby.” Togame stroked his thumb over your glossy lips, catching a stray drop of cum as your tongue instantly slipped out to lick it off the calloused pad. Groaning when you wrapped your lips around it as his spent cock fought to come back to life. Dragging your bottom lip downwards when he pulled back, muttering minx beneath his breath. You leaned into his touch as he cupped your cheek in a warm palm, leaning down to meet your gaze as he sighed, “I think I’m a pretty bad guy.”

Togame closed the distance to bring you into a languid kiss. Not caring that he could taste his release as his tongue pushed past your parted lips, grazing your teeth as it stroked against every crevice.

“But no matter what happens I’ll always be there to protect you.”

#Togame x reader #Togame smut #Togame Jou x reader #Togame Jou smut #togame jo x reader #Togame jo smut #jo Togame x reader #jo togame smut #jou Togame x reader #jou togame smut #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker smut

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monstersandmaw · 7 months

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Male kelpie (dad-bod, single father, biker) x plus size f. reader - Part One (sfw)

Background info post on the Full Moon Motorcycles group here Oats Appreciation post here

Featuring a plus-size, bisexual, not very confident reader, and a divorced, Scottish, single-dad, biker kelpie with a soft-dad bod and a heart as big as his bike’s engine (possibly bigger).

CW: there is a very brief moment where a character (not Oats!) insults the reader for her size and uses some fat-phobic language towards and about her, unaware that she can hear him. If you’re sensitive to that, it is brief, but you can skip from “…you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.” to the paragraph beginning, “After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror…”. Also, if you squint, there’s a passing moment that could possibly be interpreted as the reader having some potential issues with food, but it’s not intended to be a big deal and it’s only for about two sentences. Still putting it in here too, just in case.

Wordcount: 7562

You pushed open the glass door of Full Moon Motorcycles and willed yourself not to feel self-conscious or out of place.

Having both an older brother and a mother who rode motorbikes had at least given you a fair bit of familiarity with bikes and the general ‘biker culture’, but it was mostly the fact that almost all the ‘biker girls’ you saw posing on social media were slim and toned, which you were decidedly not.

From the utterly foetid takes in the comments section of the one post your brother had shared on his page with you in it, you’d also got the impression that the biker community was not particularly kind to any woman with a waist over 25 inches. It probably wasn’t the case, but your one experience with it had been enough to make you very wary.

And yet, as you made your way towards the bike shop’s counter and the older man with floppy, greying hair and warm brown eyes looked up, you were greeted with an open, welcoming smile.

“Hi there,” he said, standing up with a grunt from the comfy chair where he’d been sitting in the corner near the shop’s antique cash register. “What can I do for you?”

You smiled shyly and glanced along the wooden countertop before returning your gaze to him. “I’m looking for a present for my brother, but I’m kind of on a budget…”

“Gotcha. We’ve got some silly key fobs there,” he said, indicating a rotating display rack at one end of the counter, with mottoes that ranged from funny to explicit, “But if they like working on their bike themselves, you can’t go wrong with some maintenance supplies… Not the most glamorous but I promise they’ll be grateful to you all the same.”

“Could always tie a festive ribbon round it,” you said, and he chuckled and nodded.

“That’s the spirit.”

You eyed the reasonable price of the fobs with some relief, and then followed his gesture towards the various bottles of chain degreaser and the like, and a few other useful tools and kits that were stacked on shelves on the back wall to the right of a door that presumably led into the back and store rooms.

The right hand side of the shop had the counter and some shiny, new bikes that had been parked in a row around the perimeter of the space, and the left hand side was more open with a bench or two against the brick walls, and some red, mechanics’ tool-chests tucked against the back wall. A number of leather two- and one-piece suits hung in racks at the furthest end though, with helmets on shelves and a few rows of t-shirts, jeans, gloves, and boots displayed too. There were oil stains in the centre of the polished concrete floor, and you suspected that tinkering took place there outside of the shop’s usual opening hours.

The whole vibe of Full Moon Motorcycles was friendly and cosy, with a slightly industrial, grungy note for some flavour.

In short, you loved it.

“There are also some fun helmet covers –” the older man chuckled, and added, “A number of the regulars here have them, and there are also some earplugs, or perhaps a tough phone case and mount? A chain care kit? There are some vinyl stickers too, and t-shirts, socks, neck warmers, balaclavas, mugs, helmet care kits, thermals…”

Laughing, you held up your hands for him to stop, and he started to chuckle too.

“I’ll let you browse in peace, sweetheart,” he said, his whisky brown eyes twinkling. Even his un-looked-for endearment came across as kindly instead of creepy, and not many men could pull that off. “You just holler if you have questions and I’ll be happy to –”

The door opened behind you and he broke off as his attention was snagged by the arrival of a heavy-set guy in dark jeans and a softly-worn, black leather jacket. He held a black helmet with a tinted visor in his large hands, and he looked more than a little wind-blown and rumpled.

Incongruous with his rather roguish-dishevelment, a lock of his long, thick, slightly grizzled, black hair was held back by a little hair-clip with a Barbie-pink, fabric bow. It didn’t fit with the dark scruff of stubble on his jaw or the piercing green-blue eyes at all, but he seemed completely unfazed by its presence.

“Oats!” the older man exclaimed with obvious joy, clapping his hands. “It’s been a while, my boy! How was the trip to Scotland? You make it round the NC500 this time?”

The ‘boy’ looked to be in his mid to late thirties…

“Ach, no’ a chance this time, Hank,” the man chuckled with a heavy, Scottish accent lacing his rich, rough baritone. Exactly where in Scotland he was from, you couldn’t tell, but it was lyrical and attractive all the same.

“Ah, next time, next time. And is Natalie well?

“Oh aye, my wee Loch Ness Monster is doing just fine. She’ll be terrorising her mother for the Christmas holidays. I came straight from the road though — clutch started playing up just south of Birmingham.” He grimaced, but even that looked charming somehow. “Sort of hoped you might find a minute to take a look at it for me if I left the Old Girl here. No rush though.”

“No problem, Oats. We’ll get her running properly again in no time. Bet you’re missing little Natalie already,” Hank added sympathetically.

“Ah, you have no idea,” the man, peculiarly-named ‘Oats’, sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

“See she left you with a parting gift though,” Hank snorted, pointing at the bow hair clip.

With a slight frown to his dark eyebrows, Oats reached up and patted at his head until he found it, and then he laughed. It was a loud, delighted, full-bellied sound that reverberated through the space while it lasted, and he left the hair clip where it was with no trace of self-consciousness as he lowered his hand again. “Aye, that she did. Surprised it survived the journey down with my lid on and everything. Oh –” His unusually pale green eyes landed on you, watching him and lurking near the rows of t-shirts on the back wall, and he went still.

Those sea-grey eyes raked you up and down, clearly noting the way your black leggings clung to the curves of your thighs and hips, and the black hoodie, which maybe went some way to hiding the softness of your stomach a bit, and he swallowed visibly. He looked… hungry. That was not the usual reaction you had grown accustomed to from men, and you let the flare of heat lick up your insides for just a moment, daring to hope that maybe he did find you attractive.

“Sorry,” he said in your direction, with a soft, dusky smile. “Didnae mean t’interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you managed to croak back at him before returning your attention, however reluctantly, to present options for your brother while the older man, Hank, hobbled out around the corner of the wooden counter to chat amicably with the man. You couldn’t hear what was said as the two chatted in lower voices, but it was evident that they were good friends. While they talked, however, you couldn’t help noticing that he stole occasional sidelong glances in your direction, and you felt your face warm pleasantly.

‘Oats’ was certainly an unusual nickname, but then again, almost everyone who rode with your brother also had their own nicknames for one reason or another. As you browsed, you wondered what Oats had done to earn that one. He certainly looked like a snack to you, but you vowed not to let your attraction to the stranger show. Awkward situations (or worse, silences) tended to arise when you let that happen.

He had a tanned, outdoorsy complexion, and longish, black hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that brushed below the collar of his black leather jacket. It looked like it had a tendency to flop into his face when not restrained by that out-of-place pink bow. He filled out the jacket very well, and clearly had a soft paunch, and his thighs looked frankly delectable in those thick, indigo jeans. You prayed you wouldn’t have to see him fully from the back if he turned around, to witness the way he filled out the seat of his jeans too.

Fuck. Concentrate.

Bike gifts for brother, not delicious-looking stranger you’re never going to see again.

“Well, I shouldnae hang about, I suppose.”

Oats’ voice cut through your musings in front of chain degreasers and you jumped a little. Glancing back over at him, you offered him a smile when he too turned to look at you one last time, and a slow, charming smile crept onto his handsome face.

“See you,” he said with a dip of his head. Before he strode from the shop though, he let his eyes roam once more down the length of you and he bit his lower lip, almost regretfully, then turned away abruptly.

Oh yes. He absolutely did fill out the ass of those jeans beautifully.

Quite honestly, you weren’t totally sure what you ended up getting your brother for his birthday. You took whatever it was to the counter in a daze, your mind replaying over and over the way he’d looked at you.

“Must say,” Hank said conspiratorially as he fished your change from the antique cash register and slid it across the polished, wooden counter towards you. “I’ve never seen Oats quite so taken with someone, miss.” He chuckled, his kind, whisky-brown eyes glinting. “You take care now.”

Swallowing, you nodded and left the shop, hoping perhaps to find Oats waiting for you outside on the street, leaning against his motorcycle, but life was not a movie, and wherever he was, he was not lingering in the hopes of seeing you. In fact, the street was completely deserted, so you crossed, clambered into your little hatchback, and drove home with the feeling that you’d let a pivotal moment in your life pass you by.

Your sour mood persisted like a raincloud for the whole week, but by the time you were driving over to your brother’s on Saturday for his birthday ride, you were trying to pull yourself out of it. You had your own helmet with you, secured in the back of the car, and beside it was (now wrapped) the present you’d got him. In fact, it was a chain care kit, and, although you hadn’t noticed at the time, Hank had thrown in a free keychain that said ‘In my defence, I was left unsupervised’ which was very on-brand for your brother. You had planned to go back and thank him for the freebie as soon as you could, but your brother’s birthday ride had been planned for that Saturday, and work had been hell that week, so you’d not had the chance.

Predictably, Alex wasn’t in the house when you rang the doorbell, so you followed the sound of metallic clinking and laughter, and went round the side to find him tinkering with his mad little Honda Grom in the garage, while his two best mates — Eggs and Sparky — were lounging around and either making unhelpful suggestions or lewd comments.

“Yo!” Sparky grinned when he saw you, sitting up straighter and almost falling off the mechanic’s tool chest he was leaning his weight against. At Sparky’s exclamation, your brother sat up and banged his head on the handlebars of the short little Grom with a curse.

“Hey,” you mumbled in Sparky’s general direction. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

Alex scrambled upright and came over to hug you, probably smearing grease and dirt all over your armoured jacket, but since it was black anyway, you didn’t mind too much. Alex was about as opposite to you as it was possible to get — straight up and down like a beanpole, and tall. You took after your mother, inheriting all her thick curves and soft edges. Soft heart too.

“Thought this might come in handy,” you mumbled when Alex released you and you held out the brown paper bag stamped with the logo of Full Moon Motorcycles.

His eyes lit up when he saw the logo, and he tore into it like a chipmunk after a peanut, grinning in delight when he’d dismembered it, and in particular he showed off the keychain to his mates. Eggs snatched it and tried to claim it for himself, but Alex was having none of it, and the three of them scrapped and goofed around while you sat down on an old, metal stool in the corner and waited for the other two of your small party to show up, with a cool, curdling kind of dread in the pit of your stomach when you heard one name in particular. Nooner.

Within an hour though, you were all out on the road.

You took the pillion seat behind Alex, and warded his mates off at red lights when they came for his killswitch to immobilise him. A while later though, Alex zoomed off down the open road that would take you all out of town and towards the somewhat famous biker cafe, ‘Elusive Neutral’, that sat nestled amongst the fragrant heather of the rolling hills surrounding the old market town.

The sky was a gorgeous, autumnal blue and the weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and as your brother’s Yamaha flew along the winding A-road that was every biker’s dream, you cracked a smile and gently tipped your head back. As much as it had scared you when you’d first ridden behind your mother all those years ago, you did love the feeling of being out on a bike. Not that you were actually brave enough to want to try and learn yourself though. Something always held you back, made you wary and unsure, and then you inevitably felt down about that too. God, you wished you had Alex’s wild confidence.

Nothing good ever seemed to last for you though, and when Alex’s R1 had purred into the car park behind Eggs and Sparky, and you’d hopped off to let him reverse more easily into a space, you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.

“…if he didn’t have his fat sister with him, we could have fucking ripped it up along those twisties.” That, of course, had come from Nooner, named for the fact that he rarely stuck to two wheels and always pulled wheelies, or ‘nones’, whenever he got the chance. Out of all of your brother’s friends, he was the one you liked the least, for… obvious reasons.

“Talk about killing the vibes, huh?” Eggs replied, trying to suck up to him, as ever. “More like ‘crushing’!”

The reason Eggs had earned his nickname was that he’d lost a bet and shaved his head when they’d all been about sixteen, and he’d looked like a boiled egg til it grew back. You wished you had the sass to remind him of that every time his spine seemed to crumble in favour of earning a half-hearted snicker out of Nooner.

When Alex joined you, he caught the crestfallen expression on your face and frowned, but you shook your head and walked away from them, heading for the cafe alone.

“Can’t wait to shove some cake in her fat gob already,” Nooner added as an aside to Eggs, and your vision blurred as tears welled along your lashes. Why did people have to be so cruel? To trample all over someone else just to feel a little taller themselves?

You vaguely heard what sounded like Sparky’s voice countering the comment, but you didn't stick around either way. If you mentioned it to your brother again, he’d just say it was banter with the guys and not to take it to heart. Easy for someone who's never been on the end of that kind of comment to shrug it off, after all.

You ducked straight for the toilets when you got inside the airy, modern cafe, not even bothering to look around or find a table first.

After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror to see that you hadn’t turned your eyeliner into a panda cosplay, you headed out again and made for the little bar that doubled as a counter for people who were there solo to sit and eat instead of taking up a whole table to themselves. None of your brother’s friends joined you, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw that they’d settled themselves around a table in the far corner and already had a number for a server to bring their food order over. They hadn’t even waited for you.

“Fuck them,” you hissed through gritted teeth, taking a seat at the bar instead. The stools were made of old tractor seats, and they were surprisingly comfortable, and as you leaned your forearms on the countertop, the young woman behind the counter came over to you with a smile that made you feel a little better.

“Hey,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

You ordered a hot drink, and then took out your phone while you waited for her to make it for you.

For half an hour or so, you sat scrolling through social media and sipping your drink and telling yourself this was your brother’s day and not yours. He did come over a couple of times, but you declined to sit with his friends, and because he’d never had any real reason to doubt you before, he took you at your word when you told him you were happy enough where you were. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, and he believed you.

Patting you on the shoulder, he left you for the third time, and you looked down into the dregs of your drink with a heavy sigh. “This sucks.”

Outside, the sound of more bikes arriving made your ears perk up, and you wondered idly what they rode. Elusive Neutral had once been an old cattle barn, but it had been completely redone and the walls on two sides had been replaced with vast picture windows that showed the sweeping expanse of moorland beyond, and a small sliver of the car park at one end. Craning your neck, you saw a group of maybe five or six bikers draw up, some on hipster looking cafe racers and others on racy sports bikes. There was even a Ducati Panigale among them, and behind them followed an old, battered, blue pickup truck.

The door opened a little while later, and you glanced over, eyes drawn instinctively by the movement.

Above the general chatter and merry chinking of china in the room, the energy of the new group of bikers rose like a cloud of dizzy mayflies; buzzing and excited and full of joy. You watched them all with interest from your perch at the counter.

The first through the door was an absolute Amazon of a woman, with her long black hair restrained in a thick braid, and shoulders the width of a barn door. She was lean and tall, and in her biker gear she looked… incredible. Her face was strikingly handsome, but until she glanced down at the woman walking beside her, her features were hard and glowering and unspeakably stern. She held the door open for one of the others to follow her inside, but when she locked eyes again with the brunette by her side, her whole expression melted into unguarded adoration. Your gut twisted briefly with jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter to you who looked at you like that, if only someone would.

You looked away, and by the time you glanced back at the bikers, the whole group had filed in from outside. There was a guy with golden-brown skin and beautiful dark brown eyes who had his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a pale, skinny guy in black jeans and a moth-eaten, black jumper, with his long hair tied back in a bun, and behind them came a strikingly attractive guy in a manual wheelchair, flanked by a very short biker with slightly anaemic looking skin. You wondered fleetingly if the guy in the wheelchair had ridden a motorbike there, and if so how, before you realised he was probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, with long, flowing red hair and dark green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made for laughing, and for kissing.

Jesus, was it an unwritten rule of being a biker that you had to be unfairly attractive? Even Hank, who you recognised with a start of surprise coming in behind the guy with red hair, wasn’t unattractive, in a bulky, older man kind of way.

The guy walking with him though… he truly made your stomach swoop.

It was Oats.

You looked away before he could spot you, sitting alone at the bar like some pathetic creature waiting for cocktail hour to begin. It was lunchtime on a sunny, autumnal Saturday though, and there you were sitting alone because you didn’t fancy sitting with your brother’s loser mates.

God, the way Oats had looked in his tough-looking leather jacket, with his eyes crinkled mid-laugh at something the guy in the wheelchair had shot back at them over his shoulder… You bit your lip and stared into the bottom of your cold, empty mug like it would divine some kind of solution to your situation for you.

The new group didn’t seem to notice you while they filed up to the counter, jostling and joking, and when they drifted off to another corner of the cafe, you turned back to your phone, trying desperately to resist the almost overwhelming urge to keep turning over your shoulder to watch them.

Before too long however, you startled at a soft tap on your shoulder, and you looked around to find Oats himself stepping back to a polite distance and smiling down at you like he’d found a treasure in an unexpected place.

“Hey there,” he said in that rolling, Scottish accent that did unspeakably indecent things to your insides. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but you were at Full Moon last week, right?”

Mute for a moment, you nodded, and mustered up a slightly dazed smile for him.

“You… here alone?” he asked, eyeing the currently-empty seats to your left and right. In fact, someone had only just gathered up their belongings and left.

“Kind of?” you croaked, letting your eyes slide over to the table where your brother and his friends were hunched over one of their phones, snickering at something. “It’s… It’s my brother’s birthday today. I… tagged along as pillion, but… you know… I’m kind of a spare part really.”

At that, Oats’ dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he looked across the room at them before returning his attention to you. Then, his unearthly, almost prismatic, silver-green eyes took in your empty cup and he grinned. “Can I get y’a top up?”

Your instinct was to refuse, but you bit your lip. This didn’t feel real. A cute, handsome, courteous guy was actually taking an interest in you.

“Sure. Thank you.” And the smile that spread itself across your face telegraphed your delight in a way that was impossible to disguise with any kind of suave grace.

Oats, however, seemed equally delighted, and nodded. The barista came back over and he leaned his weight on the counter to talk to her. He seemed to have that enviably easy manner with everybody, and he even charmed a free slice of cake out of her too with what felt like no effort at all.

“Chocolate? Or something else?” he asked you.

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you said, but he frowned.

“You sure? I’m gonna have a bit of their chocolate cake. It’s so good, it’s practically a sin.”

“I…” you faltered.

