#never actually finished the book but I have watched the musical | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

futurewdclandonorris · 11 months

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Friends Don't | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Summary: you go out to celebrate George's home race win, not even imagining what the night will bring

Warnings: smut, drunk driving, unprotected sex

A/N: you will maybe have to necessarily read part 1 and part 2 hehe. For the sake of the plot, we'll pretend some things already happened. I've spent the whole week writing this and only got it to all click together from the third attempt. Third time's a charm, right? But at least had a blast while editing, which is a rarity. I actually enjoy writing these 'chapters' and building this world sm <3

Sundays were a day for rest and relaxation. A day for sitting down with a good book and a cup of coffee. A day for cuddling up with a loved one and watching a movie. A day for taking some time for yourself; a day to reflect and recharge.

That was, of course, unless your best friend was George Russell. And that your Sundays didn't consist of spending most weekends a year at different race tracks around the world. Not all of them, but you tried to be there for him at least once or twice a month, as much as the opportunity allowed.

That afternoon, George took the checkered flag in Silverstone in P1 and now you were in your room, preparing for tonight's celebration. The victory party was going to be wild, and you knew it. You had seen how George celebrated previous wins, and tonight was going to be no different. Especially because it was his home race.

You took a deep breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. You had dressed to impress, wearing a sparkly blue dress that fit you perfectly. Finishing your look with a pair of strappy heels and a silver necklace, you couldn't help but think about how previous events with George brought you even closer together.

Your friendship kind of became more... intimate. No pun intended. Guess you were both afraid not to lose each other over the past experiences, and that deepened your bond whether either of you wanted to admit or not. Now your only fear was that your closeness wouldn't tear you apart.

A soft knock pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned around to see George standing at the door with a sheepish grin on his face. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and black pants, his hair tousled in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he said, his voice low and husky. "Ready to party?"

Never before have you paid any mind to the nicknames he called you, but now a thrill ran down your spine. The way he looked at you made you feel like the only person in the world.

"I am," you said, smiling at him.

As you stepped out of the door, George took your hand in his and led you to the car waiting outside. The drive to the club was short, but the anticipation was high. The party was in full swing when you arrived; loud music, flashing lights, and the smell of alcohol filled the air.

George led you to the VIP section where his friends and family were already celebrating. You saw his siblings and a few of his close racing buddies. You could hear their loud cheering as they saw George walk in with you and feel the envious glares of the other women in the room.

George handed you a glass of champagne and raised his own in a toast. "To the best damn team in the world," he said, looking at you and his friends.

Everyone cheered and clinked their glasses together. You took a sip of the bubbly liquid, feeling it go down smoothly. The night was young, and the energy in the room was electric.

The party kept going on as the night deepened, and the noise of the songs blasted through the room. Glasses were filled up with drinks constantly, making it more of an effort to ignore the effects of the booze. You found yourself on the dance floor, surrounded by George and his friends. The bass of the music throbbed in your chest, and you let yourself get lost in the rhythm.

Throughout the night, each person had a chance to take their turn with you on the dance floor, and eventually you were spinning around in George's arms. The heat of the club mixed with the buzz of the alcohol made your skin flush against his. You could feel his muscles flexing as he twirled you around, his hand firmly holding onto yours. The closer you danced, the more the tension between you grew.

For a moment, you forgot where you were and who was watching. You moved on him like it was just the two of you in the world, your hands moving over his body like never before, and hips swaying in perfect synchronicity. You were so close to him that you could feel his breath on your neck, and the scent of his cologne filled your senses. You felt yourself getting lost in him, and something stirred inside you.

And it seemed like George caught up on your odd behavior as the song faded away. He grabbed your arm and started leading you away from the dance floor until you reached a quiet corner. But your drunken mind wasn't understanding his intentions.

You threw yourself onto him and he had to secure your hips with his hands to stop you from slipping. You let out a hazy chuckle as you started grinding against him once more before he pushed you back against the wall.

"Stop it, that's not why I brought you here."

But you didn't listen. You pulled yourself even closer, letting your lips brush against his neck. "Then why did you bring me here?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, your breath tickling his skin. "The drinks have gone to your head. I brought you here to take a break and cool off a little." he avoided telling you that you were drunk and not acting like yourself, afraid to provoke any unnecessary argument between you two.

Still, you weren't paying any attention. You were too inebriated to realize that your behavior was a little out of character, and you certainly weren't considering the consequences of your actions. You clasped your hands around his shoulders and pressed yourself against him again.

George tried to keep a respectable distance between you, pushing his hip backwards as you pushed yours forward, fighting the urge to get too close. That got you into an interesting position; you were leaning against the wall in between his arms with your shoulders as he leaned into you with his upper body. Your hand naughtily ran down his side, poking him. You knew you probably shouldn't touch him, but you couldn't stop yourself. His muscles strained as he let out a shaky breath.

"You're getting awfully close to me," he murmured, unable to bring himself to look you in the eye. His fingers slowly slid from their grip on the wall.

"Then don't push me away," you said back.

His face was just inches away now, and your lips unconsciously moved closer. The atmosphere between you two was thick with anticipation, a feeling that you currently relished in. Your lips were only a breath away from his when he spoke.

"We can't." his eyes locked with yours.

"Why?" you asked breathily.

"Because we're best friends." his voice was barely a whisper.

He hoped the reason he gave you would remind you of everything you asked from him that first time. But he didn't tell you that he feared you'd regret it when you sobered up, and that it would be his fault for not stopping it.

"And?" in the state that you were, did he really think that would stop you? He couldn't have been more wrong. You wanted to push him to feel something. Anything. "Best friends can do a lot of things." you smirked.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes still on yours. "No, they can't." he gritted, shaking his head.

"You're right." you said, the alcohol clouding your judgment. "They can't do this." and your hips finally met his.

He swallowed hard, trying to stay level headed. "What am I going to do with you?" he said in desperation, his hands pressed flat on the wall behind you, trying their best not to touch you as they dangerously started slipping down.

You placed your hands on his chest, feeling his heart hammering under your palms as you glided them down his torso. "Remember how you said you can read my body language?"

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding his head.

"What is it telling you now?" you whispered against his lips.

"It's telling me we're going to be in big trouble if you don't stop this," he replied. "You have no idea what you're doing to me right now."

"Then don't fight it. Show me." you murmured.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours. Your arms snaked around his neck and fingers twined through the hair at its nape, pulling him closer. You couldn't believe that you had done all those other things, but never kissed. And when ultimately his mouth closed on yours, it was like finally locating the elusive jigsaw piece on a seemingly ordinary Tuesday while tidying up your home that you thought had been lost forever. It made you almost not want to kiss anyone else ever again — almost, because deep down you knew you shouldn't have been doing this in the first place.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as his head tilted to get a better angle. The kiss was soft, tentative, like both of you were very aware of what might happen. You pressed your mouth against his more firmly, tasting him. Parting your lips slightly, you felt the silky wetness of his tongue on yours. You bit his lower lip, letting out a deep moan when he groaned in response, hands that were in his hair tugging on the strands slightly. He groaned into your mouth again, pulling you even closer against him. You had no idea how long you were kissing, but it was definitely not enough.

The kiss broke, and you leaned your face against his neck, panting heavily. He glanced down at you, his lips so close to yours that if you had merely lifted your head, they'd be touching again. The warmth emanating from your body made him want to do things he knew he shouldn’t. He placed his forehead against yours, trying desperately to get control of himself.

"We should get back." he said between breaths. Your head was spinning from the alcohol and his scent and the magical kiss, it took you a moment to realize you were no longer kissing him. You opened your eyes and met with him.

"We should, before they realize we're missing." you nodded. He frowned, but his eyes were smiling. He was relieved, but he was also worried for you and what tomorrow might bring when you sobered up.

"Lets go," he said, turning around, but kept an arm around your waist so as to not let you get lost. You looped one arm around his neck, holding onto his shoulder, and gently hit his other shoulder with your head.

The night was still young and the party was still going. Music was playing, people were dancing, and laughter filled the room. Your friends cheered when they saw you two come in together, but neither of you paid any attention to them; all that mattered was that you were here, with him. Guys grabbed drinks for the both of you from different parts of the room and put it in your hands.

You found a spot on the couch and George sat next to you, his arm around your waist protectively. The conversations flowed easily between you two, and soon enough you both forgot what had happened earlier as you joined the rest of the group in drinking, singing along with music and laughing.

He later found you on the dance floor swaying around completely out of rhythm with a drink in your hand. Your face lit up when you saw him.

"There you are, my champion." you leaned into him, dropping your head onto his shoulder.

"I won the race, not the championship.” he chuckled.

“Mm, don’t care. To me you are the champion.” you slurred, pouting.

“Hey, is everything alright?" he asked, supporting you.

"Mmhmm." you mumbled. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine." you could hear the frown on his face. "You're drunk." he spat as he attempted to take away the half empty glass from your grasp.

"I'm not." you said, feeling yourself lose your balance a little as you swayed back and forth. He put his arm around you to help you balance.

"Yes, you are. I should've taken you home the first time around." he sighed, somehow not surprised you managed to get even drunker. You were both intoxicated for that matter, it's just that George knew how to hold his liquor. And he looked to never go over his limit in case something like this happened.

"No." you tried to pull away from him.

"I'm taking you home." he tightened his grip around you, leading you out of the party. You mumbled something in response, not quite sure what you were saying.

He helped you into his car and buckled your seat belt for you, before getting in himself. He drove slowly, carefully navigating the roads while you were almost passed out in his passenger seat. Every now and then he'd take a hand off the wheel to reach over and brush your hair away from your face or wipe away a stray tear from your cheek if one escaped your eye. As he turned into your street and parked the car, your eyes fluttered open.

"Um, could you walk me to the door?" you asked.

"I was planning on it," he said, unbuckling his seat belt.

Both of your arms wrapped around his left one, holding on for support, as he walked you to your apartment. Your little nap helped clear the haze from your head, but you were still tipsy. When you reached the entrance of your flat, you propped yourself against the door and blinked up at him.

"Do you want to come inside?" inviting your best friend into your home have never before seemed more dangerous and George should've known better than to say yes.

"Do you want anything to drink?" you asked to break an awkward silence that fell among you the moment he shut the door.

Before even waiting for his answer, you made your way towards the kitchen, but he extended his arm and grabbed your waist, preventing you from moving further.

"I think we both had enough to drink tonight," he said.

"Then what do you want to do?" you whispered.

"I want to claim my prize." he must have had a few more drinks than usual at the club to summon up the courage for that sentiment.

You could feel your heart racing in your chest, the alcohol still fogging your mind but not enough to miss the implication of his words. You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his intense gaze. His hand still rested on your waist, his fingers tracing small circles over the fabric of your dress.

"Is that what I am, a prize?"

"No, no." he said quickly, his eyes softening. "You're so much more than that, you know that." his hand cupped the side of your face. "When I saw you looking up at me on the podium today, I realized I couldn't have done it without you. You were the one who had been cheering me on from the sidelines all this time. You've been there for me when no one else was." he leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You've been my lucky charm all these years and I want to show you how much you mean to me."

The way he was looking at you made your chest heave with a mixture of emotions. You were both under the influence, and you knew this was not the best time to make decisions, but you couldn't resist him. You leaned in and attached your lips together again, only this time with more passion, more desire. You could feel his hands running through your hair as he kissed you back, his tongue playing with yours, his body pressing against yours.

He pulled away, looking at you with a hunger you had never seen before. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, unable to say anything. His lips crashed onto yours, hungrily claiming your mouth as his own. Your body responded to his touch, your hands roaming over his chest and tangling in his hair. He lifted you up, your legs locking around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom.

He laid you down gently on the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours. Climbing on top of you, his lips trailed kisses down your neck and collarbone. You moaned softly, your hands gripping tightly onto his muscular back. He pulled his lips away from you, looking into your eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

You nodded, reaching up and pulling him back down. He gently kissed you again and you responded in kind, but he pulled away again.

"I'll stop if you tell me to." he whispered. "I don't want to do this unless you want to."

"I want to." you murmured. The alcohol may have distorted your judgment, but it surely helped your courage.

"Are you sure?" he asked a third time. You laughed softly, trying to push him off. He had you pinned to the mattress, still pressing you down.

"Yes, I'm sure." you said, no longer laughing.

That was all he needed to hear. He kissed you hard, his fingers lightly tracing over the fabric of your dress. He ran his hands underneath, gently resting them on your ribs, and pulled your dress upwards. You lifted your hands above your head, freeing him of the task of removing your dress as you squiggled out of it and freed yourself from the restriction that was your dress.

He kissed you again, letting his hands run over your bare skin. His lips kissed down your throat and chest, his hands undoing your bra. He pulled it away and tossed it aside, taking in the sight of you.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he said. You blushed, and he smiled. His lips traveled down your leg, gently caressing the outside of your thigh. "But I'm a little jealous, you know?" his lips traveled back up, his tongue tracing over the slope of your breast and hands kneading them softly. "You got to taste me, and I..."

He kissed his way down your body, his hands going over every inch of exposed skin, reminding you how skillfully he handled you that very first time. He reached your inner thigh and slid his hand underneath your underwear. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his fingers brush against you before a long finger slid inside you. You moaned loudly, spreading your legs apart for him. He smiled against your neck, his teeth taking in your skin, his tongue leaving a trail of fire behind.

His finger slowly moved inside you, circling you before sliding in and out. His hand pulled your underwear down, you kicking them off to the side. His mouth moved down your figure, hovering over your breasts. He teased you for a moment, blowing against your nipples before drawing the tip of his tongue over one. He did the same with the other, his fingers never ceasing to move. His kisses continued further down, over your stomach until they reached your mound.

"Can I?" he asked, peeking at you.

"Please..." you tried to hide the shake in your voice.

His tongue slid between your lips, gently licking you. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy against your sensitive skin. He teased you, his tongue circling your clit before sliding inside you. His tongue flicked over your clit, his hands holding your thighs apart. You spread your legs even wider, your body arching up to him. He leaned in, gently sucking on your clit and you moaned loudly, his tongue moving faster. You cried out in pleasure, your hips bucking against his face.

You were nearing your end, your moans growing louder with every movement of his tongue. You could feel his lips smile against your skin, enjoying the sounds you were making. You cried out, your body tensing as you came, shaking against him. He pulled away, slowly kissing his way up to the top again. He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, not hurrying you up as you sucked in his bottom lip, squeezing out your own juices.

"Taking that trophy is the second best thing that has ever happened to me." he whispered. He kissed you again, this time with more passion, your hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "The first, of course, being you. You're my greatest reward." he continued as you trailed kisses down his neck, removing the shirt off his shoulders.

"Stop talking, George."

"Sorry," he whispered as he closed his eyes, surrendering above you.

You kissed his chest, your nails raking up and down his sides, feeling his muscles tense. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and could sense the urgency in his touch. His hardness pressed against you, begging to be liberated. You pulled away from him, reaching for his belt buckle and his eyes shot open, hands reaching for yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked again. He knew if you go any further there would be no going back and some irreversible things would be done.

"Are you sure?" you asked back, smiling mischievously. "I thought this is what you wanted." your nail dangerously circled around his lower abdomen, causing his breath to hitch with every word he spoke.

"I-I do. I'm just making sure you're not doing it just because I want it." you could tell he was really struggling to hold himself back.

"I think we've already established that..." you whispered against his lips and prompted your body more to his.

"Okay," his hand moved away from yours, and you undid his belt.

His pants fell around his feet and he kicked them off. His boxers were the last thing left, and you reached for them, slowly pulling them down. His hand held the back of your head as he kissed you, his tongue twirling around yours. You moved to pull away but he held on tighter.

His boxers hit the floor and you looked up at him, his hands resting on your frame. Gently taking your hand, he placed it on his dick. You gasped, feeling it grow even more underneath your touch. He pulled away, his lips planting kisses down your neck as his hand guided yours up and down his length. You felt him shiver as you grazed the tip with your nails, his breath hitching. He removed his hand, and your eyes shot open when you felt his tip brush against your entrance.

He teased you, running it up and down your slit. You threw your head back in pleasure, your back arching against him. The more he prolonged what you needed the most, the more your neediness grew. You tried to guide him inside you but he resisted, placing a finger on your lips instead. He dragged it over them before he made you suck on it, his eyes never leaving your face as he blew a stream of air out. Your eyes widened when you felt his head brush against you again, making you gasp audibly, his name falling from your lips.

"Please," you remembered what he told you the first time he had you in his arms like this. "Please, please, please, please, please, please, please..." you chanted over and over again.

"Fuck," he hissed under his breath. Hearing you beg for him made his head spin again. It was like you'd put him under a spell every time you'd utter that word and he'd not be able to deny you anything. Not that he ever wanted.

He slowly pushed inside of you, stopping at every inch to wait for you to adjust. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he began to move again. He kissed you, your nails digging into his back as he stretched you more. He was so gentle, it was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. This was not the normal rough, lustful sex. This was the man who loved the sight of you, the sounds of your pleasure. This was the man who wanted to make love to you, to show you what true pleasure was.

Your fingers sank into his back again, and he responded by thrusting into you harder, your moans getting louder. His lips traveled down your chest, his tongue flicking a nipple as he pushed into you again.

"Oh, god." you moaned, George's name falling from your mouth repeatedly. Your hands dug into the sheets as his thrusts grew harder, deeper.

"You feel so good... so damn good," he kissed your skin. "Making me feel like I don't ever want to take anybody else again."

"Don't stop, please, whatever it is that you're doing, please, just don't stop." you cried, twining your legs around him to press him deeper.

He moaned in pleasure when you did, his hands tightening their grip around you. His breathing grew heavier and faster, your bodies reacting to each other. He was so close, and he could feel you held right on the edge.

You cried out his name, your form shuddering under him. He had no intention of stopping, and he continued his movements as you kept shaking, your voice loud enough to wake up the whole apartment complex.

"You, George, only you…" you whispered into his ear as you were coming down.

You felt his whole build shake, his cock pulsing inside of you, but it wasn't enough. You wanted to hear him as he climaxed. You wanted to hear the sounds he made, the sweetest song in the world.

"George… George…" you panted, your breathing coming out in jagged breaths.

He cursed, as his body trembled with pleasure. His hands tightened around you, pulling you closer as he came. You buried your face in his neck, your fingers playing with his hair. He kissed you, holding you close to him. He wanted to stay inside you forever, to feel the sight of your face as he pleased you. You did that to him. You were the one making him see another reality where only he and you existed.

But he pulled away, your eyes searching for his as you slowly came back to reality. He kissed you again, his lips landing on yours.

"That was amazing… you were amazing…" he whispered, stroking your face gently.

"So were you." you said back, playing with the bangs that fell over his forehead.

He rested his head on your chest, finding a comfortable spot, your hands moving into his hair.

"Are you going to stay?" you whispered, uncertain.

"Only if you want me to."

"Always."

He hugged you tightly and rolled over so that you were now on top of him. His fingers softly ran along your back as your body let go and fully relaxed. The peaceful sound of your heartbeats and his breath seemed to take over the room. You drew near to him, feeling the up and down movements of his chest gently rock you to sleep, matters of your friendship left for tomorrow's morning news.

Next part

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ottersandfandoms · 4 months

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Full Analysis/breakdown of the asmodous crystal exchange because the episode broke me and this is how I cope. Warning: long

So the first shot we have is Stolas sitting on his bed in apprehension, then Blitz jumps up on the balcony. Blitz starts the night off like any other, bringing out his bag of sex toys and just speaking in an unworried manner. Yet we have the sad music playing in the background that lets us know this is temporary. It’s NOT a normal night. Stolas knows this too and he’s just quietly watching.

Stolas finally speaks and he stutters at the beginning. This is really happening. He disregards all the other things Blitz brought and instead just asks for the book.

This is when Blitz first starts noticing something is up. We see a quick shot of his smile dropping. He was all worried about Stolas getting bored of him earlier and wanting the book back and now he began to actually think those fears are being proven true. Even if he doesn’t admit it, Blitz has a big fear of not being wanted and just pushed aside, like he has been for most of his life.

So when Stolas admits he needs the book back Blitz panics. His fears are true. He begins to hurriedly speak and makes excuses. This book is his livelihood and the reason for his jobs so it makes sense why he is scared of losing it. He leans in and tries to initiate sex. It works every time with Stolas so why wouldn’t it work now? Stolas begins to grow sad. He does want to have sex with Blitz. But he knows that would be unfair so he gets up.

Blitz is terrified. He desperately begs Stolas for the book. Blitz is being put in a vulnerable situation and he doesn’t like it. His whole life could be destroyed if he can’t keep his business afloat. He wouldn’t be able to support himself and couldn’t support Loona. He would “do anything” to keep it.

But then Stolas shows him the crystal. Stolas presents it to him in a happy tone. He tries to be happy and hopeful even though he is clearly still very worried. Maybe everything will be ok. Maybe Blitz will reciprocate Stolas’s feelings and everything will be great.

Blitz thinks Stolas is joking. He doesn’t understand why Stolas would do this. Now his job is safe but his relationship with Stolas is not. His deepest fears are being proven once more.

He’s not good enough.

He goes into this state of wanting to please.

When Blitz was a child, his dad clearly saw Blitz as the weakling compared with Fizz. And no matter how much Blitz tried to prove himself, it was never enough. “I can do better” is almost juvenile in its phrasing. A desperate plea and promise that might diffuse the situation. Blitz reverts back to his childlike self where he was always last choice and flung aside like he didn’t matter. Imagine how many times he said that exact sentence to his father.

Stolas explains. Stolas actually does a good job of saying what he wants. He is clear and to the point, emphasizing asking what Blitz wants. During Stolas’s speech, Blitz glances back and forth at the crystal, trying to make sense of what’s happening and then at Stolas. Because he does want to stay. He likes Stolas. If he didn’t care, he would've taken the crystal and left, but he didn’t and chose to stay. Stolas finally just finishes his speech by confessing his feelings. He says them in a frantic way; he is putting himself out there but there is hope there too.

Blitz thinks he’s joking. Of course he would be. Why could Stolas actually seriously care for him? How could Stolas care for him? The only possible explanation has to be that Stolas is joking. So he puts on a roleplay because he thinks it’s what Stolas wants. He refuses to accept there may be something more.

Stolas takes this as a mocking rejection. His hope has been squashed. Stolas is so used to being mocked that he immediately takes Blitz’s ‘roleplay’ as Blitz making fun of him. Stolas has been mocked by the people, the other Goatia, Stella. Blitz is just another one to add to the list.

He accepts the supposed rejection and walks away. Blitz now realizes he wasn’t joking. He is legitimately surprised that Stolas would want anything true with him. Blitz has this worldview of nobody truly wanting him; finding him useful, sure, but actually wanting him…that would be impossible. Stolas’s confession is a stark blow to that worldview and it makes sense why Blitz needs time to accept this.

This is where Stolas makes his mistake, he doesn’t give Blitz time to think through this. He takes Blitz’s confusion as rejection, not stopping to consider that Blitz is just as scared as he is. His hope is now totally gone. Both Stolas and Blitz are eerily similar in their fears. They both just want to be wanted but where Stolas shrinks away in sadness, Blitz lashes out.

And that's exactly what Blitz does now. And he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t want to deal with his own hurt feelings so he instead blames it all on Stolas, to hide the fact that he may be blaming it on himself. The thing is, most of what Blitz says is true. Stolas repetitively called him a plaything and ‘little imp’ so it makes sense why Blitz doesn’t fully believe him. Blitz has always been the inferior one in his relationships. With Fizz, With Verosika, with Stolas, with countless demons. This has caused him this inferiority complex that he can’t escape.

Blitz has tears in his eyes and he is truly breaking down. He has spent so long trying to convince himself that Stolas doesn’t care and now suddenly he does? He still hasn’t actually accepted that Stolas cares for him. He can’t accept that and that makes it all more painful. It has to be some lie or game and he is begging Stolas to stop playing. To stop complicating things because that will force Blitz to think about how he feels.

"Let's go!"

Blitz fully expects Stolas to yell back. he is so used to being in arguments where the other person will lash back as well. And Blitz almost wants this. He believes he deserves it.

But Stolas doesn't...

Instead he takes Blitz sceaming the wrong way. You see this heartbreaking scene of Stolas starting to cry. Stolas has spent his whole life being told to be quieter, be more controlled, less emotional. Him crying in front of someone, rather than alone really emphasizes the hurt he is feeling. And then there is of course the most heartbreaking line: “I didn’t realize you think so low of me”.

Everyone thinks low of Stolas. He is the “pathetic” Goatia prince who is constantly scoffed at and bullied. Blitz was his escape from all of that, but now he believes Blitz thinks the same as everyone else.

But Blitz DOESN’T think low of Stolas. He thinks low of himself.

Blitz realizes he fucked up. He went too far and hurt Stolas.

He realizes that Stolas misinterpreted what he said because Blitz was never really talking about Stolas, he was talking about his own feelings. We can see Blitz actually try to reach out to Stolas. He needs to let Stolas know that he doesn’t think that. You can hear him start to say “I’m sorry-” but as he’s saying that Stolas portals him away.

Blitz “What the fuck” perfectly encapsulates his feelings. He doesn’t understand what happened but he knows that he messed up. Blitz needs to let Stolas know that he actually cares about him and apologize for what he said and Stolas needs to understand that Blitz needs some time.

Blitz never once said that he doesn’t care, only that he doesn’t believe Stolas can.

#helluva boss #helluva boss full moon #helluva boss analysis #analysis #stolas #blitzø #stoliz #stolas x blitz #Full moon broke me #did I really just choose to ignore my responsibilities and write over 1000 words about sad little gay demons #Yes...yes I did #and I will do it again #but in all seriousness these two really need a healthy dose of communication

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hiddenonyx · 2 months

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Borrowing Their Clothes | Obey Me! Brothers

A/N: I have some writing done of this for the side cast, but it's not finished and I wanted to put something out. This is several months old and I think edited, but no promises lol written in second person, no mention of gender.

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Lucifer honestly, didn't even notice that you had swiped something from his closet until he saw you in it. It was late at night and Lucifer, still ever working, decided to stop by the kitchen for another cup of coffee. When he saw the light already on, he had assumed it was Beel getting a head start on his midnight snacking. He was surprised to see you, getting yourself a glass of water when he turned the corner. He was even more surprised (and a bit flustered) to see that your choice of sleepwear is a too-big black dress shirt and matching underwear- wait a minute.