He didn’t pressure you though and shrugged easily, turning back to the barista. “Gimme two forks with that, love. Just in case.”

“No problem,” she beamed back while she bustled about, and Oats eyed the empty bar stool next to yours.

“May I?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “Please.” And then, because apparently a demon of confidence had temporarily possessed you, you eyed his slightly helmet-flattened forelock and said, “No pink hair clips today?”

He guffawed loudly enough that your brother actually glanced over and frowned when he saw you talking with a stranger.

Oats snorted and shook his head. “No, not today. My daughter is still up in Scotland with her mother.” He fixed you with a more serious look and said, “She and I divorced, before you get the wrong idea about me flirting like this with a beautiful woman.”

The compliment caught you so off-guard that you just froze for a moment, but when the heat of a blush filled your face, you looked away and he chuckled.

“I’m not normally so forward, but I’ve been kicking myself for not talking to you when I first saw you in Full Moon. Hank was telling me just this morning what a muppet I’d made of myself for walking away like that.”

You looked behind you at the group of his friends and then turned back to him. “Won’t they think you’re being rude, ignoring them like this?”

He shook his head and smiled. “They’re probably all taking bets on how quickly you’ll shoot me down.”

“What? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

At that, his face split into a huge, handsome grin and he shook his head just a little. “Lucky me,” he said. “You ride?” he added, eyeing your jacket that was obviously a motorcycle jacket.

You shrugged. “Pillion. I’ve never ridden myself, but my brother lets me come out with him sometimes.”

Oats nodded, and then, as the barista set down his coffee, your top-up, and the plate of decadent chocolate cake with two forks, he said, “I’m Euan, by the way, but everyone calls me Oats.”

You introduced yourself, and then said, “Oats?”

He snorted and nodded. “Not the worst nickname, for sure.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Oats nodded and shunted the plate towards you first before leaning his elbow on the bar and watching you while he spoke. “I think it’s because I’m a dad, but I’m always prepared for most situations, and when it comes to my Natalie, she’s always hungry. I’ve usually got about a thousand granola bars stashed away about my person —” he said, cutting himself off to pat conspicuously at his jacket pockets. Pulling a slightly dog-eared crunchy bar from his breast pocket, he wielded it like a magic wand at you and said, “Case in point.”

“Hence, Oats,” you said, eyeing the healthy brand name on the packet.

“Exactly. Like I said, it could be worse. See the tall lass over there with the dangerous scowl?”

You didn't need to turn around to know which of his friends he was talking about, but you did anyway. “Yeah.”

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled, stowing the granola bar back into his pocket and taking a huge scoop of the chocolate cake with his own fork.

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

“Triumph Bonneville T120,” he said with almost exactly the same intonation and fondness as he’d just said ‘because I’m a dad’, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t be doing with all these glitzy sports bikes and the like,” he added with a laugh, setting his fork down and blinking slowly. His lashes, you noticed, were thick and dark and enticingly long.

Laughing, you smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly — my brother rides an R1.”

“Nice,” Oats grinned back. “But nothing could entice me away from my girl.”

“I’m surprised you’re here, flirting with me then,” you said. Evidently that confidence demon was still lurking.

Again, Oats laughed, though it was more of a low whicker this time, and it rolled right through you and lit you up all over. God, how long had it been since someone had laughed like that for you?

“There are… exceptions,” he said in a rumbling murmur. “Tell me about yourself?” he asked, and you did.

You spent the next hour at least talking in an easy back and forth with him while he charmed a few more refills from the barista and a lot of answers out of you, before one of his friends sidled up shyly and waited for a lull in your conversation.

“Sorry to butt in,” the small, unbelievably beautiful woman said. She was the one who’d been on the receiving end of the adoring look from the Amazon, ‘Pixie’. She had chocolate-brown hair falling in thick ringlets around a gorgeous face, and, you were pleased to note, she had wide hips and a softness to her that a lot of the biker chicks you’d seen online didn’t have.

“Coco,” Oats beamed. “Meet my new friend.” He introduced you by name, and Coco smiled at you, holding out her hand.

When your palms connected, you felt a warmth rush through you and you felt like your heart skipped a beat. The feeling like you could tip forwards and drown in her endless, dark brown eyes almost unseated you, but she let go of you and stepped back with a pretty smile on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Pleasure to meet you. Just wanted to tell Oats that we’re thinking of heading off soon. Ariel has a photoshoot he wants to get to in an hour or so, and Demon’s keen to get going as well.”

Oats nodded, and you tried not to let your stomach drop down to your boots at the thought of all this coming to such an abrupt end.

Coco turned her head sharply to look at you just as the feeling hit, and she smiled faintly. “You could always stay here though, Oats,” she added with a pretty smile. “We’re only going back to Full Moon, and Demon clearly has no intention of lingering there…” She shot a meaningful glance back at their table. Demon, the guy with dark hair and tanned skin, was seated with the guy he’d entered with now draped in his lap, his skinny legs dangling as he sprawled languidly back against the guy’s muscular chest. Demon whispered something into his ear before he clearly bit the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, which made him sit abruptly upright and flush a vibrant pink.

Oats laughed again and shook his head. “Fuck me,” he chuckled privately. “Never thought I’d see the day. You guys go on. I’m… I’m very much content here.”

“I can see that,” Coco smirked, and walked away.

When she was out of earshot, you turned to Oats with a hot flush of your own in your face and said, “Don’t stay if you don’t want to… I’m sure my brother will be leaving soon anyway…”

Just as you said that, and before Oats could reply, Alex reappeared at your side and jutted his chin in Oats’ direction. “You good?” he chirped at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “This is Oats. I met him at Full Moon Motorcycles when I was buying your birthday present.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, holding out his hand for Oats to shake. “Good to meet you, man. You tell her what to get for me? If you did, it was a good choice.”

“No,” Oats said carefully, his grey-green eyes sliding back to your face even while he shook your brother’s hand amicably. “No, whatever she got you, it was all her.”

“Oh, cool,” Alex said. “Listen, sis, we’re gonna hit the road in a while. Nooner and Eggs want to hit the twisties for a bit, but I can’t really do that with a backpack, so Sparky said he’d give you a ride home, if that’s ok.”

You swallowed. “Um…”

“I can give her a lift,” Oats replied after a swift glance in your direction. “She’s already got her own lid, and there’s room on the Bobber’s double seat for both of us.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said with a wary frown.

“Your choice,” Oats shrugged easily, looking at you and holding his hands up just a little.

For a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure, but the idea of wrapping your arms around Oats’ thick middle and sitting astride his gorgeous bike kind of decided it for you. Besides, it was a long time since you’d done anything truly just for yourself; simply because you wanted to. You nodded at your brother. “It’s fine. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

Nodding to reassure him, you smiled again and Alex backed up a pace. “Cool. Text me later, ok?” he said as he retreated towards his friends, clearly trying to hide his excitement at not having a passenger for the great, twisting section of A-road they were heading for.

“Will do. Have fun, and don’t crash!” you called after him. “Or get a speeding ticket!”

He waved a hand over one shoulder without looking back, and you laughed and returned your attention to Oats. “Brothers.”

“Bikers,” he replied. “You try telling that to any of that lot though —” he gestured towards his own group of friends who were now filtering out of the door. “You ready to head out too or do you want to stay?”

You did want to stay, but the seat wasn’t that comfortable anymore, and you wanted to move around a bit. “No, I’m good to go,” you said and prepared to slide off the stool, but Oats stepped down first and held out his hand to you. You didn't need helping down, and his playful little smirk told you he knew as much, so you rode out the last of that demonic possession and let your fingers slide across his palm and he steadied you off the stool.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

You picked up your helmet from where you’d stowed it on the floor at your feet and straightened to find him waving casually across the room to the good-looking guy with the ethereally pretty boyfriend. Before he stepped away from you and made towards the door though, you cleared your throat and said, “Oats?”

“Mn?” Looking down at you, his entire attention honed in on you, like you were the centre of the universe, and you swallowed back a sudden welling of emotion.

“Listen… Thank you… for… coming over to me today. Like I said, it’s my brother’s birthday, and he was here with his friends, and he only included me so I didn’t feel completely left out, but…” Accursed tears washed over your eyes for a moment but you blinked them away furiously and ploughed on regardless. “I’m really glad I came along today anyway,” you finished rather pathetically.

His full, beautiful lips curled into a gentle smile and he blinked softly and exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words private, as though you weren’t standing in a busy cafe surrounded by people and the cheerful clatter of coffee cups and laughter. “I’m really glad I did too. I wasn’t going to, you know? I was going to stay at home and edit a boatload of raw photographs for a client, but Demon convinced me to come out. I guess I owe him.”

“‘Demon’? For… For the speed?” you asked, wondering how he came by his nickname.

“For the horns,” Oats replied in deadpan humour. “Have a look if he’s still there when we go outside. You ready?”

You followed him out of the cafe with a nod, and just as you took a deep, indulgent breath of fresh, heathland air, Oats’ group of friends filed out past you on their bikes. The one named Demon was in the lead, and the nickname made immediate sense. Sitting astride a blood-red Panigale, with his boyfriend clinging on behind him like a limpet, the guy had pale, curving horns fixed to the crown of his helmet.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you said, and Oats waggled his dark eyebrows.

The Amazon had a Yamaha R1 like your brother’s, but hers had a pearl-white wrap that made it look almost spectral, and riding out in front of her was Coco on a yellow and black Honda Hornet.

The telltale red plait told you that the guy in the wheelchair was on a modified Kawasaki, with unusual struts at the back that looked like they would come down when he stopped to stabilise him instead of having to take his legs off the foot pegs, where they were currently Velcro-ed in place. Watching the whole group file out was Hank, standing beside a battered old pickup. In the bed of the truck, you could just see that the red-headed biker’s wheelchair secured in place.

Hank waved the last of them off, then glanced over at Oats. The older man lifted his nose just a little, as if he too was enjoying the fresh, moorland wind that whipped across the car park, and he nodded once at Oats, and then at you to your surprise, before clambering stiffly up into his pickup and closing the door. It shut with a raucous yelp of rusty hinges.

You stood there and watched Oats’ friends all file out, all waving at Oats as they passed, before they set off down the road in a roar of revving engines to leave a lonely looking Bonneville waiting patiently near the stone wall of the car park nearby.

“Yours, I presume?” you said, nodding at it.

“Yup.”

“She’s a beauty,” you mumbled, self-consciousness prickling at the sides of your neck for the silly comment.

Oats beamed though, his sea-foam eyes lighting up as the crinkles around his eyes and the slight dimples in his cheeks creased under the force of his obvious pleasure. “Thank you. She’s my pride and joy. You ready? Oh, wait, you should put your address into my phone before we get going,” he laughed.

You nodded, taking the offered phone from him. Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you took it, and a tiny thrill passed through you that you did your best to quash. With your address plugged in and a route home waiting to be followed, you handed it back to him and looked up into his handsome, rugged face as he smiled.

“Cheers. Let’s go,” he said, and you trailed along beside him over to his bike, heartbeat thudding in your ears with your nerves.

He swung a leg over and turned the key, then pushed the bike upright and nudged the side-stand in with his left foot before flicking the switch and bringing the bike to life. She growled beautifully, the low, thundering rumble of her engine sounding far more visceral and primal than your brother’s sports bike did. Perhaps it was the design of the lower-slung Bonneville, with its visible parts that made you think of a Steampunk aesthetic, but you instantly preferred it. Plus, the double seat looked way more cushioned — and less precarious — than the one you’d perched on to get to the cafe that morning.

Oats got himself comfy while you slid your helmet on, then he looked over his shoulder at you and nodded, so you took that as your cue and got settled on the pillion seat behind him. The footpegs were already down. The pulsing purr of the machine beneath you was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were entrusting your life to a relative stranger, whom you’d never seen ride before, and as you climbed on and rested your hands politely on his shoulders, you felt a shiver travel through your whole nervous system.

“Do whatever’s comfortable for you, obviously,” Oats said over the noise of his bike, “But if you want to hold my waist — if you can actually get your arms around my middle, that is,” he chuckled self-effacingly, “— feel free. Totally up to you.”

“Thanks,” you yelled back, and, because apparently that pesky demon of confidence was still kicking around, you hugged his torso.

It was wonderful.

Slowly snaking your arms around his middle, you felt your chest press against his back and you caught the way he inhaled slowly and tried not to wonder what it meant. It felt so good to hold him that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t a hug. It was to keep you in place while a gorgeous stranger drove you home on his equally gorgeous bike. With a final thumbs-up to check you were happy, to which you replied with a nod of your head and tried not to clack your helmet against his, he pulled away and your heart leapt for the sheer joy of it.

Where the R1 was built for sleek speed and bursts of power, the Bonneville was build to be enjoyed, and oh gosh, did you enjoy every curve.

And not just the curves in the road, either.

Oats was soft, but he was solid, and the urge to rest one hand on his thick thigh was almost overwhelming, until he took the corners at just the right pace to be exhilarating without you having to worry about your safety, and you clung on instead and laughed behind the safety of your visor.

It was all over way too soon, and as the Bonneville chugged into your road like a steam train and halted outside your poky, terraced house with its quaint little kitchen garden out the front in the postage-stamp of space between the pavement and the house, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Please don’t let this be it, you thought desperately.

You went through the motions of getting carefully off the bike without staggering or falling, and again, Oats held out his hand to help steady you. You gripped his fingers gratefully and when you gave an extra little squeeze to his hand at the end, you could have sworn he answered with one of his own and a throaty chuckle.

He dismounted too, which surprised you, and you wondered if you were going to have to ask him inside. As much as you wanted that in principle, you desperately didn’t want it to happen today because the house was a mess: laundry was still hanging up all over the place, and you’d cooked a curry the previous night and it was definitely still lingering in the air.

Oats took off his helmet but left his bike idling, which went a little way to reassuring you, and when you looked more closely at his expression, you thought you saw a hint of something familiar lingering in the corners of his eyes. Was he nervous?

Swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the thick, 5 o’clock shadow that looked like it lingered pretty constantly no matter the time of day, Oats took a deep breath, held it, and then smiled at you. “Fuck,” he exhaled, and laughed. “I’m… very rusty at all this.” He held his helmet in both hands before him, toying with the strap.

“If I gave you my number, would you maybe like to meet up again?” you asked, taking pity on the man.

“Very much,” he said softly. “Like I said, Natalie is with her mum for the holidays, and apart from a wedding I’m covering next week, this is a pretty slow time of year for me. I’m free… mostly whenever.”

The reminder that he had a daughter with someone else did make you wonder what you were letting yourself in for. Children weren’t really something you had any expense of, since neither you nor your brother had shown any parental inclinations yet, and you weren’t particularly close to your cousins who had small kids.

“Ok, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.”

That done, he slid his phone back into his pocket and zipped it up, biting gently at his lower lip for a moment. “I know it’s bold,” he said, “But may I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped and soared. Breathless, you looked up at him and whispered, “Yes.”

His tiny, gentle, lopsided smile heralded the kiss’ approach, and he took your jaw delicately in one, leather-gloved hand as he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft but insistent against yours, and you answered with a little moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, pulling you closer with a low growl so that you were pressed flush against him for a moment before he stepped back and exhaled roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded, feeling like you were floating inches above the ground.

You watched him re-mount his bike and adjust himself a little once he was settled, then he revved it playfully for you, and rode away after a final look back at you. He flipped his visor down as he pulled away, and you watched the bike and its rider disappear down the road.

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough…

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#oats the kelpie #monster romance #kelpie #male kelpie x female human #full moon motorcycles #supernatural biker group #plus size female reader #plus size reader #male kelpie x female reader #male monster x female reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #dadbod monster #dadbod #single father monster #monster dad

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mrsstarkey1 · 2 years

Text

found you - rafe cameron

this gif makes me FERAL

SUMMARY: you help rafe one night. he was in a bad position, you helped him out of it. you thought that was the end of the story. does rafe think the same thing?

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

WARNINGS: none

A/N: check out my most recent rafe fic

You sat on the couch on John B’s porch, legs rested on Pope’s lap. JJ and Kie sat together sharing a cigarette, and John B was sitting on the high edge of the porch.

“So, where were you last night y/n? you said you were gonna stay here,” JJ asked you as he got up to get himself a beer.

You put the book that you were reading on your lap, shrugging your shoulders, “just out. You guys know I have other friends right?”

They all gave you a ‘really?’ look, and you avoided all of their eyes. You were obviously lying, but no one pressed it any further.

You started to read your book again as the rest of them engaged in separate conversations. Your eyes moved across an entire page just for you to reach the bottom and not remember a thing you just read. Your mind was clearly elsewhere. It kept going back to the events of last night.

you were sitting on the beach, enjoying the dark sky and the fresh air. the time was nearing midnight, so there was no one on the beach but you and your thoughts.

you sat for about 20 minutes, sipping a beer very slowly. and you were just about to stand up and walk back to your car when you heard footsteps on the steps leading to the beach, and then a small thud followed by a groan.

you ran toward the source of the sound, finding a man laying in the sand, curled up, looking very much in pain. you dropped to your knees next to him, turning him around so you could see his face. “rafe?” you said softly, not even to him, but to yourself.

you hadn’t spoken to rafe cameron in a very long time. not since your freshman year of highschool. even then, you weren’t friends, just acquaintances.

he had a small cut on his forehead, and he reeked of alcohol. “rafe? can you hear me?” he was breathing, but his eyes were shut.

rafe let out a soft moan, giving you his answer. you helped him stand up after a couple minutes of staring at him. “ouch,” rafe held his side, and scrunched his nose up in pain.

“come on, let’s get you to my car. i can take you home, okay?”

rafes eyes widened and he shook his head violently, trying to break free of the hold you had on his hand, “no- no, i don’t want to go home. please, i cant go home. y/n please i-”

“hey, hey it’s okay. you don’t have to go home. i’ll take you back to my place,” you said softly. you were confused by the outburst, but you weren’t going to press him for information, especially in the state he was in.

he let out a breath and his hand relaxed in yours. you led him to your car, and opened the front door for him. he sat down and leaned his head back against the seat, and put his hands over his face. when he stretched back, he winced, hissing from pain.

you leaned into the car, putting your hand on the hem of his shirt, “can i?” he nodded.

you pulled the shirt up to reveal a giant cut right on his stomach, “oh my god.”

“i must have landed on a rock when i fell,” he said, obviously in pain. the numbing of the amount of alcohol hes had was wearing off, and he was feeling all the pain.

“i can stitch it at my house,” you said, closing the door and getting in the drivers seat. you had a first aid kit for all the times you had to stitch up jj.

you drove to your house in silence, though you had so many questions for him.

once you got to your house, you opened rafes door for him and wrapped your arms around his waist, helping him walk, careful to not make contact with his cut. he seemed like he’d gotten 10 times more tired in the short time you’d been in the car.

you led him to your bedroom, and had him sit down on the bed. he was sitting up, but his eyes were closed tightly. “i’m going to take your shirt off, okay?”

he simply nodded and you pulled the shirt off over his head, taking a better look at the cut. “this is going to sting,” you poured alcohol over the open wound.

he winced a little, but took it like a champ. you stitched the wound shut, and helped him put his shirt back on. you moved the covers, so that he would have a place to get under them.

“i can sleep on the floor,” he said quietly when he realized what you were doing.

you shook your head, “no no, it’s okay. please, sleep on the bed. you look like you could use a good nights sleep.”

he gave you a soft smile, “thank you.”

he slipped his shoes off and moved to the other end of the bed, getting under the blankets. you grabbed a pillow and a blanket from your closet and began to put it on the floor. “y/n?” rafes small voice caused you to stop.

“yeah?”

“can you lay with me?” he asked, so quietly you could barely hear him.

the pure sadness and what you could only think of as fear in his voice broke your heart. “sure, rafe.”

you turned the lights out and slid under the the blanket, next to rafe.

“what were you doing on the beach so late?” he asked you, and you felt his breath on your shoulder. you hadn’t noticed how close you were.

“i was just thinking. it’s so quiet and peaceful at night. i don’t get much of that anymore,” you said turning to look at him, “what about you?”

he closed his eyes, like he was thinking hard about something. “honestly, i don’t remember. i was so wasted, i think i was just walking without even being aware of it. i dont even remember falling. but thank god you were there, y/n. i don’t know what would have happened if you werent,” he said, and you noticed the glossiness of his eyes.

you put your hand on his arm, “i’m just glad that you’re okay.”

rafe hesitantly wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and resting his head on your shoulder, “thank you.”

you just nodded your head a little, and traced circles on rafes back until his breathing steadied, and he drifted off to sleep.

when you woke up in the morning, rafe was gone, and there was a note in his place.

thank you for everything

The sound of a motorcycle pulling up next to the chateau brought you back to present day. You squinted your eyes to see who was under the helmet.

JJ and John B shot up from their seats when they realized who it was, and you did the same.

“Cameron, what the hell are you doing here?” JJ yelled, practically running down the steps and straight toward him.

Rafe held up his hands, “I’m not here to fight, I swear to god, I-”

“Yeah right, like we’re supposed to believe that,” JJ got in Rafe’s face, just as you made it to where they were standing. You held your arm out and made contact with JJ’s chest, motioning for him to stop.

“Hey, chill out JJ. Let him talk,” you said calmly, not wanting to witness a fight.

“I’m here to see y/n,” Rafe said in a calm voice, making eye contact with you. He looked different from last night, probably because he wasn’t drunk this time.

Everyone’s eyes snapped to you, giving you looks of confusion. You didn’t want to begin to explain this to the group.“It’s okay guys, just go inside. I’m going to talk to Rafe.”

After a couple minutes of protesting, they all went back inside, probably still watching from the window. “Are you alright?” you asked, not knowing why else he would be coming to see you.

He shifted on his feet a little, “yeah, I’m okay. I just wanted to see you. I had to go to the country club with Topper and Kelce this morning, that’s why I left. but I- I wanted to stay,” he said quietly, not meeting your eyes.

Your lips twitched into a small smile, “do you want to go for a drive?”

He let out a small sigh of relief at your offer, nodding with a smile. You led him to your car. You already knew what everyone inside was thinking, so you sent a quick text to your friends.

i’m getting in this car willingly, don’t worry about me

You switched off your phone and got into the drivers seat. “Where do you want to go?” you asked, turning to look at him.

He thought for a moment, drumming his fingers on the car door, “I’m kind of hungry,” he said with an asking smile.

“Me too. I know a good place about a half hour from here, if you don’t mind the drive.”

He shook his head, “I don’t mind.”

You figured that you would spend the ride in silence, but Rafe was feeling especially talkative. He asked you about a thousand questions about yourself, and the only question you could think to ask him was, “why do you want to know so much about me?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I just want to get to know you,” he said nonchalantly, and you smiled a little.

You answered all of his questions until you pulled into the parking lot of the little diner. You spent the rest of the afternoon in the diner, just talking. Talking to Rafe somehow felt so normal, so easy.

After you finished eating, you were prepared to end the day you’d spent with rafe, which was admittedly one of the best days you’d had in a long time. You savored the ride home, as you thought it might be the last time you were with him.

You had just made it back to obx when Rafe suggested going back to your house to watch a movie. “Not sick of me yet, Cameron?” you said jokingly, with a hint of seriousness. You really weren’t sure why rafe wanted to keep hanging out with you, but you wouldn't be caught complaining.

You handed him a blanket and a bowl of popcorn before sitting down on the other side of the couch. Rafe frowned at your preferred seating, “can’t you sit over here?” he patted the fabric of the couch directly next to him.

Rafe’s undeniable need for physical touch at all times became very clear in the last two days. Of course, you didn’t mind. You really were the same way. You sat down next to him, your legs touching. His arm snaked around your waist, and his head rested on your shoulder.

You pressed play on the movie, but you found it hard to focus on the film and not the man practically on top of you. “Rafe?” you whispered, and he turned his head a little to look at you.

“Yeah, y/n?”

“Why are you here with me right now?” he gave you a confused look, “I mean, why aren’t you with your friends. You’d barely even spoken to me until yesterday. Do you feel like you.. owe me? Or something?”

“No, no that’s not it at all,” he said quickly, changing his position on the couch shifted so he was sitting up more. He took a breath, clearing his throat, “Honestly, I don’t know. It’s just, after last night... I couldn’t get you out of my head. I mean you helped me more than anyone ever has, even though you know what kind of person I am. I mean I mess with your friends all the time, which I do plan to stop doing. I don’t know, but there’s just something magnetic about you, y/n,” he spoke the whole monologue in a soft voice, not meeting your eyes. He gave you the impression that he didn’t express his feelings much, which made you feel warm inside, knowing he expressed them to you.

“That was deep, Rafe Cameron,” you said softly with a small smile. He let out a breathy laugh with a small shake of his head. You became more serious, “of course I helped you, Rafe. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, everyone deserves redemption. And surely no one deserves to bleed out drunk on a beach.”

Rafe stayed silent, only looking at you with a look of admiration that he didn’t believe he’d ever given anyone before. You grabbed his hand in yours, rubbing circles with your thumb on his soft skin and gave him a soft smile. You put your head on his shoulder, and he hesitantly placed a kiss to the side of your head.

“I was really glad when you showed up at John B’s today,” you mumbled into his shoulder. “And I’m really glad JJ didn’t start swinging. I wouldn’t want to have to stitch you up again so soon.”

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lucyandalexiafan · 7 months

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Winning against her | Jenni Hermoso x reader

Summary: Jenni had started to watch your instagram stories a few days before the Champions Barcelona - Roma match, liking the last one you posted. At the end of the game she makes it clear that she would like to pass the night with you, what happen if you go there?

Warnings: sex against glass wall, light chocking, light degradation, few spanks. Age gap: reader is 23, Jenni 30.

Words: 3,5k

Please, read the note at the end :)

“You have to beg me better than that if you want to have an orgasm after the match and this bratty behavior” Jenni whispers against your neck, before removing her fingers from you and resting them against your thigh, her satisfied smirk on her face reflected on the wall glass.

The story of how you ended up with your breasts against the glass wall of her apartment, completely naked, extremely horny but also extremely needy, with her behind you edging you, is a bit long.

Jenni had watched all your Instagram stories from three days before the Champions League game and liked the last one that you posted the day of the match. She had started watching them the day before you and your team were supposed to travel to Barcelona, where the first Champions League group stage match would take place, Barcelona against Roma. You had reposted a story posted by the Champions League profile: the fact that she looked at it seemed weird to you, of course, but you thought that she had simply looked at your profile after the Champions League profile story or was looking for the players of your team to have an idea of how you looked like. Furthermore, you tried not to think about it too much knowing that you too tended to look at your opponents' social profiles before matches.

The second time was a story of a photo of you and Linari the day of the travel, that you reposted from Linari's profile, but since Elena and Jenni had been teammates at Atletico, you thought that maybe she had seen it to try to understand if you were together; like gossip about former teammates.

The third time was the day before the match, when you had posted a photo of you and Haavi walking around the city, with Giacinti and Giugliano behind you, who were laughing. In this case, there was no connection between you and her that could have led her to your profile and, since she didn't follow you on Instagram, she must have searched for your profile. You had started to think about it too much, but you still hadn't said anything to anyone, not even Elena.

The fourth time, and the time of the like, was when you had, on purpose, posted a photo of yourself that Caesar took of you while you were in Parc Güell: you were wearing a tight-fitting crop top that highlighted your breasts, an open white shirt and pants that were baggy but tight at the waist; the pose highlighted your muscles, your flat abdomen, and, more generally, your shapes.

The notification of the like arrived while you, Giugliano and Linari were reviewing the match schemes in your room; you blushed so much that Manu had stolen the phone from your hands and laughed at the fact that a like gave you such a reaction. Elena, on the other hand, had winked at you revealing how Jenni, like many of her teammates, very often liked Instagram's stories with a not-so-innocent intent, when it came to people who weren't her friends.

You had dismissed the conversation, continuing to review the schemes with them, but something inside of you was always thinking of her.

Did she do it on purpose or had she pressed it by mistake?

It was just a like, okay, but she was Jenni Hermoso, the hot, tattooed, beautiful and charming midfielder of Barcelona and Spain National Team, one of your crushes for years.

When you entered the stadium that afternoon you were nervous, anxious. Certainly, the match was the main source of stress, but a part of you knew that you were feeling this way also because of the raven player.

What if she had just made a mistake?

You had worn the match kit, thanking the fact that it was still warm enough in Barcelona to not wear the thermal shirt under the t-shirt, and then you entered the field for the warm-up along with your teammates.

The Barcelona team was already on the field, Alexia was guiding the training with the athletic trainers, her teammates doing a pair exercise.

The fans were noisy, chanting songs and waving flags.

You looked around, accidentally detaching from the group, surprised by the number of people, the atmosphere, the colors. If it's true that the atmosphere of the Roma stadium was warm, compared to this it's nothing.

Then, as you turned around to look at all the sectors of the stadium, you had set your eyes on the opposing team and, a few moments later, on the raven.

She was looking at you, a smirk on her face, a posture that radiated confidence and a bit of arrogance.

She bit her lip, then tilted her head to the side.

You blushed in front of that gaze, lowering yours, but then Bartoli yelled at you to start the warm-up like everyone else, and the awkward moment ended.

Your horniness, no, you were so horny. This was the first time that you saw her in person, in real life, and even though you were on both sides of the field, she was so attractive.

The warm-up was amazing, the atmosphere and the fans singing kept making you more and more eager to play the match, but you tried in every way not to look at the other half of the field, not to look at her. Although, in reality, you tried not to look at their whole team: the idea of playing against players like Alexia Putellas, Caroline Graham or Marta Torrejon gave you too much performance anxiety, an anxiety not compatible with having been chosen as a starter.

Half an hour later you were inside the tunnel, in line with your teammates, with Barça to your right; you were the penultimate, in front of only the goalkeeper. Linari, that bitch, had greeted Jenni and had involved you in their brief conversation, a conversation that was possible because you were far enough from your captains, and at the end of the lines, to be seen talking.

"Jenni! Holaa – the Roma player had said – How are you?"

"Elena! It's been so long," she had said in return, embracing her. "All good with you? Ready to lose?" the Madrilena had winked.

"You're the one ready to lose, we have our ace up our sleeve," she had pointed at you, then put an arm around your shoulders. "Jenni, let me introduce the one who will score against you and make us win."

To say your cheeks were as red as Canada's jersey would be an understatement.

"I'm Jennifer, but you can call me Jenni," she had extended her hand to introduce herself. "It's a pleasure. You are a midfielder, aren't you?"

Your eyes had widened, surprised she knew your position. "Yes... I, yes."

Her hand was warm, it was big.

She had bitten her lip.

"Is this your first Champions League match? How old are you?" she had asked, her eyes locked on yours as if Elena wasn't next to you.

"Twenty-three, it's my first game, yes," you had whispered, embarrassed.

"Elena! Stop talking, focus!" Bartoli, the captain, then interrupted the small talk.

The line had then started to move towards the field, and you hadn't had the chance to talk to her again, even though you felt her eyes on you as you walked.

The match had been hell.

They ran as if their lives depended on it, they were physical and committed many fouls, protesting every time the referee blew the whistle, contributing to worsening your anxiety. The fans did not help to ease the tension either, continuing to sing, to yell.

Alexia had scored in the twenty-second minute, a beautiful shot into the top corner from a free kick.

Your team hadn't been particularly affected by the goal, but you had. The pressing they were applied was so stressful that your passes weren't as accurate as in Serie A and you won maybe half of the tackles; your anxiety was so much that you thanked the universe when the referee blew the whistle for halftime.

The coach's speech in the changing room had infused more confidence in you, and you had entered the field much more assertive; Haavi had told you to try long crosses to her or Viens whenever you could, to start counterattacks, the only chance to break their defense wall.

You had listened to the advice and, indeed, she was right: you had started to create attack actions more often, and Ona Batlle had gotten a yellow card for preventing one of your counterattacks. The more you attacked, the more the anxiety disappeared, the more you started to take risks in midfield. Some dribbling attempts, some sprints toward their pitch' part.

Then, in the seventieth minute, Linari had headed the ball, passed by you, into the net.

Goal, 1-1.

Elena had run towards you, her arms wide open.

You had jumped into her arms, your teammates' screams around you.

There was nothing else but you, that ball in the net, that 1-1 on the scoreboard, your cross.

From there on, it was a battle. The intensity of the match had grown, and you started to get tired. Haavi and Viens were too tired to continue those sprints and Barca's pressing was suffocating.

In the 93rd minute, they had a corner kick. You were all in the area, outside for you there was only Giacinti, and, for them, Mapi Leon and Ona Battle. Salma had kicked it, but Linari had intercepted it, passing it to Di Guglielmo on the side, who in turn passed it to Giacinti in the midfield.

At that point, you had sprinted, energy or no energy, you had started running towards the other side of the field. Giacinti had passed the ball to Giugliano, who seemed to understand your intentions, since she had passed it to you in Barça's backline. Your stop wasn't perfect, but somehow you had managed to dribble Mapi Leon and kick the ball from just outside the box.

The last shot of the match.

The last seconds of the match.

Time had almost stopped while that ball was spinning on itself in the direction of Cata Coll.

Then, as if all celestial bodies were aligned, the ball went into the net.

Cata Coll hadn't reached it.

The stadium had collapsed into a stunned silence for a moment, broken only by the scream of a tired Giacinti who had jumped on you to celebrate. But you were only staring at that ball, now still on the ground against the net.

You had scored.

The match had ended just as Barcelona had kicked the ball.

You had won.

Elena was squeezing you tightly when Jenni approached.

Her face was twisted in anger from the loss.

She was extending her hand to you and your teammate in a barely credible 'good game.'

Elena shook her hand, then moved away from you two to greet others.

Something inside you sparked; it was your only chance to speak to her.

"Jenni," you said as she was turning away, "would you mind if we swapped jerseys? I'd like to have yours."

She looked at you, confused, the trace of anger still evident in her eyes.

"Or maybe not, never mind, sorry," you whispered, giving her a chance to refuse.

"No, it's fine," she said, her voice low.

Then, in a moment, she took off her jersey in front of you, as if she wasn't stripping herself.

And, oh God, her body: her defined abs, her tattoos, a light sheen of sweat that stood out thanks to the light of the stadium, her chest that contracted according to the rhythm of her breathing, her breast tight inside the black Nike bra. She was not wearing a thermal shirt too, so her tattooed arms were free, and you could look at them too.

Fuck.

You probably stared a bit too long because she smiled at you and then asked, giggling, if you were planning to give her yours.

You nodded, embarrassed, then removed it, hand out the t-shirt to her; she took yours, giving hers to you.

Her eyes immediately landed on your body, she looked at you like no one ever had before.

The evening's chill hit you, and your nipples were visible through your white bra and, when you noticed it, you blushed and tried to put on her jersey; but Jenni said you, in a low voice, "Don't cover up, let me see your body"

You looked at her, your eyes slightly open.

What?

Her face was tilted slightly to the right, a smirk on her face as her eyes once again dropped to your body for a moment.

Was she flirting?

Maybe, maybe not; but you decided to try, so you pretended that your attempt to put on the jersey was actually a clumsy attempt to fold it, then deliberately tucked it inside your shorts, low enough to briefly reveal your right hip bone.

The smirk on her face grew, her eyes now gleaming with a different light.

"Do you have the night off?" she asked, her lips hidden behind your jersey.

You nodded.

She bit her lip.

"Find a justification, my car is the last Tesla on the right of the parking lot. I'll wait for you there in an hour."

And then, just as she had arrived, she was gone.

Of course, an hour later, you were in front of that Tesla.

Your coach congratulated you, celebrated with you, and then confirmed you had the evening free. You had gotten away from your teammates thanks to Elena, who had turned from a bitch into a saint, and Camelia, the goalkeeper, who had told the team you three were going to look for that churro stand in the city center; it may seem like a silly excuse, but since you landed in Barcelona, the three of you have eaten so many churros that the team couldn't even stand the smell of them anymore.

Shortly after, Jenni arrived.

You felt like a shy and scared novice. Casual sex wasn't your thing, probably unlike the Barcelona player, and you didn't quite know how to behave; moreover, shyness began to mix with the embarrassment of waiting for a woman in front of her car. Maybe it was the modesty you had been raised with, maybe it was the anxiety of not being good enough for someone like her.

"You're here," you jumped at the scare, then turned towards the direction of the voice. "I wasn't sure you'd come," she continued, then chuckled at the double entendre, stopping a couple of steps from you.

You blushed, lowering your gaze as an unconscious reaction, allowing you to observe her outfit.

She was... perfect. A pair of slim black jeans, a white shirt, and a black vest; the tattoos on her hands and wrists were visible thanks to the sleeves rolled up a couple of times.

"Is it okay if we go to my house? It's about twenty minutes from here,"

You looked into her eyes, returning to reality, and took too long to verbalize a response, as she added "If you're not comfortable with this, we could go to h-"

"No, it's fine, sorry I was distracted," you whispered in response, cutting her off.

She clenched her jaw, not appreciating the interruption.

"Your bag?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Elena"

She bit her lower lip, visibly annoyed by the answer.

"Are you in a relationship, you and Linari?"

"What?! No! Ele is–"

You couldn't finish the sentence because her lips collided with yours.

The fact she was taller made it even easier for her to dominate the pace of the kiss. Her lips were soft, but you didn't have much time to enjoy them given the passion of the kiss, the hunger.

Her hand had grabbed your hip, the other the back of your neck, forcefully pulling you towards her. Yours were shyly clinging to her vest, pulling it downwards as if asking her to bend more towards you or to come even closer.

After a brief moment, she pulled away, a smug smirk on her face.

"Well, that's a good start. Shall we go?"

She opened the car door for you, then headed to the driver's side; she started the car, and you were on your way to her house.

"No one will know about that kiss," she broke the silence. "The spot where my car was parked isn't visible from the outside, so it's improbable we were photographed."

You nodded, lost in your thoughts, watching her hands grip the steering wheel and gear shift.

You squeezed your thighs in reaction.

"If you don't want to talk, that's fine," she chuckled.

"What? No!" you looked at her, confused. "Sorry, it's better if we talk, it lessens the awkwardness."

She stopped at a red light, then turned to look at you, that arrogant smirk on her face. "Are you embarrassed?" You gasped under her mischievous gaze. "I should be the one embarrassed. I'm the one who lost the match because of your last-second goal."

You looked down, not knowing what to say.

"Actually, I'm more mad than embarrassed. Not at you, of course, but at myself - she sighed, then checked her window for cars from her right. - But sex is useful for venting this madness, right?"

You nodded. "Yes, I think so."

"You don't have sex to vent madness?"