You can see the gears turning in his head as he slowly (either from the late hour or being flustered or both) figures out that it's one of his dress shirts you're wearing. You have to bite the inside of your check to resist snickering as he simply stands there, looking dumbfounded. Does he chide you for taking something of his? Does he fuck you? Does he say anything at all?

Mammon is the type of person who never remembers what stuff he has or where it is until he suddenly remembers and wants to wear it. Thus he's angrily digging through his closet for this one grey long-sleeved shirt. He could've sworn that he still had it and that it was here, with all the other shirts he had barely worn. Did Asmo comb through his closet again and take stuff? After almost ten minutes of angry searching, Mammon decides to hell with it - he'll just sulk all day, it's fine. He makes his way to the music room - maybe watching some TV will make him feel better. That's when he notices you, already watching TV, wearing that same exact grey long-sleeve shirt with black leggings.

"Oi!" he snaps at you, drawing your attention to him, "That's my shirt. Where'd ya get it?!"

You tilt your head at him slightly, "Your closet?"

"And what makes you think you can just root around in the Great Mammon's closet without permission, huh?"

You shrug, "You weren't wearing it."

"So?!" He gives his dumbfounded look as if he can't believe your logic.

"Well if you want it back that bad, you can come take it off me."

Levi keeps careful track of all his anime and fandom hoodies (they are one of his top three favorite merch items after all). So one could imagine his panic at the realization that he's missing one. At first, Levi hopes that he just forgot to hang it in its proper spot. But after going through every single one, the anger of the realization that it’s actually gone sets in. Did Mammon take it and sell it? He better not have or not even Lucifer will be able to help him! He storms out of his room, his demon form standing out from the other seeming humans in the house.

"MMAAMMOONN!"

"He already left for the casino," the voice that makes him pause is yours. You look up from the sitting room couch setting your book and mug down, "What happened this time?"

"That bastard took one of my hoodies and probably sold it ��" he stops mid-sentence as you stand up, wearing the very same hoodie he's been looking for, "Where did you get that?"

"Huh?" You look down at yourself, "Oh this ended up in my laundry basket. It's cute so I figured I'd wear it, but I don't know who’s...it's yours, isn't it?"

A blush starts to creep onto his face as he nods and bites at the back of his hand to stop from squealing: you look so cute in it.

Satan is used to having his clothes "borrowed" by Asmo. He's used to walking into his room and seeing Asmo going through his closet to find something to finish his outfit or to peruse the fourth born’s shocking amount of sweaters. What Satan is not used to is walking into his room and seeing you trying on a thick, oversized, woolen sweater. He stands at the entrance of his room, watching as you hum thoughtfully to yourself as you twist back and forth in his full length mirror. He holds his breath, you haven't noticed him, nor did you hear him come in, and he doesn't want to startle you. He watches on in silence, a soft smile warming his face as he takes in just how cute you look. Maybe he'll let you keep it.

Asmo has no problem sharing clothes. Any kind, any style, he has at least five options for you. Mini skirts? Check? Ripped denim jeans? What wash would you like, darling? Honestly, it feels like half your closet is his closet - he doesn't have any problem just giving you his clothes. Asmo often buys clothing that he knows that both of you would like just so you two can share. You also find yourself sharing or even wearing clothes from Satan and Solomon, and even Mammon sometimes (huh who knew Mammon owned long-sleeved shirts?)

Beel will absolutely hand you his jacket because you mention that you're a little chilly and then completely forget that he did. He frowns a little as he looks around his room, confused as to where it's gone. Belphie didn't borrow it and isn't using it as a blanket...so did Asmo take it? But why would he? Asmo said that his jacket "wasn't quite his style" so where did it end up? Perhaps he left out in one of the common spaces? Beel hunts through each room before finding you in the planetarium, sitting on the floor, looking up, and wearing his coat. He snickers quietly - it's far too big for you; it swallows you up so that only your head pokes out. He rests against the doorframe, watching you watch the stars. He'll let you wear it for a moment longer.

Belphie is a little miffed when his daily sweater goes missing. It's not the first time something like this has happened - laundry occasionally gets swapped around in the house, but he could've sworn that he had gotten his sweater back this past laundry day. Maybe he left it in the attic? One tiring climb up the stairs and search around the attic later, Belphies sighs and pulls out his phone.

[House of Lamentation]

"Hey has anyone seen my sweater? I can't find it anywhere." -Belphie

"Did you check the laundry room?" - Lucifer

"Yeah, it's not there. Checked the attic too." -Belphie

"Actually you left it in my room the other day." -MC

"Oh. I'll come get it." [Thanks sticker] -Belphie

It's only a few minutes before Belphie knocks on your door. He blushes once you open your door, surprised to find you swearing his sweater.

"Thought I'd keep it warm for you," you tease.

----------------

The Master List

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queenie-ofthe-void · 7 months

Text

“Led Zeppelin? Never heard of them,” Steve lies, like a liar. Of course he’s heard of them, thinks maybe Hop’s mentioned them before. Doesn’t really know the band well, and probably definitely couldn’t name a song. But the comment serves its purpose, and the trap is set.

Eddie calls it the Zep Campaign. Every day they’ll listen to one album, and Steve will pick his favorite song from each. Eight days for eight albums. On the last day, they’ll narrow it down to one song to rule them all– because apparently even Led Zeppelin likes the Mordor books Dustin doesn’t shut up about.

Each day, Steve struggles to pick a favorite. Day four isn’t bad– doesn’t mind a song that is actually called Rock and Roll, which is just a lazy title in his opinion– but they’re only half way through and the songs are all starting to sound the same. An endless stream of too-fast guitar melodies and weird, wobbly sounds he’s sure he’s never heard before. The vocals are his favorite part, but the lyrics are vague and confusing.

Long story short, he’s not a fan.

But this growing thing between him and this ridiculous metalhead is new, fragile. So if it’s important to Eddie, it’s important to Steve.

“Stevie, we really don’t have to keep doing this,” Eddie concedes. It’s day eight, the final album, and he thinks even Eddie might be desperate to listen to something different. “You’ve listened to every other album and honestly this one is the worst. They were all on drugs, and this isn’t even their sound ya know? Like it’s not even real metal.”

And honestly, Steve does know. He’s been listening to this band for eight days and yeah, all the songs sound the same. But these ones are different. Softer. He’s made it this far, and he’s nothing if not persistent for the people he loves.

Sprawled out on the floor next to the boy he likes, passing a fading joint back and forth, he thinks he can suffer a bit longer.

“No Eds come on, we’re halfway through anyways. Just flip it over and we’ll smoke while we finish.” Eddie huffs a sigh, but Steve can see the slight uptick of his lips, reminding him of why he’s doing this. He flips the record and crawls back, presses himself flush up against Steve’s side.

The next song is long, too long to keep his attention. They burn down their joint and Steve leans heavily onto Eddie’s open chest. He gets lost staring at the vinyl art. A guy dressed in a fancy white suit sits alone in a dive bar, the only splash of color against a dull background. The bartender looks gruff, like the rest of the bar, making the man stand out even more. He wonders if that’s how he looks posted up at the Hideout during Eddie’s shows. Wonders if he looks just as out of place in Eddie’s life as this man does, even though he looks comfortable there too.

Eddie shifts his arms around Steve, bringing him back to the present. The song has changed and Steve feels the slow melody wash over him.

“Wait,” Steve cries out, flailing up and out of Eddie’s arms as he registers the new song. It’s soft with a steady beat. It’s got synth-- the sound Eddie told him he likes in pop music. This song isn’t loud and chaotic like the rest. The voice is soothing and the lyrics are mostly simple enough. It’s different, and he can’t believe it but–

All of my love, all of my love

all of my love to you, oh

“This one. I like this song. Like actually like it.”

Eddie sits up and stares at him. He can see the dramatic shock and annoyance on Eddie’s face. But it’s doing nothing to hide his broad smile and shining eyes.

“Steven. Stevie. Baby, sweetheart, this absolutely cannot be your favorite Zeppelin song. Out of all the songs on all the albums and all the hours of poetic melodies I’ve forced upon you, you choose the most non-Zep Zeppelin song.” Steve laughs sweetly as he watches Eddie fail to keep the glee out of his supposedly annoyed voice.

The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again

One voice is clear above the din

“This song isn’t even metall!" Eddie screeches. He rants and raves, waiving his arms as he regales Steve with all of the reasons he should absolutely not like this one particular song. He's shining with happiness, dial turned up to a hundred and it's all aimed at Steve. He can't help but to gaze back fondly, enraptured in the adorably obnoxious spectacle.

"It’s all synth, almost no guitar because Page didn’t even write this one! He wrote all of them except two songs, Stevie, and of course that’s the one you chose. No one who knows good music even likes this album. It’s not even metal music and honestly I almost didn’t show it to you, that’s how bad it is!” They're both giggling, leaning falling slowly into the other's space. Facing one another, their feet tangled together, Steve twists and pulls on Eddie's rings. Just to touch.

“Well, maybe that’s why I like it,” Steve snarks, taking his hand. “Plus it’s a love song.” Daring to reach out.

All of my love, all of my love, yes

All of my love to you

Eddie’s smile dims a bit, softens at the edges as he grows serious. “It’s not a love song Stevie, not like that.” He’s looking at Steve but he isn’t. Looking past him into the back of his thoughts. “The lead singer, he wrote it for his son. His kid died of some kind of bad illness while he was on tour. Didn’t make it back in time.”

He pauses, and Steve waits. Knows Eddie has more to say, hoping his patience will pay off. Eddie’s sight refocuses and he heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes glisten as they lock onto Steve.

“My mom used to sing it all the time. While she was cooking, or putting me to bed, or pulling weeds in the garden. She’d sing it constantly. Hell, she didn’t even know all the words, but she’d still try and sing the interludes– ya know, the music between the lyrics.” He laughs lightly, a stray tear just barely hanging on. Steve tightens his grip around Eddie’s hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A silent sign of gentle support and encouragement.

“Sounds like a love song to me,” Steve whispers. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls Eddie into a tight hug.

All of my love, all of my love, to you now

“A love song just for you, from both of us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've always headcanoned that Eddie loves Led Zeppelin, because he plays guitar and loves metal and reads Lord of the Rings so of course he would.

#It's 1:30am and life is chaos #I wrote this in two hours after i spent all day at work hyperfixating on one of my favorite bands #This is all wikipedia so if something's wrong no it isn't i'm too fragile for corrections #if you see typos no you didn't #ramble on is eddie's vecna song #change my mind #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #led zeppelin #eddie munson headcanon #steddie headcanon #QueenieWritesStories

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readychilledwine · 3 months

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may i pretty please request a little cassian one shot where it’s a very out going reader who is NOT shy at all and never balks from anything unless it’s sex related and cassian absolutely loves undoing her once she gives in and making her all flustered and needy with his little taunts. LORD—

specifically from the smut prompt list:

“I know you’re not shy, so come here.” or like “Use your words, baby.” with a possible sprinkle of exhibitionism oh pls pls pls pls if this makes sense idk lol

Good Girl

Summary - Your birthday celebration at Rita's becomes Cassian's golden chance to end your 2 year shy and dry streak.

Warnings - voyeurism/exhibitionism, smut, fingering, oral, hair pulling, choking, spanking, unprotected sex, possession/ownership kink, dirty talk, cream pie

A/N - Happy Birthday, @sarawritestories! I was already finishing up this request, and your birthday actually made finishing this one shot easier. I wanted Cassian to have a special reason to fulfill one of reader's fantasies.

I hope you and my tumblr baby, @loneliestluvr enjoy this so so much 💕

✨️Cassian Masterlist✨️General Masterlist✨️

Cassian was watching you like a hawk tonight. Eyes glued on how your body danced in time to the music, to how Mor touched you as you two moved in time. He hated when you acted like this, so bold and brave in public. So okay with being touched by anyone but him. Talking a big bold game in your book club with Amren, Feyre, and Mor about wild sex you've never had.

You two had been mates for over 2 years, yet heated kisses and heavy petting was as far as you had let him go. It was driving him feral. Every time he had tried to get you into his bed or prepared to crawl on his knees to get into yours, it was something. “My cycle,” or “a headache,” or “Not a good body day,” whatever the fuck that meant. You were perfect to him. Curves in all the right places just begging and teasing him to touch. Cassian craved to be the reason your thighs clenched, to just once be the reason his shy girl screamed. He felt his lust growing as you and Mor approached the table, and the way your scarlet red birthday dress clinged to your figure, sparkling in the lights, made it worse.

His mate, his love, looked like the picture perfect face of innocence in his color when he knew the nasty things you read about, talked about, and fantasized about was too much. “Come with me,” Cassian's alluring voice hit your ear so softly. You took his hand, following him with both of you carrying your drinks in hand.

As Cassian pulled you further into Rita's, you began to blush. The lights had turned to a deep shade of red, doors locked and glowing to indicate they were occupied while some were open. Cassian smirked and pulled you into his goal room, thankful that for once, it was empty. As if the Mother had intended for this night to go exactly as he wanted. He had you against the glass wall instantly when the door shut.

“Why are we in here,” your face began to flush his favorite shade of pink. Glaze tinted glass was the only thing separating you and Cassian from the rest of Rita's. The private room of the pleasure hall was reserved for only the most bold couples, showing just their silhouettes as they partook in activities you could hardly dream of.

Cassian trapped you between him and that glass, towering over you, “Don't get shy on me now, baby.” His lips crashed on yours after the request, hot and heavy as he lifted you and forced your legs around his waist. You didn't know if it was the shots helping you relax, or your hope to have finally had birthday sex with Cassian, but here you were, moaning softly into his kiss as he pulled your hair back and began kissing down your throat and nipping softly.

“Need you to be a good girl for me,” you shivered at his murmured words. “Going to fulfill that dirty little fantasy of yours. Give you the best birthday present." You couldn't help the soft moan and smile, knowing instantly what he meant.

This room was visible behind the bar. The silhouettes of the people inside dancing like shadows on that glass for all to see as they ordered their drinks. You had dreamed for years of being taken in this room and had made the mistake of drunkenly sharing that fact with Rhys and Azriel.

Cassian began to untie the corset laces of your dress, suddenly annoyed by the back that the whole back was held together by the ribbon instead of him having to deal with just one small area. But Gods, it hugged you in the best places, showing your curves and dips in a way that had him drooling for you. He could hardly wait as it finally fell to the floor and you were bare beneath. He quickly set you on the lounging chair, knowing you were in view of everybody.

He'd never undressed himself so quickly, growling at the sight of your soft skin. Be wasted no time trailing his kisses lower. Worshiping each of your nipples until they came to perfect peaks. “Such a beautiful girl. My little exhibitionist.” He continued his path lower, nipping at your hips before kissing down your luscious thighs. He held eye contact with you then, as his kisses trailed up in the inside of your right thigh. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

The question lit a fire inside of you, body now aching for more of him, to please him, “Yes, General.” He smirked as his title rolled off your tongue before licking up your core. The taste of you made him hum. And he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves slightly before circling and flicking it with his tongue. He repeated that after watching your head fall back and your body arch.

He took his time, tasting every drop of you and rotating between sucking your clit and pushing his tongue as deep into you as he could. Your legs began to tremble below him after denying your body what you had craved for so long. You both knew it would be fast, hot, and passionate. You could worship each other at home, but here, here was built for sin, nothing more, nothing less.

Cassian began to slowly work a thick finger into you, stretching you open for him while his mouth focused on your swollen bundle of nerves. Your body felt as if you were burning alive as your stomach felt tighter and tighter. Moans and pants falling into breathless noises. Cassian listened with sick pride as his normally composed and eloquent mate began crumbling for him, because of him.

He looked up and saw your pleading eyes, “What do you need? Use your words, baby.” He smirked as he went back to working your core, prepping you for your first time taking an Illyrian.

“More, please General, more,” you finally begged for him, eyes rolling back as your back arched hard. He worked a second finger into you, growling at how tight you were, at the thought of how good you'd feel around him. You cried out as his fingers finally found the spot he'd been looking for and curled into it. Moments passed like breaths, his name repeated over and over until you finally gave him what he wanted, your release.

He knew other fae could hear you screaming his name in ecstasy, but he could not bring himself to care as he worked you down from the High. “That's my good girl,” he groaned as he pulled his mouth from you, licking his lips to savor every bit of your essence before pulling his fingers out and holding them to your mouth, “I want you to clean them. I want you to taste the nectar of a Goddess.”

The words hit exactly how he needed them and you became hazy eyed, licking and sucking his digits as an almost tingly feeling settled into your body. As soon as you were done, he flipped you over, pulling your hips in the air before you could try to protest or return any favors. Tonight was for you. For your pleasure, and he was just getting started.

You gasped as the feel of his cock lined up and sitting at your entrance, “Hold on to something, y/n.” He pushed in hard before you could respond, forcing you to plant both hands on the glass and keeping you trapped. “So fucking tight. The prettiest and most perfect pussy.” His pace became relentless quickly. Hand coming down on your ass before squeezing it hard.

There were no words or noises coming from your mouth, just bliss making your jaw fall open in silence. You felt like you were drooling, drunk on him, on his feeling, on the way you could feel every vein and he pushed and pulled. But you weren't close enough for Cassian, and soon he grabbed you by your hair, forcing you to arch your back as he kept pounding into you. Your shoulders met his lower chest as his other hand moved to your front, brushing your clit slowly and teasingly. “Do you know how long I've waited,” his voice was low and deep, filled with his own pleasure. “Been dreaming about you going dumb on my cock for years and here you are, unable to even speak.”

You could only whimper in response as his hand moved from your hair to your throat, testing your limitations. “I could stay inside you forever,” his head fell back. “Love this body of yours forever. So fucking perfect. Every godsdamned inch of you.” The praise hit you, pushing you towards the edge again as his pace became sloppy. “Not going to last, baby. Cauldron this pussy. Best pussy I've ever had.”

That made you gasp, eyes lighting up in excitement, “Yeah? You love filling me, don't you?” His smirk grew at your response. “You love knowing my pussy is all yours, huh?”

He growled, a feral instinct waking up with those words. His fingers began to move fast in your clit, forcing words to turn to cursing, moans, and whimpers. “All fucking mine. My mate. My wife. My good girl. Mine,” the edge in his voice left no room for arguments, no way to fight and even try to claim otherwise if you had wanted. “Scream. Scream my name so every single soul in Velaris knows who you belong to.”

Your lip trembled as how close you were and you moaned his name, “Cassian-”

“Louder.”

His pace became impossibly quick and your mind became numb to anything but the pleasure of him hitting your gspot over and over while his fingers worked your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Cassian!”

“Come. Come for your General.”

You came screaming his name so loudly you were sure all of Velaris did know who you belonged to. Your core began fluttering around Cassian, triggering is own orgasm. He pumped himself deep inside of you, releasing directly into your heat as he groaned your name.

He squeezed your throat gently when you both came down before releasing it, allowing your sore body to rest as his head found the spot between your shoulder blades. The room was heavy in the scent of your shared bond as it hummed and burned brightly between the two of you. “I'm never going a day without you again,” Cassian panted before turning your head to kiss you softly. “Happy Birthday, y/n."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlestw01f

#elizabeths.updates #acotar #acotar x reader #send asks #cassian x reader #cassian acosf #cassian acotar #cassian smut #cassian fanfic #cassian of illyria #lord of bloodshed

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rambling-at-midnight · 2 months

Note

omg a part 2????

i loved it so much!!!

Ahh I'm so glad you liked it!!! It's my first Jason x reader fic :) Here's a part 2!

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Now it’s time for a meet-ugly-ish with some dude named Jason. Also, you see the Red Hood again.

Word count: 6.3k (holy shit)

You’re not crazy, right? It’s weird that the library is completely empty because it closes in two hours and the weather is actually nice outside for once, and some random dude wanders in and sets up two seats down from you. He’s not even here to study; he pulled out a sci-fi novel as soon as he sat down.

Who comes to a GCU campus library to read recreationally? The seats are uncomfortable and plastic. And the sun is shining. Everyone else is outside soaking up the Vitamin D.

Honestly, you’re mostly surprised the chair he’s on didn’t snap as soon as he sat. The dude is huge. Football player huge. Shouldn’t he be at practice, instead of forcing the chair to make the most irritating squeaking noises known to man every time he moves an inch?

You grit your teeth and put on your headphones, but you can still hear the poor chair’s dying lamentations, so you turn on an instrumental playlist that hopefully won’t distract you too much from studying.

You let yourself stew over the annoyance until your stomach growls so loud you hear it over the soft music. He has the good grace not to look at you, but you definitely see him pause.

Okay, you’ll call it even. This is what you get for running to the library right after six hours of classes. You need to cement the knowledge in your mind while it’s still fresh, and if that means you have to forego lunch…

He’s still there two hours later when the closing time alarm goes off. It’s a shrill old-school bell, the kind no one can ignore, and he jumps like he’s never heard it in his life. The poor chair finally gives up. He tumbles to the ground.

You look over in case he needs any help, but he’s scrambling for the book, face bright red.

If he is a football player, you wouldn’t be surprised that he’s never heard the bell before. That sort rarely stays this late at the library—if they enter at all.

He rushes out. You pack up a little more methodically. All that’s left for you to look forward to tonight is trying to study in your apartment, but you never have much luck.

He’s outside the library on his phone when you walk out. Maybe waiting for a ride? You’re a little on edge from the events of two days ago, so you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you walk away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow you.

At least the library closes earlier on Wednesdays, 6 pm instead of 9:30. You don’t know why. It’s still a weekday. But it forces you out while the sun’s still shining, which is probably a good thing.

Within two minutes of the twenty-minute walk home, your hip hurts. By the ten-minute mark, you’re trying not to limp.

Despite your better judgment, you keep your gaze turned to the rooftops, even though you know the vigilantes are nocturnal. It’s stupid to want to see a flash of red helmet, anyway. The Red Hood probably saves hundreds of people every week; there’s no way he would remember you.

Of course, when you finally get back, there are the stairs to contend with.

Your cat, that ungrateful little beast, beeps at you furiously for being gone so long. Never mind that your roommate works nights, so at most the cat’s been alone for an hour. He makes a break for the hallway, and you box the doorway with your legs and slam the door closed against your hip as you slip through.

Your injury explodes with pain, but at least the cat doesn’t get out. Ungrateful little beast. As if he isn’t fed and loved enough.

You finish slipping through the doorway and just stand for a moment listening to the blood rushing through your ears. Damn, but that hurt.

In the bathroom mirror, you hike up the hem of your shirt and check the state of your injury.

All in all, it could have been much worse. The bullet scooped out a fair chunk of skin, but it was just a surface wound. There’s no fresh blood on the gauze, and when you change the wrappings, the skin is pink and raw but starting to scab. It scooped out a chunk and left a trail of bruising, but you got off fairly lightly, all things considered.

The GCPD released the robber’s mugshot yesterday morning. In the picture, the man’s eyes were so swollen from your pepper spray he could hardly open them.

You preferred the bullet, honestly.

You try in vain to study a bit more, but even after you take more painkillers, you’re not in the mood. You feed your cat, then curl up on the couch to watch a couple episodes of the show you’re currently in the middle of.

That was the first time you see the huge guy, but it’s certainly not the last.

You wouldn’t notice him so much if he wasn’t the size of a damn refrigerator. He’s gotta be a linebacker for the Knights, but he’s not on their roster. You looked it up after the third time he wandered into the library just a couple minutes after you. It’s probably not updated yet, but you see him so often, you’d like to know his name.

Also, he’d bleached a patch of hair right at the front of his head—was that a trend now, or something?—so it wasn’t hard to spot him.

On Saturday, your feelings shift from mild annoyance and curiosity to a sinking sort of dread when you notice him at the coffeeshop you always visit on the weekends. The employees know you by name and use it to call out your order, so now he knows it, as long as he’s paying attention.

You think he might be.

You don’t want to be that person. Not everything in the world revolves around you, obviously. But you might still be shaken from what happened on Monday, because the thought wiggles in the back of your brain: what if you have a stalker?

You try to tell yourself that it’s just paranoia. GCU isn’t that big a campus, after all, and there are only so many places in the city that are: A. close to campus, B. reasonably priced, and C. comfortable to work in. You’ve run into classmates here before, and you don’t have a monopoly on the library or this coffeeshop. Just because he shows up at the same time you do doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He might be establishing a schedule that just so happens to line up with yours.

But, you have to admit, it is easier for stalkers to stalk people when they know their regular schedule.

You keep a watchful eye out and are pretty good about keeping off the streets after dark, but a week and a half later finds you stranded an hour’s walk from your apartment. The buses worked for two days, then shut down again, and you foolishly believed that following the detour that said would get you home would actually get you home. You don’t want to call an Uber because traffic would make the ride longer than the walk and bankrupt you in the process. Same reason you can’t call anyone to pick you up unless you waited the two hours until rush hour dies down.

Walking is, unfortunately, the best option.

So you clutch your trusty pepper spray and prepare yourself for a long night of looking over your shoulder and ignoring the pain in your side. The wound has mostly closed, although the bruising has gotten worse.

Three minutes later, you hear the roar of a motorcycle followed by angry car honks. You barely pay it any mind until the motorcycle pulls up next to you and doesn't pass.

You keep walking, avoiding eye contact. Maybe ignoring them will dissuade the rider from catcalling you.

It doesn't work. "Hey," the rider says, and it's only because the voice is mechanically distorted, recognizable only because of how many videos of him that you won't admit to looking up the last week, that you look at him. "What are you doing?" asks the Red Hood.

"What are you doing?" you counter. He's blocking the flow of traffic talking to you.

The Red Hood looks over his shoulder, flips off the person honking behind him, and steers his motorcycle onto the sidewalk. He drives fast, and you flinch in case he tries to run you over, but he screeches to a halt at the last second.

"Haven't seen you in a couple of weeks," he says casually, like you two meet up often.

"I've been staying out of trouble," you say.

"Not tonight?"

"No. That wasn't my fault, though. I took the Southwest bus because it was supposed to connect with the L line, but all the signs they posted were a lie, apparently, because—" You cut yourself off. "Never mind, I'm sure you don't care. Point is, I'm walking home. It's not too far."