In reality, you rarely had sex, too busy with university, with football, with being new in a big city, with the anxiety of making a change in your career.

You had a few partners when you lived in Milan, people older than you like Jenni, but never a relationship, and over time, casual sex almost didn't satisfy you anymore. It's funny to think about how you started feeling this way when your followers on social media and people flirting with you had skyrocketed.

But Jenni was Jenni. Beautiful, tattooed, athletic.

Dominant.

When she had liked that story, that desire for sex, for hard, rough and passionate sex, had burst; and, judging by how she behaved during the jersey swap and in the parking lot, you weren't wrong about her. Maybe you would have the night of sex you wanted, that you needed.

You shook your head, embarrassed. "Not much, actually," you quickly sought an excuse, which materialized into a pathetic, "I moved to Rome less than two months ago, I haven't had the chance yet."

She chuckled, probably not believing your dubious explanation.

"You can sleep over at my place if you want," she said as she turned the wheel. "If I'm not mistaken, your hotel is more than twenty minutes away by car from my house, and I don't think it's a smart decision to go there on foot, by public transport, or take an Uber at three in the morning."

"Thank you," you simply responded.

It may be stupid, but the regard she had shown, worrying about you walking down the street at three in the morning, had calmed you down; probably it was because a part of you was scared that, immediately after having sex, she would ask you to leave. And, if you were going to have the sex you both seemed to want, you knew you needed aftercare after the intercourse.

She opened the front door of her house with a smile, letting you in first.

Her house was beautiful. The door led to the living room, a huge room with a glass wall overlooking Barcelona.

"It's beautiful," you said, with the voice of a happy child at the zoo, as you headed towards the paintings hung on the walls to look at them.

This house had nothing to do with the small and cramped studio where you were living in Rome or the apartment where you had lived in Milan with three teammates.

Jenni chuckled and then put her bag down and headed towards the kitchen.

"Is that you as a child?" You asked, pointing at a photo of a little girl in the arms of an elderly woman.

"Yes, that's me with my grandmother on vacation at the beach. I think I was about four years old," the sound of the fridge opening prompted you to look for her in the room. "Do you want something to drink? I have wine, or tea, or Coca-Cola."

"The wine is perfect, thank you," you responded, heading towards the window.

Barcelona was breathtaking at night from the wall glass: the cars barely visible, the lights from the other buildings, the streetlamps.

It almost seemed like a dream.

“There we are” Jenni tells you, making you scared.

You grab the glass hesitantly, suddenly tense.

“What are we toasting to? – she asks you, but you shrug, not knowing what to say – Would I say, to a beautiful night?”

You blush at the allusion, but you make your glass collide with hers; you had brought it to her mouth looking into her eyes, her with hers against her chest.

Say that wine is delicious is reductive.

What wine was it? You've never had something so good.

"Do you like it? – you nod enthusiastically – I would even give you another glass, but I would like you to be sober” She giggles, teasing you.

You bite your lip and stare at her while she drinks her wine.

She is beautiful, charming, magnetic.

"Do you like Barcelona?" she asks nodding to the view.

“The view from your house is beautiful – you reply, the embarrassment replaced by enthusiasm – From here you can see so well that-“

You stop the moment she positions herself behind you, her lips suddenly on your neck.

"That?" she suggests when she realizes you're not willing to continue the conversation, too focused on how her lips kiss your skin, how her tongue licks it.

You moan almost without restraint when her hand tightens around your hip, squeezing your thighs together, then leaning completely against her body.

She towers over you, her height difference forcing her to lean towards you.

She sucks a piece of skin, then asks you to continue.

"That-"

Her hand trails under your shirt until it makes contact with your bra.

She squeezes your breast and the fabric in her hand.

“The view is so beautiful that?” She repeats, then blows against the saliva she leaves on your neck.

You close your thighs together, looking for friction, the horniness that makes your panties soaked in a few seconds.

She smiles against your neck.

Before you can feel it, her other hand, surprisingly hot, touches yours. “Leave me the glass.”

You do so, and she places it on the right, on a cabinet next to hers. When does she put it down?

Then, she is back to paying attention to you.

Her lips kiss your neck much more hungrily, her hand now under your bra with her fingers playing with the nipple, the other on your hip pushing you towards her body.

“Please,” you moan after too little time.

"What?" She responds, pretending not to know how needy you are.

"Please."

Her hand moves from your breast, making you wary of the lack of contact.

She makes you turn towards her, her hand under your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“Do you know what safewords are? – you nod, embarrassed - What are yours?” She questions, her lips now against your neck again.

“Green, yellow and red.”

"There is something that I can't do? - you shake your head - Spanking, orgasm denial, degradation, praise..."

"You... all of them-okay"

She bites your lip, licking it after.

You close your hands clinging to her vest.

“Can I undress you?”

You nod, your eyes on hers.

“Words, not gestures – her voice is calm, almost sweet – Every time I ask you a question I want you to answer me and give me verbal consent.”

You blush at her words.

She bites her lip waiting for you.

“Yes, please,” the voice is decidedly more desperate than you wanted.

Her sadistic grin suddenly returns.

Her fingers quickly end up against the edges of your sweater, grabbing your t-shirt as well; you raise your arms and she slips them off together, leaving you in your bra.

Her gaze lands on your chest, her eyes stained with horniness, and she bites her lip, assorted in her thoughts.

And, taken by a moment of confidence that you don't know where comes from, you unclasp your bra, then let it fall to the floor, leaving you topless in front of her.

Her eyes widen at your boldness, in complete contrast to your shyness and embarrassment of earlier.

Then, in a second, she is against you. Her hand on the back of your neck, her lips on yours.

A passionate kiss that at first you try to dominate, only to give up after a few moments, feeling her grin on your lips in front of your bland attempt to control it.

You grab her hand, bringing it against your breast, as if begging her to touch you.

She bites your lip and you sigh.

Then, almost simultaneously, she squeezes your nipple between her fingers. At that point, you moan in her mouth.

“Please,” you beg again.

Her hands end up on your hips, pressuring you to turn towards the window.

You blush at the idea that she's fucking you from behind against a wall glass, but you’re too excited to stop it, combined with the awareness that you’re too high to be seen by other people and that this is one of your favorite kinks.

She then places one of her hands against your back, pushing you towards the window. You take a step towards the glass wall, but she grabs your shoulder. “No – the voice is now dominant – bend forward with your torso until your breasts touch the window, but stay here.”

You do as she said, arching your back and pushing your butt against her hips, the breasts against the window and the nipples now turgid because of the cold.

“Good girl – she praises you – Open your legs a little”

You do it again, following the pats she gives to your ankles with her foot.

The extremely submissive position.

“So obedient – her lips on your back – Do you like me taking control?”

You gasp when her thigh touches between your legs.

Her hands play with your breasts.

“Please.”

“You have to tell me what you want” she whispers in your ear as she squeezes a nipple between her fingers.

You tilt your head back as you moan.

“Touch me, please.”

She bites your neck.

“I'm touching you,” she replies, her smirk on your skin.

“Take my pants off,” you suggest, panting, absorbed in the pleasure given by the insufficient stimulation of her nipples.

One of her hands leaves your breast, then slaps your ass.

You scream in surprise, but your horniness increases dramatically.

“Is this how you ask what you want?”

You shake your head. “Please, please Jenni – you try to push yourself towards her, raising your torso from the window – Touch me”

Her hand rests against your back again, pushing you towards the glass wall.

“So needy – her hand reaching down to your jeans – So good at begging”

You clench your hands into fists when she pulls down the waistband of your pants, along with your panties, and you close your eyes when you feel her bend over as she pushes them to the floor.

You hear her kneel on the floor.

You pant in anticipation.

A finger that touches where you need it most.

“So wet – she whispers, then bites her thigh – So wet just for me”

“Yes, just for you Jenni”

You hear her grin and then moan without restraint when she separates your cheeks and then licks your folds.

You lift your hands up, until they are clasped above your head.

Your legs shake while her tongue explores your hole.

You arch your back even more, in an attempt to get her to give more attention to your clit.

She palpates your ass with one hand, while the other touches your inner thigh, and then places two fingers on your clit.

She moves them slowly, with light pressure.

It's not enough for you to come, she knows that.

“Jenni – you push towards her – Please”

She grins.

She pulls away from you, causing you to groan in irritation.

Her fingers move from your clit to your entrance.

“Beg me to fuck you,” she tells you, her voice low, excited, but confident.

“Jenni please, please – the tip of a finger entering you – please fuck me, Jenni, I beg you... I need you to fuck me”

She bites your ass, then penetrates you with one finger to its last knuckle.

You gasp when she doesn't move it.

“Please Jenni, no more teasing”

She laughs sarcastically, her hand hits your ass with a harsh slap.

“I decide when to stop, not you. I'm in charge”

You close your eyes. “I'm sorry – you bite your lip – Please, please, I'm sorry”

“Soo good – the finger that starts moving – So desperate and needy to let me fuck you against a glass wall, completely naked, while I'm still dressed”

“Jenni please” you beg her for the umpteenth time, the voice desperate, trying to push her to give you an orgasm.

She smiles at you.

She stands up.

“No, no please”

She leans against you again, but this time her hand is against your neck, pushing you towards her, your back arched towards her front.

“Beg me to fuck you, persuade me”

Your hands move to her forearm, squeezing it.

“Safeword?”

“Green – you close your eyes when her fingers were back against your hole – Please Jenni, I'll be good. I swear. Please, I'll be good for you Jenni, please make me come"

She kisses your temple, then pushes again a finger inside you, up to her knuckle. “Can I add one more?”

You beg her to do it.

She adds one, leaving her fingers still inside you for a second. “So tight – she squeezes your neck between her fingers – How long has it been since anyone fucked you, mh?”

You gasp, not thinking she wants an answer, thinking it's a rhetorical question.

You were wrong, the hand that was around your neck left its place for one second, enough time to slap your ass with a second harsh slap. “Answer me”

You groan, your hands gripping her arm.

“I don't remember” you gasp, your head is empty if is not for the desire to be fucked by her, but her fingers are still.

You try to ride her fingers, to find relief from the painful knot in your abdomen, but her hand tightens around your neck for a few seconds, as a warning to stop.

You close your eyes and, in search of that pleasure, you move your hands towards your nipples, squeezing them.

She lets out an annoyed sound as soon as she notices.

“Are you so a needy slut that you stop being a good girl for me? Have I to edge you?”

You gasp, shaking your head. “No, no Jenni… please fuck me”

She grins, sucking the skin of your neck, leaving a mark.

You moan uncontrollably when you feel them move, too horny, too slave to that pleasure that she is finally giving you.

“Already closed?” She questions, knowing the answer given how your walls tighten around her fingers.

You nod. “Please Jenni, I beg you. Can I come?"

Hi! I don’t know how to say what I'm gonna say without sounding rude or arrogant, but I noticed that the reposts of my works have decreased a lot since I had put this phrase "Do not copy, translate or claim my works and fics as your own; if I find out I will report them and block you. Instead, write to me, my directs are always open, and ask me if you can publish your work/fic inspired by one of mine. However, you can reblog them " at the beginning of every post.

Since this was not the consequence I expected, I would like to explain what happened: about a month ago I found a work very similar to one of mine and I took it quite badly (maybe too much) and, because I didn’t want to start a fight with this writer, I put this phrase at the beginning of each post. When it didn’t happen anymore I took it off, but I noticed that the repost had decreased a lot.

I just wanted to tell to who stopped reblog my post that you can do it, that this was not the aim of my action and I apologize for this misunderstanding, I should have handled the situation better.

I’m sorry about this long note, but I didn’t know how to talk about this situation and I’m sorry if I seem arrogant or rude.

#woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso smut #jenni hermoso smut #jenni hermoso x reader #jenni hermoso #jenni hermoso fanfics #jenni hermoso imagine #barca femeni

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mercurycft · 9 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 — 𝐋𝐁

## lucy bronze x reader!

Hello everyone! I’ve been working on this idea for a little while.. its definitely not my best work but i really liked writing this! Enjoy! Love always- RG! x

part 1 of 2! read part two here 2,603 words - this part is mostly build-up!

MATURE CONTENT & LANGUAGE WARNING 18+

The final stretch of the last training session before a break was always the worst, ending with all the girls heaving and sweaty as they piled back into the team changing room. It was Friday, and plans for the evening were already being finalised by the time you entered the room and made your way to your usual spot. Tucked away into the corner, happy to sit down and take off your boots before you heard your name hollered from within the fuss of conversation.

"Oi! Y/L/N, drinks at 8. You get no input or choice..." The voice belonged to Mary and was followed by a hound of laughs from around the room. Drinks were never your go-to, much preferring a takeaway and crap tv in the comfort of your own home. The girls knew this, so instead of asking - they would tell. You knew better than to fight it, laughing with them and nodding before throwing the group a sarcastic double thumbs-up as you placed your boots into your kit bag.

"I'll be there, Pre-drinks at Tooney's I'm guessing?" That was always the plan, meet at Ella's and either walk or get an Uber to wherever the group had decided to spend the remainder of the night. Your question was met with a couple 'obviously's and 'you know it's from the girls, who had now dispersed around the room and started packing their belongings away. You were packed up first, as per usual, and were sat chatting as everyone finished changing. Once everyone had grabbed what they needed and conversations were stalling to a halt, everyone made their collective way through the hall and out towards the front of the building. You, Ella and Alessia led the way, arms linked and phones in hand, already discussing the 'dress code' for the evening.

By the time you had finally made it home, battling through the usual city traffic it was nearing 4pm and all plans for an unrushed evening of preparing were out the window - so after dumping your bag in the kitchen you headed straight for the shower.

_________

The next two hours were spent rushing around your bedroom and flat, drying and styling your hair before applying your usual 'going out' makeup. Next came the clothes and after 6 failed attempts at outfits you had created in your head and two stressed glasses of whatever wine you had in the fridge, you settled on wide-leg jeans and a strapless bodysuit paired with a pair of comfy heels which gave you an extra couple of inches. After packing the essentials into the ridiculously small-seeming bag you had chosen and grabbing a jacket, you were finally ready to head out the door.

The journey to Ella's house wasn't long, 10 minutes at most, and the weather was in your favour - the sun starting to set and a gentle chill creeping through your clothes just as you had arrived at her front door. Holding a bottle of cheap wine close to your side, you rang the bell and waited, soon to be greeted by Alessia and ushered inside - music was already blaring from the kitchen where a few of the girls loitered. Ella grabbed the bottle from your grasp, pouring you a generous glass and placing the remainder into her fridge. "You look fit, mate!" She exclaimed as she turned back to you and passed your drink.

"Oh stop it, look at you Tooney." You said, holding your hand out towards her and feigning a dramatic gasp, you both fell into a burst of soft laughter and moved to join the rest of the group. You said your hello's, exchanging genuine compliments and stationed yourself by the sink, bringing the glass to your lips as the doorbell chimed through the house.

"Fucking hell, Luce! Didn't want to leave the rest of us a chance to pull then?" Ella squealed exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in fake annoyance and stomping back into the kitchen. You straightened up at the mention of the older right-back, taking another sip of your drink as she emerged into the room and said her hello's.

By the time she made it to you, you were sure you could draw her from memory. Watching her closely as she worked her way across the room - you noticed how the white shirt she wore was clinging to her arms and chest in all the right places, tucked neatly into a pair of slack-like trousers which sat loosely around her ankles to reveal a pair of crisp airforce. Before you could react she was in front of you, pulling you in with a gentle hand on the back and a warm smile, giving you a friendly cheek-to-cheek kiss and hug then pulling away and moving back into the centre of the room and retrieving her own drink.

She looked good and she was well aware, which made it so much harder to look away. Having to try your hardest to remind yourself of where you are and who she was. Her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, with her hair pulled back into her usual bun. You had always found her attractive - how could you not? She looked as if she had been carved by the Gods themselves, with smooth olive skin and muscles that put everyone else to shame.

You had always gotten along well, laughing and joking across the pitch during training. Sometimes meeting her eyes for a moment too long during conversations or humouring the lingering touches when you brushed past each other in social settings. Though nothing had ever come of it, that didn't mean you didn't enjoy the warmth of her hands on the small of your back or the way you seemed to fall into her eyes and stumble on your words when she would catch you off guard and today was no exception. You couldn't help but watch her as she worked the room, engaging in conversations.

When the last of the girls had arrived, the house was buzzing with the type of giddy excitement only alcohol could provide - everyone was a few drinks down now and it wasn't long before you were sat in a taxi heading into town.

_________

10pm rolled around and the drinks were flowing, empty glasses scattered across the table which a few of the girls sat around. Some were stood at the bar, ordering the next round and a few more occupied a section of the dancefloor. You, however, found yourself perched on a bar stool with a drink in hand, ear forward as Lucy told you a story about one of her former teammates. Trying your hardest to pay attention, but too focused on how close together you were.

You could feel her breath on your ear as she tried to speak over the music that rattled through the room. Her hand was placed just above your knee for leverage as she leaned over you and it was all you could think about. The smell of her perfume flooded your senses, disorientating the logical side of your brain which tried to scream through the cloud of subtle arousal that sat heavy behind your eyes. 'This is so unprofessional!' you were aware and you knew deep down this could ruin you - but the sweet smell of her skin was intoxicating.

Your train of thought was interrupted as your eyes refocused, grounding you back into the moment. Realising she now stood away from your ear, instead looking at you with raised eyebrows and a slight smirk across her lips. shit. caught red-handed. You stiffened when she leaned back towards your ear, "Am I boring you Y/L/N? Did you even hear what I said?" You hadn't. but she wasn't asking, she was taunting.

She watched you struggle for an answer, pure amusement plastered across her face. Putting you out of your misery she leant back in, this time pushing you further into your pit. Lips pressed cautiously against your lobe, "Strike one, darlin'." She muttered and you were sure you could feel her smirk against your ear before she departed entirely and you lost her in the crowd of bodies around you. strikes? what strikes? You wondered silently to yourself, bringing your drink to your lips as your eyes scanned the dark room but she was already gone.

_________

An hour later you found yourself on the dancefloor surrounded by your friends, who were all individually butchering an Amy Winehouse classic. As the song wrapped up to an end, you were pulled into a loose group hug - maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just the love you felt in that moment, but you couldn't explain the warmth that coursed through your veins as you looked at your people.

Before long a new song began, a low beat bounced off the walls and wrapped around the bodies on the floor. You didn't know the song but remained with the girls, swaying to the beat and laughing at some of their horrific dance moves. As the song hit the chorus you and Mary gravitated towards each other, dancing and laughing as you stood in front of her and attempted an awful twerk and grind move to the beat with her hands placed firmly on your hips. Both of you played into your roles, spilling your drinks as you did so and adding to the already sticky floor.

It wasn't unusual for the team to dance like this and it was very rarely serious when one of you was pressed back up against another, but today it felt different. One specific set of deep eyes stayed locked on your movements as Lucy watched from the opposite side of the group, tongue rolling along the inside of her teeth when you finally made eye contact from your compromising position. Through the darkness you could see her lips moving; she was talking - or at least mouthing something towards you. You couldn't connect the dots until she lifted her hand in front of her, showing you two fingers. "Two strikes."

What would happen at three? And why were you excited to find out?

_________

It was nearing 11 now and you stood at the bar, almost too close to a woman you had just met - sipping the fruity drink she had ordered you. Normally you would think twice about talking to someone at a bar, but tonight’s circumstances made it a thrilling game and you couldn’t wait to play. You knew she was watching, feeling her eyes bore into the back of your head but paying little attention while you focused on the task at hand. Lucy was standing a few feet behind you, between Ella and Leah who were trying to talk over the music. Lucy wasn’t interested though, her attention fixed on you and your new friend. Gripping her drink so tight she was sure it might shatter as she watched you lift a sly hand up and rest it on the stranger's shoulder. Lucy couldn’t pinpoint the feeling, internally confused at the sudden jealousy that burned deep in the pits of her stomach. Just as you were starting to think she had lost interest, a body was pressed to the side of you, pushing a wedge between yourself and the woman whose name you couldn’t even remember.

The game was no longer fun when Lucy ushered you around the room to say your goodbyes, excusing you both from the function. A few of the girls started to protest but she was quick to respond with “Y/N’s not feeling 100%, said I’d make sure she got home okay.” And that was enough for them. She held you close as you walked out into the street, whispering a small but steady “Third and final.” as she pulled you into a waiting taxi.

_________

The pair of you didn't even make it through the front door before she pounced, your key still in the lock when she had you pinned between her frame and the door. Her hands sat heavy on your hips, eyes locked on yours. "God, you've been drivin' me mental all night.." she groaned, scanning your features.

"Do something about it then," You pushed. This was new but unbelievably exciting, you had never seen her like this. Before you could speak again her lips were on yours. Rough and urgent, like she was scared someone would rip you right out of her grip. "Inside," You managed to mumble against her lips, unlocking the door and pulling her inside - not wasting any more time to attach your lips together again.

This time was different, a rage of hunger alight in the depths of your stomach. Your hands sat on the nape of her neck, lacing through the small amount of hair that had fallen from her bun throughout the night. Her hands couldn't settle, exploring your figure and fisting at the fabric that separated skin from skin. Somehow during this you had travelled through the hall and were now fighting through your bedroom door, shoes and jackets kicked off and discarded around the flat - highlighting your erratic path.

Once inside the safety of your bedroom, things seemed to slow. The initial hunger and speed now dimmed into lust. Yearning. She pressed rough but calculated kisses down your jaw, lingering below your ear for a moment before moving across your collarbones. The feeling made you shudder, holding her head in your hands.

She had you stripped in minutes, now pulled tightly against her in your underwear. "Jesus Christ Y/L/N are you trying to kill me here?" She murmured, thumb caressing the lace across your chest, tracing the shapes for a second before her eyes met yours. A moment passed and you were growing impatient, inhaling deeply when the pad of her thumb found your nipple through the thin fabric and circled gently. You could tell she was enjoying this, watching you shift your weight from side to side as she slowly broke you down.

"On the bed." You were quick to obey, laying down in front of her - on display. She made her way towards you, situating herself above you and lifting your legs to bend and sit beside her hips. She kissed you deeply, hands latched onto your thighs. The world seemed to melt away around you and all you could think about was the throbbing between your legs.

"Need you," You managed to croak out, hands pulling at the fabric of her trousers - desperate for some form of friction. She let out a cocky scoff from above you.

"I'm not sure you deserve it, love. Haven't been behaving, have you?" She spoke rhetorically, tutting and raising her hand to toy with your bottom lip. "And only good girls get rewarded.." She added lowly as her hand travelled down from your face, tugging at your bra and moving to take your nipple into her mouth. You let out a small moan when you felt the warmth of her mouth on you, legs constricting around her and your back arching into her touch.

You writhed beneath her as she moved between left and right, her hand now finding its way to your underwear. She had two fingers pressed against your clit through the fabric, letting out a soft hum against you when she felt your arousal through the barrier. "Got you all wet for me, hm?"

"Please," You whimpered, lifting your hips up towards her hand. Desperate for some relief for the ache, eyes glassed over with desire.

"Begging for it already and I'm only just getting started. What a shame.."

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uglare1 · 8 months

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auto-care-rochester-ny-blog · 11 months

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cheezeybread · 3 months

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Could I request headcanons for Scarabia + Pomefiore where they overhear their lover speaking in their native language with is neither japanese or english? Maybe they're cussing, maybe just talking to themselves, maybe singing, whatever. Here are the characters + some language samples:

Jamil - bangla: https://youtube.com/shorts/WF2LbzJDzD4?si=11V-UicSCLv8vySx

Kalim - mandarin: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iUCZgObUDg&t=106s

Rook - egyptian arabic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zsz0ou4VX2g

Vil - swahili: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tpol4TKeJ14

Epel - welsh: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ufKf4eORcKA

So sorry it took me a while to get around to this request, I've had it gathering dust in my drafts as I brainstormed ideas for it, hehe!

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚

Jamil Viper

Jamil's first introduction to your language was when you burned yourself in the Scarabia kitchen. Touching a hot pot before he could warn you that it contained boiling soup, you cried out a foreign phrase to him

"Hauar pola!" You screamed, one hand clamping over your injured palm, applying pressure as you glared at the pot "Magir Puth!"

Despite his fretting noises as he grabbed the nearest first aid kit (of course with Kalim, Jamil had made sure there was a pack in every room) and fixed your hand, Jamil had to hide his laughter. He had just assumed that you were making up gibberish like Kalim used to do as a kid- gibberish to take place of curse words.

Once you explained to him that it was indeed an actual curse, in your mother tongue, he was a bit shocked. You mean you didn't originally speak what you were speaking now??

He'll definitely ask you to teach him some words in Bangla- mainly curse words, but if he can get his hands on a book for the language, he'll attempt to learn some "sweeter" words to use with you, if only to get a little bit closer to you...or make you feel closer to home.

Kalim Al-Asim

He's no stranger to different languages! Being in a merchant family, knowing many different languages was essential to business, and Kalim has had so many tutors teaching him so many languages- he's not entirely fluent in all of them since he never gets a chance to speak them, but he knows all the basics to have a simple conversation

He probably knew that you didn't originally speak the current language that you did in Twisted Wonderland, but hadn't really heard you speak in this "Mandarin" before.

But one day, while prepping for a party, he took a small break to ask you to show him a new dance- he wasn't particularly set on what sort of dance you showed him, he just wanted some new moves to use while dancing at the party.

To his utter delight, you grabbed his hands and tried to teach him a little dance that went to an old song you heard in your childhood- of course, since your song didn't really exist in this world, you had to hum and sing it out loud.

He's definitely going to insist that you not only teach him the song, but that you start giving him lessons on your language! He figures it'll be fun to converse to you in Mandarin, allowing the two of you to have conversations in secret, where no one else knows what you guys are talking about!

Rook Hunt

Ooh, la la!

He's going to run into you whilst you're in the library after class! You were sitting at one of the tables, half-closed eyes scanning over a textbook. Of course, you hadn't been getting too much sleep recently, so it was hard for you to actually read and digest the information you were supposed to. Which led to you mumbling to yourself instead in Egyptian Araibic under your breath.

Of course, Rook doesn't greet you at first, preferring to stay back and listen to your voice for a little while longer. He enjoys the cadence of it, the highs and lows of every word...it is truly beautiful for a language, is it not?

Once he helps you get to bed and can speak to you after a good night's rest, Rook inquires as to what you were saying earlier.

To hearing you say that you spoke a different language than this one, he was flabbergasted, but intrigued.

"Read me a poem in your own words, dear, in your mother tongue! Speak your mind, call me curses, list out your errand runs, just allow me to hear you speak once more!"

He's...strange. But he enjoys the foreign language very much

Vil Shoenheit

Hearing you sing to yourself while having a spa day with Vil left him speechless, for once in his life.

He had left you alone in the bathroom to soak in the warm, bubbling water, assuring you that he would be right back once he found a certain brand of oil that he suspected Rook had mistook as his.

Once he came back to the bathroom, your words sounded so...alluring. It made his hips sway with the beat you put out with a fist slapping the side of the porcelain tub. It was rather catchy, and he couldn't help but smile as he nodded his head to your tune.

"Oh, such a wonderful language, what is it?"

He's so genuinely curious about it all, and enjoys listening to you speak about it all- how you grew up, how you felt about your culture and language itself.

And don't worry, he'll be asking you to sing to him a lot more heheh

Epel Felmier

Another curser! Aah!

Epel absolutely loves the sounds coming out of your mouth as you lose your temper and let loose at another student bothering you in the courtyard, but curbs his excitement until he properly threatens the student with a good lickin' if he doesn't scoot out!

I'm not gonna lie, Epel seems like he'd speak Welsh if he weren't in Twisted Wonderland- it just seems to fit his character so well.

And, of course, he's going to ask you to teach him all of the swear you know, so that Epel can voice his grievances against Vil and some teachers without them being able to get mad at him (because, of course, Welsh isn't technically an existant language in Twisted Wonderland, soooooo the teachers/Vil can't prove it even exists unless you become a tattle-tail, hehe!)

Once he has his fun with cursing, Epel will try his best to learn some simple words/phrases from you so he can pass you secret notes in class and talk to you in private. He's...not the best at learning a new language, so be patient with him, but he's trying his hardest!

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚

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pinksturniolo · 6 months

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Biggest Fan: Part Two

Summary: The one in which a fan gets rear ended in a car accident by none other than Christopher Sturniolo during her stay in Los Angeles.

A/N: This is my first series I will be publishing on here! There will most likely be 3 or 4 parts. I hope you like it and I’m really excited to share with you all. :)

Content Warnings: smut, oral receiving/giving, fingering, penetration, slight degradation, swearing, brief mentions of blood, head injuries, mentions of a car accident. mentions of a panic attack

word count: 5,287 😳

I was inspired by this song:

‎

‎ 𐮙ღ✰☾✿ღ𐮙

You were having a panic attack.

You tried to calm down in the 5 minutes it took Matt to drive to their house, but your thoughts continued to race, and your hands became shakier the more your head continued to throb with pain. Your wet sneakers squeaked against the floor as they led you into the house, having a seat at their kitchen table. You were starting to get tunnel vision, your breaths getting more rapid by the second. You’ve had panic attacks before, but this was the first time in a long time it’s occurred and the fact that you were inside the home of your favorite Youtubers did not help. Nick and Matt announced they were going to shower, being that you all got drenched in the rain, both of them giving you hesitant looks. “Chris, go find the first aid kit. We’ll be right back.” he instructed, giving you one last look before they both disappeared to their rooms.

Chris sat next to you, hovering his hand over your shoulder, unsure if he should touch you or not. “Hey, you okay?” he asked softly, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Yeah... I just feel really lightheaded all of a sudden. I think I need to lie down.” You responded, dropping your head into your arms on the table, closing your eyes. You tried taking deep breaths to calm your pounding heart.

Chris jumped up. “Of course, you can lie down in my room while I go look for the first aid kit.” He said, making you lift your head to look at him in surprise. “Oh no, I meant like on the couch. I don’t want to invade your privacy...” You laughed nervously. He shook his head, a smile forming on his face. “I’m the one who invited you here, I promise I don’t care. Besides, I’d rather my bed get wet than the couch. I can always wash the sheets tomorrow.” He said, reminding you that were still in your wet clothes, now including his hoodie which also had a bloody sleeve. You let out another nervous laugh. “Right…”

“Come on.” Chris said, motioning for you to follow him downstairs. Once you got to his room, he switched the light on and patted the bed, inviting you to sit down. You did slowly, your arms shaking as you perched on the edge. He was still standing, looking down at you. Now that he could see you in better lighting, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you were. You had plush, pink lips and warm brown eyes, giving him the most innocent look that tugged at his heart strings. Water droplets were falling from the long dark hair that framed your face, dark red nails gripping the side of his bed. There was no doubt he was extremely attracted to you.

He noticed your leg bouncing in nervousness, your black converse making a small damp spot on his carpet. “Do you want to take your shoes off? I can put them in the garage so they can dry a little bit.” He spoke. His stare was making you even more nervous and you were grateful he broke the silence. “Oh yeah, sorry I-“ you started to say when he suddenly crouched down, carefully taking your left ankle in his hands and slipping off your shoe, then doing the same with the right one. Your eyes widened, butterflies again swarming your stomach at the light touch. You watched as he stood back up, both your shoes in his hand as he crossed the room to his dresser, grabbing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt. He came back over, setting the clothes next to you on the bed. He smiled sweetly at you, seeming to ignore the fact that he just removed your shoes for you. “You can change into these while I go look for that kit, okay?” he says, making his way towards the door. “Uh… thank you…” You say meekly. “No problem, sweetheart. Be right back.” He responds, looking at you once more with a smirk before he closes the door, noticing the obvious look of fluster on your face, your jaw slightly dropping.

Sweetheart? Did he really just say that? If your heart could beat any faster, it would explode out of your chest. Was he flirting with you?

So far, he had insisted that you come to his house, willingly brought you to his room, gave you his clothes, touched your face in the car earlier, took off your shoes and called you sweetheart. Not to mention the longing stare he was giving you earlier. You know that any girl would kill to be in your place. But you wanted nothing more than to leave the minute you got here.

Would you have the chance to sleep with him if you stayed? You weren’t the type to throw yourself at any guy, even if it was Christopher Sturniolo himself. Let’s just admit it, even if you were that type, you didn’t have the guts to act upon your desires. You were way too shy. Not to mention, you’re just a fan. Who’s to say he even found you attractive? What if he was just taking pity on you? What if he-

These are the thoughts running through your head as you sit on the black sheets of his bed, your hair, clothes and socks completely soaked from the rain that was currently pouring down outside. The cut on your forehead from the accident burns as you reach up to touch it. You wince, blood dripping onto your fingertips as you look down at your hand. Your stomach starts to turn in on itself, a wave of nausea starting to set in. You decide this was a bad idea to come here and are about to bolt out of the room but before you can stand up, Chris comes through the door, a clean towel in his hand and some more items in his other hand, a look of panic on his face once he makes eye contact with you.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out or something.” He speaks.

You let out a small laugh, smoothing your palms on the top of your thighs to try to calm your nerves down.

“I’m fine, this is just… a lot. I feel like I’m intruding.” You reply, looking hesitantly around his room.

This whole night has been surreal, and you still have no idea how you ended up in this situation. Chris sits next to you, handing you the towel to dry yourself off. He raises his eyebrows in surprise, a smile on his face again. “I literally rear ended you in a car accident and you think you’re intruding?” he says, shaking his head. “Stop worrying about intruding and let’s focus on the real issue here. That cut on your head is still bleeding. I couldn’t find the first aid kit, but I brought another clean towel and some bandages.” He then brings the smaller towel he brought with him to your face, gently wiping the blood clean that had trickled down from your forehead. Your breath slightly hitches, and you clutch the other towel to you, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pausing his movements. “Yes.” You say after a few seconds. He continues cleaning your face and putting some pressure on the cut while you use the towel he gave you to dry your thighs and legs. Once he finishes, he places the bandage on the wound and you can’t help but stare at him, a cute look of concentration on his face. Your nerves slightly go away and your heart rate slows down, Chris’ presence bringing a sense of calmness to you. The silence is comfortable instead of awkward. You no longer feel like you want to run to the nearest exit. “All good.” He says, pulling away from you. “Thank you again. I wouldn’t have pegged you as the nursing type.” You joke, a playful smile on your face. He scoffs, his eyes narrowing at you. “You’re funny. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He then glances at the clothes he had set next to you earlier.

“You don’t want to change? I know they’ll probably be a little big on you but if you stay in your wet clothes, you might catch a cold. And I would know, seeing as I have great nursing skills and all.” He adds, making you laugh. “I’m gonna take a shower in Nick’s room so I can get dry as well. I have a shower over there in my bathroom, I don’t mind if you use it.” He says and you open your mouth to protest but before you can talk, he holds up his hands and cuts you off. “I promise it’s fine. You can lock the door behind me and take as long as you need to. I swear. I just want you to be more comfortable.” He said, a serious look on his face. You roll your eyes and take a deep breath, knowing that Chris is just as stubborn as you are and won’t take no for an answer in this situation. “Okay, okay. I’ll call my friend and see if she can come get me once I’m done.” If she’s even up at this time.

“Deal.” He nods and smiles as he seems to be satisfied with your answer, standing up and grabbing some clothes to take with him. He walks toward his door, giving you another reassuring smile. Before he can walk out, you speak again. “Thank you, Chris. Honestly. I really do appreciate how nice you’ve been tonight.” He can’t help the way his heart skips a small beat at the sound of you saying his name and the genuine smile on your face. “You’re welcome.” He responds, winking at you and closing the door with a soft click.

‎ 𐮙ღ✰☾✿ღ𐮙

You took a hot shower, careful not to get the bandage on your head wet, changing into his clothes and placing a dry towel on the spot on his bed you were sitting in earlier. You already felt ten times better now that you were dry and clean. You gathered your wet clothes, placing them into a neat pile on his bathroom floor. Then you grabbed your phone, checking the time. 2:30 am.

You silently prayed your friend Isabel would answer as you called her. You really didn’t want Matt to have to drive you back to your hotel and you also didn’t want to overstay your welcome.

Ring ring ring.

She didn’t answer. You tried 2 more times and called your other friend that came with you.

Still no answer. Fuck.

You sighed, sending them a text to call you as soon as they could. You set your phone back down on Chris’ nightstand, looking around his room again. It was slightly messy but not as much as you would have thought. There were little knickknacks here and there, pieces of his personality throughout the room. It smelled like his cologne and was still slightly warm from the shower you took. Chris knocked on the door, interrupting you creepily observing his room.

You walked over and opened it for him, a cheeky smile already on his face. His hair was slightly wet from the shower, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a white tank top on. He looked insanely good.

You stopped yourself from staring any longer and moved aside so he could walk in. The way he called you sweetheart earlier replays in your head.

“Feel better now?” he asks, looking you up and down. “My clothes look good on you.”

You clear your throat, ignoring his comment despite the immediate swarm of butterflies it gives you. “I called both of my friends I’m staying with, but they didn’t answer. I was going to try again in a few minutes.” You said, self consciously covering your chest with your arms as you realized you did not have a bra on and the air was now cold from the door being opened, letting all the shower steam out.

Chris walks past you, plopping down on his bed, leaning back on one of his elbows with his legs spread. “Okay… well either way I don’t mind if you have to stay. Matt and Nick already passed out after harassing me to make sure you were okay, and Matt has no problem driving you home later on.” He responds. You just look at him, unsure what to say. Considering the events of tonight and how many times Chris has made it clear he doesn’t find it weird you being here, you’re ready to just agree with him from now on. Your body and mind feel exhausted at this point, and you don’t really have it in you to argue anymore.

He’s still staring at you, waiting for your response when you finally take a seat next to him, tucking your legs underneath you. “Alright then, guess I’m stuck here for the time being.” You say and Chris tries to hide his excitement. “I do have a good question for you though.” You add, putting your chin in your hand and giving him a playfully stern look. He raises his eyebrows, curious as to what you’re going to say next. “Shoot.” He answers. “What the hell were you doing when you hit me?” You ask and he immediately throws his head back, laughing. You can’t help but laugh too, the sound like music to your ears.

“Matt had agreed to let me drive home from Taco Bell and I swear I was doing great. Next thing I know, I’m choosing the next song to play on aux, and I look away for one second and there you are, appearing out of nowhere. Actually, now that I think about it, I think it was your fault that I hit you.” He says, smirking at you. You give him a deadpan look which makes him laugh again. “Yeah okay buddy. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” You respond back, relaxing against his pillow.