"It's about an hour," he points out. "How's your bullet wound? Will it object to that walk?"

"I'll be fine."

He pats the back of his motorcycle seat. "Hop on. I'll drive you."

You take a couple hasty steps back. It may not be a white van, but you know better than to follow candy into someone's vehicle. "Oh, no, thanks. Traffic's pretty bad right now."

You get the sense he's smiling when he says, "I bet I can get you back faster than walking." If only he wasn't wearing the stupid shiny helmet, you would be able to read his expressions better.

"Really, I'm okay. I'm sure you have better things to do than drive me home."

"Helping people is literally my job," is his response. "I have to make sure you get home safely. So either you get on the back of my bike, or I follow you the whole walk back to your apartment."

You know a losing battle when you see it. As a general rule of thumb, it's usually smart not to argue with the dude carrying at least two guns. "Don't kidnap me," you order before slinging your leg over the seat.

He chuckles. It's the first time you've ever heard him laugh, and it makes him sound so much younger. "You can't ride like that."

"Like what?"

He cranes his neck to look back at you. There's at least six inches between both your bodies. You clutch the sides of the seat with both your hands, hoping he doesn't take off with such a lurch that you topple off the back. "I drive fast. You'll have to hold on."

"I am holding on."

"To me."

You've only met the man twice. You're pretty sure clinging to someone's back is at least a third-meeting type of touch, but he reaches back. The Red Hood snakes a hand nearly twice the size of yours into the crook of your knee, then yanks you to him. You shoot forward with a strangled yelp and catch yourself on his back.

You've never before understood the phrase 'wall of muscle,' but you get it now.

He is huge. And strong. You gingerly put your hands on his shoulders. That's not an inappropriate touch, you think.

He has to live at the gym, right?

"You're still not holding on," he chides. "I don't have a helmet for you, so you really shouldn't fall off."

You swallow and move your hands, but he's too thick for you to link your hands around his front. So you fist both of them into his jacket. It presses your bodies tight against each other from shoulder to thighs. Through the layers his body radiates heat, but you shiver.

"Going," is all the warning you get.

Then you're gone; the bike shudders beneath you, then takes off like a jet.

You can't catch your breath. This must be what riding a dragon feels like, is your first nonsensical thought, a side effect of your roommate's obsession with Game of Thrones.

The bike roars beneath you, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of wind and the pound of blood in your ears. You can't see much with the wind drying out your eyes, so you press your head against the Red Hood's back and squint to one side. Cars and street lamps blur together into a stream of mismatched lights and colors.

The Red Hood drives fast. He weaves between lanes, runs through red lights, cuts onto the sidewalk. A couple bikers shake their fists at him when he passes them in the bike lane. A lot of cars honk at the two of you.

Judging by the way his shoulders shake with laughter, he likes pissing them off. You have to admit, the feeling is a little intoxicating.

You can't hear the sound, but your front is plastered to his back. Even with the layers of his suit and leather jacket, you can feel the vibrations of sound deep within his chest. He has a fairly deep voice, after all, unless the helmet changes that.

No less than ten minutes later, he parks abruptly. You lift your head, blinking moisture back into your eyes, and stare dumbly at your apartment building.

He'd actually brought you back.

Maybe he really was reformed.

You stumble off the bike onto unsteady legs. The Red Hood kicks his stand into place and rests against the bike, leaning with elbows on his handlebars. Like he expects a Midwest goodbye. And you find yourself dawdling.

Maybe you want one, too.

"Thanks for the ride," you finally say awkwardly.

"Anytime," he says, and you laugh, thinking it's a joke, but he doesn't. After a brief awkward pause, the Red Hood tries, "So how have you been?" as if you're old pals meeting up for brunch, and the question is so ridiculous coming from a sort-of-reformed crime lord slash serial killer that you respond without thinking.

"Pretty good, except I think I may have a stalker."

His helmet doesn't do a great job translating whatever sound he makes in response to that. It comes out as a crackle. "What?"

"I've noticed this dude recently showing up wherever I go," you say. "But I think it's just a coincidence. Sorry. That was a bad joke." It wasn't, but you don't want to accuse someone without proof of stalking you. If he's not, you'll seem self-obsessed. If he is, then he knows that you know, and it's not like the GCPD will do anything. One of your friends from your hometown had a stalker for literal years, and the police never did anything, even after he sent her death threats. They said there wasn't enough proof to make an arrest then, so someone showing up at the same places you are definitely isn't enough proof now.

The Red Hood tilts his head. "Does he make you uncomfortable?"

"You don't need to beat him up or anything on my behalf," you say. "I mean, you've seen me with a bottle of pepper spray. I'm pretty sure I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he says. You can hear the smile in his voice, like he finds something about the situation funny. "And I'm pretty sure that you know that I'm going to check this out anyway."

"No," you say, surprising yourself with your firmness. You can't rely on vigilantes to solve all your problems for you. "Seriously, it's okay. Thanks for the ride. Maybe I'll see you around."

"I'm counting on it," he calls as you walk away.

And he's right. Two days later finds you at the gas station at ten-thirty at night. You don't want to see him, per se. You're definitely not looking over your shoulder at the slightest sound. You definitely didn't check the parking lot for a notorious red motorcycle on your way in, and you certainly aren't taking peeks out the window every time headlights pass by on the street.

You're just... curious.

Maybe.

But you have absolutely no warning, not even a suspicion that someone is behind you, when you reach for a box of Cheez-Its. Someone else's hand gets there first and you nearly jump out of your socks.

"Hey," the Red Hood wheezes. He's clutching his side like he has a cramp. "Question: if I buy these for you, will you patch me up?"

"What?"

"I may have been cut," he admits. Judging by the angle of his hunch, it's a little more serious than just a 'cut'. "So: do we have a deal?"

The thought occurs to you, as you help him up five flights of stairs to your apartment, that you're escorting a strange man into your place of residence. You haven't even given your roommate a heads-up, though you're pretty sure tomorrow's his night off.

Sure enough, the only person there to greet you when you walk in is your cat. As per usual, he tries to escape. The Red Hood gently but firmly ushers him inside with his foot with such ease he must have one of his own. "It's cute," he says, still clutching his side.

"Thanks," you say. "He always tries to get out, but if he actually escapes then he just freezes in the hallway until I bring him back inside." Then you realize that you're discussing your cat, of all things, with the Red Hood. You clear your throat and say, "Let me take a look at you."

The crime lord and cat trail after you into the bathroom. It gets a little cramped because the Red Hood's about as small as a fridge is small, but you two figure out a passable system: he's too tall, even while sitting down, and you don't want to bend in half while you stitch him. So you sit on the toilet, he stands in front of you, and your cat jumps on top of his leather jacket on the counter to observe and judge. Luckily, the suture kit is still in the bathroom from when you thought you would have to stitch yourself up, so it's not long before you're instructing him to lift up the hem of his shirt so you can see the damage.

You hiss between your teeth at the sight. Someone grazed his side with a knife, by the looks of it, but the wound is deep. It might go all the way to his subcutaneous tissue.

After you clean it off, you're sure that it does. "You call this a cut?"

"I've had worse," he says gruffly.

"And you're still alive?" You squint at him.

He huffs like that's funny.

"They basically cut you in two! I don't know if I can fix this. I've never stitched someone up before!"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head. "You stitched yourself up, remember? You told me you would."

Shit. Of all the ways to stick your foot in your mouth—

"It wasn't that bad," you say weakly.

“It looked pretty bad.”

“It just looked bad because I was wearing a light colored shirt. Don’t worry; I’ve learned my lesson.”

The Red Hood scratches under your cat’s chin. “About wearing light colored clothing, or about getting shot?”

You’re trying to thread the suture needle, but the stupid thread won’t cooperate. “Hmm?”

“Which lesson did you learn?”

“The former, mostly. Believe it or not, ‘try not to get shot’ is something most people, including me, know intuitively.”

"Let me see."

"Yeah, right," you say, "my apartment's basically a strip club, isn't it? First your shirt's coming up, then mine. Absolutely—" You slap his hand away— "Not. I'm fine. Now hold still while I stab you."

The process goes by quickly. He stands like a statue the whole time, like he's used to the pain of getting stitches. Considering his profession, he probably is.

Actually, you can see a couple healed-over scars on his torso just from the small bit of skin he's revealed by pulling up his shirt. And, you're pretty sure, a perfectly defined six-pack, but that's none of your business.

"I don't have the fancy dissolving sutures, unfortunately," you say while you tie off the thread. "These should come out in about a week."

"Yeah, I know," he grunts, letting his shirt fall back down. And you're not disappointed. At all. "Same time next week, then?"

"What?"

"To get them out."

"Uh." Your brain stalls out. You'd been operating under the assumption that this was just another freak coincidental run-in.

Is it just you, or is the Red Hood looking to make a friend out of you? Or maybe just a free pseudo-surgeon?

"Sure," you say. It's not like you can stop him, really.

"Thanks," he says, stroking your cat one more time. Then he nudges the pest off his jacket and shrugs it on, even though there's not really a need for it. The weather's been pretty mild the last week.

You walk him out the door. He pauses in the hallway, turns, and says, "By the way, what's your name?"

You tilt your head and tell it to him.

"Nice to meet you," he says. Then he walks away.

You watch him walk down the hallway until your cat escapes, and then you have to chase him. You're pretty sure the Red Hood sees it, because low-pitched laughter hits your ears as you gather the little bastard up, but when you look, the vigilante's gone.

"God, I hope he's up to date on his tetanus shot."

You find yourself at the coffee shop the next morning, determined not to let a buff bookworm change your routine. You're the first customer, and they have your order ready by the time you finish setting up your stuff on a small table in the corner of the shop, far from where the line will build up when more people trickle in.

Like clockwork, the bookworm wanders in just a couple minutes after you do, orders two coffees, and settles down across the room with his front to you.

Every time you glance up, he's utterly focused on his book. He's probably not watching you. Right?

Fifteen minutes later, the coffees untouched, he stands up. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he picks one up, approaches the counter, and...

Walks right past it.

Walks in your direction.

You stare blatantly, and he holds your gaze with a set jaw and something a little challenging in his gaze.

He's walking to you.

The coffee cup slams on the table, splashing a little over the edge, and you jump to move your laptop away from the liquid.

"Shit, sorry," the bookworm says. He runs away.

You stare until you realize he's grabbing napkins and hurrying back. At least ten, even though the spill's pretty small, and he piles them all onto the table.

His face gets redder the longer you watch without saying anything.

Once he's absolutely sure your laptop is safe from the couple drops he spilled, he balls them all into one large fist and rushes out, "I'm sorry—I was supposed to meet my brother here, but he canceled, and your drink cup's empty, so I was just wondering if you wanted this one? It's a little warm, but..."

"But free is good," you say, deciding to put him out his misery. And he certainly looks miserable rambling in front of you. Like he's mortified for some reason. "Um, thanks. What..."

"Just an iced coffee. Probably watered down."

You take a sip, just to be polite. It is watered down, but he didn't add any milk to it, so that's probably a good thing. "Thanks..." You tilt the cup to look at the name written on the side. "Jason?"

"Yep." He nods. He's still standing in front of you, like he wants to be invited to sit, but you have a lot of work to do, and he's a complete stranger, and all his stuff is still on his table across the room.

Something clatters behind the counter. You both turn in time to see the two baristas duck out of sight, whispering furiously. Probably about the spectacle you two are making.

"You go to GCU's campus library a lot, right?" Jason asks suddenly.

"Yeah, I do. So do you." You don't phrase it like a question.

"Yeah," he says. "It's peaceful to read in there. Quieter than my apartment."

"Okay," you say slowly. You're really not interested in this conversation, but you don't want to be rude.

He must understand you, though, because he rubs the back of his head and steps backwards, mumbling something about getting back to his book.

Jason's brother never does end up meeting him. You tell yourself that's why you keep glancing at him. Once or twice, you two peek at each other at the same time, and you always look away first, face hot like he's caught you doing something wrong.

The next time you go to the library, it's packed. The weather has turned, so students have nothing better to do than prepare for their finals. You head to the quiet floor, slowly losing hope that you'll find a seat.

A head snaps up the moment you walk in, dark-haired with a striking streak of white at his forehead. Jason.

Something like relief passes over his face, and he waves you over.

"I saved your seat," he whispers, dragging his bag off of the chair.

"Thanks," you say, actually touched. "You didn't have to."

He shrugs. "You're my reading buddy."

The next day, he's sitting at the library's entrance when you walk in. Jason shakes his head. "All the seats were already taken when I got here."

"Ugh." Strictly speaking, you don't need to study tonight. You're pretty confident about the next test's material, and you're also pretty burnt out.

"We could check out the Student Center?" he suggests. As if it's a given that the two of you are going to spend the afternoon together. And, you realize, after two straight weeks of studying in his proximity, you don't mind the presumption. That's how you made your closest friend in undergrad, anyway.

In fact, you think you might want to get to know Jason. Maybe ask about his white streak; you've been growing more and more curious about it. And why he's about seven feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds of muscle but has a passion for romance novels.

"I don't think I've studied in there before."

"It's not too bad, but it's a little louder than the library."

So you two head to the Student Center, but he doesn't open his book, and you open your laptop but don't turn it on. He buys you coffee, though you insist that you can pay for it yourself, and a simple query into what book he's reading currently turns into a two-hour conversation.

Jason likes to read every genre, but he likes classics and romance best. He doesn't just have one brother, he has four, and a sister. He's not on the football team like you'd assumed; he just likes to work out. He's finishing up his sophomore year of undergrad studying English Lit—he sees how your smile freezes at those words, and you're asking how old he is, and he's laughing when he tells you he took a couple gap years. He's your age, actually, and that's relieving for reasons you can't quite put to words.

When you check your watch and curse at the time—it's almost time for your cat's dinner—he asks for your number, and you put it into his phone.

You feel good on your walk home. You haven't made a new friend since the first semester of vet school; the course load is too demanding for you to participate in any GCU clubs. Your roommate asks why you're smiling and you wave him off. Of course, your cat doesn't care that you're in a good mood. He only cares about getting fed.

You see Jason a couple more times over the week, and soon you're too embarrassed to admit that you thought he was stalking you. He's almost as bad a texter as you are, responding at such hours you're half-convinced he doesn't sleep, so you're less self-conscious about taking hours to respond.

You've just gotten around to answering his last text when something knocks against your window.

You drop the phone on your face.

The Red Hood is laughing at you when you open the window to let him in. You'd forgotten he was coming, but you don't say so. He tumbles in, moving a little stiffly, but a lot better than he'd been last week. Your cat, the little traitor, runs to greet him and rubs against his ankles, purring like an engine. The Red Hood bends to pet him. "Hey, kitty." The red helmet tips up and those unnerving white lenses fix on you. "Hey, doc. Here to get my stitches out."

"How have you been feeling?" you ask.

"Good," he says, almost defensively.

It makes you suspect that something is wrong, but when you all pile into the bathroom again like it's a clown car and he pulls up his shirt, the wound is healing nicely. No pink or heat that signals infection, no puffy skin. You remove the stitches quickly, and again he hesitates, like he wants to stay longer.

You find yourself thinking about Jason. You're pretty sure you wish he was here.

"Well, thanks."

"Anytime."

He pauses. "Really?"

You shrug. "I mean, not if you need a hospital. Then I'd expect you to head straight to a hospital. But stuff like this—no worse than this, ideally—I guess I can help you with."

"You're pretty cool for a vet," the Red Hood says. "The last one I visited kept freaking out on me for stealing codeine."

"Well, that's a restricted—wait, you were stealing codeine? What for?"

He shrugs.

"What were you using it for," you repeat sternly.

"Okay!" he says loudly. "Well, thanks for patching me up, doc. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Wait," you call out uselessly, but he vaults out the window. You gasp and rush to the sill, but there's no Red Hood-shaped puddle on the ground. Instead, his rapidly shrinking form disappears in the distance, swinging between the buildings that make up the Gotham skyline.

You don't see the Red Hood for a while after that, but you hear whispers of him wearing a new costume. You get caught up with finals and Jason, who asks you out after the semester ends.

Your vehement 'yes' takes you by surprise. Him, too, judging by his wide eyes and wider smile. You wonder why he asked if he thought you would say no. You wonder why you didn't realize earlier how desperately you wanted him to.

Now that you're out of school, you pick up shifts at the vet clinic. By some unhappy circumstance, they can only schedule you for the evening shifts. Jason works nights, too, and you've never fully squirreled out where he works, but at least you can spend some days together.

It's when you're walking back from your first shift that you see the Red Hood again after almost three weeks of radio silence. He pulls up next to you on the motorcycle. It's so late that there's no one on the road, so he stays on the asphalt and idles along at your walking pace until you break and say, "Long time no see, Hood."

"Did you miss me?" he teases.

You stop walking, because.

Most of his costume changed. Because it's summer, and even the nights are hot and muggy, you assume.

The pants are the same. So are the boots. But his jacket is red and sleeveless and has a hood that goes down to his eyebrows, the armor beneath short-sleeved, which means most of his arms are bare.

And...

Your mouth is dry. You swallow.

You're pretty sure not even Batman is that ripped. He looks like he's chiseled out of marble.

The longer you're speechless, the more amused he gets. You don't know how you know that, but something about his posture seems smug.

"You're taking 'red hood' seriously now, are you?" is all you manage to say. Because what else are you supposed to comment on? His bare forearms? His veins are so beautifully pronounced, they would be a dream to take blood from, but you have a boyfriend of a whole one and a half weeks, and you may be many things, but you're not a cheater.

He laughs, then pulls his hood low when it slips back a bit. His voice is still modulated, although it's not through a red helmet anymore. This is more like a muzzle. You can't tell if the eye covering is part of it, or like the domino masks that Batman and Robin wear, but the lenses are red now instead of white.

He's really leaning into the theme.

"You want a ride?"

"We're two blocks from my apartment."

He shrugs. "I'm heading there anyway."

What the hell. You've already hopped on the back of his bike before. It's easier to do so the second time. You wrap your arms around his torso again, and when his arms settle over your own, they're warm with his body heat, but not hard, even though the muscles look sharp enough to cut glass. He's firm all over, but his skin is soft, apart from the raised, bumpy scars that seem to cover him from head-to-toe. It makes you worry about him, just a little.

He doesn't drive fast this time. He drives slow enough to hold a conversation and tosses over his shoulder, "So what's new with you?"

"Not much," you say into his ear. Is it just you, or does he shiver? "I finished another semester of vet school."

"Top grades, I'm sure. Did you get extra credit for patching me up?"

"I wish." No, your grades are good, but not exceptional. But exceptional is what got you into vet school. As long as you graduate with a DVM, even if you're the lowest in your class, you're a licensed doctor. There's some relief in that. "The dude I thought was stalking me asked me out, actually."

"Really?" he asks, interested and alert. "Was he really stalking you? Do you need me to scare him off for you?"

"No," you say, smiling at the thought of the Red Hood trying to scare off Jason. They're about the same build, now that you think about it, which you're sure the vigilante isn't used to. And Jason's never been anything but gentle and polite, but you saw an undercurrent of something strong, something like titanium, under that gentle spirit the one time he stood up for one of the baristas at the coffee shop that you first spoke to each other. He hadn't needed to do much apart from stand up and glare at the beleaguered corporate guy angry that there wasn't enough sugar in his coffee, and the dude shut up and scurried out as fast as he could.

It was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen him do, except for that one time you pushed your laptop a little too close to the edge of your desk while studying, it tipped over, and he caught it one-handed without looking up from his book. What can you say? Saving you a couple hundred dollars in getting that fixed was hot.

"It was a misunderstanding," you say. "We just ended up in the same places at the same times."

A gust of wind pushes back the Red Hood's hood, exposing a head of thick, dark hair, the same shade of black as Jason's. The motorcycle swerves in his haste to pull his hood back up, and when you reach your apartment and hop off the bike, he's pushing his hair back, back, beneath the hood.

What's the point of ditching the helmet if he's just going to be fussing with the hood all the time?

"What's new with you?" you ask, scuffing your toe against the sidewalk. Your shoes are falling apart; the sole is peeling away.

"Same old, same old," he says. His voice sounds rougher, but that might just be the new modulator.

"How's your side?"

"How's yours?" he counters. "You still haven't let me see it. I bet it scarred because you were too stubborn to take my advice and patch it up."

You will never admit that he's right. You challenge, "Let's compare scars, then," knowing full well his armor dips below his pants. It's a little silly to picture the Red Hood wearing an armored one-piece, but that's all you can imagine.

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. It dislodges the hood. A patch of hair falls down to his forehead, and it's white.

But the back of his hair is black.

White and black—

Your stomach flips.

"I thought you had a boyfriend, honey. Why're you asking me to strip?"

So that's what all the teasing's been about. He hasn't been flirting—or he has, his own weird version of flirting, because he's a dumbass.

For a moment all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, then you flex your fingers to regain feeling in them. You roll your eyes and say, "I think we've established that my apartment is basically a strip club. Why don't you come up and show me, Jason?"

"Well, I'm flattered, but—what?" He splutters like he's choking on his own tongue. Serves him right. "I'm not—why do you think that—I mean, I could be anyone—"

Yeah, he can have his little crisis on the street. You tug on your own fringe, then swipe into the building.

You hear his muffled cursing as the door closes.

You look forward to him catching up.

(My requests are open, so let me know if you want me to write anything in particular! Also let me know if you want to be added to a taglist.)

Forever tag list:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

#reader insert #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd x reader #jason todd

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lialacleaf · 1 year

Text

Simon Riley X Reader: Domestic Head Cannons

Warnings: Fluffy, Simon likes you and it's obvious

Simon likes to bring you back little souvenirs from his missions. You talk about wanting to travel all the time but there's too much work to be done on base to ensure his job goes smoothly overseas.

He calls them little work trophies to make you feel more like you're part of the team. You'll never actually get a medal since you're not a soldier but as far as he's concerned your work is just as necessary to the team as his, whether it's the diplomatic emails you draft up to get the 141 into other countries with as little resistance as possible, or the intel you organize into files for their missions.

Once he's back on base and had a chance to shower, he's making a beeline to drop off his mission report to you along with your newest little trophy from Russia.

Your expression of boredom turns to a soft little smile when you see him enter your closet of an office. You at least have a little window that you've lined with tea lights and set a candle on the windowsill.

You always like to keep your spaces cozy, and he finds himself wondering how charming your quarters are.

"Done with your paperwork?" you ask, gesturing to the folder. He's always finished earlier than everyone else.

He nods and holds out a brown paper bag. "Brought you somethin' you might like."

You grin like a little kid as you pull out the gift. Sometimes it's cool rocks, an old book, or on occasion small art prints from local artists. You aren't sure where he finds these things, or even the time to go out and look for them.

This time it's a little puzzle box, about the size of your hand with intricate carvings on the side. It had a little weight to it, and you could tell there was something inside.

"Gonna make me work for it, huh?" you ask with a grin.

"A distraction to get your head out of all that paperwork," he says, his eyes crinkling softly at you, and you just know there's a smile under that mask. "Go on, give it a try," he urges.

"You're going to watch me struggle with this thing?" you ask with a laugh that sounds like music to his ears.

"It'll be some amusement for the both of us," he teases, earning a swat on the arm as you bring the box closer to your face.

"Alright, challenge accepted." You fiddle with it for about ten minutes, with Simon occasionally raising a brow at your attempts to open it until you hear a little click and pull the lid open.

You've got a triumphant smile on your face when you glance up at him, before inspecting the powdery substance inside. "Is this sugar?"

"To go with the tea from Vietnam," he explains.

"Thanks, I love it," you say, standing on your tip-toes to place a kiss on his masked cheek.

Simon is grateful for the mask hiding the red in his cheeks.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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inkykeiji · 9 months

Text

you be my revolver, i got you in my hands

character: choso kamo x fem!reader

genre: curseless!au, smut

notes: eeee first choso piece ever!!! i had such a blast writing this and i wish i could’ve gotten it finished in time for christmas but alas! anyway, please enjoy this and as always please heed the warnings below and stay safe! | title credit: girl like me by dove cameron

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (reader + choso are family friends), age gap, bratty reader, rough sex, minimal prep, teasing, hints of manipulation, hints of dubcon, size kink, pet names

words: 6k

synopsis:

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.” “What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…” “Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—” “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.”

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you.

You’ve known each other for a long time—so long Choso’s lost count of the years, now, having met you when Yuuji was just a toddler (and you were, too) at the bus stop on Yuuji’s first day of Pre-K, only to discover you lived a mere few houses from each other—but you haven’t seen each other in a long time, too.

It’s not through fault of either of you; life had gotten in the way, as it has a tendency to do so, had grown busy with intricacies and obligations that demanded time and attention, tangling around you and keeping you apart.

You had both embarked on university endeavours; him pursuing his PhD, you continuing your undergrad, had both stuffed more and more into your lives—art shows and book readings and music festivals and tropical trips—and lost space for each other in the process.

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you, but it feels as though no time has passed at all, as it normally does with family—you’re still just as bratty as you’ve always been (some things never change, he guesses; some things you’ll never grow out of, he supposes).

Family.

Family is not a word he uses lightly, but you and yours had quickly become his and theirs, had quickly become ours, morphing from neighbours to friends to practically kin, members mixing to form something special, a hybrid of some sort, stuck somewhere between long-standing family friends and blood relatives.

Which is why how you’re acting—how you’ve been acting, this entire winter break—is so undeniably inappropriate.

And although he’s lost track of the years, everything beginning to blur together, to melt and flow and shift and breathe, he still remembers the day he told you to call him onii-chan.

That he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

Yuuji’s so lucky, you had pouted, kicking at the sandy ground with the toe of your shoe and swaying a little on the swing. He has a big brother. I don’t. I’ve always wished I had one. Sighing, you looked away, fingers tangling in the chain. But I’ll never get one; it’s impossible.

It’s not impossible, Choso had responded gently, nudging his swing against your own. I’ll be your big brother, if you want.

And you—well, you had been so incredibly happy, all bright smiles and sunshine eyes and breathless giggles, to have a big brother to call your own.

Never in his life did he think he’d come to regret such a decision.

But you seem to be on a mission to make him, this Christmas.

Because you’re really testing his fucking patience, this Christmas.