He seems to mirror your comfortable position and lays on his side across from you, still leaning on his elbow, placing his head on his fist. “I haven’t even asked your name yet. What is it?” He said. “Y/N.” You answer. “Y/N.” He repeats with a smile. “Pretty name.” You feel a blush creep across your face which only makes his smile widen.

‎ 𐮙ღ✰☾✿ღ𐮙

For the next hour, you and Chris talk. The conversation flows easily between you two. He asks about college and what you’re currently studying, your hometown, and how long you will be in LA. He genuinely seems interested in what you have to say, and to your pleasant surprise, he’s just as funny in real life as he is on camera. Not to mention, just as gorgeous. As corny as it seems, you can’t help but get lost in his dreamy blue eyes. The way his hair falls in his face and how strong his arms look in his tank top. And his voice. God, you could talk to him for hours. You couldn’t help but wonder how he was in bed, if he talked you through it, if he was rough, or if he was into praising.

Unbeknownst to you, Chris is admiring you as well. He listens to you when you answer his questions with ease and he appreciated the fact you didn’t ask him too many personal questions about his life. He loved the way your lips move when you talked, how your eyes lit up when you mentioned your friends and family. He couldn’t help but notice your alluring figure even in his baggy clothes and he definitely noticed that you weren’t wearing a bra. He wondered when or if he would ever get a view of your plush thighs again, how good your lips would feel against his, if you were flexible enough to let him hold your ankles by your head when he was deep inside you. He felt the slight tension earlier when he removed your shoes for you and to be quite honest, it took every ounce of strength in him not to touch himself in the shower.

A loud rumble of thunder outside broke you and Chris’ current debate on the best flavor of ice cream. You glanced at the time on your phone. 3:45 am. You looked at him with sleepy eyes, fatigue starting to set in. He also looked tired, the whites in his eyes slightly red. “I don’t think your friends are coming anytime soon…” he said softly, scooting onto the other side of the bed next to you, getting underneath the blanket. Suddenly you felt hot, your heart rate picking up a little. Surely he didn’t expect you to sleep in here with him?

“Yeah I figured as much. I’ll just get some rest, I’m pretty exhausted.” You said, getting up to go to the living room, your intentions to sleep on the couch. But before you could leave, he grabbed your wrist. “Where are you going?” He asked, a puppy dog look in his eyes. Your eyes widened, glancing at his grip on your wrist. “Um… The couch?” You replied with confusion in your voice. He simply shook his head, dropping your wrist and patting the spot you were just in. “It’s fine. Just sleep in here.” He said, opening the blanket for you to get under.

You hesitated for a while until he said, “I don’t wanna hear any excuses that you’re intruding or suggestions of me going to the couch instead cause there’s no way you’re gonna kick me out of my own bed.” He said, earning a scoff from you. You got back onto the bed, laying down next to him, ensuring there was as much space as possible between the two of you. “Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?” You said, closing your eyes since you could barely keep them open anymore. He chuckled, his voice raspy with fatigue when he replied, “Anything to get you in bed next to me, princess.”

Your eyes shot open at his response, and when you made eye contact with him, his expression was unreadable, any hint of joking gone from his features. You were unsure what to say or if you had even heard him correctly.

Princess.

Sweetheart.

Never in a million years would you have ever thought you would hear Chris Sturniolo call you a pet name. It drove you crazy.

He started to feel bad as you stared at him blankly, worried that he crossed a line.

“Am I making you uncomfortable? I swear that’s not my intention. If you feel weird, I can go-“ he said and you started to shake your head.

“Chris. I’m not uncomfortable at all… It just makes me nervous when you say things like that.” You admitted. He smirked and then clapped suddenly which made you jump. You burst into laughter once you realized what he did. The lights had turned off. “Oh my god. Of course you have clap on, clap off lights.” You said, still trying to control your laughter. He laughed with you, closing his eyes and getting more comfortable in the bed. “Don’t make fun of me.”

You turned away from him, letting your eyes close as well, ready to let the sleep take over your body. But for the second time around today, you still found yourself not being able to. This time, it was because you couldn’t stop thinking about Chris’ voice calling you princess and sweetheart, the way his touch felt on your face and how the simple act of him taking off your shoes turned you on. You squeezed your thighs together, starting to feel a throb from your salacious thoughts.

You heard Chris toss and turn a couple times, knowing he hadn’t fallen asleep either. The sexual tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. And you knew tension wouldn’t be that thick unless the other person was having the same thoughts. You were in a bed with the guy you had an embarrassingly huge crush on. You thought. Who knows when you will have this chance again? Obviously, the universe had set a fucking huge opportunity in your lap, and you would be an idiot if you didn’t take advantage.

You knew if anything was going to happen, you would have to be the one to make the first move.

You’re not sure where this sudden wave of confidence came over you as you spoke out loud after what had felt like an eternity. “Chris… were you flirting with me earlier?” You ask, your heart beating so hard you could hear it in your ears.

“What do you think, Y/N.” He simply replied, his voice raspy.

The thunder echoed again outside, rain still beating down. The early morning hours made the room a dark, midnight blue color, some light seeping in from the street, the scent of his strong cologne still in the air.

You turned towards him, and his eyes were already on you, his expression dark, sending a small shiver through you, butterflies gathering in your stomach for the thousandth time tonight. He stared into your eyes and then your lips and back to your eyes again. You moved closer to him, letting out a shaky breath. You slowly placed a hesitant hand to his chest. His heart was racing.

You bit your lip, staring at his. A few more inches and they would connect with yours. You looked into his eyes again, searching for some sort of approval.

“If at any time, you want to stop or you feel uncomfortable, just tell me and I’ll stop. Understand?” he said quietly, placing a hand on your waist, pulling you closer. You nodded, moving your hand on his chest, to his face, your lips now brushing, sending sparks through your body. “I need words, princess.” He whispered. “Yes.” You breathed, your lips finally connecting.

The tension that had been building the whole night seemed to snap and burn the moment you kissed. His lips molded with yours perfectly, and you slid your hand into his hair, the deeper the kiss got, both of you moaning from the passion that had been ignited. You already felt wetness between your thighs, knowing how much of a mess you were beginning to make in his sweatpants. His tongue slipped into your mouth, only making your stomach do somersaults and he gripped your hips tighter, pulling your leg around his waist. You pulled on his hair slightly, making him groan into your mouth. He then traced kisses down your jaw and onto your neck as you leaned your head back for easier access. He sucked and licked and bit his way all over your neck, leaving little love bites in his trail. He held you even tighter to him as you kept your leg wrapped around him, and you suddenly felt how hard and big he was through his sweatpants, making you lust for more.

This had gotten hot and heavy fast, the passion and chemistry from both you of pouring out, small moans and whimpers filling the room. He continued the assault on your neck until you couldn’t take it anymore, your wetness growing by the second and your fingers in his hair gripping for dear life. At this moment, all your nerves had disappeared, your need to feel him even closer becoming your main priority.

“Chris.” You exhaled with a shaky breath, moving your hands to grip his broad shoulders. He moaned against your neck, trailing his plump lips back to yours. “Say my name again.” He whispered against you, his breathing hard. “Chris… I need you.” You replied, letting your hands smooth down his chest and then dip down to go under his shirt, feeling his stomach flex against your fingertips. He hummed and took your bottom lip in between his teeth, biting very softly. “How do you need me, sweetheart?” he asked, teasing you and looking into your eyes. “Show me.” He demanded.

You took his hand and moved it to where you needed him most, dipping into your sweats. You weren’t wearing any underwear, he discovered, as his fingers slicked through your folds. “Fuck… you’re soaked.” He breathed, circling a finger around your entrance, making you moan loudly as he moved it back up, making slow, small circles around your clit. “Please, Chris.” You whined, feeling the neediest you ever have. “Please what? Hm? You want me to make you feel good?” He said, now putting his hands under your shirt and grabbing your breasts, thumbs flicking across your nipples. “Yes. Please. Yes.” Was all you could manage, your hands gripping his shirt, lifting it up so he could take it off. He removed his hands from your breasts, slipping his shirt over his head quickly and then moving so he could hover over you. He lifted your shirt now, helping you remove it, leaning down to leave wet kisses down your chest and stomach, making you squirm, stopping near the top of your sweatpants.

He looked up at you, his blue eyes almost black with lust, his lips swollen and red, his hair wild. The sight almost made you moan aloud. “Can I take these off?” he asked sweetly, his hands around your hips, ready to pull your pants off once you gave him the approval. You nodded and he squeezed your hips roughly. “Words, please. I’m not gonna tell you again, mama.” He says, giving you a stern look.

“Yes. Take them off already.” You say in a rush. He smirks at your neediness, pulling the sweats he gave you down your legs and off your body, discarding them somewhere on the floor. His large hands splay across your thighs, spreading you open for him, and he groans at the sight of your arousal glistening in the dim light of the room, leaning down to place kisses along the insides of your thighs, sucking and leaving more hickeys on your body.

“Remember what I said, princess? If you want to stop, just tell me.” He says, still holding your legs open for him. “Yes, Chris.” You respond.

“Good girl.” He says, then taking a finger and slowly pushing it into you.

You lay your head back, closing your eyes, your heart racing and fingernails digging into his bed sheets. The pleasure from just his finger alone is enough to elicit a fire through your body as he fucks it in and out of you for a few moments before adding another finger, making your back arch slightly. “Fuuuckk…” You moan quietly, your teeth biting down hard into your bottom lip. He’s in a trance watching your slick arousal coat his fingers, the wet sounds and your sweet moans like music to his ears. His dick twitches painfully in his pants as he wants nothing more than to know what you feel like around him, crying out his name while he stretches you out.

But he wants to take his time with you. He’s been enamored by you since he first laid eyes on you and wants to give you everything you deserve. He lays down on his stomach now, strong arms wrapping around your thighs, keeping you wide open, and he looks up at you seeing your blissful expression and eyes screwed shut. “Y/N. Look at me. I wanna see your face when I make you cum.” He rasps, pulling you even closer, his breath fanning against your aching cunt.

Your heart races and face redden at his words, bringing your head up to look at him and propping yourself up on your elbows. He keeps eye contact with you as he places his flat, wet tongue on your clit with pressure, making you cry out. He then makes circles and sucks on it, and you can’t help but let your eyes roll back in your head. He drags his tongue down to your entrance, thrusting it in a few times, making your toes curl and your back arch. “Oh God, don’t stop.” You moan as he alternates between sucking on your clit and fucking you with his tongue. He grips you tighter, keeping you in place as you fall apart from his mouth on you.

You feel a delicious warmth spread through you, a tight coil forming in your abdomen. You lay back down, your hands fisting in his hair as you grip tightly and pull, earning a deep moan from him which reverberates through you. Your moans and cries get louder and more desperate as you feel the coil threaten to burst, tingles down your spine. He adds two fingers back inside of you, thrusting at a fast pace and brushing that spongy spot when he curls them, his warm tongue circling your clit.

“Chris… fuuuck. Chris, please.” You say his name over and over again like a chant, your legs locking around his back. “I know mama, let go. Cum for me.” He responds, knowing you’re close. He can’t help but thrust down into the mattress, trying to release the tension in his crotch. He almost cums in his pants from seeing how much pleasure he’s giving you. “You look so pretty like this. I can’t wait to feel you around my dick. Fuck, you’re so needy, making a mess all over my hand. Cum for me sweetheart.” He coos.

The coil snaps and warmth floods your body from his words as you throw your head back and cry out his name. Your legs shake as he coaxes you through your climax, only letting go of you until you’re done riding out your high, your breathing come out in short, rapid puffs. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” he praises, coming up to kiss you and you taste yourself on his tongue. You reach your hand down to palm his erection which makes him moan against your mouth. “I need you so bad.” he says, pulling his sweats off and reaching into his nightstand for a condom. The thought of him inside you excites you all over again and with the sheer force of the orgasm he just gave you, you can only imagine what it would feel like.

A sharp knock on his door interrupts your moment of bliss and Chris silently curses next to you. “You got to be kidding me.” he says standing up and pulling his sweats back on. He gives you an apologetic glance as you cover yourself up under his blanket. “One second.” He says, going to the door and cracking it open an inch. “What.” He hisses at the person on the other side. You think you hear Matt’s voice in a hushed tone, him and Chris exchanging a few words you can’t make out. Then he shuts the door, locking it again and walks over to you. He looks a little awkward, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Your friend is here to pick you up.” He finally says. You now realize it’s early morning, the sun barely starting to come up, the room now a light blue and you grab your phone from his nightstand.

5:00 am.

4 missed calls.

5 text messages.

The most recent one from your friend Isabel – Okay, you’re not answering. I’m getting worried. I’m on my way.

Convenient timing. You think, your head falling back in frustration as Chris grabs the clothes he gave you earlier from the floor and hands them to you to get dressed.

a/n: ahhh what a cliffhanger 😅 i would love any and all feedback!! let me know your thoughts pls :) there will be one more part to this out later this week, but let me know how yall like it! do we like the use of y/n? i wasn’t sure if i should use it or not i just couldn’t come up with a good name 😂 lmk :)

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut

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kamotecue · 1 year

Text

meet by chance ・❥・ g. reiten

pairing: guro reiten x reader

summary: you never expected to run into guro, well knowing the chances of meeting you did, however off the pitch, you didn’t think it would be this quick.

part two of here

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

you finished training a while ago, now here you are in the locker room with your damp hair. you were just wearing a sports bra, and a black high waist trousers.

“you haven’t finished getting changed, mate.” katie said, throwing you the black turtle neck you had put on your kit bag.

“thanks, cap.” you said, throwing on the turtle neck ignoring the way you had gotten a notification from instagram.

“will you join us for lunch?” caitlin asked, taking a glance at you, the young irish defender. katie hummed, giving you a nod agreeing with the aussie.

“sure, why not—it’s not like i have anything better to do.” you said, quickly wearing the black button up coat as it was a bit cold

“lets go, then.” caitlin said, grabbing her kit bag. you grabbed yours as well, as you all headed to the car, a small conversation was engaged.

“still won’t tell me who gave you those?” katie said, as you groaned at her behavior. caitlin just laughed at your misery.

“i won’t, no matter how many times you ask.” you said, opening the trunk placing your kit bag first. the other two gently placed theirs, as you closed the door when they were done.

“oh, come on l/n. how bad can it be, it’s not like it’s a chelsea player.” katie said, as you ignored her. oh, how spot on your captain was.

you entered the driver’s seat, igniting the car as katie took the back seat. caitlin had the aux cord, plugging her phone in as she played strawberry kisses by nikki webster. what can you say, it’s a very good song.

“i’ve been missing your strawberry kisses.” caitlin sang, as you focused on the road. you already had the coordinates, as you simply followed what google map had led you to.

“cuz nothing’s as sweet.” katie continued, as you tapped your fingers against the driving wheel.

the drive to the cafe wasn’t that far, you were the last one to exit out of the car. the other two were the first ones to go inside, claiming a table.

you entered the building, not noticing a certain norwegian take a glance at you. why hadn’t she noticed that you were a footballer as well—not to mention an arsenal player as well.

you took the seat in front of caitlin, katie who was beside her handed you the menu.

“i’ll have a grilled panini.” you told them, returning the menu before taking out your phone. you had accidentally clicked on a notification, it lead to an instagram notification.

greiten has followed you.

“holy shit-“ you said, katie furrowing her eyebrows as her conversation with caitlin had came to a stop. the aussie looked at you confused but held concern.

“i said that out loud, didn’t i?” you asked, as katie chuckled. caitlin just gave you a nod, as you winced.

“i’ll just use the restroom.” you stood up heading to the restroom, not noticing a certain person following you. someone you hoped to avoid, but it was practically inevitable.

“so, y/n.” you paused before turning around to see guro, you took note of the clothes she was wearing. it was yours, she gave you a soft look as you avoided her gaze looking at the wall.

“guro.” you simply said, looking at your watch not noticing how she approached you. her hands were holding your hips, pulling you closer to her as you used your hands to steady yourself.

“you forgot to mention that you weren’t just an arsenal supporter.” the thick norweigan accent was noticeable, as you simply flushed at the close proximity.

“well, it didn’t really come up.” you hummed, knowing how she only thought of you as an arsenal supporter but never a fan.

“touché, what do we do now?” she asked, her eyes glanced at your lips.

“what do you want?” you asked, making sure you weren’t overstepping her boundaries.

“i’d like to take you out on a date.” your eyes widened, as she gave you a lopsided grin. you chuckled at her words, before giving her a nod.

“you know y/n, you’re so cute when you’re all flustered.” you shoved her as she laughed at your reaction. you gave her a soft look, as she gazed at your lips again.

“well, now that i’ve seen you. i have to go or else i’ll be late for my training.” you nodded, but she still had her eyes on you.

“no, goodbye kiss?” you joked, as she gave you a small smirk.

she tugged at your hands, guiding you closer to her as she pressed her forehead against yours.

“should i?” she hummed in amusement, as she watched you blushed under her attention.

“i don’t know, reiten. usually this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.” you said, giving her a look as she gave you a tender, yet sweet kiss on the lips.

you wrapped your arms around her neck, as she held your waist. it was like you felt your blood rushing through your veins.

guro pulled away as she looked back at you, you were breathless.

“i’ll see you later, y/n.” guro gave you a gummy smile, to which you softly nodded to.

let’s just say, the date went well. you both proceeded to go on dates, and kept it a secret from your teammates.

the day she asked you to be her girlfriend, she made you paper flowers, as well as a handwritten letter. you always wanted to experience the cliche parts in love, so she wrote on a sticky note, will you be my girlfriend?

there was two boxes below, one with yes and one with a no. you obviously checked the one that said yes, and that marked you both official a couple.

pt 3 coming soon

#guro reiten #guro reiten imagine #guro reiten x reader #norwnt x reader #arsenal wfc imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot

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laracroftdaily · 8 months

Text

Tomb Raider I-III Remastered Starring Lara Croft

"Within pre-production, we divided the conversation into three buckets: engineering, gameplay, and art. With these categories in mind, we led our conversations in the same order."

"For our modern controller settings, we take inspiration from the Legend, Anniversary, and Underworld era of Tomb Raider. These changes are felt mostly in the way Lara moves – the right stick has full camera control and Lara moves directionally based on camera position.

Just like our approach to the graphical presentation, the original tank-style controls are still available to players via a menu toggle."

"One of Tomb Raider’s strengths was the minimal UI. However, this can be frustrating for tougher bosses with massive amounts of health. We added a health bar to let you know if you should swap to the grenade launcher or if you should keep soaking pistol damage."

"While the menus in Tomb Raider used 3D models for the health kit and ammo, the in-game assets were flat 2D sprites. This was a legacy compromise that we’ve adjusted to give a little more umph to item pick-ups."

"This is a big moment for the Tomb Raider community, so we made sure to pack in as much content as possible. We’re excited to say there are over 200 trophies to earn including (my personal favorite) locking the Butler in the freezer. Sorry, Winston! See below for a sneak peak of a few you can look forward to discovering!"

"Exploring environments in Tomb Raider is magical. We want you to be able to share these environments and iconic moments, so we’ve added a robust photo mode to pose Lara, freeze gameplay, toggle between classic and modern graphics, and showcase these environments. We’re super excited to see what the community puts together with these modes."

"And a fews more surprises..." [Full article here]

TOMB RAIDER I-III REMASTERED is gonna be released February 14, 2024 on PC, PS4, PS5, Xbox and Switch!

#tomb raider #tomb raider remastered #tomb raider i #tomb raider ii #tomb raider iii #tomb raider 1996 #tomb raider 2 #tomb raider 3 #lara croft #classic lara croft #classic tomb raider #games #pics #news #links #by ksusha

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rippleclan · 19 days

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RippleClan: Moon 63

Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Clammask have found a way past their grief. Meanwhile, everyone poisoned by the poorly cooked rabbit recovers.

[Image ID: Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Clammask sit together, with - CONDITION: GRIEVING (X3) under them. Under Drumpaw, it says - CONDITION: FOOD POISONING, SHOCK. Under Rapidleaf, it says - CONDITION: FOOD POISONING, SHOCK, WATER IN LUNGS. Honeypaw, Elmsprout, and Leatherpaw are together, with - CONDITION: FOOD POISONING (X3) under them.]

(Oilstripe: 67, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 65, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Clammask: 57, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Drumpaw: 11, trans male, caretaker apprentice, loyal, moss-ball hunter)

(Rapidleaf: 81, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Honeypaw: 11, male, cleric apprentice, daring, has lots of ideas)

(Elmsprout: 30, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Leatherpaw: 11, male, warrior apprentice, confident, avid play-fighter, confident with words)

Clammask and Lemmy both announce their pregnancies.

[Image ID: Clammask and Lemmy both sit with + CONDITION: PREGNANT under them.]

---

It was a day after Lemmy’s pregnancy announcement that Clammask entered the medicine den with complaints of weight gain and nausea. Thank StarClan that Honeypaw had been out collecting herbs with the caretakers, because Clammask would not have been able to meet her son’s eyes as she later left with Troutpool’s diagnosis.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised. Halibutdusk may not have been a tom, but they had been born one. There was no reason they couldn’t get Clammask pregnant. Yet she had forgotten that, too busy finding a new beginning with playful flirting and a few fun outings (and one particular night where Clammask said goodbye to the pain and vengeance in her heart and oh StarClan was that when it happened oh no). It wasn’t supposed to be so serious. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

It still felt like summer as Clammask squinted in the brilliance of sunhigh. Lemmy and Mosspounce had a crowd around them, eager to share tongues. While Lemmy mostly kept to Mosspounce, Splashpaw, and the codekeepers, she chatted with her Clanmates with the skill and grace of a mediator, letting everyone know that she felt well and would nest in the nursery when she was ready. Clammask had already had a litter once, why wasn’t she as confident as Lemmy? Why did she have to feel like a scared kit?

Spikecrash was one of the cats sharing tongues with Lemmy. Clammask caught bits of their conversation, mixing their old faith in the Other Side with their new home’s focus on StarClan. Clammask lingered at the edge of the crowd, searching for the right words to draw Spikecrash’s attention. She didn’t have to say anything, luckily; Spikecrash glanced around camp as Lemmy listened to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle share pregnancy tips. Thank StarClan she saw the fear in Clammask’s silver eyes.

Spikecrash crept around her Clanmates, making her way to Clammask. No one seemed to notice the pair, much to Clammask’s relief. She flicked her ears toward the camp exit. Spikecrash nodded and led her outside.

Autumn had smacked RippleClan upside the head in the last few days. Before Clammask realized it, the trees that lined camp to the west had exploded in tortoiseshell color. The wind coming off the ocean was no longer pleasantly cool, but cold enough to make the golden molly shiver. The bugs had gone silent and heat no longer pushed against Clammask’s lungs; rather, the cold ocean air soothed her tense heart.

Not by much, however.

“I’ve lived here long enough to know when someone needs a mediator and doesn’t know what to say,” Spikecrash sighed as the pair left camp. “What do you need to talk about?”

“Let’s find somewhere we won’t be overheard first,” Clammask gulped.

Clammask and Spikecrash entered the forest. The trees and falling leaves would provide some privacy, just in case the sunhigh patrol wandered past. Spikecrash tried not to stare as they walked further and further from camp. Clammask wasn’t sure if her nausea was from her nerves or the life growing inside her. She tried to soak in the crisp, early autumn smell, but the remnants of summer and the weight in her chest made her nose-blind.

“I saw you leaving the medicine den,” Spikecrash said when they were far enough away from camp for Clammask to stop. “Did Troutpool have bad news for you?” Could she even define what was happening as “bad news”? She loved being pregnant with her sons, after all. Maybe if this was another litter with Scrubmask, she would be yowling the news across camp, celebrating with Lemmy, laughing at jokes about stealing attention from the former Witch Hunter.

“I’m pregnant,” Clammask said, the word dying part-way out of her mouth. Spikecrash’s face did not reveal her reaction; instead, she cocked her head slightly and studied Clammask, the way her whiskers fell and her eyes looked hollow.

“This doesn’t sound like something you planned,” Spikecrash noted.

“I was still testing how I felt about Halibutdusk,” Clammask moaned, pacing around Spikecrash without realizing it. “I didn’t want to have as serious a relationship as I had with Scrubmask at the start, we started a family as soon as we became mates, I only wanted to move on! Halibutdusk talked to me when they realized they weren’t a tom, they didn’t like what it meant to be a tom, how will they feel knowing they sired kits? I haven’t told my sons I’ve been seeing them! They’ll think I’m betraying their mother! Does Halibutdusk want kits? Do I want more kits? My sons haven’t even graduated! What if I lose another kit?” Spikecrash threw out her paw and stopped Clammask’s spiral.

“One thought at a time,” Spikecrash purred. “It seems you’re nervous about a serious relationship with Halibutdusk.”

“I’m not ready for that,” Clammask whined, sitting. Her tail stirred the leaves around her. “Halibutdusk has always been there for me, but… I don’t know, this is so much more than I was expecting!”

“And you think they’ll be upset they’ve sired kits with you?” Spikecrash asked, nodding.

“When Drumpaw told me he was a tom, he went on and on about how much the idea of pregnancy made him sick. Does Halibutdusk feel that way about siring kits? Does it make them feel wrong?”

“Have you asked them?”

“I didn’t want to be serious, why would I ask them that?” Spikecrash rolled onto her back, signaling her surrender at Clammask’s suddenly curled lip. Clammask smoothed her face.

“All I’m saying is that if you haven’t asked them about that topic, you can’t know how they’ll feel,” Spikecrash explained, face upside down. “The same goes for your sons. Paleseed deals with grief more than I do, but from what I’ve seen of your kits, they’ve each found their way forward from Scrubmask’s death. They might be happy for you.”

“Maybe. I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Do you want a practical response or an emotional one?” Spikecrash got back to her feet. Clammask thought it through, fur growing hot.

“Practical,” she eventually decided.

“Do you want to have these kits or not?” Spikecrash asked. Clammask’s stomach suddenly flipped.

“Move,” she managed to gulp just before she threw up. Spikecrash skittered up a fir. Clammask shivered as the taste settled in her mouth. Her nose curled at the stench of her own bile. Spikecrash jumped from the fir to a tree behind Clammask before she risked climbing down. Leaves fluttered with Spikecrash’s fall. Spikecrash groomed Clammask’s neck as the pregnant molly shivered.

What did Clammask want? Forget Halibutdusk, forget her sons, forget Scrubmask and whatever her spirit must think of her. Did Clammask want these kits or not?

“I want these kits,” Clammask finally whimpered. “I want to be a mother again. I want my sons to have more kin. I want to raise a litter that has two parents at their graduation ceremonies.”

“Alright then,” Spikecrash purred, touching Clammask’s nose despite the stench in her mouth. “I can help you tell Halibutdusk.”

“Whether we’re actually in love or not,” Clammask gulped, forcing herself to take a deep breath, “I’m raising these kits, and I’ll help Halibut be a part of their lives. They’ll be a good influence.”

“Let’s get you some water back at camp,” Spikecrash suggested. “We can wait until you feel a bit better before you tell anyone else about this.”

“I’d like that,” Clammask said with a sniffle. She let her paw dangle near her belly.

Her four sons were big personalities in their own rights. Who would these lovely kits become?

(Clammask: 57, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Lemmy: 39, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Spikecrash: 38, female, mediator, good speaker, lore keeper)

Terracottafoot helps Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick dream of the Dark Forest during Harvest Moon.

[Image ID: Weedfoot, Darkkick, and Paleseed stare down Newtstream, who is a Dark Forest spirit. Newtstream says, “I just want to spend my damnation in peace, and Autumnstar wants me to help make his curse worse.”]

---

This Harvest Moon was shaping up to be a lively one. As RippleClan settled around the Leader’s Stone in the early dawn light, setting up the decor of black pelts and with the other Clans, everyone found something to start their day with. Clammask, Lemmy, and Oilstripe joined a gaggle of queens, pregnant and nursing, all bonding over nursery experiences while some of Halibutdusk’s warrior friends teased them for their sudden relationship change. Mosspounce argued with the LynxClan artisans and caretakers over how to construct a temporary stove while Tempestshade and Elmsprout eagerly brought out the massive fish Carnationspeckle and Darkkick caught the night before. Rabbitjoy and Rattlepelt reunited with their artisan friends and explained their plans for RippleClan’s show about Leatherwaste and their careless deeds. Rapidleaf explained to her old Clanmates that no, she didn’t feel comfortable returning to LynxClan when her only living kin were distant RippleClan apprentices. Downstar happily shared tongues with Gorgestar and Ospreystar while Gentlestar and Eelstar (who bore a wrap over his nose) made sure everyone was settling in for the day.

And Paleseed? She was preparing for the fight of her life.

Most of the clerics were setting up spiritual protections around the clearing, guarding the five Clans from the Spirits of Shadow that would roam the territories that day. Terracottafoot, however, stood far from the rest of the Clans with Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick.

They had a jar of black dye on one side and a pile of early autumn leaves on the other. They rubbed their paw in the dye and gently nudged Weedfoot’s chin up. Terracottafoot ran their dyed paw from the base of Weedfoot’s chin to the center of her chest, a long black stripe like burnt meat. They did the same to Paleseed and Darkkick.

“Now I just need a spark to ignite these leaves, and we’ll begin,” Terracottafoot gulped, rubbing their black paw into the grass. “When you fall asleep, your souls will be transported to the Dark Forest. As many of the spirits there wander the forest tonight, you shouldn’t encounter as many enemies as you typically would. The burning of the leaves acts as a calling ritual. When you enter the Dark Forest, Autumnstar will feel called to you, even if he doesn’t realize it. You’ll find each other eventually.” Darkkick nodded along. Did she know of this ritual from her cleric days? What sort of dark powers did clerics hold in their hearts?

“What do we do when we find Autumnstar?” Paleseed asked.

“Make him stop hurting his Clan,” Terracottafoot sighed. “Convince him, fight him, do whatever you have to do. If he’s not stopped, the older generations of AshClan will all be dead by winter’s end.” Paleseed glanced back at the AshClan delegation. Save for Eelstar and Barkfur, every AshClan cat present was no more than a few years old. Would Paleshade leave them to die? No, Paleseed couldn’t keep asking what her namesake would do. But that was easier said than done.

“If Autumnstar is powerful enough to project a curse on AshClan,” Weedfoot muttered, “he’ll be a formidable foe in the Dark Forest.”

“He might have powers,” Paleseed said, “but he’ll still think like himself, won’t he? If we can’t outstrength him, we can outsmart him.” Hmm. Paleshade wasn’t much of a trickster. She would just give some grand speech and take Autumnstar down, if Weedfoot’s stories had any truth to them. Maybe Paleseed could bring more to the battle than a helpless mediator ready to be slaughtered.

“I’ll be right back,” Terracottafoot said, nodding with more enthusiasm than Paleseed had ever seen in the young cat. They hurried toward the main crowd, who continued to bicker about the stove as the sun battered the trees and fought its way into the clearing.

“It might be selfish to say this,” Weedfoot gulped, resting her tail on Paleseed, “but I’m glad you’ll be with us. I could use your support. Just promise me you’ll run if things get too dire.” Paleseed hesitated. Leave her mother and Darkkick to fight off Spirits of Shadow?

“That isn’t a request,” Darkkick huffed. “I still think you should stay here. The Dark Forest is no place for a non-combatant.”

“I really think I can help,” Paleseed said, raising her tail with false confidence. “If StarClan saw me with you, there’s something I can do to stop Autumnstar, something the two of you can’t.” To her surprise, Paleseed found herself believing her own words.

“You put more faith in what StarClan chooses to say than I do,” Darkkick muttered, fluffing her coat against a sudden breeze, “but so be it. I don’t doubt there’s something you could bring to this patrol.” Paleseed’s heather-blue eyes brightened at the compliment. Darkkick rolled her eyes, earning a chuckle from Weedfoot. At that moment, Terracottafoot slunk around the Leader’s Stone with a glowing stick in their jaws. Out of sight of most of the crowd, they ran back to Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick. They angled the stick against the leaves. The breeze sent sparks onto the dry tinder. The orange leaves began to glow.

“Lay down, quickly!” Terracottafoot ordered, setting down the stick.

“Wait,” Weedfoot huffed as smoke drifted from the leaves. “How are we supposed to get out of the Dark Forest once our job is done?”

“Do you know how you wake yourself up from a bad dream?” Terracottafoot grunted, nudging Paleseed’s flank down. “It’s just like that. Hurry, the leaves won’t burn long!” The three RippleClan cats laid around the smoldering leaves. Terracottafoot sat beside the tiny fire, eyes closed tight. It was hard to imagine falling asleep with the fire in her blood, but Paleseed closed her eyes as well, praying that the Ashes in the Water were standing beside her, guarding her spirit as it shifted from one world to another.

Paleseed thought she would feel the transition. She was literally traveling to another level of existence, why would she not notice when she left the clearing and entered the Place of No Stars itself? But she still felt the small warmth of the burning leaves. She still heard the happy crowd, just beginning to play a few instruments to welcome in the festive day. She could even smell Carnationspeckle’s fish! So how would she know when she arrived?

“Open your eyes, Paleseed,” Weedfoot whispered. “We’re here.”

When Paleseed obeyed her mother, the warmth and music and scent of freshly-caught fish evaporated. The sound of the Harvest Moon still rang in her ears, as though occurring deep within the ocean. Yet the grass was gray, like life and light had been sucked out from the roots. Paleseed looked up. Barren branches criss-crossed over a black sky. A huge, yellow full moon watched the land like a vengeful eye. There were no stars in that black ocean, no glow to the world but the harsh, biting moonlight that refracted off the fog. Said fog clung to the ground, nipping at Paleseed’s paws as she stood. The scent of wood-rot and fungus filled her lungs.

The Dark Forest was indeed that; dark, cold, absent of all the good in the world. Not a single conifer needle or leaf clung to the trees around the three RippleClan cats; instead, every branch poked and prodded at its neighbor for more room. There wasn’t even leaf litter to show there had ever been a summer in that barren land. Instead, mushrooms claimed the trees as their territory; flat, wide things of white and tan and brown. Even more mushrooms whose names Paleseed could not hope to guess sprouted from mounds poking out of the fog. Those mushrooms were the only life in the land. Bramble bushes speckled the shadowy landscape, thorns reaching out like fangs. Paleseed’s claws dug into the dry, red earth as a caterwaul echoed from somewhere deep within the forest.

“The stories were right about this place,” Darkkick scoffed, shaking out the mist and dust collecting on her fur. Paleseed instinctively pressed into Weedfoot. All three cats gathered around each other, taking in the cursed trees and the sharp shadows. Autumnstar was out there, somewhere, instinctively drawn toward the living cats, unaware of the fate that awaited him.

“Where do we start?” Paleseed gulped.

“You could start by leaving, if you’re smart.” Weedfoot and Darkkick jumped between Paleseed and the stranger’s voice. Paleseed followed the sound up into a dead pine. A black, mud-like ooze dripped from the ginger molly lounging on the branches overhead. A solid, glistening layer of ice covered her extremities and dulled her monotone fur.

“Newtstream,” Darkkick growled. She soothed her bristling fur and huffed, “It’s alright. She’ll pose no threat to us.”

“Terracottafoot sent you here, didn’t they?” Newtstream huffed. She jumped out of the tree and landed beside Darkkick. “The black marks on your chests, the sudden arrival on Harvest Moon… yes, it’s like I taught them. Why send RippleClan cats, however?”

“We’re here to stop Autumnstar’s curse,” Weedfoot explained, eyes stuck on Newtstream’s black goop.

“You were trying to save your Clanmates when you were alive,” Paleseed gulped, taking a risky step closer to the Dark Forest spirit. “There’s no reason for you to stop us.”

“What makes you think I’m trying to stop you?” Newtstream scoffed. “I’m just trying to spare you. It may be Harvest Moon, but deadly things still wander these woods.”

“We won’t be here any longer than we have to be,” Weedfoot said. “We’ll take care of Autumnstar and go.”

“I can’t say I’m too surprised to see you here,” Darkkick couldn’t help but grumble. “You did spit in StarClan’s face, after all.”

“I didn’t do enough to forgive myself, apparently,” Newtstream sighed, looking at the starless sky. “I just want to spend my damnation in peace, and Autumnstar wants me to help make his curse worse. The only thing keeping him from becoming as terrible as the worst Spirits of Shadow is his hurt ego. He feels his Clanmates, that StarClan himself, gave up on him and the virtues he tried to uphold. He could have led AshClan for many more moons if he let himself be wrong about your Clan. Instead, he spreads his frost across the Dark Forest and curses his Clanmates’ names. He’ll turn you into ice when he finds you.” As Newtstream monologued, Paleseed examined the dry grass around her. The entire forest looked like the aftermath of a great fire, destroying everything green in the world.

“Frost…” Paleseed muttered, looking back at the icy death wounds covering Newtstream’s extremities. “Autumnstar’s frostbite scars were some of his most famous characteristics. That’s why his curse is some form of eternal frostbite. The power of the Dark Forest exacerbates that legend. But frost has a big weakness. If… yes, if we don’t draw the attention of Spirits of Shadow…” Paleseed ran her paw against the harsh, rugged bark of a dead tree.

“What are you thinking, Paleseed?” Weedfoot asked. Paleseed turned back to the group, her eyes the brightest thing in the land.

“I have a plan to take care of Autumnstar,” Paleseed said.

(Paleseed: 29, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Weedfoot: 112, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Darkkick: 123, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

[Image ID: Downstar (now in an elder sprite), Rattlepelt, and Splashpaw look at Gentlestar, a brown tabby with a maple seed accessory, who introduces Asterpaw, a gray apprentice. Gentlestar says, “We’ve decided that if Asterpaw is going to give prey to every loner and kittypet he comes across, he would do better in the Clan that’s more supportive of that behavior.” Under Asterpaw, it says NEW PLAYER: ASTERPAW, 10, MALE, THOUGHTFUL, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS.]

---

As Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick dreamed unbeknownst to all but a trusted few, Downstar cheered with the rest of the Clans as WheatClan finished their performance on Shardlings, the broken pieces of destroyed souls fulfilling dark desires on loop. The young apprentices were a great decision to play the part of the Shardlings, even if they lacked an artisan’s acting skills. For who could get mad at excited youths performing with their friends and kin?

“Maybe we should have asked you to help with our Leatherwaste performance, huh Splashpaw?” Rattlepelt, who sat near Downstar, laughed to the purple-ribboned apprentice.

“I suppose you should have,” Splashpaw laughed, “but I’m almost a historian. I don’t think I would have the same effect as the six moon old apprentices.” Someone on the other side of the swarm of Clan cats called for a race. Suddenly, dozens of furry forms shoved past Downstar, ignorant of her position.