The term of endearment oozes from your lips as if it’s melted in the wet heat of your mouth every single time, always paired with your worst behaviour: bending over in those short, sweet, slutty skirts and flashing cute Christmas panties at him; placing a hand much too high to be appropriate on his thigh as you watch a film together, leaning close to his ear to murmur out a silky question you already know the answer to; twining your ankles with his beneath the dinner table and gazing at him with eyes full of sin, leaning so far forward on the table that your tits swell, nearly spilling from the too-low neckline of your dress, then giggling when you catch him ogling.

As a result, he’s been meticulous about avoiding being alone in a room with you—he doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t trust what he might do, especially if you start playing your little games—but he should’ve known it would only be a matter of time until you get want you want.

Because it always is.

And on Christmas Eve, you finally succeed.

Somehow, you’ve managed to get him alone in his childhood bedroom—something about wanting to flip through his old sketchbooks, to search for some doodles he had drawn for you many years ago, to rip the pages from the spiral-bound spine and stuff them in your back pocket, for safekeeping, you had claimed.

Tugging at his heartstrings, that’s how you succeeded.

Sitting on the edge of his small twin bed, thighs slotted up against one another and both of your arms looped around one of his, he flips through the curling pages of his drawings, smudged with graphite and pastels.

“Oh, I remember this one!”

A dainty finger points to a cute kitten sketched out in astonishing detail, with a pink nose and a satin ribbon tied in a bow around its neck.

“It’s you,” he smirks. “You asked me what animal you’d be, and then demanded I draw you as a kitten when I responded with a cat.”

“You drew a lot of me,” you lean forward, swelling breasts pressed flush to his bicep, a palm sitting high on his thigh as avid eyes scan over the spread, gaze stuttering as it sweeps from doodle to doodle.

“I drew a lot for you,” he says, the observation entirely unthinking. “You wanted a specific page, but I might as well give you this whole sketchbook. More than half the pieces in here are for you.”

It’s a fact that shocks him in its authenticity, a realization that sends a painful, sick thrill searing through his body, saliva beginning to collect in the dips beneath his tongue.

“I’m such a lucky girl,” you hum out in a sigh, nuzzling your cheek into his arm and looking up at him with shimmering eyes. “I have such a good big brother.”

“You’re spoiled,” he says, but his voice holds no malice, eyes softening as he stares down at you, a small smile on his lips.

“I dunno about that,” you frown, but mischief glints in your eye. “You haven’t really given me what I’ve wanted all holiday…”

Blood turns to shards of ice in his veins, whole body going rigid as his breath stalls in his throat, pounding heartbeat reverberating in his ears.

“Wh-What’s that?”

He doesn’t want to ask it, doesn’t mean to ask it, but the question claws at his tongue, pries past his teeth and tumbles from his lips in a ragged, tangled heap.

And the smile that spreads across your face is nothing short of sinister, that glint flaring to a sharp shine as your pupils breathe, pulse, swallow him whole.

“A Christmas kiss,” you say, stare unblinking and intense as your hand slips between his legs, rubbing little circles into his inner thigh, a mere centimetre or two away from his cock.

The motion makes him jolt, hips involuntarily twitching toward your touch, brushing his half-hard cock against your knuckles.

“That’s all I want,” you sigh almost dreamily, tits pressed harder into his bicep as you lean closer, so tight they’re practically being squeezed from your sweetheart neckline. “A kiss from my onii-chan. Though…”

Trailing off, your hand slides up a little further, pinky and ring finger tiptoeing along the rapidly hardening lump in his jeans, squealing out a short giggle as it jumps beneath your touch.

“I’m not sure that’s all onii-chan wants.”

“Onii-chan doesn’t want anything from you,” he breathes out, but his voice is rough, unconvincing, his hands curled into firm fists on his bedspread, trembling slightly, skin stretched taut across pointed knuckles.

“Another lie,” your lips tug down, voice saturated with disappointment. “You know, good big brothers don’t lie to their siblings,” you fix him with a look, glaring through feathery lashes, expression teetering dangerously on the edges of a pout.

A shiver skitters through his bones, whole body stiffening. His jaw flexes as he grinds his molars, a slow, controlled breath exhaled out his nose, his eyes flicking down. You’re still touching him, two fingertips rubbing gentle circles into his clothed cock.

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.”

“What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…”

“Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.”

“That—That—” he swallows hard, dense saliva pooling at the back of his tongue. “That doesn’t matter—We shouldn’t—”

“But—” your lip juts out further, forehead crinkling. “But I want to.”

You can’t always get what you want.

That’s what he wants to tell you. That’s what he wishes he could tell you. But it just isn’t fucking true, when it comes to you.

“Stop,” he says instead, and although it’s supposed to be an order, it comes out as a plead, his voice hoarse, strained, thin, the proclamation high and false and tinny.

“You’re a terrible liar,” the tip of your index finger traces the head, looking up at him through your lashes. “Did you know that?”

He does, he does know that. He’s a terrible liar, eyes too honest, voice too sincere, expressions too candid, always giving away his true intentions and forthright thoughts.

He’s a terrible discipliner, too, incapable of saying no, of refusing his siblings anything. You know this, too.

“St—” he tries to force the word from his tongue again, protest sticking in his throat. Stop, stop, he wants you to stop, he needs you to stop, please.

But that’s a lie, too, the rejection refusing to take shape, to mold into something audible, something tangible, something worthwhile.

No matter how much he wishes it were true, he can’t will it to become true—not when he wants this just as badly as you do, his straining cock exposing his real desires to you.

You’ve already taken full notice of it, yearning for you through rough denim, hot and hard and throbbing. The pad of your finger rubs over the slit in rhythmic motions, smooth and gliding, aided by the copious amount of pre-cum oozing through the material, and it jerks beneath your touch, eager for more attention.

“It’s so hard, onii-chan,” your hand cups the impressive bulge, rolling it in your palm, a girlish giggle tickling your tongue. “It—It’s throbbing, onii-chan.”

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that?” he breathes, attempting to keep his tone stern and his eyes stony.

“It’s making me want to ride it,” you whimper loudly, squeezing your thighs together, completely ignoring his question. “Oh, please, onii-chan, can I ride your cock?”

“Fu-fuck,” the curse breaks on his tongue, eyes shut tightly, breaking away from your invasive stare. “Fuck, fuck, f-fuck.”

No.

“I’d really like to ride it, onii-chan.”

No.

“Can I? Pretty please?”

No-no-no-no-no!

He wants to say no. He should say no. It’s the right thing to do.

He’s the older brother, the eldest brother, it’s his duty to say no, to mentor, to lead by example.

But he can’t.

He can’t form the word in his throat, can’t mold it into a sound and push it from his mouth.

He’s never truly been able to, when it comes to you—and he was so fucking stupid to think he would.

Because, as always, you are making it exceptionally difficult to deny, gazing up at him with shimmering eyes like that, mouth licked raw in anticipation, bottom lip bitten puffy from the front teeth constantly sinking into it.

“I—It isn’t right—” he attempts, swallowing thickly, cords in his neck straining, desperately attempting to quell the tremor in his voice.

He knows you don’t care. If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he doesn’t, either, his morality eroded to nothing more than a farce, a thin façade, not nearly strong enough to force him into doing the right thing, not nearly strong enough to fortify his rapidly waning self-discipline.

“I—I won’t tell,” you whimper, and he can see the fine film of tears lacquering your eyes, shielding lust-blown pupils. “Pinky promise! I just—I just want you so badly,” your nose twitches cutely with a sniffle, your bottom lip beginning to waver with infinitesimal quivers, soft palm caressing his cock like you love it. “Please, onii-chan?”

And Christ, you’re so pretty, so pouty, with your glistening puppy-dog eyes and pleads dripping from your lips like thick syrup.

How could he possibly say no to something so precious? How could anyone?

“Alright,” he whispers, defeated, eyes squeezing shut as he nods. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“Really?”

And just like that, the tears are incinerated from your eyes, gaze bright and blazing with excitement, lips molded into a brilliant smile.

You look so sickeningly beautiful when you get what you want.

“Yes,” he nearly whimpers, and it’s pathetic, his hips twitching up into your touch, craving, desperate. “Yes, yes, ride my cock.”

The affirmative is all you need, squealing a little with happiness as you climb into his lap, fingers up your own skirt to push your soaked panties to the side, other hand pawing clumsily at his waistband.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the words soaking into his neck, sealed with a sloppy kiss. “Oh, thank you, onii-chan.”

He can’t help but chuckle a little as his hands find your waist, instinctive, steadying you.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you.”

“This is all I want,” you tell him, pulling back a little to search his face. “S’all I’ve wanted for a long time.”

He wants to ask you to elaborate on that, confusion warping his brow, but then you’re yanking at his belt loops and pulling at his zipper and wrapping a soft palm around the base of his cock, a heavy groan vibrating in his throat.

“Wait, wait!” he chokes on a gasp as you hover over his cock, head bumping against your hole. “Let me—”

“I don’t wanna wait,” you whine out, petulant and stringy, whole face scrunched in frustration. “I’ve been waiting! I want your cock in me now!”

Fuck, you’re such a fucking brat, he’s growling as he forces you down on his cock in one swift motion, the sudden intrusion pushing a yelp from your lips. Your forehead knocks against his, sugar-stained breath wafting across his face, his tongue darting out to mop up remnants from his mouth.

It’s really cute, the way your little cunt spasms around his shaft as he bottoms out, pressed snug and tight against your cervix, desperate in its attempt to adjust to his girth. It’s really sweet, the way your body splits itself open for him, cracking at the core and struggling to swallow him down.

“Oh, it’s so big, onii-chan!”

“God,” he nearly sobs. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know that?”

Giggling, you wind your arms around his neck tighter, nuzzling your cheek into his skin, then stringing a garland of wet kisses along the line of his jaw.

“S’really thick, Choso-nii,” you tell him honestly, nodding in lethargic little motions. “I feel so full, onii-chan.”

A laugh falls from his lips, breathy and exalted.

“I don’t know if it’s that I’m big, or if it’s just that your cunt is so fucking small,” his voice tapers off into a whine, raspy and gruff.

“H-Hurts a little, onii-chan,” you admit in a whimper, hips shifting in experimental little movements, conjuring a groan from deep within his chest.

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that, huh?” he asks for the second time in fifteen minutes. “Who was too impatient to let onii-chan prep her?”

“Don’t care,” you mumble. “Wanted you s’bad.”

He laughs again, warm and gentle and full of love, his hands squeezing your hips just enough to make you gasp, fingertips pressing his name into your flesh in blotchy little ovals of purple.

“You have me,” he says, his words ringing clear and true with a painful sincerity.

The vibrations of your responding hum seep from your chest into his, and he sighs, body deflating against yours, pleasant little tingles snuggling between his ribs.

You stay like that for a moment to two, wound up in one another, chests pressed flush, breathing as one. Your auras ebb and flow, presences bleeding, tangling together and creating something that is neither one nor the other but both, a single shared entity.

And it’s nice, it’s real, it’s natural.

But then you become impatient, as you normally do, as he knew you would, wiggling a little in his lap, fingers twining in the strands at the base of his neck.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he urges gently. “Ride onii-chan’s cock.”

And so you do, hips beginning to roll in slow, languid circles, fingers still laced at the back of his skull, half-buried in messy ink.

He allows you to set the pace, allows you to take your time, allows you to enjoy and savour every rock and grind and bounce, staring at you through heavily lidded eyes, hands on your waist merely guiding you—keeping you stable, just like a big brother should.

He’s absolutely breathtaking; gaze glittering in the dim light overflowing with awe, spit-slicked lips licked raw and shimmering as his tongue glides over them again, swollen and bitten cherry red.

You can’t help but reach out to trace his features; the strong line of his brow, the delicate curve of his cheek, the enticing bow of his lips, hips slowing to uneven little ruts as you hone your focus, his eyes observing you with a sick sort of fascination.

“Did you—Have you—Have you thought about this before?”

The question stings his tongue, revulsion flushing through his blood as guilt pricks his flesh, his cock throbbing eagerly.

“Course I have,” you breathe out with a little laugh, as if he’s so silly for thinking you might not have. “Actually, I—I—”

A sudden shyness overtakes you, an unsure giggle on your lips fading into a soft squeal as you hide in his shoulder, shaking your head a little.

“What? Huh?” he shrugs, nudging your face up gently, curiosity clawing at his irises as they search your face, voracious. “What?”

“Well, sometimes I…”

The words tangle in your throat and you choke on them, gaze fleeing his own, and you shake your head again, chest beginning to stammer.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, rubbing reassuring circles into your flesh. “You can tell onii-chan, go on.”

There are tears in your eyes now, mouth wobbling a little with the verging confession, and God, that’s so hot, why is that so fucking hot?

“Where’s my brave little sister gone now? Hmm?”

“M’right here, onii-chan,” you whisper, face teetering on a wince, as if you’re bracing for a blow, terrified to admit to him, fearing reprimand. “It’s just that—Sometimes I do, um, really bad things with my stuffies while—while thinking about you…”

Dewdrops of shame glitter in your lashes as your lids flutter, nose scrunching with a soft sniffle, tears breaking free of their wispy confines to roll down your cheeks in fat, glimmering streams—so fucking beautiful in the dim light of his bedroom—but you don’t dare break his stare, gazing at him through a thick shield of water.

“Oh, Christ,” he coughs on the curse, hands flexing on your waist, blunt nails digging into your skin. “And what—what do you think about?”

“Um,” your gaze flits from his own, to his wrinkled bedspread, then back to his face, wide and honest. “Riding you, like this. And—And riding your thighs, makin’ a real mess all over them, and your thick fingers too, filling me up…”

Bolts of dizziness sear his brain as his lungs deflate, oxygen eaten up by pure lust and leaving his chest buzzing, burning, some sort of response mangling itself in his throat, escaping his lips as nothing more than a cracked moan.

“Do you think about me, onii-chan?”

Your question pulls him from the depths of his hedonism and he blinks, your face swimming into view, a peculiar mix of hope and cognizance infusing your expression, eyebrows raised with false curiosity, a smirk twitching on your lips.

Ah, there she is, that brat he knows so well, that brat he’s come to crave, every ounce of uncertainty eradicated from your face, replaced with assured confidence, contradicting the tears still staining your cheeks.

You fucking know he does.

And, oh, how he wishes he was stronger, how he wishes he could lie, how he wishes he could devour the smugness in your eyes and complacency in your smile, to humble you, to knock you from your high throne.

He settles for a kiss instead, mouth crushed to yours as a large hand cups your head, thumb pressing into your ear, fingertips dragging across your scalp as he yanks you closer.

It hurts, his front teeth scraping against your lip as he practically gnaws his way to your tongue, his own big and thick and so fucking strong as it overwhelms yours, shoving it further into the cavern of your mouth and forcing it to stay put as he explores.

He’s making a real mess as he slathers over your molars, over the inside of your cheeks and the backs of your teeth, drenching your mouth in him. Drool oozes steadily from the corners, collecting along the underside of his bottom lip and leaving his chin sticky and slick.

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes shut so tightly his whole forehead crinkles, mouth wet and sliding against your own. “Yes, yes, I think about you—much too often.”

Nose nudging yours, he nuzzles into your face a little, planting a chaste kiss to your lips, then peppering a few more, quick and sloppy, around your mouth.

“But right now, I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to feel you creaming all over my cock—you think you can do that for me, princess?” His palms cushion your cheeks, thumbs swiping across your cheekbones, then brushing strands of damp hair from your temples. “You think you can do that for your onii-chan?”

Yes you can, of course you can, you’re nodding, blinking the last remnants of tears from your eyes, rapid movement eliminating the final stubborn drops, clinging delicately to your outer lashes.

“S’it, baby,” he encourages as your hips start moving again, working up a steady rhythm. “Just like that, good girl.”

A mewl slips from your lips, burrowing your scalding face in his sticky neck again, his undivided attention almost too much to bear.

“Like it when you call me a good girl,” you murmur, lips dragging across his skin with the confession, streaking him with thick glimmers of spit.

“Is that so?” he laughs a little, pressing a few kisses to the crown of your head. “That’s because you don’t hear it often.”

Lifting your head, you scowl at him, though there’s no heat to your glare, fury dimmed by fondness, unable to smother the smile playing with your lips.

A dazzling smile spreads across his own face in response, and he laughs again, his eyes so bright, so brilliant they almost hurt, blazing like two small suns, scorching your skin as his gaze glides over it.

He watches you like a man possessed, a man obsessed, entirely entranced by the way pleasure passes over your face, twisting your features into the cutest little winces as you grind the head of his cock against your cervix, then smoothing them out with bliss as his shaft drags along your favourite spot, bouncing in shallow little motions to rub over that fleshy patch hard and fast, a stream of mewls spilling from your lips, stitched together with his honorific.

“You’re so pretty when you ride my cock,” he groans, words tapering off into a hoarse whimper, as if it pains him to admit it.

His palms run up your sides, fingers counting over each rib, hands committing every dip and curve and bulge to memory, marvelled by the way you fill his grip, as if he can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re his—even if just for tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going, use onii-chan like a toy, sweetheart.”

And he tries to be patient, he swears he does—tries not to rush you, tries to relish in the moment, in each swirl of your hips and every puff of his name—except your pace never accelerates, never moves past anything but teasing as you use his now aching cock to continually edge yourself; moans building higher and higher, louder and louder, on the cusp of the crest before they disintegrate into nothing and you start the process all over again, the delicate fluttering of your cunt enough to drive him fucking insane with desire.

It has his entire form trembling with such vigour it’s quivering the mattress, muscles locked stiff and tight as he tries to keep from moving, from bucking up wildly, from forcing you to speed the hell up. Rough fingers sink into your flesh so deep it dimples, a pathetic attempt to ground himself, rapidly blooming bruises staining your flesh.

But he’s powerless to stifle the whines leaking through the gaps of his gritted teeth, hands flexing on your hips, whole body pulled taut with restraint.

He’s sure you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, eager and impatient, begging you to move faster, to fuck him harder.

But you aren’t going to do any of that—not unless he asks for it, he realizes dimly, after you bring yourself to near orgasm for the third time in a row, giggling a little at his crestfallen expression, his hair having fallen almost completely from its trademark spiky buns, braided fishermen sweater soaked with sweat and sticking to his now heaving chest.

He really thought it was real this time. He really thought you were finally going to cream all over him, so he could finally flip you over and fuck you properly, pound you into the mattress and stuff that pretty, cute little cunt to the goddamn brim with his seed.

He’d been trying so hard to be nice, to be the loving, doting, good big brother he is—but he’s also only human, and there’s only so much misbehaviour he can bear before, finally, he snaps.

Because, sure, big brothers are meant to care for, to lead and to nurture, but they’re also meant to teach, to punish, to put bratty little sisters back in their fucking place.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Huh?” his grip on your hips tightens, halting you from moving. “You think I’m fucking stupid?”

“Never, Choso-nii,” you gasp, astonished. “I would never—”

Sincerity rings in your voice, but he can see it, the mischief tugging at the corners of your mouth, barely suppressed by your façade of innocence.

Anyone else would’ve been fooled—enchanted by your doe eyes and your dainty voice.

But not him.

No, he knows better now.

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off, eyes narrowed sharply. “You wanted to ride my cock, but you’re clearly incapable of it—”

“No I’m not!”

“—So it looks like I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

“No! I—I can do it!” you cry, face crumpled in fury, nails scrabbling at his shoulders.

“You lost your chance to prove it to me,” he growls.

The world flips suddenly, momentarily a blur of inks and ivories, a breath of surprise punched from your ribs as your back slams against the mattress, trapped between the bedspread and your big brother’s heaving chest.

“You have been testing me all fucking holiday,” he snarls, specks of spit splattering across your cheeks. “Onii-chan shouldn’t give you his cum—onii-chan shouldn’t have given you his cock at all!”

A certain type of haughtiness corrodes your shock, lips spreading into a pompous smirk.

“Oh, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you, onii-chan.”

“You little bitch!”

His hips shove forward, forcing you further into the plush of the mattress, cockhead ramming against your cervix. A little noise of pain vibrates on the back of your tongue, shattering your arrogance, and a grin smears across his face, glinting in the moonlight.

“I think it’s time your big brother teach you a lesson in respect.”

“Y-Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“You’re going to take what onii-chan gives you, and you’re going to fucking like it. And then, at the end, when you’ve gone stupid from the cock you don’t deserve, you’re going to thank me for giving it to you at all. Do you understand me?”

Defiance shines in your eyes, lacquered by a thin coating of tears, nose scrunching up in a glower.

A rough thumb and forefinger, hardened by charcoals, clamps around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks with such force that your mouth puckers, a sticky little whine squealing in your throat.

“Do you understand me?” he asks again, each word said slow with purpose, each word annunciated with intent, his eyes boring into yours, sharp and painful.

Finally, those tears push past your bloated lashes, shoved from your eyes by rapid blinking and rolling down your cheeks in glistening pairs, a half-stifled hiccup stuttering your chest.

“Y-Yes,” you whisper, nose twitching.

“What was that? Onii-chan couldn’t hear you.”

“Yes, onii-chan.”

“Good girl.”

And then his hips are snapping, hard and fast and immediate, fucking into you with such ruthlessness that it jostles your body up the bed, sheets collecting in little wrinkled bunches beneath you. Your nails sink into his shoulders, piercing flesh through the knit of his sweater, the muscles in your thighs tensing as your ankles hook around his waist, his shirt riding up, your heels digging into the those cute little dimples that cushion the base of his spine.

It hurts, every pound of his cock producing a dull, throbbing ache low and deep in your gut, another torrent of tears rushing to flood your vision.

“Ch-Choso-nii, Ch-Choso-nii,” you whimper, face screwed up in pain, his name stuttered by his rapid thrusts.

“What’s the matter?” he pouts, and it’s so condescending, dripping from his lips in an over-exaggerated coo. “Can’t take onii-chan’s cock?”

The question wafts across your face in a panted breath and you lick at your lips, sopping it up with your tongue.

“N-No,” you say, and that telltale brattiness is back, watered down by his viciousness. “I can do it—I-I can do it for you, onii-chan.”

A throaty curse escapes his lips, thrusts stammering out of rhythm for a moment as his cock twitches, and a helpless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

Even angry, he’s still so fucking easy.

He regains his composure quickly, though, face hardened to stone but beginning to splinter with pleasure.

“Brat,” he breathes out, though there’s mirth shining in his eyes, pure and fond and full of love. “You better.”

And even angry, he still sounds so fucking pretty; cracked moans and dense groans and choked gasps, all flowing from his mouth in a single stream, fractured by the piston of his hips.

The pain doesn’t fade, of course—it barely diminishes at all, the sheer massiveness of his cock making it near impossible to be dispelled, keeping the cramping pang in the pit of your belly steady and constant—but it does amplify the pleasure, nerves gnawed raw by the agony, left hypersensitive to the sparks of ecstasy that blaze through your veins with every quick, rough pump of his hips, every deep, hard slam against your bruised cervix, every rapid drag over that engorged spot.

It leaves you feeling high, leaves you feeling stupid, brain melting in a hot haze of lust and rendering you incapable of forming a single coherent thought beyond how incredible his cock is, his name and his title the only two things your sloppy, numb tongue can fully scrape together.

It’s all so much, too much, but it all feels so fucking good—s’good, Choso-nii, y’r so-so good—sentiment vibrating indistinctly in your chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, words gone wispy, fading into a whine. “Does your onii-chan’s cock make you feel good?”

Yes, yes, yes, onii-chan, it’s so good, you’re so good!

Your head nods frantically, fingers curling in the collar of his sweater, a mess of affirmatives fucked from your mouth.

“Y’know, you’re kinda cute when you’re too cockdrunk to misbehave,” he chuckles a little, biting back a moan as your cunt clenches at the compliment. “May-Maybe onii-chan should fuck you stupid more often, huh?”

Oh, God, yes, onii-chan; oh, please, onii-chan!

“Yeah, you’d like that a bit too much, though, wouldn’t you, you little sl—ah—slut.”

Drool dribbles from the sides of your mouth as you continue nodding, eyes wide and unblinking, encrusted with stars.

“Y’so pretty, onii-chan,” you manage to mumble out, sentiment tangled in threads of spit, fingers flexing in the fabric of his sweater, as if they yearn to touch but can’t find the strength to carry out the action.

And he is, so beautiful it’s borderline sickening, strands of onyx plastered to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, strung together in clumps and saturated in sweat; damp skin glittering in the waning moonlight spilling through the slits of his window, dewdrops catching delicately in the beams as he pounds into you, every drive of his cock accelerating his pace.

“W-Wan’your cum now,” you slur the demand through a lax pout, lids beginning to weight with exhaustion, heavy as they frame dopey eyes.

“Yeah?” he laughs a little, gaze shining with adoration, and it’s breathless, it’s beautiful, his affection wafting over your scalding face. “Onii-chan needs you to cream all over his cock first. Can you—” a grunt cuts him off, and he whimpers, pushing through his sentence, his voice strained. “Can y’do that for me, angel?”

“Uh-huh, uh—uh-huh,” your head begins nodding more fervently again, pushing your lids open with some effort to stare up at him, pupils swelling with devotion and determination.

“Then show me—Show me how gorgeous my good girl looks when she’s making a mess all over her big brother’s cock.”

Three more thrusts and your cunt is obeying, convulsing on his thick shaft as heat gushes around him, so much that you can hear it—a sick, slick squelching as he jackhammers into you, your essence coating his thighs in a shiny layer of arousal.

“Oh, fuck,” his eyes shut tightly before springing open again, suddenly rabid, ravenous.

The bed creaks as his hips speed up, skin sticky with arousal as it slaps against your own, the sharp sound mingling with his ragged pants and your hitched mewls.

“Onii—Nii-chan,” you nearly wail, fingers tangling weakly in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scraping against his flesh. “Please, please, cum, gimme—gimme y’r cum!”

“Greedy little thing,” he rasps out, voice cracking into a whine.

But you don’t care, you can’t care, pleads spilling from your lips as your thighs tense around his waist, hips twitching in erratic little motions, crudely trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Need it, need it, onii-chan, fill my belly with it, onii-chan, please!”

“Christ,” he chokes on the curse, pace faltering as he finally gives his baby sister what she wants, cock throbbing almost violently while it fills you with hot, thick cum, so much you swear you really can feel it, stuffing your belly as full as it can be, tummy bulging cutely with his seed.

You must tell him that, sentiment slipping from your lips without your permission, because he moans again, his cock giving another weak spurt, hips stuttering as he tries to fuck further into you, grinding the head into your sore cervix.

“Yeah, yeah,” you’re murmuring, hips rolling up to meet his own. “Push it into me, onii-chan, push it into my cunt nice n deep, do-don’t waste a single drop!”

“You really are gonna be the death of me,” he whines, face buried in your hair as he collapses on top of you, hips still moving in lazy little circles, shudders of overstimulation rippling through his form.

“Mm,” you hum, on the cusp of unconsciousness, nuzzling your face into his neck like a kitten, then lapping at a few droplets of sweat streaming down the column. “What are lil sisters for?”

#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x you #this ended up being waaaay longer than i originally indended #absolutely no one is surprised #tw:pseudocest

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folkloresthings · 1 year

Text

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: nope

INSTAGRAM.

liked by fernandoalo_official, scuderiaferrari, and 720,553 others

charles_leclerc starting P3 in abu dhabi for the final race of the season! fingers crossed for a good result

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carlossainz55 a good result in the race or somewhere else

⤷ charles_leclerc shut it

user 2022 season almost over :(

landonorris bring it on 😏😏😏

scuderiaferrari let’s race!!

INSTAGRAM.

liked by charles_leclerc, badgirlriri, and 943,600 others

yourusername MY NEW ALBUM “emails i can’t send” OUT AUGUST 14. this year has been a whirlwind of emotions but it’s given me a lot of very dear songs. thank you for your patience 💌

view all 510,305 comments

user NEW MUSIC ALERT

gracieabrams squealing with excitement

arianagrande SO excited 🤍

user a whole album inspired by austin AND charles???? yes please

landonorris preordered and presaved can you send me a signed copy

taylorswift EEK!

it was finally here. the weekend of the final grand prix in abu dhabi, the end of another season of racing. you’d had your flight booked for weeks, but you hadn’t decided what you were going to do with it. all of your contemplating had made you late to the airport, having to rush through the terminal just in time to make the flight. and even then, thousands of miles in the air, you kept wanting to turn back.

you wanted charles, that much you knew. but you didn’t want to get hurt again, you were sure your heart was running out of bandaids.

no one knew you were here, besides lewis. he had helped you sneak in and out of the hotel, and into the paddock, without being caught. you didn’t want to let anyone know you were here, considering you might still change your mind at the last second.

but then it was sunday, before you knew it, and you were donning a red ferrari cap as you waited the race prep out in lewis’ driver’s room. every so often, you got the sudden urge to get up and run away, far far away. your heart was racing — maybe charles had changed his mind since you last spoke. three months was a long time, long enough to find someone else.

the race began and you watched it intently on the screens, biting at your fingernails every time charles rounded another corner. come the final lap, your feet were carrying you out to the paddock, away from the mercedes hut and towards ferrari. the crowd erupted nearby, charles crossing the finish line in P2. your heart swelled with a thrill, happiness for him filling you. a podium on the last race, something he’d spoken of time and time again.

you squeezed yourself through the celebrating ferrari employees, right to the front of the fence, watching as charles’ car pulled into it’s space after the cool down lap. you pulled the hat off, hoping your hair on show would catch his attention better. his fist pumped as he clambered out of the car, pulling off of his helmet and beaming at the crowds.

by instinct he moved to run towards the group all in red, the usual celebrations waiting to follow. but the monegasque driver stopped, his eyes stuck in the middle of the group. on you. you had come — you had actually come. charles could have pinched himself, sure he could never have gotten so lucky.

you felt your mouth run dry, unable to read his expression from where he was standing. everyone around you carried on celebrating, but the two of you were frozen. you smiled a little, shoulder shrugging with a slight chuckle. and when he smiled back at you, you knew.

you knew this was where you were meant to be.

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liked by danielricciardo, nicohulkenberg, and 762,401 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc possibly the best race of my life, i won the greatest prize of all ❤️❤️❤️ oh and i got P2

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user SCREAMING

landonorris i cried seeing that on the screen after the race

carlossainz55 they grow up so fast 🥲

user i never thought i’d live to see this day

scuderiaferrari OUR FAVS!!!!!!

yourusername my one and only ❤️‍🔥

⤷ yourusername pls ignore all the times i curse u out in the new album thanks 👍

writers note: i was THIS 🤏 close to her not getting on the plane

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 instagram au #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #fernando alonso x reader #lance stroll x reader #max verstappen x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #oscar piastri x reader

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schmidtsgirl · 8 months

Text

You are in love -S.R

— Spencer Reid x fem!reader

— summary: in which your love for one another comes to light

— warnings: angst, light heartbreak, some cringe fluff. Writing fluff isn’t my usual writing style but i was in a mood. Proofread but maybe some errors

“ARE YOU IN LOVE?”

The question itself had caught you off guard, your hand you were using to write coming to a halt as you looked over at the man across the table. The music in the background suddenly seem to fade away in your head.

“Yet.. i mean” Spencer finished off his sentence. Shifting a little uncomfortable in his seat as your gaze lingered on him for a while.

You cleared your throat. “No, I don’t think so” you saw the way his eyes emptied out like he was expecting a better response from you, but truthfully was now the right time to just burst out the truth you were dearly in love with Spencer Reid?

“Oh” he went right back to looking at the files on the table. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, something he usually did when he was holding himself back from opening his mouth to speak again.

It fell into an uncomfortable silence now.

"are you?” Spencer snapped his head up to look at you so fast you thought he'd might hurt himself. There was something in the way he'd look at you told that you right there and then you might regret asking him that deeply Afraid you wouldn’t like the answer back.

A blush creeped up to his cheeks and neck, his fingers fumbling with his pen. God you were going to hate the answer back. “Yeah, I am actually” you felt like somebody had pushed a knife into your chest.

Like him before, oh. Was all you could say at that moment, throat becoming too tight to form a proper response back. You should have known that he’d been in love before, or is in love. because Spencer reid was somebody who fell for someone easily, like if they were to offer him candy, gift him some sort of book, sweater vest or even a old school watch. he'd swore he found his soulmate right then.

Masking up your hurt you prepared your heart for the next sentence you wanted to ask, “what was she like” your voice came out small. You were even surprised he actually heard it.

God you wished you could go back five minutes ago before he asked you that stupid question.

You saw the way a light formed in his eyes as he thought of his answer, it was then you realized he wasn’t joking when he’d said he’d been in love before. Because the way his eyes light up, was like he'd solved the worlds hardest equation.

“She is-“ he chuckled a bit obviously opening a book of memories in his head. “She’s so beautiful, kind and smart” you’d never seem that big of a smile on his face when talking about someone, besides his own mom.

You froze a bit, is?. You couldn’t form a response back which made matters worse because he rambled on about her. “She’s great to my mother and friends. The first time we met she brought flowers for my mom and afterwards she cooked this delicious meal, oh my God it was good, feels like I can still taste on my tongue oh and she-“ you could only nod your head at him, feeling like you had blacked out because you couldn't quite hear the rest of what he had to say.

you wished you'd told him how you felt sooner, because then you wouldn't be feeling like this, chest feeling heavy and the tightness in your throat almost hurting you at this point.

"and then I remember one time, she saw i was sad and took me to this movies" he stops himself mid-sentence chuckling at the memory "she brought me so much candy, the cashier looked at us crazy"

Oh …

"I remember I spent that weekend panicking on what I should make you"

realization hit you like a truck. "And she thought we had taken shrooms..." And then silence took over the both of you. You both now just looked at each other from across the table, the once work you both were working on long forgotten.

you both laughed a more comfortable feeling in the room set upon you both. but you couldn't help but still feel embarrassed from not realizing he was pointing you out in the story from the beginning.

"that was still the best pasta I've ever had" he pushed himself up and out of his chair, taking long steps to your end of the table.

you felt glued to your chair as he stood in front of you. Warm hands cupping your cheeks. you nervously gluped, chest heaving up and down the room suddenly felt ten times hotter than before.

"would you mind making it again for me, honey?" honey God you could die right at that moment

"i-i sure.. if you want... I don't mind...um" you nervously chuckled mouth moving faster than you could register.

Spencer softly moved a strand of hair away from your face, before leaning in lips brushing against yours so gently like he was afraid you'd run away. but it soon turned into more passionate, as your hands gripped onto each other wanting so desperately to export one another at that moment.

the position was uncomfortable, which made him lift you up and place you on the table standing between your legs. "Y/n" he muttered against your lips. "I love you"

you pulled away from the kiss, foreheads leaning against each other. "I love you too, Spencer"

#𝑳𝑬𝑿𝑰 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑺 🏹#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal mind fluff #criminal minds smut

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wwilloww · 3 months

Text

sh. | chapter twenty two | pjm

PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? WC 4.8k WARNINGS AND TAGS no use of gendered pronouns to refer to reader. consensual objectification. d/s dynamic. over the panty sex (is this just called dry humping?) fucktoy-ification? teasing. orgasm denial.

AN hi :) i'm so sorry i made you wait so long for this. it's been a rollercoaster these last two years, and i hope you can forgive me for my long absence. if you enjoyed this chapter, i'd love to hear from you: what stuck out to you, what you're hoping will happen in future chapters, or just how you've been. i've missed you. and, as always, thank you for reading <3

← || series m.list || →

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: RULE BREAKER

You don’t talk or think much about your childhood. You like to imagine that when you turned eighteen those years whispered away into the ether of time, as irrelevant and dusty as the old photobook that stays on the shelf, eternally unopened.

As a child, home was multiplied and many. It was the many places you lived, as you moved often, following your father around with his job. But it was also many in the sense that you learned at a young age that home didn’t have to be a place you lived. Home was between the worn and finger-marred pages of the books you fell in love with, home was the wisping scent of fresh (if not often burnt) pastry in your grandmother’s kitchen each time you visited, home was the place you yearned to travel to but never made the time to visit.

But as you close the book in your hands, the words echo in your mind:

Are you going to come home?

You feel far away from home, even though you find a great deal of comfort in the walls of Namjoon’s mountain house. Ahem, mansion. Confusion riddles little holes of worry through you. Where is home, anyways? The small apartment you left empty in the city? The question opens a void in you. Why bother with home anyways? Sure, home could be anything if you tried hard enough, but couldn’t the opposite be true too? That if you tried hard enough, you wouldn’t need a home?

Still, void and all, the question nudges you.

Unsettled, you clamber down the tree and make your way back towards the house. The sun has risen higher in the sky and breaks through the chill ever so slightly. Worried that you’ve just abandoned Jimin this morning and that he’ll wake up alone, you quicken your pace. You creak the door open, waving at Jungkook and Jin and Taehyung in the kitchen, who are huddled over the coffee, waiting for it to finish brewing.

“A watched pot never boils,” you call out to them, noting that Jungkook looks a little cheerier than he had the past several days. Jin’s hand rests on Jungkook’s lower back and a little wave of joy jolts through you as the older man throws you a little smile.

“Watching it actually makes it go faster,” Jungkook says, his eyes glued to the coffee. “A little motivation and encouragement always lends a helping hand.”

You smile at that and continue making your way towards Jimin’s bedroom. You pass one room—a gym of sorts filled with a few cardio machines, a set of free weights, and a large mirror, and you’re surprised you didn’t notice it before—and pause.

Namjoon is spotting Hoseok as the latter bench presses what looks like an unreasonably heavy weight.

As you watch them, the dream from last night floods back to you.

The music filtering through the night. The tightness of each man’s grip on you as they spun you through the ballroom, the floorboards creaking beneath you, the high of attention sitting heady in your chest.

And too, you can’t forget, the way they stared at each other in single-minded competition, hackles raised, teeth gritted. You can’t forget the darkness that swirled at their feet, and you wonder too, if you’re letting your dream drift into the world of the living too.

But here they are, fondly smiling at one another. Had you made it all up? Well, of course you made it up. It was a regency-era dream for god's sake. But the tension? The competition? As Namjoon helps Hoseok lower the weights to the bar and hauls him to his feet, you’re sure it’s all in your head.

“Nice, man,” Namjoon says, grinning and clasping Hoseok on the back.

Before they see you, you continue on. Just as you’re about to open the door to the bedroom you’ve been searching for, it swings open before you. Jimin steps out.

“Oh. You’re awake!” you say.

“I am indeed.”

“I’m sorry I left this morning—“

“It’s okay,” he says, but there’s a tinge of sadness in his voice, a little dust mote of it that you catch.

“I went to go read in a tree,” you offer quickly as an explanation, hoping it will make up for the disappointment of waking up alone after not spending a night together in a while.

“In a tree?”

“In a tree,” you confirm.

He chuckles. “That seems like a good enough reason to abandon me. I gotta be honest though—“ He steps closer, lets his gaze flicker down, and toys with the hem of your shirt. “I was looking forward to waking up beside you.”

“Were you?” you smile.

“I was. I was even looking forward to potentially getting to wake you up.” He says it with a mischievous grin.

“Oh? And how would you have woken me up?”

His hand drifts lower, beneath the band of your leggings. “You know, it’s really easier to show you, rather than tell you—” His hands pause. “What’s this?” Jimin sends you a knowing look.

“What?” Your mind sputters as you struggle to come up with what he might be talking about. But he steps closer to you, a hand drifting down to your hips, a finger pulling your shirt up. With his other hand he plucks at the band of your panties.

“This,” he emphasizes.

“Oh.”

You’d nearly forgotten the promise you’d made to Jimin. But now it all comes rushing back, how he’d made you promise in those early days in the house to forgo any underwear. At the time it’d been a silly dare, but the seriousness in his eyes makes you reconsider.

“What? Do I have to remind you every day?” he says gently. “Or perhaps I haven’t been spending enough time around you, and you’ve forgotten your promise to me?”

“N-no,” you say. “I mean maybe. Maybe I want you around more.” You sidle up to him, running a finger up his chest. “Maybe… I want you to remind me.”

Jimin steps closer to you, pressing you against the bedroom door. You gasp when he leans in close, close enough to kiss you, but doesn’t.

“I think you forget too quickly that I told you there’d be a punishment if you ‘forgot’ about our little rule.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head as you look at him. “What kind of punishment?” Panties or not, it seems like you win.

“Like I mentioned earlier, I think I’d rather show you than explain it to you. Let’s just say I’m a hands-on kind of teacher.”

You think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he presses close, his lips a centimeter away from yours, his hands cupping your cheeks before wandering down to explore your body. You reach for him, struggle to bring his lips to yours, but he shifts his attention elsewhere, leaving you hanging. His hands rove over your body, his lips dip out of reach. So you change your plan of attack too. You let your hands wander over him. When you feel his breath quicken against you, you release him, dipping your head below his chin.

You glide your lips down Jimin’s neck, slow and intentional; a calculated move. You let your breath whisper against his skin, and you can’t help but think back to that night with Yoongi and Namjoon in which sensation—even the lightest of touches—had meant so much to you. To your body. You want to play Jimin like they played you.

His hands tighten in your shirt, knuckles whitening.

“Inside,” he gasps, and the desperation in his voice makes you think that he’s lost a bit of his fine-tuned control. His eyes are blown wide. He looks like he could eat you up. “Inside,” he repeats, but enacts the command himself as he pulls you through the door with him, making it sound a little more like a plea than you think he intends.

The pair of you tumble onto the bed, a mess of limbs and lips, teeth, hands.

He captures your lips, finally, kissing you. The kiss is anything but gentle, nearing the edge of pain, his teeth knocking against yours, nipping at your lips. You groan into his mouth as his hips cant against you.

It’s not long before he begins to tug at your clothes.

Then he pauses, lifting your head from his lips. You’re sprawled atop him and you lift yourself up on your hands.

“What?” you inquire curiously.

“I’m going to ask you to do something.”

“Alright.”

With a leveled gaze, he says, “Strip.”

He pushes you off of him, and you kneel at the foot of the bed, pausing a second, before making the executive decision to stand and undress. It’ll be more, well, graceful that way, you think. The alternative is flopping around on the sheets like a beached hammerhead shark trying to get your pants off.

So you do as you’re told. There’s something about undressing before him, as he leans back against the headboard, watching you. There’s something about undressing for him, while he watches on, his gaze drinking you in that has sparks running through your body.

Slowly, slowly you slip off your top, and wiggle your leggings off your legs. You try to make it a little sexy, glancing up at him from time to time, to find that warm darkness swirling in his gaze that you love so much. You trip once, because you’re staring too much.

“Keep the panties on,” he says when you go to pull them down.

“Oh. Okay.” Your brow furrows and you can’t help but let a little bit of the disappointment you’re feeling into your voice. You’re a little confused why he would ask you to keep them on when they were the problem that started all of this.

He stands then, walking towards you. You hold your breath. He finally arrives before you and places his hands on your hips. His fingers toy with the trim of the panties, and goosebumps race along your skin from the delicate touch.

“What are you going to do?” you ask, your voice breathy.

“You’ll see.”

With that he hooks a finger under the band of your underwear and lets it snap against your skin. You cry out, more in surprise than anything else.

“Did that hurt?”

“No, not really.”

“Good.” He grins. “Now, I want you to be honest.”

“I’m always honest.” You correct yourself: “Most of the time. Most of the time I’m always honest.”

Jimin chuckles at that.

“Fair enough. But I need your most-of-the-time-always honesty now.” You nod, your hand drifting upward to grip his forearm.

“Of course.”

“I want to try something out with you. Something new.”

“New?”

“A new kind of play.”

Your mind reels with the possibilities. What could he possibly suggest? Chastity kink? Tittyfucking? Technojizz? Ballcuzzi?

“I want to use you like a toy,” he whispers. “I want to fuck you like a toy. I want to talk to you like a toy, treat you like one.” Your eyes widen when he says it. His eyes go wide too, drinking in your every microexpression, as he waits for you to respond.

“A toy?”

“Yes.”

“Where did this come from?” you say it with a little smile, and trace your finger along his jawline. He relaxes at the touch.

“I saw the way you reacted during group play. When Jin was talking to you, saying things like, ‘You want to be our slut. You want to be our whore.’” Just hearing Jimin repeating Jin’s words sends a shiver through your body. “He didn’t say it like I would have said it, but I knew he wanted to.” He presses his lips to your ear while his hands rove over your body. “You want to be our toy, don’t you?”

The answer is easy. “Yes.”

“You want to be used by us, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

He chuckles. “That’s what I thought. So tell me. Tell me what you want to be.”

“I want to be your toy.”

“Good.” He grins.

He lets his hand drift down to your underwear again, fingers trailing along the inside the elastic hem before plucking at them once more. He seems to like the way you flinch.

His fingers wander down your skin. He traces your hip, before flicking his fingers beneath the hem that circles your thigh. Slowly, he creeps closer to where you want his fingers most, but before he can touch you, he pulls his fingers away. You nearly groan, and a fleeting grimace crosses your face. Jimin catches it.

“Patience would look so pretty on you,” he says, and the sting of his words is delightful.

“Hmph.”

His fingers continue to explore the thin piece of fabric that separates you from total nudity. They’re not a particularly pretty pair of underwear: they’re nothing more than a tan color brief.

You say as much to Jimin, and tell him you wish you were wearing something sexier. Lace, maybe. Something black.

“True,” he replies. “But you know why I like these?”

“Why?”

“Because I can see you dripping through them.”

You warm at the implication.

“And when I push my cock against them, I’ll see me on them too. I’m a visual man, you know.” He kind of chuckles at that last bit, like it’s some sort of inside joke with himself.

When he drops to his knees, like that first day in the forest with him, you gasp. Finally, finally, he’s going to touch you.

But when his tongue presses against you through the fabric of your underwear, it’s only half the sensation you need from him. Still, it feels good, a gentle warmth spreading through your abdomen as he licks and presses against your clit and vulva.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against you.

“I’m—“

“You’ve soaked your panties through.”

You warm at the thought, such little stimulation getting you so ready for him. You wonder if he’ll fuck you hard and fast or if he’ll take you sweet and slow. If he’ll take his time with you. Whatever he decides to do, you know you’ll be happy to have him fill you as you currently clench and tighten around nothing. It’s an empty feeling that sifts through you.

When he’s thoroughly soaked your underwear with his mouth, he stands and kisses you. You can taste the ghost of yourself on him, and it reminds you of the smell of first summer light hitting the ground at dawn. A space when it is neither day, nor night, but some third plane of existence. Like that, in this moment, you feel like some third kind of creature. Neither yourself entirely, nor Jimin, but some other, third thing that you could only become in his presence. You can feel the shit-eating grin that glides across his lips and presses into yours as he walks backwards, leading you back to the bed.

There’s something different, too, about all of this, about the way he kisses you today. There’s an edge of desperation, of frustration that you can taste on him. His movements are quicker, less languid. His lids are lidded. His breath comes quicker. It’s delightful.

But it’s also brand new. It feels like he has let a part of himself loose from under his usual state of control, and you wonder if your most recent conversation with your friends—where you discussed emotionality and feeling—had anything to do with what he was going through. What he wanted.

An edge of anxiety tickles at your throat as you think of it. Does he want something more?

He seems to notice your hesitation.

“I just want you right now,” he says, as if he’s read your mind. He stops you at the edge of the bed, turns you so that the back of your knees hit the mattress. You’re not sure if he’s a mind reader or what.

You fall back into the bed, Jimin leading you down gently with a hand against your back until you sink into the soft bedding. You can’t help but giggle at the gentleness. Not that you have anything against it, but in this moment you feel anything but a toy. The way he looks at you makes you feel, well, precious.

He breaks his gaze to kiss you again, tongue pressing against your lips.

“Open up for me,” he says. “Like a good kitten—Like a good toy.”

You do as you’ve been told, opening your mouth and letting him swirl his tongue through you, swiping at the roof of your mouth and sending tingles down your spine.

His hands drift down your body before slipping beneath your panties. You glow, so eager for his touch, groaning as his fingers swipe against your clit. Just once. But as if he’s just realized a mistake he’s made, he rapidly pulls his hand out.

“Oops. Got a little caught up.”

You pout. “What, you’re not going to touch me like that? There? At all?”

He pulls back enough to flick his gaze between your eyes and your lips. “Be a good toy and just do what you’re told.”

“Oh?” The bratty part of you flickers and rises up.

He silences you with a kiss, his fingers circling around your clothed entrance before trying to press in through the thin fabric of your underwear. It’s like he’s trying to finger fuck you through the wet cotton, pushing it into you with his fingers. The pressure surely is something, but it’s not even a hint of enough, and you find your hips bucking up against him, seeking more attention, seeking more pressure.

“So needy. So desperate.”

He continues until the yearn within you aches.

“Stop playing,” you gasp. “Just give me your cock. Want you. Want your cock. I’ll be your toy, just–just use me like one.”

“Don’t good toys say please?”

“Please, sir.”

He freezes above you.

“Sir?”

“I—I… It just slipped out!”

He grins. “I kinda like it.” He hums, as if contemplating it, then nods. “And since you’ve asked so nicely—“

Jimin leans back enough to begin unbuttoning his shirt. He takes his time, while the knot in your belly begins to recede. You sit up, eager to help him out of it, but he quickly swats your hands away.

“Patience, kitten.”

You don’t say it, but your crossed arms and pout say, “Fine, sir,” loud and clear. He laughs at your expression.

“Don’t you worry,” he says, tilting your chin up. “I’ve always taken care of you, haven’t I?”

He takes his cock out, stroking it once, twice, his hand gliding expertly over the soft and sensitive skin.

“I’m going to use you like you’re good for.”

“Like I’m good for?” You echo, desperate for him.

“All you’re good for,” he whispers in your ear and the words send a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

With one hand, he takes your ankles and pushes them over your head.

“Hold them.”

He then settles between your legs, hand wrapped tightly around his cock. With a movement that seems far too familiar to him, he slaps your pussy with his hard and dripping cock, and you groan. Fuck.

Lowering himself to you, so your thighs press into his shoulders, he finally aligns his cock with your clothed vulva.

And then with one careful movement, he grinds against you. The simple movement is enough to make you cry out.

“Fuck, Jimin.”

At first it’s slow, his cock pressing against your vulva in rhythmic pulses, your clit. At one point he pulls back and presses the head of his cock to your clothed entrance and presses in.

You whine against him, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He simply returns to continuing his thrusts. You’re just as wet as he is hard, soaking your panties, his precome painting them too.

“Maybe I would have woken you up like this. Wouldn’t you have liked that? Waking up to my hard cock pressing against your clit, me ready to come, just from rutting against you? Wouldn’t that make you happy, to know how good you make me feel?”

You look down to where your bodies are pressed together. His cock rhythmically pokes up, the head dark and heavy. Sometimes though, the head of his cock gets stuck on your underwear, pushing the fabric higher and tighter around you. You groan at the sight.

“Don’t you love how good you make me feel?”

Your hips buck together, finding a desperate, shared rhythm. Your breath, too, matches up.

For a moment, your eyes lock. All you can think about is how damn pretty he looks when he fucks, his dark hair falling into his face, his cheeks flushed, his plush lower lip caught between his teeth. And he looks back.

But then his eyes flicker away from yours.

He fucks you over your panties, murmuring how good of a toy you are for him, how he wishes he could fuck you properly, fill you up.

“Please,” you gasp, desperate for more. “Fuck me.”

“When you behave,” he grunts. “I will.” Another thrust. “When you follow my rules, I will.”

When he comes, he presses the head of his cock to your clit. You can feel it twitching against you as he groans and sighs, his come painting your panties white.

With the head of his cock pressing so rhythmically against your clit, you’ve built up to a delicious pleasure, so close to coming.

“Jimin, Jimin, I’m so close. Please.” Your hips tilt up, searching out the pleasure he keeps denying you.

But Jimin just grins at you and sighs dramatically. His breath still comes a little quickly, he seems a little winded.

“If only you hadn’t been so intent on misbehaving earlier. Maybe I could have let you come.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan, about a second away from throwing your fists on the bed in proper tantrum form. “You’re in charge. You write the rules. Who said you can’t let me come?”

“The rules I wrote say so, actually.”

You huff.

“Well then. Maybe I’ll just have to take care of it myself.”

In a swift action, Jimin leans over you, pinning your hands above your head. Your breath leaves your lungs in a quick gasp.