“A lot of energy, considering how close we are to sunhigh,” Downstar chuckled, smoothing out her disturbed pelt. “I’m ready for the feast.”

“It smells amazing,” Splashpaw purred, tasting the air. “We have this every Harvest Moon?”

“Hopefully you’ll have a lot more of these feasts in the years to come,” Rattlepelt chirped, picking up her fox pelt from where the excited crowd had shoved it off her back.

“Downstar! A moment, if you would!” Gentlestar weaved through the excited crowd, her maple seed necklace bouncing on her chest. The bright sun made her brown pelt look yellow. A small gray tom followed her, staring at Downstar.

“Your Clan put on an excellent show, Gentlestar,” Downstar purred as the WheatClan leader approached.

“So did yours,” Gentlestar chirped, touching noses with the RippleClan leader. “Hopefully we can share tongues some more later today. First, though, I wanted to introduce you to Asterpaw.” The gray apprentice stood beside Gentlestar, studying the three RippleClan cats before him. His fur was choppy, with a few small tabby markings along his face and tail. He was sleek compared to most WheatClan cats, who enjoyed the extra fat from their various herbs and crops in the bountiful moons.

“Greetings,” he said quietly, nodding to each RippleClan cat in turn.

“Are you a new apprentice?” Splashpaw asked. Asterpaw shifted back.

“He’s been an apprentice for over a season now,” Gentlestar explained, “but he hasn’t been allowed at Gatherings. I heard you used to be a troublemaker in your youth, Downstar. Asterpaw would want to challenge you for that title. He’s been the subject of three trials in the span of four moons.”

“What in StarClan’s name have you been doing?” Rattlepelt gasped as Asterpaw straightened up against the shocked expressions of those around him.

“I’ve been helping cats,” he huffed.

“Asterpaw has been caught numerous times stealing WheatClan resources and giving them to the southern farm cats,” Gentlestar said. A curt glare from the brown leader shut Asterpaw up. His yellow eyes screamed to talk back. “No matter how many times we’ve explained to Asterpaw that our prey and tools belong to us, he’ll still give what he can away.”

“That’s not something a leader would usually admit to another,” Downstar noted as Asterpaw grew stiff as wood, fighting back the urge to defend himself. “That sort of theft is a serious issue, Asterpaw.” The flood inside of the gray WheatClan tom broke free.

“I don’t always take things from camp!” he cried. “I make some of my own stuff, too. The farm cats have their own society to the south, and they don’t have our freedom to act with humans constantly watching them. If they’re struggling to hunt for themselves, I give them a spare mouse or my share of a meal. I only want to take care of them!”

“Except you’re supposed to take care of your Clanmates, not those outside WheatClan,” Gentlestar reminded him. This time, Asterpaw did not back down, glaring back at Gentlestar with righteous strength. Gentlestar simply sighed, looked back to Downstar, and said, “We’ve decided that if Asterpaw is going to give prey to every loner and kittypet he comes across, he would do better in the Clan that’s more supportive of that behavior.”

“Wait,” Rattlepelt said, “do you mean you want Asterpaw to join RippleClan?”

“He’s shown WheatClan that he cannot be trusted,” Gentlestar sighed. “The only other option after so many repeated offenses in so little time was exile.”

“RippleClan loves to help outsiders, right?” Asterpaw said, stepping away from Gentlestar. “You’ve invited a dozen loners to join your ranks at this point. You understand what I’m trying to do.”

“We’re kind to loners, yes,” Downstar said, glancing toward Lemmy in the gaggle of queens, “but we’re still wise with our resources. There’s a border between helping others and hurting your Clan. If you want to be a RippleClan cat, you need to understand that.”

“If you can teach him that lesson, WheatClan will be impressed,” Gentlestar said. “Beyond his issues, Asterpaw is a good caretaker and minds the camp well. While we will miss him, he and the Clan all agree this is for the best.” Asterpaw nodded along.

“Another caretaker apprentice from another Clan…” Downstar hummed. She couldn’t help but chuckle at history repeating itself. “I trained Elmsprout when she left AshClan. It seems only fair that I train another caretaker.”

“So I can join?” Asterpaw asked, standing as tall as he could despite his short stature.

“You can’t be stealing from us, though,” Rattlepelt noted. “I’ll know if you steal my leather.” She adjusted her fox pelt, rubbing her face into the red fur lining the outer side.

“If you’re as troublesome as Gentlestar claims you are,” Downstar chuckled, touching noses with Asterpaw, “you need a more experienced paw to guide you. If this is what you want, you can return to RippleClan with us at the end of Harvest Moon.” Asterpaw hooked his tail high, purring at his new leader.

A hiss slipped through the happy noise of the Harvest Moon. A sharp yelp spun Downstar’s head around. Far away from the rest of the crowd, Weedfoot, Paleseed, and Darkkick slept beside one another. Terracottafoot looped around them, using them as a wall between themself and Waspdawn, whose shortened tail thrashed violently and who bared his teeth like a dog.

“What did you do to Paleseed?” Waspdawn yowled. He tried to get around the sleeping cats and strike Terracottafoot, but the nimble cleric led the codekeeper on a loop, staying far from Waspdawn’s angry claws.

“Please, you can’t disturb them!” Terracottafoot begged. “This is more important than you realize!” Downstar ran toward Waspdawn and Terracottafoot, but Troutpool beat her there.

“Waspdawn, you can’t attack a cleric!” Troutpool yowled, grabbing Waspdawn by the scruff and pulling him back. Waspdawn squirmed out of Troutpool’s weak grasp.

“They did something to them!” Waspdawn hissed. Cats slipped away from the excitement of the distant race and formed a crowd of onlookers, all eyes on Waspdawn. “None of them will wake up!” Terracottafoot crouched by Darkkick, who did not wake up despite the chaos around her. Eelstar shoved his way to the front of the crowd. He shivered as he stood, even though the coming sunhigh made it feel almost like summer again.

“Terracottafoot, what is going on?” Eelstar huffed. Terracottafoot rose, gray eyes hardening as they stood down their leader.

“I did what your pride wouldn’t let you do,” they snapped. “I got help!” Downstar slipped beside Weedfoot. She nudged her deputy’s shoulder. Weedfoot did not stir. Downstar put her ear to Weedfoot’s mouth. She was still breathing. Downstar shook her again, harder, but to the same result.

“What’s on their chests?” Rattlepelt called from the crowd. Troutpool joined Downstar and Weedfoot. She lifted Weedfoot’s heavy head. Black dye smeared the bottom of her chin, a trail running down her chest. Darkkick and Paleseed had the same marks. Troutpool gasped and dropped Weedfoot’s head. Her whiskers pushed back and her wide eyes stared at Terracottafoot.

“I know this ritual,” Troutpool muttered as Rattlepelt joined her little sister, offering a comforting weight at her side. “Every cleric learns it, even though it’s incredibly taboo. Terracottafoot… why did you send them to the Dark Forest?” Fearful gasps and yowls rippled around the Leader’s Stone. Codekeepers instantly fought to keep RippleClan and AshClan cats alike from swarming the scene, pushing and smacking them back with sheathed claws. Downstar shivered just like Eelstar.

“Because they’re going to save my Clan,” said Terracottafoot, whose characteristic insecurity vanished like morning mist against the outrage of the five Clans, whose gray eyes continued to stare down Eelstar, almost taunting him to speak against his only cleric.

(Downstar: 122, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Rattlepelt: 46, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Splashpaw: 11, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Asterpaw: 10, male, caretaker apprentice, thoughtful, has lots of ideas)

(Waspdawn: 29, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Troutpool: 24, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

[Image ID: Darkkick and Weedfoot face down Autumnstar, a Dark Forest soul. Weedfoot says, “You couldn’t rest in peace, could you Autumnstar?”]

---

Paleseed would be the one to spring the trap. It was her idea, after all, and it would keep her out of the fight. Newtstream had wandered off, unable (or perhaps unwilling) to assist anymore than she had. That left Weedfoot and Darkkick standing among the trees. Waiting. Watching. Holding their breath at the slightest shift in wind.

“Are we sure Autumnstar will come this way?” Weedfoot asked.

“Terracottafoot’s performance of the ritual was sound,” Darkkick huffed. “Autumnstar’s spirit is being pulled our direction as we speak.” Weedfoot peered into the moonlit fog. The trees grew hazy the farther she looked. A distant howl filled the silence between the pair.

“Darkkick,” Weedfoot said softly, “if I don’t wake up, make sure my family knows why I did this.”

“If I don’t,” Darkkick said, “tell Spikecrash I’ve enjoyed growing closer to her.”

“I’ll tell her you loved her,” Weedfoot purred.

The moonlight in the distance glinted against yellow eyes. Weedfoot froze, and not just out of fear. A thin coat of frost crawled under the fog, lurching from the shadows. It stung at Weedfoot’s pads and forced her back. Darkkick shivered through it. Ginger and white paws, sticky with goo and shimmering with frost, stepped out of the haze. Ice ate at his scar tissue. The face that came into view was not one of malice, but shock.

“Is that you, Weedfoot?” Autumnstar gasped. The frost grew thicker and thicker where he stood. The frost collected over Weedfoot’s paws, trying to glue her to the dead grass. Weedfoot kept moving, shifting her stance and breaking the ice. “You’re not a cat I expected to see here. Especially not alive. And Darkkick, of all cats! I never expected to see your face again. So you’ve joined up with Weedfoot and her kin. Did you send the pair of you here?” Darkkick raised her hackles, hissing.

“You couldn’t rest in peace, could you Autumnstar?” Weedfoot growled. “Do you even realize you’re hurting your Clan? Your Clanmates are dying, you’ve cursed them. You need to undo it.”

“I wondered if my anger held the power so many artisans and historians claimed it did in this place,” Autumnstar muttered, lifting a paw and allowing his cursed goop to drip onto the dead grass. “If that is how their betrayal manifests, so be it. May StarClan judge their foxhearted ways just as they judged me.”

“I would have thought you’d curse RippleClan,” Darkkick scoffed.

“You may not believe me, but I know the truth about your Clan now,” Autumnstar snapped. A flick of his tail sent ice sprinkling onto the side of a withered oak. “Our ancestors decided five Clans can exist around StarClan’s Shrine. My fight is not with RippleClan.”

“AshClan is full of your friends, your kin,” Weedfoot yowled. “I remember how much you cared for them. Why hurt them?”

“Why do you care?” Autumnstar groaned like an impatient apprentice. “You’re not AshClan anymore. The culture and traditions I fought to uphold mean nothing to you now.”

“I did care!” Darkkick yowled, marching closer. A flash of frost shot out from around Autumnstar. It struck at Darkkick’s legs, leaving crystals on her long fur. She hissed, gritting her teeth as her legs buckled. “I cared about AshClan up to the moment you exiled me for following StarClan’s decree! How is that ‘upholding tradition’?”

“I exiled you because I thought you were lying,” Autumnstar growled. “Why would I believe StarClan would suddenly side with the cats sewing discord into my Clan, working against so many of the values I held dear? I thought it was a conspiracy, that you had been won over. I stopped the war when I learned the truth. I respected RippleClan’s land, became civil to Downstar. And what did I get for changing my ways? StarClan struck me down. The friends and kin I spent my life defending began to curse my name. Of course I cursed them back!” Weedfoot couldn’t feel her paws. Her skin burned from the cold. Ice pinned her fur to her skin. It grew thicker and thicker. Pulling away grew harder and harder until all Weedfoot and Darkkick could do was squirm in their crystal chrysalis. “I fight for my Clan, only to be spat on for my efforts. If they’ll call me a curse on their Clan, that’s just what I’ll be!”

“Paleseed!” Weedfoot yowled. Her eyes turned to the treetops over Autumnstar. Flames danced in front of the giant moon. It licked at the end of a pointy gray branch. Paleseed stood defiant in the lifeless tree, holding the stick high, teeth dug tight into the bark. The fire brightened her spotted fur and burned her heather eyes.

Paleseed set the flame to the tree. The fire eagerly jumped to the dry tinder. Brilliant orange light exploded against the fog. Paleseed ran and jumped from one tree to another, setting each aflame.

“Are you mad?” Autumnstar roared. “You’ll kill yourselves before you kill me!” Blood pooled in Weedfoot’s paws in response to the sudden heat. Frost turned to dew. Darkkick lifted herself from the grass, shaking the quickly melting ice off her long black fur like dust. In the shining firelight, Autumnstar seemed like any other opponent Weedfoot had overcome before.

Darkkick attacked first. She head-butted Autumnstar, knocking him toward the flames, now leaping to other trees of its own merit. Weedfoot struck Autumnstar upside the head before he could collect himself. They rolled through the fog, two against one. Weedfoot’s pelt grew soaked as she fell on her back, saved only by Darkkick dragging Autumnstar away.

“It’s done!” Paleseed cried. In between flashes of fur and fang, fire consumed every exit. The heat replaced Autumnstar’s supernatural chill entirely. Paleseed stood on the other side of the fire, coughing, eyes watering at the smoke that now ate at the moon.

“You’ve weakened him!” Weedfoot cheered as she freed Darkkick from Autumnstar’s strong hold. “There’s nothing else you can do here, Paleseed. You need to wake up.”

“I don’t know how!” Paleseed yowled. “This doesn’t feel like a dream!”

“You can see, but your eyes feel closed, don’t they?” Darkkick snapped, dodging Autumnstar’s strike. “You can still hear Harvest Moon in the distance. That’s how it is for us. Force your eyes open! Listen to the crowd!”

“I love you both!” Paleseed cried. Her wide gaze held Weedfoot’s attention, even as she scratched and clawed at Autumnstar. The fire blossomed, rising like the tide and receding just as fast. Paleseed was gone. Paleseed was safe.

A lucky blow; Weedfoot kicked her leg back, only for Autumnstar to lock his fangs deep into her ankle. He was a rattlesnake, injecting cold poison into Weedfoot’s blood. The deputy yowled and shivered as Autumnstar’s icy claws continued to spread his mouth’s icy venom. That close to the flesh, the fire could do nothing to stop his dark power. Weedfoot dug into Autumnstar’s face, even as her leg remained stuck in the dead leader’s vicious bite.

Darkkick slid on her back, appearing under Autumnstar’s stomach. She pushed up, hard as she could. Autumnstar’s fangs lifted from Weedfoot’s ankle with a vibrant spurt of blood. Weedfoot’s spasming muscles kicked Autumnstar away.

Here are the fallen Ashes in the Water, the AshClan cats who stood against their Clanmates and asked for a different life; Lavenderleaf, Redcloud, Sprucespring, Wasppaw, Finstrike, Burdockstream, and Paleshade. StarClan knew of their mission and accepted their cause, welcoming the group into StarClan despite how they turned against their Clan. This is for them!

Weedfoot slashed at Autumnstar’s eyes. Autumnstar shrieked, trying to blink the blood away. Darkkick fulfilled her namesake; she kicked, hard, right against Autumnstar’s side, sending the suddenly blinded leader stumbling into Paleseed’s flames.

The effect was nearly instant. As Autumnstar caterwauled, form flailing in the fire, sharp-angled shadows bounced off his silhouette. Shardlings. The living shadows, with too pointy ears and fang-tips for tails, the broken remnants of a Dark Forest soul, dead twice-over. They scattered with the smoke, mimicking their host’s fading screams. Autumnstar grew smaller and smaller in the fire’s glow.

Weedfoot turned to Darkkick, wondering, praying, screaming inside, still absorbing the pain in her leg and everything unfolding around her. But Darkkick was gone. Darkkick was safe.

But Weedfoot bore witness. She was still a historian. This was her duty.

The last shadow of Autumnstar shifted and danced in the fire, with only its ears and tail suggesting a feline shape. But this Shardling did not bounce into the Dark Forest to search for its broken kin. No, this Shardling stared at Weedfoot. Bright yellow eyes glared at her with more hatred than any soul, dead or alive, could muster. It screeched with a sound like screaming wind. Flames reaching out to restrain it, the Shardling launched at Weedfoot.

Weedfoot was not safe.

[Image ID: Darkkick, Paleseed, and Weedfoot sit together as Rattlepelt tells Weedfoot, “I’ve got you, Weedfoot!” Under Weedfoot, it says + CONDITION: MANGLED LEG. Under Rattlepelt, it says LEVEL UP! FIERCE -> BLOODTHIRSTY.]

Weedfoot screamed. She spasmed against the gray… no. The green grass. The grass was green again. The voices that once whispered far in the distance were now up close and yowling. The sun. The sun had returned, dancing directly over the Leader’s Stone. A huge crowd surrounded Weedfoot, gasping and yowling in response to her sudden panic.

“I’ve got you, Weedfoot!” Rattlepelt sat at Weedfoot’s side. She wrapped her prized fox pelt around Weedfoot’s burning leg. It was still bleeding, even though Weedfoot’s body never entered that cursed forest. “Troutpool and the other clerics are making emergency bandages.” Rattlepelt pressed both front paws into Weedfoot’s wounds. A bit of blood stained her gray skin.

“We weren’t putting on a show here.” Darkkick! She and Paleseed sat with Terracottafoot, cleaning the black dye off their chests with wet moss rather than groom it and get sick.

“I did try to send them away,” Terracottafoot gulped.

“Move, that’s our mother!” Weedfoot’s four other kits pushed through the crowd, Waspdawn in the lead. The golden tom ran into Weedfoot. Puddlewhisper and Lavendertwist wrapped around their mother. Even Scaleripple, sensitive as he was, laid his head on Weedfoot’s tail, purring. Paleseed left Darkkick and Terracottafoot to join her family. Waspdawn tackled his sister, trying to hold both kin close. James trailed after them, lucious tail tucked under his legs.

“Where are you hurt?” James asked. He noticed Rattlepelt’s bloody paws and groaned, closing his eyes. “No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to look. I’m just grateful you’re awake.” Weedfoot couldn’t help but laugh; even as she awoke from a battle in the Dark Forest, James was still the snob she knew and love. James pressed into Weedfoot’s neck.

“Weedfoot.” Weedfoot’s family shifted to reveal Downstar, standing with Eelstar at the front of the crowd. “Terracottafoot told us of their vision and your quest. You should have told me about this.”

“This wasn’t your problem to solve,” Eelstar said. His voice lacked its usual bite as he stared at the fox pelt around her leg.

“I’m sorry, Downstar,” Weedfoot gulped, voice shaky from the experience, “but this was too important to let you stop us. StarClan said we were the best ones to handle Autumnstar.”

“It was terrifying to see,” Lavendertwist gulped. “Mom, you and Darkkick were just laying there, shivering! And then all these scratches and bruises began to appear, even though no one was touching you! And then your leg opened up, it was… I don’t even know what to say! What happened in the Dark Forest?”

Yes… what had happened? The Shardling had had its jaw around Weedfoot’s throat. It should have killed her. It wasn’t a thinking being, it was a bundle of lost emotion and instinct, a small piece of what used to be Autumnstar. It didn’t have the capacity to spare. So why did it? All five Clans stared at Weedfoot, awaiting her answer. What could she say? Only the truth.

“Autumnstar can’t hurt anyone anymore,” Weedfoot said.

(Weedfoot: 112, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Darkkick: 123, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Paleseed: 29, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Rattlepelt: 46, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Waspdawn: 29, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Puddlewhisper: 29, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Lavendertwist: 29, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Scaleripple: 16, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(James: 139, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Downstar: 122, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

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