“Wha—”

“I think you know you’re not even supposed to be thinking about that, let alone doing it.”

You tilt your head.

Jimin laughs, a hint of playful hardness in his voice. “Don’t you remember?” You shake your head. “You’re forgetting all of your promises today, aren’t you? Jin had you promise that you wouldn’t be coming unless it was because of one of us.”

Your eyes widen.

“Shit. I forgot.”

“I know you forgot.”

You throw your head back and groan. “But I thought you said you’d always take care of me.”

“I did. And I do. But sometimes it’s good for you to wait a little for your reward. Today you took your punishment—” He tilts your head up so you’re looking at him and the pout that had taken over your face fades a little. “And tomorrow, I’ll give you your reward.”

You roll your eyes.

“Fine.”

“You think you can do that? Wait until tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” You sigh.

“You’re so good for me,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips. His hands glide down to your hips, dipping beneath the band and you think, oh, maybe he’ll do it now. But your hopes are quickly dashed when he tugs on them and says, “Maybe it was a good thing I had you wear these afterall.” He shimmies your come-stained underwear down your thighs. “Easy cleanup.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, always surprised when Jimin’s practical side pops out alongside his gregariousness. But he balls the panties up, and before tossing them into the laundry basket near the door, holds them up in his hand, shaking them, as if directing attention to them.

“I should remind you why I asked you to do this?”

“I know why you asked me to. You liked the secret of it—?” You think back to what he had said to you, all those days ago, though it feels like a lifetime ago:

“I like walking around, knowing I’m the only one who has your sweetness on my tongue. I love talking to the others while getting to taste you still. Getting to remember the way you squirm underneath my touch. I do it because I want to.”

You still shiver, thinking of those words. But that had been before everyone knew about you and Jimin.

“I did like the secret of it,” Jimin says, breaking through your reverie. “But there’s more than that, too.”

You raise an eyebrow, prompting him to go on.

“There’s knowing you do it for me.”

He grins, before strutting to the bathroom. You watch his ass as he goes. Plump, you think. When he returns, he’s cleaned up and still grinning. Mulling on what he’s said—”for me”—an image of all eight of you on the living room floor arises. What are the boundaries between one person and another with this set up? What are the lines? What is owed? Your head spins, and you settle into the pillow. You’re still humming in the sensation of your dwindling pleasure, receding far away from your orgasm, and you sigh.

“If the only way people are going to punish one another around here is by giving them blue balls, I’m going to get tired reeeeal quick,” you murmur to yourself.

“Is that so?” Jimin says from behind you as he collects your clothes. “If that’s the case, we better start coming up with new forms of punishment.”

“Yes, maybe you should,” you say, mock-grouchily.

“I’ll start thinking up new and innovative ways. Maybe I’ll consult Jin—he seems creative when it comes to this stuff—especially if you’re going to be so quick to forget what you promised him.” He helps you into your clothes again, but remains naked himself.

“But—”

“No buts.” He seals your silence with a kiss. “Just do what you’re told.” The statement stings through you like a bolt of electricity. As much as you hate to admit it, you love when he tells you what to do. Even if you love fighting against it just as much. “You know why you should do what you’re told?” He continues, as he kisses down your throat.

“Why?”

“Because then I can reward you. I can make you come again and again until you’re crying to stop, or hold you at the edge long enough that when you’re finally ready to tip over, it’s the best fucking orgasm in your whole life.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Are you saying you’re the best fuck of my life?”

“No. Not yet. But I can be.” He pulls away from you enough to see the shit-eating grin on your face.

“I think some of your friends might fight you for that position.”

“Maybe they should.”

“Maybe they should what?” a voice comes from the door.

“Hoseok—”

Hoseok stands in the doorway, a confused look on his face. You imagine what he must be seeing, a naked Jimin in bed, and you, now entirely naked, too, now that Jimin stripped you of your panties, tangled up in each other.

“What’s going on here?” Hoseok asks.

“Do you really want to know?” Jimin asks.

“Um. Not really.” Then his gaze focuses on you. He lingers on your face, reading you, trying to figure you out. But then he catches himself. “Uh, maybe I should come back later.”

“No!” you say, perhaps a little too eagerly, sitting up. “What is it?”

“I just was looking for you,” Hoseok says, a little shyly. “I was hoping to steal you away.”

“Let me get dressed.”

You stand up, and pull your clothes back on, noting how Hoseok’s gaze flickers to you just in time to see you pull on your leggings without any panties on underneath.

Jimin sits up quickly, pulling a pillow over his crotch for the sake of Hoseok’s modesty. “Just so you know—if you’re going to go together—I already said that if someone was going to wear panties that someone wasn’t going to be able to come.” He turns to you. “So don’t you go running off to lover boy, thinking you can get your rocks off.” Jimin turns his attention back to Hobi. “This one is very much not allowed to come. At least for the rest of the day.”

Hoseok coughs.

“Oh, I, uh, I wasn’t, I wasn’t presuming.”

“Yes you were, asshole,” Jimin laughs. “We’re all presuming.”

Hoseok flushes red all the way to the tips of his ears at the implication, but you find it charming.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hoseok says.

You glance at Jimin, who leans back with his hands laced behind his head. He looks like the perfect image of relaxation and… is that pride? There’s a soft smile curving at the corner of his lip, a kind of jesting smirk.

“Go on,” Jimin says. “I’m already taken care of.”

You roll your eyes.

“Asshole.”

But you stand and make your way to Hoseok nonetheless.

“You have time?” he asks.

“I have all the time in the world.”

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mystic-writings · 1 year

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sneak out | jess mariano

PAIRING — jess mariano x fem!gilmore!reader SUMMARY — minutes into your mother’s dinner party, jess suggests you sneak out through your bedroom window - and you can’t help but agree WARNINGS — fluff, jess and reader being ‘troubled’ teens, a bit of angst, reader venting WORD COUNT — 2,322 NOTES — the idea of lorelai having a teen that was just like her is so appealing to me idk why - also would you believe me if i told you i listened to yung gravy while writing the majority of this fic

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You weren’t sure which was worse - the dinner your mother was hosting, or the idea that you now had to put up with a whole night of Luke’s strange nephew, whom you’d never met before.

Of course, you loved your family to pieces, and you loved Sookie and Jackson; hell, sometimes you looked at Luke as more of a father than you did your actual dad, but having everyone together for what you knew would be at least a three course meal, under one roof, with Luke’s mysterious nephew from New York, just felt draining.

So, to preserve what little social battery you had left for the day, you decided to spend the time between school and dinner in your room upstairs with a good book and a cd playing from the player that sat on your dresser at a low volume. You had to change the cd twice, first from one of your mothers Bangles cds to a Smiths one, but just as you were enjoying the beginning of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust album (and nearly finishing up your book), did you hear the clanging of pots and pans from downstairs, as well as Sookie and Jackson’s lighthearted bickering.

You managed to bury yourself back into your book, one leg crossed loosely over the other outstretched one as you half-sat, half-laid on your bed, being mindful of your shoes so as to not get any dirt on your covers.

From downstairs, Jess was wandering around the Gilmore home as everyone else did whatever they were doing in the kitchen, internally monologuing and half-mocking their decor. He’d met Rory already, and she seemed like a nice enough girl. Enjoyed books. But he had yet to meet the third and final Gilmore girl, who so far had only been mentioned. However, as Jess scanned the various photographs on the mantle, he could hear the faint guitar of Suffragette City emanating from somewhere upstairs.

After peeking down the hallway to make sure no one was watching, Jess smirked and snuck up the stairs, into what was surely off-limits territory for someone like him. Still, he took the stairs two at a time and stealthily, managing to avoid all the places that would creak in a house like this one, despite never stepping foot inside beforehand. He followed the music down the hall, past some more paintings and pictures, to another bedroom. The door was open, and he was able to take a look inside. Posters covered most of the wall, leaving little space to show off the paint beneath them. Bookshelves occupied the wall right beside the door, and similarly to Rory’s room, they looked stuffed to the brim with books.

On the bed, facing him, was the person he assumed to be the final Gilmore girl - Rory’s twin sister. He watched intently, scanning every feature of your focused face as you scanned the final pages of the book you were reading. How your brow furrowed, eyes locked on the ink before you. The way the foot that hung off the edge of the bed was moving to the beat of the song.

Once Jess had decided that he’d been watching you long enough to constitute stalking, and how that was probably extremely creepy, he nudged the door open with a creak and stepped inside, clearing his throat and pulling his lips into a slight smirk. “Hey there, Ziggy.”

At first, you thought that your mother was finally calling you down to dinner, until you heard the unusually male - and entirely unfamiliar - voice come from the body in your doorway. Tucking a receipt into your book to mark your place, you glared over at the boy standing in your room with his hands behind his back, smugness rolling off of him in waves as he admired your room.

“You’re Jess, aren’t you.” Your flat tone seemed to amuse him.

“How nice, you already know my name. I’m flattered.”

You watched him as he walked around your room, over to the window where your desk was, trying to figure him out as he peeled back your curtains. “It’s impossible to not know someone’s name in this town, even someone who’s only been here for 28 hours.”

He chuckled. “Nice one, Ziggy. Now tell me, why aren’t you downstairs with the rest of the freakshow? I mean, they are your family, after all, aren’t they?”

You pretended to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Sorry to break it to you, Mariano, but I’ve been banned from the freakshow. Apparently having apathy toward any sort of Gilmore humour is forbidden, and they’ve locked me away forever.”

“Aw, so sorry to hear that.” Jess mocked, placing a hand over his heart with an exaggerated pout. “I can’t believe they shunned such a ray of sunshine.” He smirked at your rolled eyes. “No, really, you must be a real treat at parties.”

“Quit it, Mariano. Is there a reason you came up here or did you just want to cause enough trouble to get kicked out of our beloved Stars Hollow? Because if so, you came to the right girl.”

Jess’ brow quirked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you heaved a dramatic sigh, slipping off your bed to walk over to Jess. “But it’s like… 9pm on a Wednesday. In Stars Hollow. Even if I wanted to cause trouble, and I don’t, because I did enough of that at school today, there’s nothing to do. Everyone’s asleep, and I’m pretty sure our 24-hour mini-mart closed like, half an hour ago.”

Now it was Jess’ turn to roll his eyes. “Your sister said that already. Is there seriously nothing to do here?”

“Nope.” You shrugged, just as a thought came to mind. “Well… there is one thing…” Jess’ eyebrows raised at the prospect of having something fun to do, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not anything revolutionary, you know.”

“Still, give me something, anything, to get us out of here, Ziggy. I’m begging you. I’m being suffocated by the stale air of suburban life.”

You nodded, tapping your fingers on your thigh. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But you gotta do one thing for me.”

“What is it? I’ll do anything, I swear.”

“Stop calling me Ziggy.” You said. “It’s a stupid nickname, and although I admire the fact that you listen to David Bowie enough to come up with a nickname like that one, I hate it. Call me by my actual name.”

“Well I would, if I knew it.”

“My mother never told you my name?” You asked with a raised brow. “She never shuts up about me and Rory, I’m surprised you never caught it.”

“Apparently, I didn’t. It seems she likes talking about Rory more.” Jess shrugged. “At least, around me she does.” He barely caught the slight sag of your shoulders, the drop in your demeanour, before you picked it back up and smiled.

“Well, Jess. I’m Y/n. Y/n Gilmore.” After a pause, you looked around and snagged a sweater from the chair in the corner of your room. “Now, if you’ll follow me, let’s go have as much fun as we’re able to in Stars Hollow at night.”

Jess waited impatiently behind you as you unlatched the window by your desk and pushed it up, slipping through and holding it open for him. As he clamoured out, you grabbed the rock underneath the window and placed it on the windowsill, lowering the window so you’d still be able to get back in later.

You could still hear the tail end of the album playing as Jess looked around.

“How are we supposed to get down?”

“The trellis, obviously.” You said, carefully making your way across the porch’s roof to the trellis right next to the kitchen window. “Just don’t make much noise, this thing is right next to the kitchen’s window and if we get caught we’re screwed. Follow my lead, and run when you hit the ground, got it?”

“Got it.”

Scaling down the trellis was basically second nature to you, but you made sure to look up every once in a while to make sure Jess was doing okay. He seemed to be, which comforted you somehow. You waited at the bottom for him, making sure to stay out of view of the window to the kitchen and the edge of the porch, which were on either side of the trellis, and could possibly get both you and Jess grounded.

When he landed, he looked at you, and a dish clattered in the kitchen. You both snapped to the window, then back to each other. On instinct, you took his hand and ran toward the woods.

“Where the hell are we going?!” Jess whisper-shouted.

“Relax!” You whisper-shouted back, slowing to a stop as soon as you were hidden in the tree line. “We’re not going into the woods, dumbass. What do you think would’ve happened if we waltzed out in the open in front of the living room window?”

Jess only sighed and nodded, letting go of your hand. He let you lead him through the trees, keeping the light of the house close to you, walking around the garage and past all the cars, waiting until Babette’s house was out of sight until you stepped back onto the road.

The walk was calm and quiet, crickets and the breeze occupying you instead of chatter. After a while, when you were beginning to reach the town centre, Jess spoke up. “So, what now?”

You shrugged. “Not sure. Usually I head to the lake, bring a book, or a cd player and some headphones. I don’t normally bring people with me, you know?”

Jess nodded, lips slightly pursed. The walk continued through the town, passing by shop after shop, all of them closed for the night. You had to admit, you weren’t used to taking walks like these, out in the open. Normally you’d find whichever path kept you out of the possible sight of the townspeople, a habit you developed after Taylor snitched on you to your mother after he caught you walking to the lake by the Inn when you were 12. Still, it was nice, and even if you were caught, you somehow didn’t seem to mind it.

As the buildings were fading again and you knew you were approaching the lake, you checked your watch. 9:27pm. You sighed, and Jess looked at you. Dropping your arm, you shook your head. “Almost 9:30. They definitely have to know something’s up at home. Probably sending out a search party by now.” You told him, before shrugging. “Or, you know, miraculously, they forgot we existed and are eating Sookie’s delicious no-allergen, fourteen course meal as we speak.”

Jess scoffed. “Yeah, right. Luke might not care that much, but Lorelai? She seems like the world’s most protective parent.”

“She is.” You confirmed, sitting on your usual bench, eyes following Jess as he sat next to you. “Trust me, I love her to death, but it gets annoying sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, at least you have a protective mom.” Jess’ hands gripped the edge of the bench, his body hunched forward, making him look small, ready to run at a moment’s notice. “Mine decided I wasn’t worth the effort. Shipped me off to this… circus show without so much as a ‘sayonara, kid.’ You’re lucky.”

You frowned. Everyone knew within the hour of him arriving in Stars Hollow that Jess was a troubled kid, but even troubled kids deserved parents that cared. He was right, though, you were lucky. It just didn’t feel like it.

“I know I’m lucky, Jess, but it’s not all rainbows for me, you know.”

“Oh yeah? How?” He scoffed. “You have the perfect life, Y/n. A mom that cares, a great twin sister - hell, even Luke sings your praises.”

“Luke sings?”

Jess rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s not like that all the time, Jess.” You sighed. “My ‘great’ twin sister is, apparently, so great that she has all eyes on her at all times. My grandparents are always so proud of her for being so smart and planning this amazing, expensive, studious future - they’re planning on funding it, too, from the sounds of things. I just want to live, you know?” You kicked a rock with your shoe, avoiding Jess’ concerned gaze.

“And my mother seems more concerned about her wellbeing than mine, closer to her than to me. But somehow she wonders why I’m the troubled one. I mean, I act out, I barely go to that stupid prep school because it’s so suffocating, and I got an eyebrow piercing without permission instead of taking a calculus test last month, which I’m just getting out of that punishment. Everyone’s so focused on Rory and how seemingly great she is, I don’t even remember the last time I was appreciated for anything. And don’t even get me started on my dad.”

“Sounds like these freaks don’t know a good person when they see one.” Jess told you. “You seem chill. Adventurous, too. But just because you aren’t appreciated doesn’t mean you aren’t good enough.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You too, Jess.” The world quieted around you for a moment, stars shining off the rippling waters of the lake. “But we don’t need to be good enough for them. Just good enough for us.”

He smiled, nodding once at you. Again, you appreciated the silence with him, watching the water or the sky. It wouldn’t be long until Luke and your mother found you both, you with your head on his shoulder and one knee bent to your chest, laughing quietly at a joke he told as you continued to get to know one another. But that was later. For now, you simply sat and watched the water, wishing the moment could last for the rest of your lives.

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updownlately · 10 months

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i want you to be (the only one for me)

| leah williamson x reader | angst | 10.3k | a/n: part II of this fic based on this ask! thank you guys for all your lovely messages on the first part! two months later and we finally got a part two 😅. huge huge s/o to @rockyren for beta reading this! hopefully you guys like this one as much as the first! happy reading! 🫶 (read part i here)

~~~

Two days.

Two days is all it took for Leah to realize how miserable she was.

If the blonde thought that you being distant earlier was painful, then she was sorely unready for how bad your actual absence would hurt.

There was something utterly unsettling in the way the car seemed so empty as she’d entered it, a lump in her throat forming as her drives to and from practice were now blanketed with silence, a stark contrast to the music-filled joyrides she would have with you.

From what used to be one hand casually on the steering wheel with the other firmly intertwined with yours was now both hands tightly gripping the steering, knuckles nearly white as they resisted the urge to reach out into the nothingness to her left, to the ghost of your presence, a taunting reminder of what she had and then lost.

Trips that were once accompanied by your shared laughter and obnoxious singing now consisted of pure quiet, the radio long since on mute. Jaw clenched as her eyes would, without fail, get misty each time she sat in the driver’s seat, the empty seat beside her remained a constant reminder of how you’d left.

The drastic change left her feeling hollow, chest wound up so tight as the space in the car felt like too much and too little- felt like it was wrong for the blonde to be here without you sitting in the passenger seat- in your seat.

She could almost imagine your presence, having become so accustomed to it over the past months.

Now, every time her hand mindlessly wandered over to blindly reach for yours, all she was met with was cool air and an aching heart, a shuddering breath escaping her as reality came crashing down.

And if the car rides hurt, god the way her chest constricted as she’d return to an empty apartment each evening was another story.

It was as if the hand around her heart was tightening with every passing second as she’d walk through the dark apartment, the weight on her shoulders heavier with each footfall of hers.

Only her kitbag to be placed by the door. Just a single pair of trainers on the shoe rack. No trailing body behind her own as she’d enter- the once lively four walls now barren, devoid of emotion.

With just her pair of footsteps echoing throughout, only dinner for one to be sorted, grief buried itself in her chest as she flicked on the tv, mindlessly scrolling, shaky breaths escaping as your half finished nature documentaries taunted her on the ‘continue watching’ list.

Sure, it felt wrong to be here, in your apartment, without you, but she didn’t think she could bear to return to her house, to return to a place where pieces of you didn’t exist- at least not as much as they did here.

There were snippets of you tucked everywhere in the apartment. In the coffee table that held an ever growing stack of sticky notes you’d never read.

In the records that were nestled away neatly under the tv, your favourites jutting out slightly, something you justified with the words ‘easy access’ and a smirk as the blonde would complain about them looking messy.

In the way Leah couldn’t find it in herself to close the blinds, memories of you standing by the large windows overlooking the city at all hours of the day playing painfully in her mind whenever she tried.

And yes, of course there were remnants of you scattered throughout because this was your apartment, but there were also chunks of you because it was your apartment- because you being you, you loved so hard, so unconditionally, so unabashedly, that it couldn’t help but seep into the walls, into the worn-out book covers and spines, into the cushion that permanently rested against the arm of the couch, your tendency to lay on the couch post practice practically a ritual now.

Love couldn’t help but bury itself in every little thing, each item precious and cared for deeply.

There were hints of you tucked into every inch inside these four walls and Leah couldn’t help but grasp at them in a futile attempt to hold on to your love- love she didn’t know if she’d ever get the chance to be bathed in again.

So with tiredness buried in her chest, Leah tried her best, collecting her grief quietly as she’d see your favourite mug on the drying rack. Another ounce of it bundled deep in her heart when she couldn’t bring herself to cook in the mornings, too many memories of breakfasts you’d cook as the blonde would be draped across your back lazily as you hummed a song only you’d know.

With a hole in her heart, she’d gotten up these past few mornings, choosing to head to a nearby cafe instead of entering the kitchen- the cold sheets that met her hand as she’d instinctively reached across the bed already ruining her a day that had barely started.

She didn’t want to talk about how she went out of her way to head to the bakery slightly farther from your house, purposely going past the store nearby that you both frequented often. How she avoided it like the plague since you had left because she didn’t think she could order there without a tear or two falling, silently crying as she ordered.

So while the ghost of you haunted her, as she lived in an home that was yours but a shell without your presence, she quietly begged the universe to convince you to come back, hoping, praying, waiting endlessly for a chance to mend things, because, if she was honest, nothing felt okay, nothing felt right ever since you had left- ever since you weren’t there to love the blonde anymore.

~~~

Before the blonde knew it, it had been a little over three days of your absence.

Three days of Leah quietly letting her heart constrict a bit more, the smile on her face becoming tenser, more forced.

Seventy two hours of the blonde looking at your contact in her phone, the number staring back at her tauntingly, daring her to dial it.

Four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes of contemplating whether she should send a text or a call. She didn’t want to pressure you, or worse, make you any more upset.

Sighing to herself before locking her phone for the millionth time today, she tossed it to the side, head falling ungracefully into her hands.

With every passing second you were gone, with each minute she spent alone, in an empty apartment that didn’t feel like home, the heart of it gone the second you had sped out of the parking lot days ago, it felt as if her world was slowly crashing down, her unable to do anything but watch in horror at the destruction occurring around her.

The most she had seen you since was the practice this morning, you appearing on the pitch mere seconds before it had started, an anomaly considering you’d often be in earlier than needed, wanting to do some of your own warm-ups before practice. It’s one of the things you and the blonde agreed on, her never needing much convincing to join you.

Today though, there you were, seconds before you had to be, once energetic, now quietly running through the drills as you hung your head low, coasting by, avoiding Leah’s piercing staring.

You ignored the way she shuffled closer to you, inconspicuously taking a step back each time she got nearer.

You did your best not to shiver as you felt her gaze on you multiple times throughout the two-hour long practice, a shaky breath escaping you as you realized the roles were reversed from the day in the club- except you both were hurting.

And as much as a piece of you craved to gather the other girl in your embrace and take the brokenness out of her dull orbs, you knew you couldn’t- not with the way she had grasped your heart and let it fall so many times before, the poor thing nearly shattered into pieces by now- bits you cradled so gently now as they cut you, doing your best to put them together, scars littering your hands.

Even if you wanted to comfort the midfielder, you couldn’t find it in yourself to, for your own sake, for your own sanity.

And, in your defence, while you had a very likely feeling that Leah wasn’t doing great, her dark eye bags anything to go by, you weren’t okay right now either.

You’d been crashing with Steph since you had left the game that day, and it hadn’t been pretty if you were honest.

Having spent the better part of the first twenty-four hours newly single cooped up in the spare bedroom, you’d been cocooned in one of the fluffiest blankets the defender could find, an old Arsenal hoodie of Leah’s that you kept in the trunk of you car fitted on your frame and matching your bloodshot eyes.

It was only the second night that you had even left the room, head aching from the never-ending tears, blotchy cheeks and swollen eyes, a dead giveaway of your heartbroken state.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Hell, it wasn’t supposed to end at all.

But you didn’t know how many more ‘maybes’ you could take.

How many more times you could handle taking a photo with the blonde only to be quietly asked not to post it anywhere.

How many times you could watch as she acted like she was single, only to join you in your bed when night fell and there was nobody but the two of you to witness it.

You’d been grateful that while Steph had been shocked to find out about your relationship with the English skipper, she hadn’t said a word to anyone else, taking somewhat of an older sister role, immediately protective of you.

It’s why no one questioned the distance between you and Leah, more than accustomed to how you both would only sometimes interact, blissfully unaware of the rift between the two of you, only the left-back in the loop.

So you hid behind Steph throughout the practice that morning, dodging each and every single attempt Leah made to talk to you, counting down the minutes until it would be over so you could escape.

Communicating with the others only as much as you needed to, you ran the drills, grateful that your position as a winger meant you didn’t see much of Leah.

It was only when it came to five-a-side did you interact with her, keeping it minimal as you quietly asked Lina to switch, you now attacking on the right instead of your usual left to lessen your contact with the blonde.

You held your breath as Jonas announced the teams for five-a-side, only letting it go when play had started and the two of you were on different teams.

And as you walked to the other side, trading spots, you couldn’t help but take a brief glance at the skipper, immediately turning your head to the side as you saw her face fall, the smallest hints of hurt flashing through her eyes, unrecognisable to everyone but you.

Pressing your arms tightly to your sides, hands clenched into fists as they fought to reach out, you did your best to focus on the movement of the ball.

Watching it be passed around in front of you, you begged your mind to figure out the lapses in the defence, only for your gaze to fall on the blonde and your mind to go wandering yet again.

It wasn’t fair that someone could look so beautiful even after sweating for nearly two hours.

Closing your eyes as the thought ran through your mind, you took a deep breath in before trying to refocus on the game, willing for your heart to get it together.

How was it fair that even broken up she still had this effect on you, playing with your heart strings ever so teasingly.

You knew loving her had been hard, but you’d never known breaking up with her would’ve been even harder.

Sighing as you got passed the ball, you did your best to stay professional, your broken heart hidden carefully away with the rest of your relationship- a secret heartbreak for a secret relationship, how cruelly fitting.

~~~

It’s later that same day that Leah’s patiently waiting at home for your return.

She had hoped that maybe you had changed your mind by now, or at least maybe have decided to swing by in order to grab a change of clothes, or do laundry, or maybe grab that book you had started a week ago.

Really, something- anything- that meant that she’d get to see you. Anything so that she could fix what she had broken.

You’d been miles away from the blonde at practice and Leah couldn’t remember the last time she felt so small.

Sure, she’d met with multiple sports personalities, royalty, execs of some of the biggest companies for partnerships but she couldn’t recall the last time she felt so out of place.

The absence of your mere presence beside her, brought the defender a sense of unrest she didn’t know existed. She’d gotten used to having your constant presence around her, a quiet love that manifested itself as relief, any tension almost immediately slipping away whenever you were near the blonde.

With it gone, all Leah could do was sit in agony, searching for a sense of comfort that she knew she wouldn’t find.

Hands balled into fists as she sat on the couch, an old UWCL game playing on the TV, her notebook long forgotten as was her attempt to distract herself by taking notes, the blonde let herself fall back into the couch, palms of her hand harshly pressing into her eyes.

Three days.

Three days had passed with you not here and Leah was an absolute wreck.

Leg bouncing anxiously, a half-eaten takeout haphazardly tossed into the fridge, hair a mess from the countless times she had ran her hand through it, the blonde was on edge, perking up at the tiniest sounds she heard, hoping that one of them would be you.

But as hours passed, afternoon turning to dusk, dusk to night, Leah sat on the couch, no sign of your return in the distance.

Fuck.

~~~

Five days.

That’s how long it took for Leah to come to terms with the fact that she was, in fact, in the wrong.

Five long, lonesome days is what it took for her to realize that there was a difference between private and secret.

To realize that maybe if she’d been confident enough to keep it private, you’d still be here, in your apartment, in her arms.

That maybe if she hadn’t been terrified of what people would say, or the focus that would be placed on you both, she wouldn’t be alone right now, heart in pieces, body exhausted, no thanks to herself.

If she was honest, these past few days had given her more than plenty of time to realize she didn’t want to lose you. You were the best parts of her. You loved the worst parts of her and still stayed.

Yet, here she was, about to push you away with her stubbornness- so stuck in protecting her identity, her career, her future, herself, she blissfully ignored that she’d been hurting you the whole time.

It’s why, even though it was nearly quarter past twelve the night before another training day, the blonde sat in the bed with her laptop in her hands as her eyebrows furrowed at the screen.

Sighing in an attempt to fend off the oncoming tears, she rubbed furiously at her eyes.

After having convinced herself it wasn’t a good idea to ring up your friends and the teammates you helped close in an attempt to find you, the midfielder had settled upon planning on how she could convince you to give her another chance.

It’s sometime between figuring out whether she should bring you your favourite to practise, wary of the other girl’s reactions, that the defender’s phone buzzes, jolting her out of focus.

Heart leaping at the thought that it might be you, the blonde scrambles to find her phone in the mess of sheets.

Paper’s flying as dug underneath to locate the source of the vibrations, she could feel her heart pounding, nearly rising to her throat as she pulled her phone from beneath the papers.

Lia.

The three letters was all it took for her heart to break again, shoulder’s dropping as her stomach sank.

Dejectedly hitting swiping to open the notification, she swallowed hard as she scanned the message, Lia asking whether they were still on for breakfast before practice tomorrow- somewhat of a ritual over the past few months, every few weeks before late morning training a recent tradition for the two to catch up.

Eyes flickering between the pages strewn across the bed and the tabs mockingly facing her on the laptop screen, the words nearly typed themselves as Leah watched.

‘Can’t. Got plans. Sorry.’

She had more important plans tomorrow….namely to get her shit together and get you back.

Not bothering to wait for a reply, mind already determined, she threw her phone away and let herself fall back into the head, praying that the gamble she was about to take would work.

She could only hope.

~~~

Five days.

Five days without a single text, a single phone call, a single voicemail.

Leah had five days and you had zero indication that maybe she ever even wanted you at all.

Sighing to yourself as you dropped the phone onto the couch beside you, you could feel Steph’s judgemental stare.

“You could just call her, y’know? Phones work both ways…”

Eyes shooting over from where you were looking out the window, you shrugged your shoulders in response, a cold shiver running through you, mind a mess.

“I could…but why…”

Swallowing to hold back the tears that you knew were coming, you shifted in your seat in an attempt to get rid of the anxiousness in your spine.

“I could, but she’s had the time to as well. She’s had five whole days for fuck’s sake. And what did I get in that time? A text? A call? Any indication that maybe she misses me? Misses our relationship? That it meant anything to her? None. Not a single one Steph.”

Closing your eyes as you felt your heart clench as the words that had been floating around in your mind finally rang through the quiet house, you clenched your hand in a fist.

Wiping away the one tear that had escaped with your other hand, you took a shuddering breath before continuing.

“I’ve spent the last two weeks wondering if I was ever good enough for her- if I ever meant anything to her. Two weeks telling myself that maybe she cared an ounce of what I do. That she actually wanted me in her life, in her future.”

“And you know what? You know what Steph? I don’t think she does. I don’t think so. Because maybe, maybe, if this all meant anything to her, something to her, I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you right now. Maybe she’d be with me. I’d be in my apartment, with her, wrapped up beside her. But I’m not. I’m not and she’s not the one beside me. She’s not, and I think that’s telling enough.”

Breathing heavily, your heart pounding as you felt it constrict, you did your best to swallow the lump in your throat and pick your book back up.

And as Steph stayed quiet, you silently wondered if you ever meant anything to the blonde, the question continuing to haunt you as quiet voices in your mind answered with resounding ‘no’s’.

~~~

The drive the next morning to practice is silent, but Leah’s mind isn’t.

Variations of apologies are floating through, the blonde testing the ones she likes out loud, wincing as they gradually sounded worse and worse.

I’m sorry that I didn’t treat you right.

I’m sorry that I hurt you so many times…give me one more chance?

I’m sorry for being a daft.

Inwardly sighing at how dumb the last one sounded, she shook her own head.

Maybe she’d just let the moment guide her, let her heart say the words. Surely it couldn’t go wrong, right?

You’d always been a sucker for romantic, heartfelt confessions, constantly swooning when the two of you would watch romance movies, you nudging the blonde and making little comments whenever the lead actor did anything chivalrous.

Taking a handful of deep breaths as she pulled into the parkade, the blonde parked swiftly as she noted the time.

Fifty-three minutes before practice…surely you were going to be here soon.

Armed with her kitbag, cleats, two coffees, and a small bouquet of sunflowers- your favourite- Leah trudged inside, face set in a determined glare, quietly glad that no one else was here yet.

~~~

At this point, Leah figured that if you even showed up at all, it’d be a miracle.

There was something humiliating about sitting in an empty locker room, bouquet of flowers in hand, two coffees, and only one person.

If Leah looked hard enough at the ground, she was sure she’d find the piece of her breaking heart there.

She’d been hopeful as she had entered the room, fifty-one minutes before anyone was due to show up, six minutes before you typically used to show up.

By the forty-fourth minute before practice, she wondered if you’d hit traffic on the way in, or maybe lost your trainer (you had an uncanny habit of losing just one- don’t ask Leah how, she didn’t know either, but she found it for you each time).

By the thirty-seventh, doubt started to creep in.

What if you were finally, truly done with her shit.

What if that last game had unknowingly been your last straw- her last chance.

What if you’d finally given up and moved teams because of the blonde.

Maybe you’d found someone else.

As each thought got more ridiculous than the previous, anxiety creeping up her neck, Leah could feel herself sink further into her own locker, her coffee long gone, yours nearly frozen.

At the twenty third minute, cutting it close to when the rest of the girls were about to come in, the skipper picked up the flowers and her own broken heart, placing the bundle gently at the bottom of your locker in a desperate plea that maybe you’d see she wanted you back. That she was willing to try.

Pouring out the last of your coffee in the sink as loud voices of fellow teammates neared, the blonde quietly tucked away the sinking feeling in her stomach, holding her breath as she strained her ears to find your voice.

If not before practice, then she’d catch you afterwards. She needed to.

Silently hoping you’d see the little note she’d tucked in the flowers, a failsafe she had ready (thank God), the blonde plastered a fake smile as the door to the locker room swung open, making her way to her own locker as she greeted everyone but the one person she wanted to see the most.

She didn’t know how long she had left, and most definitely didn’t want to test it out.

~~~

Cursing to yourself, you sprinted into the change room just minutes before practice started, nearly crashing into the door before you just barely managed to get it open.

God, you were late.

You’d come in separately this morning, foregoing riding with Steph to instead look at new apartments this morning.

Since the night you’d broken up with the other girl, you hadn’t yet visited your home once, not yet ready to face the harsh reality that no overconfident blonde defender would be deftly coming and going as she pleased.

Coupled with the fact that too many memories that you couldn’t bear to recall would haunt you if you ever returned, you’d decided late last night that going back to your old apartment was a definite no.

You were pretty sure that you wouldn’t be able to enter the apartment without wanting to instinctively remind Leah to rack her shoes properly as she entered behind you, the blonde often opting for kicking them off regardless of the innumerable times you told her off for it.

And you definitely couldn’t enter your own kitchen, memories of failed dinners as you’d to teach the blonde to cook, the two of you always eventually ending up somehow distracted, food overcooked or burnt as the blonde would try to stifle a laugh at your incredulous expression, before you’d burst out in laughter as well, reaching for the take out pamphlets.

The bedroom was most surely off limits too, countless, countless, nights of the two of you spent late into the morning talking about nothing and everything, sometimes just holding each other in silence as you bathed in the other’s presence.

Walking through the halls would be a whole ordeal of itself as well, pictures of the two scattered throughout, pictures that the others had never seen because Leah would beg you to take them down the few times you had people over.

It’s that final thought that had you clenching your jaw hard, your eyes narrowing as you made your way over to your locker.

Cautiously setting your kit bag on your seat, your head tilted to the side as you took in the easily recognizable yellow petals that sat at the bottom of your cubby.

Only one person knew that you were a sucker for sunflowers, one person who’d just recently broke your heart.

Holding your breath, you reached towards the bouquet, the card stock jutting out of it begging to be read.

‘i’m sorry for how many times i’ve hurt you. you probably don’t want to hear from me and that’s fair but i want you to know i’m sorry and i want to do whatever it is i need to to fix us. i still love you and i can’t think of a future where i’m happy and you’re not in it. i probably don’t deserve it, but could i please get one more chance? i promise i won’t let you down. - yours, lw’

Eyes tracing over the words, all you could think was why now? Why written out? Surely, she could’ve said the words aloud to you if she’d truly meant them, having more than enough time over the past week, and really the past couple months of your relationship. Why was it that even though they were expressed, did your relationship still feel like a dirty secret- a small card tucked in the flowers that could be from anyone, signed with initials rather than a name.

And how were you supposed to believe her this time having heard these words countless times before? How many promises were you going to watch her break? Each and every time, why was it you giving her another chance to break your heart again and again, letting her stomp all over what was already broken, brutally smashed and beaten by no one other than her.

Surely you deserved better- better than a couple of flowers shoved deep into the bottom of your locker, accompanied by a card that was nothing more than ink on some paper.

Shaking your head to pull yourself out of the spiral you were going down, you tossed the card back onto the bouquet, instead bringing your focus back to getting ready for the training that you were more than definitely late for now.

You were a strong believer of second chances- but for your own sanity, it’d be better if you stopped now, at the thirtieth or so that it was- one too many to have kept count.

~~~

It’s you running sprints at the end of practice, the understandable punishment you’d received for being late, the rest of the girls slowly filling out as Leah tried to find some excuse, any excuse really, that she could stay back and wait for you.

She’s grasping at nothing, sputtering an incomprehensible reason to Lia as the Swiss is pulling her by the arm, inside.

With the brunette only tightening her hold as she disagreed, Leah had no option but to dejectedly follow.

“Nope, no. Not today, you cancelled on me....you better have a good reason.”

It was just the blonde’s luck that Lia thought the defender was avoiding her, trying to stay back so she wouldn’t be questioned on missing breakfast.

Unbeknownst to her though, if to no one else, it was clear as day to Lia that something had occurred within the past few days between the two of you.

She wasn’t blind to the way her work wife suddenly seemed ever so slightly disconnected during training, mind seemingly eons away- a surprise considering the blonde prided herself on giving 110%, even during practice.

Combined with the way you’d stormed off a few days ago and the nil interactions the two of you had had as of late- something she didn’t think was just a mere coincidence- she figured that right now, you deserved your space, and Leah likely a telling off, if the fact that your sunshine mood was in the dumps and the blonde exuded waves of nervousness was anything of a sign.

Somehow managing to wrangle her English counterpart away from the field, Lia led the blonde away from the locker rooms, instead choosing a secluded hallway near the back ends of the stadium to confront her.

Turning around sharply once she deemed they’d walked far away enough, Lia fixed the other girl with a questioning stare, her best captain’s stare if she said so herself.

“So what’s really going on?”

Swallowing hard at the accusing question, Leah contemplated telling the truth for just a second.

It would make it easier…

“What do you mean?” Instead, feigning innocence- not wanting anyone involved in the mess she created, she tilted her head in faux confusion.

Confusion that the Swiss woman could see right through.

“Cut the bullshit. You and I both know there’s something going on…You can either waste both our time denying it until I eventually go and ask her…or you can tell me and we can at least get somewhere. And I know which one I’d pick…”

Leah could read the silent threat in the midfielder’s eyes. The slight eyebrow that was raised no doubt indicated that she wasn’t messing around, more than ready to go and confront you about everything. What she also knew was that if it was Lia talking to you, you wouldn’t hold back.

The choice was clear, really- but the defender didn't choose it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Leah watched as the woman in front of her eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as she tilted her head back in a ready challenge.

Please don’t call my bluff.

All the blonde could do was pray silently.

“Okay.”

One word.

One word was the reply the blonde got, Lia staring at her silently for a second longer before marching away, a determined weight set on her shoulders.

It’s fear that has Leah blindly reaching out, her hand connecting sharply with the Swiss’ wrist, pulling her back before she could make it any further.

“Promise me you won’t ask her about this. You can’t Lia…please…”

Nearly begging, the skipper, eyes silently pleading, held on tightly.

“I’m going to ask this once, and only once more…Leah what happened?”

She could either tell Lia of how she’d failed to treat you right and get absolutely bashed for it, or she could push it under the rug once more, make a lame excuse and get out of this.

Sighing deeply to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose, the blonde made her decision.

Maybe it was time she grew up.

~~~

You do your best to hide your surprise as you walk into the locker room and don’t see Lia or Leah, the absence of LW squared making your heart leap into your throat, thoughts you knew were nothing but blasphemy clouding your mind.

You knew they were work wives, nothing but platonically of course. You knew they prided themselves on being the best of friends on the pitch and off it. You knew there was nothing more going on between them- well, at least you hoped, for you didn't know what you would do if they were anything more.

The thought that you’d never been enough for Leah still floated around your mind. You weren’t a crazy striker, or a mind-blowing defender. You were a midfielder that just so happened to be pretty good at their job, but that was all.

You weren’t special. You weren’t the captain of your national team. You weren’t heavily sought after for brand deals, you weren’t the popular, favourite player that Leah was- the player nor partner she deserved.

You were simply you- and you didn’t know if that was enough for the English skipper.

Your thoughts get interrupted by the thump of the door hitting the stopper, two distinct voices echoing through the hall as the owners make their way in.

Leah and Lia.

Willing yourself not to turn around, you take a peak out of the corner of your eyes, immediately regretting your decision.

The pair was close- Leah had an arm slung over the other girl’s shoulders, a soft smile on her face and the Swiss captain had her own arm around the English skipper’s waist and it did nothing to ease the rampant thoughts in your mind.

They were both sharing hushed words, indifferent to the few stares in their direction, too consumed in their conversation to bother paying attention.

It was only as Lia gave Leah a gentle squeeze in the side-hug that they had going on did the pair break up, the two still sticking close together as they headed towards Leah’s locker.

Turning to face your locker, your eyes caught the bright yellow of the petals, jealousy anger coursing through your veins as what used to be your favourite laugh rang out.

Hastily grabbing the card and throwing it back into your locker to be dealt with later, you stared at the sunflowers peering up at you.

Ironic that of all the days to receive them, you’d gotten them when the world felt anything but full of sunshine and rainbows.

Making the quick decision, you quickly grabbed the bouquet on your way out, ignoring the questions being shot your way from the teammates that heard the unmistakable sound of the cellophane.

Quietly letting Steph lead you out the door, you quickly glanced behind you in a silent prayer that Leah still cared for your presence- that she was looking at you.

She wasn’t.

Tossing the flowers into the nearest bin as a sour expression crossed your face, you helplessly let the thoughts of the past two hours take a hold of your heart, the poor thing constricting ever so painfully.

Clenching your jaw and hastily tossing on your headphones, you shouldered your kit bag, more than ready to get out of here- to go to a place that felt more like home than your apartment now ever would.

With you long gone before Leah even leaves the change room, you don’t get the chance to witness the way the blonde stops talking mid-conversation as she’s leaving, her stopping in place as her eyes notice the golden petals that peeked out from the top of the bin.

It’s why you’re unknowing of the way the blonde’s heart shatters a bit more, her eyes widening, heart sinking, and head immediately hanging low as she processed the bouquet unceremoniously dumped in the trash.

And with a rough shrug to get out of Lia’s comforting pat, instead wiping away tears she refused to let fall in the presence of the few remaining teammates, Leah hurries out, discussion on how to win you back momentarily forgotten as she focuses on soothing her aching heart.

~~~

It’s a couple days later that the weight of you leaving makes itself known again to Leah.

The past few days, the blonde had been silently stewing in the memories of you two, but had been fortunate enough that there weren’t any new stark reminders of your absence.

But now, if Leah was honest, the feeling of you not near the blonde as she walked off the pitch post-game felt like a stabbing pain in her chest.

It was odd, the way wins didn’t feel like wins as of late.

Not when you weren’t by the blonde’s side.

Euphoria wasn’t an emotion she felt of late, but with the absence of you in your rightful spot to the right of the blonde as she walked around the pitch, misery stung the blonde harder than before.

The high Leah (rightfully) expected after the win against United didn’t come.

It didn’t pounce on her immediately as the whistle blew at the end of the game.

It didn’t hit her like a truck as she headed towards the locker room.

It didn't sneakily creep up on her as she entered a locker room full of her fellow teammates dancing in celebration, music blasting, the joy palpable in the room.

All that sunk in was the gut wrenching feeling of regret in her chest as she timidly watched you make your way to your locker.

For the past few days, three or so having passed since she last saw you at training, the blonde had been crashing with Lia, not that you would know.

She’d been actively visiting your apartment, trying to find any signs of life there besides the three plants of yours she’d been watering in her visits.

Each time though, she was left with not a single trace of you, it evident that you hadn’t been home yet.

It was just slightly over a week of your absence, and with each passing day, Leah was losing a bit more hope, a bit more of her sanity, a bit more of her ability to feel anything but despair.

So it didn’t surprise her that the exhilaration of the win didn’t come. It was the norm. It was the norm for her now that she’d gone and fucked up.

Rubbing a hand over her face as the sight of her teammates came into view, Leah tried to will away the spiral of thoughts in her head, headache imminent with the lack of sleep she’d had these past ten days.

Sighing to herself at the pounding music in the room, the blonde hung her head low, trudging her way to her kit bag as she pretended to yawn in case anyone asked about her foul mood.

If she’d looked up once though, she’d have seen your concerned look.

She would’ve saw the way you had involuntarily turned to face the blonde as she entered, your arms itching to reach out and pull her into a hug, as you had done many times before in the safety of your own home.

But she wasn’t yours anymore. She wasn’t yours to hold, to hug, to comfort, especially anywhere but in the four walls of your apartment.

So you’d brought your arms taught around your own body, giving yourself a hug as your heart sank, a shaky breath escaping you as you closed your eyes, letting the overwhelming emotions wash over you.

~~~

It’s as the girls are leaving the locker room that Katie remembers to invite Leah for the celebratory night out the team had planned.

You’d been asked immediately after the game, the Irishwoman surprisingly able to sense the change in your mood as of late, doing her best to try and make you laugh more in the past few days to try and silently uplift it, bless her.

You’d thought about going. Considered getting more than friendly with Millie, your last conversation with Leah replying easily in your mind.

Maybe if you’d make her jealous she’d realize you still existed.

But just as quickly as those thoughts crossed your mind, you shook yourself out of them.

If she couldn’t see your importance in her life, you weren’t about to go and beg for her to see it. You couldn’t show her something that wasn’t there.

Having then declined the offer, you’d cited your tiredness as an excuse.

Now though, you tried to act nonchalant as you eagerly awaited Leah’s answer, well aware that she was one of the last people asked.

Maybe she’d wonder whether you were.

The blonde was tired, that was clear for all to see. But would that be enough for her to spend the night in?

Would your absence mean she’d go home in misery, or was the blonde okay? More than over you, ready to move on?

You wondered if she’d find someone to bring home tonight. Whether she’d spend the time at the bar (that they’d inevitably, somehow end up at). Would that someone be better than you? Better company? A better girlfriend?

Hearing the immediate cheers following Leah’s quiet hum of agreeance and quiet ‘why not?’, you bit the inside of your cheek.

God, how could you be so naive to think she’d ask if you were going?

And as your thoughts spiralled again, you felt a gentle hand come to rest on your shoulder, Steph protectively stepping into your space as she could practically feel you fall into the rabbit hole of your mind.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

The both of you having agreed that Australian would drop you off at her place before heading out with the team, you adamant on her enjoying the win and her night, you let yourself be led out, increasing the volume of the headphones on your ears to drown out the world, and more importantly, your mind.

~~~

The air’s chilly and Leah can’t help but wrap her arms around herself a bit tighter in a futile attempt to stave off the cold.

She’d expected the crowded club that the team had arrived at to feel stuffy and hot, but it wasn’t the case.

All the blonde could really feel was the cool breeze she couldn’t locate the source of and a constant shiver in her spine as she saw practically everyone but you there.

Having waited all through dinner praying you’d show up, and then convincing herself you’d be there as the team decided to move things to a club, the blonde felt stupid for not remembering how you hated cramped social gatherings like these.

For the months that you were together, Leah had gotten accustomed to spending nights in, cherishing them actually, for they gave her the breather she so rarely got.

It’s why she’d love it when you’d often pass up the nights out, giving Leah the perfect opportunity to leave events early, a smile on her face despite being called variations of ‘old’ and a ‘party-pooper’, the thought of going home to you more than overpowering the salty accusations.

The few times you’d both gone out together with the team, it’d always ended with you two sneaking out of the celebrations early, revelling in the chaos or peace of the night as you’d trek home, more than content to be in each other’s presence.

It had gotten to the point where the few date nights the two of you had consisted of Leah convincing you to stay in. The decision was a mix of not wanting to be in the public and getting you all to herself, but she’d never tell you that.

And yeah, sure, she’d avoided you on the nights that you’d both be out, surrounded by teammates and friends celebrating god-knows-what, but she swears she did it for your own good. You didn’t need the press, the comments, the voices that came along with the fame.

At least she made the decision you didn’t.

It’s looking back now that she realises the implications of her actions, her avoidance of you no doubt a joke- her only failing to protect you from any hurt, instead being the one to cause you grief.

God, she really treated you and your relationship like shit…

Shaking her head to herself, mood already soured with the lack of your presence, Leah excused herself from Lia’s side, heading to the table and grabbing her coat.

There wasn’t a point staying. Not when you weren’t there too.

Bidding her goodbyes and ignoring the pleas to stay longer, Leah shot the Swiss captain a grateful look as she distracted a tipsy McCabe away from trying to convince her to stay.

Taking a deep breath as she exited the stifling building, the blonde began her trek home, lost in her thoughts, wary of the empty apartment she’d no doubt be returning to.

~~~

Steph had texted you early on in the evening, letting you know that Leah was at the dinner, and you didn’t know whether to be glad or not.

All you knew was that it was the perfect opportunity for you to finally grab your things, a change of clothes, something you desperately needed now that winter was finally kicking in.

You’d expected the blonde to be gone at least a few hours, so you’d taken your time to show up, grabbing dinner before you had made your way over.

What you hadn’t expected though, was the blonde cutting her night short- the clock reading near half past nine taunting you as you heard the familiar jingle of keys as the front door opened.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest- hell, you could hear it, as you listened to the sounds of the taller girl kicking off her boots, something you would tell her off for time and time again.

Holding your breath as you heard Leah hang up her keys and drop her clutch on the island as she always did, you wondered if you had enough time to escape.

Surely, you could sneak out, right?

Shaking your head at the stupid idea, you looked around you, contemplating on how you were going to get out of this.

What were you to tell the blonde? That you weren’t kicking her out of your apartment? That you instead were moving out, already having talked with your tenant about likely cancelling your lease soon. You wondered what Leah would think you’d ask for her set of keys back- for her to take her stuff to her house as you’d empty your apartment.

You wondered if she’d then realize that she’d likely ruined the last good thing you had going for you, a house you’d been staying in for nearly two years now, a place you cherished deeply but now needing to say goodbye to.

Sighing as you took in the sight of your clothes scattered around the bedroom, clothes you’d been sorting into a ‘yours’ and ‘Leah’s’ pile, you waited to hear the movement of the blonde.

It was only as the trudge of footsteps padding down the hall reached your ears did your throat go dry, body freezing as you anxiously anticipated seeing Leah in your bedroom for the first time in over a week.

Swallowing hard, you wondered if this was the beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning.

~~~

Leah didn’t know how she didn’t notice the light peeking out from under the bedroom door. Nor how she missed your infamous Converse tucked behind the door.

All she knew was that you were here.

Here, in your apartment.

In your shared bedroom.

And all the blonde could do was stare at the sight of you looking like a kid caught stealing out of a cookie jar, the various piles of clothes scattered around you making you look tiny.

Flexing her jaw a few times, the midfielder struggled to find any adequate words, a quiet ‘what?’ the only thing she was able to muster out.

There’s a blanket of silence that covers the room after the word, the pair of you rooted in your spots, staring at each other.

It’s only as Leah realises that the hoodie currently in your grasp is one of her old England ones, from camps eons ago, does the silence break.

“Wait a second- I’ve been looking for that...”

Furrowing your eyebrows, your shock long gone and anger replacing it, you did your best to keep your voice level.

“That’s your concern?”

This was the first and only chance the blonde had gotten to you since you’d broken up with her, and her concern was the hoodie you were holding.

“You know what? Fuck off.”

Throwing the hoodie at her with all the rage you could muster, you watched as it softly hit your ex in the face, Leah pulling it off as her eyes widened.

“Okay wait! Wait. No. Sorry. It just took me off guard…”

Rubbing her neck sheepishly, the blonde brought the hoodie behind her in an attempt to brush over what just occurred.

Shaking your head because of-fucking-course, you pinched the bridge of your nose, pausing for a moment before realizing just how utterly done you were with the blonde already.

Waiting a second to see if she’d continue, to see if she’d ask you how you were, what you were doing, or better yet, apologise, you sighed as silence overtook the room once again.

Checking your watch, you figured that if you ran through all you needed to, you could be out of here by half-past-ten, a whole hour earlier than you had originally planned for.

“Listen, all I need is like an hour then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Muttering the words, disdain clear in your voice, you started speeding up your actions, sorting the pile of clothes behind you and tossing everything that was yours into the open suitcase.

It took a minute for the defender to understand what she just heard, to comprehend what she’d witnessed.

One hour and then you’d be gone?

Taking note of the clothes scattered across the room and recognizing her extra pairs of pyjamas and trainers in the decently-sized pile on one side, garments that looked distinctly like yours in the other, the blonde felt dread sink in.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait…what do you mean ‘out of my hair’?”

It’s as the weight of the words sunk in did Leah step into the room, squinting her eyes as her mouth fell open slightly, body rigid with concern.

Sighing deeply inwards, you ran a hand through your hair, pulling it slightly in an attempt to stave off your annoyance.

“Leah, I’m moving, yeah? It’s about time.”

You watched as the hoodie fell from the blonde’s hands, dropping unceremoniously into ‘your’ clothes pile as she swallowed hard.

Yes the pair of you weren’t together anymore, but this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to move out, much less out of your own apartment, that’s for sure.

Shaking her head as she felt her heartbeat pick up, panic in her eyes, Leah closed the distance between you.

“You’re not moving out.”

The statement was nothing of a question, hands going on her hips as the blonde eyebrows furrowed.

“I know I hurt you, but you can’t move out.”

Watching an exasperated expression cross your face, an expression that Leah was all too familiar with, having seen it every time she declined your request to post a picture of the two of you, she dropped her own shoulders, closing her eyes in defeat.

“Please don’t move out.”

Please don’t leave me.

“Please.”

Sorting the shirt that was in your hold, you placed your hands behind you, letting your weight fall on them as you leant back, head thrown back, eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling you were very much used to seeing on lazy mornings spent with the blonde in front of you.

Making sure your voice was steady, you closed your eyes as you spoke.

“We’ve broken up. One of us needs to move out.”

“No...”

“Leah…”

“No.”

The second ‘no’, firmer and coupled with a definitive tone in Leah’s voice had you appalled, your eyes opening as you righted yourself and faced her

“No? Leah, I’ve spent enough time seeing you with another woman outside of this apartment. I’m not in the fucking mood to see it here as well, in my apartment.”

You waited to see if she’d offer to move out instead, considering this was your place after all.

You waited, only to be met with silence.

Guess it was a good thing you didn’t wanna stay here anyways.

“I mean it. Please don’t go…”

The timid voice had your shoulders dropping.

Sure, she broke your heart, but it didn’t mean you were heartless.

Deciding to humour her, for your own sake- you wanted to see just what her justification would be, you hummed in response.

“Why?”

She’d broken your heart enough. So why was it that she was asking you to stay?

You watched as the always-confident blonde wrung her fingers, her head hung low as she stared into the ground.

“I still love you…”

The weight of the words blanketed the room in quiet. Or it might have been the blood rushing in your ears. Either way, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing- unable to do anything but sigh in response, mind a frenzy.

Racking through your brain to find the right words to say, you curse at the universe for aligning so maliciously.

“You can’t just say that.”

“Ba-“

“No.” Cutting her off, your voice raising slightly, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You can’t say that. You can’t say that when you’ve practically been a stranger to me any place outside of these four walls. You can’t say that when all you’ve done is gone and break my heart multiple- Leah, multiple times. You can’t say that when you haven’t once rung me in the week that we’ve broken up. You don’t get to call me ‘baby’ anymore and you don’t get to say those three words anymore.”

You’re breathing heavily by the time you finish, having gone and stood up at some point during that rant.

Eyes level with Leah’s as there’s a defiant look in your eyes, you wait.

You wait to see just what excuse she’d come up with this time.

“I didn’t-“

Lips pursing, you rolled your eyes. You knew how these words always ended.

“Let me guess…you didn’t know if I wanted to hear from you, yeah?”

You watched as she nodded sheepishly, nearly curling into herself as your voice got sharper with each word.

“Y’know…I told myself that maybe if I waited long enough, that you’d eventually care enough. Told myself that if I tried hard enough, loved you enough, was a better player, a better girlfriend, maybe I would’ve been good enough for you. That you’d want me as much as I want you.”

You watched as Leah looked at you, it clear that she was itching to say something, but you continued.

“I spent the last week with my ringer on, do not disturb off, hoping you’d call. Hoping you’d text. Send me a message, someway, somehow. Anything that would let you know me breaking up with you killed you as much as it killed me. And what did I get? Nothing.”

Your voice is quiet as the final word slips through, the both of you staring at each other, the room an outright mess with the clothes strewn around, suitcase open beside where you were sat.

Truth be told, you didn’t want this to end.

You didn’t.

All you wanted was for Leah to realize your importance in her life. And whether that was good or bad, you wanted to know where you stood- because you’d stick around if she loved you, but you couldn’t bear to stay if you weren’t wanted.

You couldn’t light a candle in the rain.

Watching as Leah flexed her jaw once, then twice before inhaling deeply, you felt a chill go up your spine as anticipation slowly killed you.

“It hurt more than I could ever imagine…”

The confession was quiet, barely a whisper, but it had your attention, and it didn’t go unnoticed by the other girl.

“It’s killed me every time I’ve come to this apartment alone y’know? Every single time I’ve walked into this place and you’re not behind me yelling at me to put away my shoes properly.”

Swallowing her emotions down and steadying her voice, she continued.

“Do you want to know how wrong it felt, driving to practise without you beside me? Without your humming and singing? Or how much it sucks not being able to stand beside you at practice. Or how the only thing I’ve wanted these past few days is just one of your hugs- the ones you give me when you know I’m not feeling well, too tired to do anything but cuddle you?”

“It’s stupid, but I’ve visited- stayed- at your place nearly every day since our breakup, hoping each day that you’d come back and I could- we could talk. That I could make it up to you. I’ve missed you. I really have. More than anything else ever- I swear. Spent the first night and the second too, on your couch, hugging your favourite cushion and your international hoodie.”

Smiling bitterly to herself at the memory, the blonde wiped away the few tears that had escaped.

Feeling your eyes starting to sting as you remembered just how gruelling the first few days had been for you, you quickly wiped away the one lone tear that managed to escape, holding back the oncoming sniffles.

Feeling your chest rise as you did your best to loosen the anxious feeling in your chest, you stayed rooted to your spot, too afraid to move for fear that Leah would stop talking.

“Did you read the note?”

The question was small, especially after the large confession just moments ago, and it had you nodding in response, scared that you’d break the atmosphere in the room if you spoke too loud.

“I-,” Leah cleared her throat, running a hand through her own hair as her gaze met yours again.

“I meant it y’know? Seeing you and just you in my future? I wanna fix this…us. I’d really like to fix what I broke, if you’d let me.”

Biting back a grimace because wow, were you really about to give her the power to break your heart again. The one thing you told yourself you wouldn’t let her do- not anymore.

“I don’t know how to trust you again…”

You knew the words were harsh, but they were the truth.

How could you trust someone that single handedly broke your heart over and over again.

Holding your breath as you watched Leah slowly step forward, inching towards you until she was merely inches away from where you stood, you wondered if you could ever let the blonde back in.

“One chance is all I ask for. I’ll earn your trust again, I swear. Just please don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”

You watched as her fingers flexed, jaw clenching and unclenching as the blonde fought herself internally.

As she made a decision, you smiled at the way the little crease between her eyebrows disappeared, a place you loved to kiss whenever the blonde was upset about the movie you’d choose for movie nights.

So caught up in your memories, you were only jolted out of the dreamland your mind went to as you felt Leah hesitantly grab your hand, the touch cautious and feather-like as she tried to gauge your reaction.

Looking down at your intertwined hands, you bit your lip, one question floating around your mind.

“Are you planning for us to continue being a secret or…?”

Closing your eyes as you waited for her answer, you wondered if this would be the last time you’d feel Leah’s touch.

You knew you couldn’t bear to be a secret. You liked private, sure, but all you really wanted to do was be you. Be you and her, and be able to show the world that, without bounds.

“No.”

Eyes flying open, you narrowed your eyes at Leah, surprised by the confident tone, so sure of herself, so assured, that it nearly had you convinced.

“And if you let me down?”

“Then I’ll leave your life myself, just say the words and I’ll go. But I don’t plan to let you down. Not again. Not ever. I don’t want a life without you. I’ve had a taste of if, and fuck, I needed that. I needed that because I know I’d rather deal with everyone’s comments, everyone’s judgement, their prying, their invasive questions, than lose you.”

Swallowing hard at those words, you felt your shoulders relax, mind and heart practically numb with the overwhelming emotions you were feeling.

Words a whisper, tears silently falling down your cheeks as the weight of the past week hit you, you prayed that you never felt this type of hurt again.

“Hurt me again and I’ll break your kneecaps alright?”

And letting yourself be pulled into the taller girl’s embrace, you let yourself sink into her hug, a warmth you’d missed so dearly, so fervently in the past few days- a hug that even the best Calvin cuddle couldn’t compare to, you let out a sigh.

Things weren’t alright yet. They weren’t going to be for a while.

But this was a step in the right direction. A step you’d take, praying to the universe that it wouldn’t let you fall- at least not without someone to catch you.

You just hoped it would be Leah- she was the only one you wanted to catch you when you fell. You just had to trust her word that she would.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso #my writing #fic #fic req #angst #iwytb #hcie

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lustfulslxt · 11 months

Text

Taking of the Virginity - Matt Sturniolo

summary : you and your best friend, matt, decide to lose your virginities to each other.

warnings : are we paying attention here? helloooo, sex.

a/n : another one of my ao3 stories <3

—

matt and ari were home alone at her house. her parents were on a little anniversary trip and matt's brothers were too busy to hangout. so, the two just did what they normally did; went on a walk, watched movies, scrolled through tiktok, and played games. they didn't have to do much to have a good time with one another.

"wanna spend the night?" ari asks her friend of 6 years.

"i would love to." matt smiled at her.

the two kicked back on the couch, music playing on the tv and they just talked and vibed with one another. matt was sitting normally, and ari was laying across the couch with her head on his lap as he played with her hair.

"let's play a game." she speaks.

"what game?"

she thought for a minute, "hmm. i don't know."

"you don't know?" matt repeats, laughing. "do you at least know what kind of game you want to play?"

"nothing that involves getting up. i'm comfortable." she grins up at him.

"like what? ispy?" matt teases.

ari scoffs, playfully rolling her eyes, "that's actually a great game while you're tryna be funny."

matt just giggles at her, but agrees nonetheless. "how about 21 questions?"

"we know quite a bit about each other already, but i'm down."

"we don't know everything." matt points out.

"i didn't say everything, matthew. i said quite a bit." she retorts, "you go first."

he ponders for a moment, "what do you wanna be when you grow up?"

ari gives matt a look before bursting into a fit of giggles. just the sight and sound of her laughing, matt can't help but join in, especially since it was a silly question.

"when i grow up, i want to be an artist. you know this, matty."

"i don't know what else to ask!" he exclaims in defense.

"we do know everything about each other." ari concludes.

matt sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact as he states, "well, not everything."

"what's that supposed to mean?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"um, well.."

"spit it out, matthew."

"i can't!" he explains, "it's kind of dirty i guess."

"like sexual?" she questions, to which he nods. "do you have something you want to ask?"

after what felt like forever, matt finally caves, "are you a virgin?"

ari pauses, quite unsure of how to answer that. "i don't really know."

her response threw matt off by a lot. either you've had sex or you haven't. what's there to be unsure about?

"okay, now i'm confused. what does that even mean?"

"well," she starts, sighing, "there was this one time where i guess we started to, but he was making me really uncomfortable and being rough, not caring that it was my first time, so i made him stop."

realization then dawned on matt's face. that's why her and her ex boyfriend randomly broke up, she never wanted to talk about it so everyone kind of just let it go.

"basically, he was inside me for a minute. but neither of us finished and we didn't actually do anything, so i don't know if i'm still technically a virgin or not."

"do you want to be?" matt asks her.

her eyes widened, suddenly feeling a little self conscious. "wait! it's my turn!"

matt sighs, before putting his hand out and gesturing for her to proceed.

"are you a virgin?"

"you can't ask me the same question!"

"why not? i wasn't shown a rule book where it said that. were you?" she retorts, squinting her eyes as she knew the answer.

"well, no, but." matt pauses, before giving in as he knew she'd keep pestering him. "i am a virgin, yes."

it wasn't that he didn't have the chance to lose it, he just didn't want to. well not that he didn't want to, he just didn't want to with the girls that gave him the opportunity.

"really?!" ari shouts, extremely surprised at his revelation.

"why do you sound so shocked?" matt asks, defensively.

ari shrugs with a little grin, "you just seem like you've already had sex."

"i don't even know what that means." he laughs at her.

"why haven't you had sex?" ari asks him, "you've had girlfriends before, and i know at least one of them has wanted to."

matt shrugs, "i don't know. they didn't really pique my interest like that."

"who does?"

matt just looked at her. he could not answer that question. not because he genuinely didn't have an answer, but because the answer scared him and would most definitely scare her. the person who piques his interest is her, his childhood best friend. for some reason, the only time he can see himself having any kind of sexual relations with someone is if it's with her, which blows his mind because he knows it would never happen.

it was just something about her though. and sex wasn't just sex to him. he doesn't think he could just have sex with whoever. sure, the pleasure is there, but he feels there's more to it. like there's a connection that is more than just pleasure, he needs that. saying that, maybe that's why he could only ever picture it with her; because they've got a strong relationship and they love each other.

he clears his throat, "i get to ask 2 questions, since you did."

ari rolls her eyes with a smile on her lips, but still shrugs.

"if you could do it right now, would you?" he asks her.

"i guess it depends." she responds, honestly.

"on what?"

"depends on who it's with."

ari knew exactly who she would give herself to if she could. matthew. he was always so soft and gentle and loving with her, she knew he would be the same in bed. finding out he's also a virgin, made her want it even more. not only was he also inexperienced, but she could be the first one to make him feel good. not that she would ever get the chance, seeing as they're only friends, but it was wishful thinking. and now that the thought has entered her mind, it wouldn't leave.

same goes for him.

after a moment, matt speaks up again, his voice slightly nervous. "what about with me?"

ari couldn't help but stare at him with wide eyes and her mouth agape. she couldn't tell if he was just teasing her or if he was being serious.

"sorry, i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. i don't want it to be weird or anything, i just thought—well i don't know what i thought. i guess i was just thinking that, maybe, since we're both virgins, we could lose it to each other. but if that's weird, just forget about it." he rambles on.

ari was still stunned, not expecting the suggestion in the slightest. once she recovered from the shock, she stood up from the couch. matt's stomach dropped, thinking he just ruined everything between them. however, ari just reaches her hand out to him.

since he only sat there, looking at her unsure, she says, "do you want to go upstairs with me or not?"

he almost leaps off the couch, grabbing her hand and following her to her bedroom. both of them were nervous, yet excited. once she shut them in her room and locked the door, she turned to face him. the two stood there kind of awkwardly.

"um, so how do you want to do this?" she asks him.

"ari, if this is uncomfortable for you, we don't have to do anything. i promise, it's not a big deal. i won't be mad, we'll still be friends. it's okay."

"no!" she quickly blurts out, her cheeks flushing with color at her outburst. "i really do want this."

both of them knew this was something that should come easy and not feel forced, and it didn't feel forced, but they were both scared to make the first move. that was until, matt stepped closer to her.

he grabbed her hands, interlocking their fingers, and as he stared into her eyes for any sign of hesitance, he leaned closer to her and asked, "can i kiss you?"

ari felt her breath catch in her throat and only now realized that this is something she's been longing for. she wanted matt in a way that she was now getting, it felt surreal. to answer his question, she gives him a nod, and with that, he softly grabs her face with one hand and places his mouth on hers.

the two moved in sync, their lips lapping one another's perfectly. matt placed his other hand on her lower back and pulled her closer to him, their bodies flushing together. ari's hands move towards his neck, playing with his hair. their kiss soon turned more heated as he licked her bottom lip for entrance, which she gave him. their tongues fought for dominance, matt won and began exploring her mouth with his tongue.

they were blending so perfectly. this was something the both of them had been yearning for and they couldn't get enough. matt pulled away from her, slightly out of breath. their lips were plump and red, saliva coating the both of them.

he placed his forehead on hers, "are you sure you want to do this?"

"i promise you i've never been more sure of something." she swears.

he nods, and his hands find the hem of her shirt. "would you mind if i took this off?"

she smiles at his nervousness and thoughtfulness, pulling her shirt over her head before grabbing his hand, "matty, i want you to have all of me. as long as you go easy, i'm yours."

"okay. just let me know if, at any point, you want to stop. and will you be vocal with me? not saying like put on a whole pornographic show, but can you tell me what you like and what you don't?"

ari giggles at him and nods, pulling him closer. she plants a soft kiss on his lips and looks him into his eyes. "i promise i will tell you what i do and do not like. so long as you do the same."

after he gives her a nod of agreement, he walks her over to her bed. he softly pushes her down, then pulls his shirt off, and the two stare at each other.

ari couldn't help but blush under his intense gaze. she felt a little self conscious, only ever being in this predicament once and it went completely opposite of the way she wanted. however, matt's stare gave her butterflies and made her feel good. she felt beautiful under his eyes and he hadn't even commented on her appearance.

matt couldn't help but admire her. there she laid, in nothing but little shorts. her hair was spread out over the bed and she looked up at him with a bashful smile. her boobs were bare and laid perfectly on her chest, her nipples hardening with every second. she was a masterpiece and he never wanted to forget was she looked like. he was mentally taking thousands of pictures, in hopes of remembering her this way forever.

ari felt cold and bare, so she hooked her fingers through his belt loops and pulled him on top of her. the two laughed a bit together, and matt couldn't help but stare at her some more.

"what?" she asks with a slight frown. "do i not look right? we don't have to do this if y-"

matt cut her off with a deep kiss. he kissed her like it was the last time he'd ever see her, like he was putting every ounce of love he's ever had into it. it left her breathless when he pulled away.

"ari, baby you are so fucking beautiful and there's nothing more that i want right now, than to make you feel good. but i'm gonna take my time and admire you along the way. okay princess?"

her face turned beet red and she couldn't help but pull him into her, smashing her lips on his. everything about him was turning her on. not just her body, but her soul. his scent, his smile, the way his eyes sparkle when he looks at her, the way he kisses her so passionately as if he can't breathe without her, the way his touch feels like it's burning her skin in the most satisfying way.

matt pulled away from their kiss and moved his face to the crook of her neck. his lips trailed soft open mouth kisses up and down her neck, causing goosebumps to flare on her skin. she couldn't help but let out soft quiet moans, basking in the tenderness of his lips. just the sound of her whimpers and heavy breathing was enough to get him rock hard.

his head moved lower and lower, showing love to her boobs. he squeezed and sucked and tweaked her nipples, leaving dark purple and blue bruises on her skin. the feeling of his mouth on her had her panties already drenched, she couldn't help but buck her hips up into his.

matt's hands were roaming up and down her body, squeezing in all the right places. he was taking his time with her, softening her up and making her as comfortable and into it as he could.

"can you take off your pants?" ari asked him, a blush washing over her cheeks.

he looked up at her with a grin and kissed the corner of her lips, "yeah. do you wanna take yours off too?"

she nods and they both take their bottoms off, leaving them bare naked. ari crossed her legs to hide her core, somewhat self conscious as it's her first time being with matt this way. she couldn't help but watch him as he slowly stroked himself, he was very big and hard.

matt then opens her legs, giving her soft kisses on her navel. "you don't have to be shy, baby."

her stomach was in knots, twisting in anticipation. she was still a little nervous, but she wanted it so bad. matt continued to kiss lower, his mouth now working on her inner thighs. he could see her arousal dripping from her pussy and his mouth watered at the sight.

"you're so wet for me." he grinned up at her. "can i taste you?"

she quickly nods, her hands running through his soft hair. the second he places soft kitten licks against her heat, she can't help but grip his hair. he then pushes his whole tongue flat against her, wiggling it up and down.

"oh wow." she moans out, "mm, it feels really good."

her words only encourage matt and he keeps going, devouring more and more of her. his tongue laps her folds, sucking every bit of her. ari was trembling underneath him. her grip on his hair was tight and she couldn't help but push him more into her pussy.

"you taste so good, i could eat you forever." he moans against her, the vibrations going right through her.

she was soaked, from her own juices on top of his saliva, it was like a slip and slide. while matt focused his mouth on her clit, his hand travels up her thigh, massaging along the way. her eyes looked down at him, feeling his hand go further up. they held eye contact and he paused, making sure she was comfortable with it. when she gave him the green light, he brought his hand closer to her entrance.

she was a moaning mess underneath him, her legs were shaking and her hips were bucking. he dragged his middle finger up and down her folds, causing her to let out another breathy moan. while his tongue worked on her sensitive bundle of nerves, he slipped his finger inside her. she slightly jerked as he moved it in and out, clenching around him. she could feel her climax coming soon. matt continued to pump his finger, adding another after a few moments.

"does this feel good?" he asks her.

"yes, matty." she moaned out, her toes curling. "i'm so close."

he could feel her legs tightening around him, one of her hands gripping his hair while the other gripped the sheets beneath them. she was now simply melting away into a puddle.

"cum for me, darling." he says to her, his voice holding a light rasp to it. "i want you to cum in my mouth."

she felt like all the breath was sucked out of her, in the most blissful way possible. her legs stretched out, tightening enough to get a charlie horse. both of her hands were in his hair again as she pushed his face more into her core. she was trembling under him. full moans were slipping from her lips as she released.

matt watched in awe, absolutely in love with the way she looked. how she quaked and quivered, involuntarily shaking from the pleasure coursing through her. he enjoyed every drop of her, licking and sucking all of it up.

"do you wanna taste?" he asks her, his tongue wrapping around one of his fingers.

she bashfully nods, pulling him up to her. she placed his middle finger in her mouth and sucked. he could feel his dick twitching at the sight alone. as soon as she pulled his hand away, he smashed his lips on hers. their kiss was heavy and rushed, both of them tasting her on their tongues.

"do you still want to..?" he asks, trailing off.

he knew she just had an orgasm and didn't want to push her if she changed her mind about doing more.

"i promise, matt." she assures him once more. "i want this. i want you."

with that, he was back over her and between her legs. he lined himself up with her entrance, looking at her for approval again. with an exasperated sigh, she pulled him into her, hard. she didn't want to wait anymore. she's given him confirmation multiple times, and she appreciates his need to constantly make sure she's still okay with it, but she just wanted him so bad.

a sharp gasp left her mouth as he pushed himself further in, it felt like she was tearing. he stopped about halfway, letting her adjust. after a moment, she gave him a nod for him to keep going. matt let a groan slip from his lips once he was fully buried in her pussy. she was so hot and wet, and the fit was tight.

"oh my god." he shudders, already wanting to cum. he took a deep breath before continuing, "let me know when you want me to move."

only a short moment later, she whispered, "okay, im ready."

his thrusts started off slow, and his hands traveled from her hips up to her face, cupping it as he plants soft kisses on her lips. he could feel her moans against his mouth, showing him that he was doing it right.

"faster." she moaned out, her legs wrapping around his waist.

he didn't want to just obliterate her, well he did. but he wasn't going to, he knew to control himself. he interlocked their hands as he picked up the pace. he was thrusting in and out of her so perfectly, both of them couldn't help the moans that escaped their mouths.

"you feel so good wrapped around me." he moans out, his hands squeezing hers.

"i love when you talk like that." she smiles, breathless from pleasure.

"oh yeah?" he smirks, his hands finding themselves on her boobs, squeezing them tenderly as he slightly quickened his thrusts. "do you like this? do i make you feel good?"

hearing matt speak to her like this, when he's fucking her the way he is, had her stomach twisting. she was so euphoric right now. she wouldn't want this any other way, everything was exactly right.

"yes, oh fuck!" she moaned loudly, "right there, matty."

"let go, baby. just let go." he whispers against her lips.

he continued drilling her exactly the same, knowing that would drive her over the edge. and it did. she was practically convulsing below him. her face was contorted, her eyes squeezed shut with her eyebrows furrowed. her mouth was hung open, moans spilling out left and right.

"good girl."

he kissed her deep. she looked so beautiful to matt, and the sight of her orgasming, brought him to his edge. he couldn't help it, his dick twitched and hot spurts of nut shot into her. their juices blending together as he continued pumping in and out of her. both of their breathings were heavy once he finally pulled out. he slowly flopped down next to her, both of their eyes connected.

"oh my god." ari whines. "that was simply the best thing i've ever done. thank you."

matt giggles, "it was perfect, but you don't have to thank me."

"no, honestly. you were perfect. you were so loving and gentle, you cared about my satisfaction. you checked with me multiple times. it couldn't have been better, and i appreciate the way you fucked me."

both of them were giggling now. matt pulls her closer, his body wrapping around hers perfectly. he put his lips on hers, kissing her soft and passionately.

"i don't want to make things weird, but is this gonna change anything?" he asks her.

"do you want it to?" she responds.

"would you hate me if i do?" he stares at her so intensely. "i definitely don't want you doing this with anyone else."

she let out a loud laugh, pulling him in for another kiss. "i'm all yours, matty."

he smiled, brightly, and planted another kiss on her lips. "good." another kiss. "and i'm yours." another kiss. "and i promise i will get plan b for you in the morning. sorry, we didn't use a condom."

surprisingly, ari didn't even care. she was just happy with everything that took place the entire night. it was definitely something she would never forget, and something she couldn't wait to experience again. over and over.

a/n : not proofread, what's new? i've got one more one shot on ao3 and it's chrissyy pooh <3 please keep sending requests! i live for this shittt. like fr, i'll do whatever bby

#matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #lustfulslxt #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #the sturniolos #sturniolo x reader #imagine #one shot #ao3 #ao3 fic #joss speaks #requests open

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