#that is FOUR things to look for which is much harder than just two or three

[thirsty-4-ghouls]

so... you know how I said I wasn't going to make the 'grandma's sewing scraps' dragon? I looked in the auction house out of pure curiosity and did not expect to see her. THE perfect dragon for it

plans:

maybe even

[wrioluvr]

『shhh, not so loud! make me. huh?』 slutty sub yandere x gentle himbo darling, male yandere x male reader

note: thank u all the support on pt 1 ♡♡ was thinking about a scenario where slutty yandere somehow manages to convince his darling to actually fuck him after a lot of begging... even tho reader is scared his large cock will break him apart <3 pt 1

cw: he/him pronouns for reader, mentions of reader's ex-boyfriends, loss of yandere's virginity, implied violence

nervous was the way you were feeling as you made your way to your boyfriend's house. the two of you had started dating a few weeks ago, when after you'd let him suck your dick, he broke down crying, admitted to how desperately he was in love with you, and pleaded on his knees for you to own him and treat him as your personal fucktoy. frantically, you quickly assured him you would treat him as an equal in the relationship, to his slight disappointment. of course, he was ecstatic that you'd agreed to be his boyfriend, but you were his god, how could he not worship such a kind being? in your eyes, despite his rather.... overly submissive behaviour, he was kinda cute, so why not give it a go? if only you knew how deep his obsession truly ran...

and with an progression in your relationship, came a progression in intimacy level as well. the previous day, he had gathered up the courage to ask you to top him, which is why you were making your way to his apartment now. the current fear you were feeling was not for yourself, but for him, you worried that he would hurt himself trying to bottom. you were aware you were bigger than most guys... you wondered how to tell him you weren't too sure about the whole anal thing after all.

but what you did not expect to see the moment you opened the door to his room, was him on his bed on all fours, ass up, using his index and middle finger to spread his tight pink hole towards you. he turned his head around at the sound of your arrival and looked back at you with lust-filled, half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily. "baby! thank god you're finally here... please fuck me already, i've been waiting for hourssss......." his words came out in a pitiful whine.

your eyes widen at his plea. "woah, okay, let's slow down." quickly, you make him sit up, much to his confusion. he was already ready, so why were you hesitant?

taking his hand and squeezing it gently, you tell him what's on your mind. "okay, uh... i'm not too sure if i want to fuck you right now..."

"wha- but- but why? you promised!"

"i know i did, but i'm worried for you. i know i'm kinda... big, so i don't want to make you bleed or anything..."

at your reasoning, he can't help but whine in frustration. don't you understand? he doesn't care about how much it hurts! he wants it to hurt! his one wish is for you to completely destroy him! usually he'd back down, since he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable with his desperation, but he decided to be a little selfish.

reaching over and fondling your crotch, he looked at you with a silent, horny plea in his eyes, then proceeded to sit in your lap and grind on your bulge sensually. he whimpered as your clothed dick got harder and prodded at his hole.

taken back by his sudden boldness, you let him straddle you. "hey... did you even listen to anything i said?"

"forgive me, darling. but i want this so bad. give it to me, pretty please?" he continues to roll his hips on your crotch, not sounding terribly sorry at all.

you sigh, realising you can't change his mind. "okay, just let me know if it hurts, and i'll stop immediately. alright?"

"mhm." but secretly, he'd moan in pleasure no matter how painful it was, relishing in it.

"at least let me prepare you first...?"

"i've been fingering myself for the past hour, you don't need to." he giggled, as he got back down on all fours on his bed, hoping you were proud of his forward thinking. "i want our first time to be special, so i'm fully prepared."

"wait... you're a virgin?" upon hearing your question, he turned his head back to look at you with an incredulous expression on his pretty face, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"but of course, i've been saving myself for you. i don't want anyone else using me." he bit his lip, making sure you knew how much he valued you taking his virginity. he suddenly realised how he'd completely forgotten to ask (or stalk to find out) about your past relationships. "what about you, darling? are you a virgin?" secretly, he was hoping the answer would be yes, but deep down he knew you were far too desirable for that to be true.

"nah. i dated a few guys before, but they broke up with me because they said i was too dumb." you'd never really thought about it deeply, but saying it out loud made you realise that it was rather embarrassing...

"how the fuck could they say that? you're so perfect and kind... forget about them, darling... just focus on me. you won't need to think about those ungrateful whores ever again." his change in tone caught you off guard, grip tightening around your arm. this was the first time he'd ever sounded genuinely pissed off. but this was quickly masked by his usual lovesick smile as he resolved to make you feel so good, your attention would forever be on him and him only.

eagerly, he helped you undress and tried not to blush at the sight of your naked body, even as he relished in the sight of the cock he had gotten on his knees for so many times before. you were confused at his reaction. "we're both guys, why are you embarrassed?" you were so silly sometimes. he was finally going to be made your bitch, of course he would be flustered!

with your cock teasing his entrance, he made his final invitation. "i want you to mess me up inside." he begged as he spread his virgin hole open, groaning in pain and pleasure as you pushed halfway into him. immediately, you looked up to his face in concern. "you okay? it's only halfway in..." "fuck, i said i can take it!" with that, he pushed himself onto your cock with a lewd determination, letting out an overly passionate moan as you fully entered him. instinctively, you shushed him, not wanting the neighbours to hear. "shhh! you're being too loud....." "make me." he retorts defiantly, trying to rile you up so you would be rougher. "huh?" fuck, he was really pushing it today. you really didn't want to, but he was making far too much noise. resorting to muting him forcefully, you reach for his mouth and clamp your hands over it, effectively gagging him. his eyes widen, not expecting you to take the bait, but he's in heaven. you can practically see the hearts in his eyes as he sluttily sucks on your fingers, all that's left is a series of muffled whimpers.

even though your mind was currently preoccupied with the way your boyfriend's squeezing your cock, you can't help but think about your exes after he brought the topic up. you knew you were a little dumber than most, but did all those guys really break up with you just because you were stupid? he seemed to sense your feelings and clenched harder, making you lose focus and grip his hips tightly. the thought of you thinking about your exes while you were inside him was horrible, he couldn't have that at all! "s-see, darling, my ass is much better than those sluts, isn't it- uuummfff." he could barely form words as he continued to ride you up and down, savouring the way your large length stretched his inner walls to their limit. it was quite the stark contrast - you were thrusting in and out of him at a tender pace, making sure you were never too rough (feeling a little guilty for muffling him so forcefully just now), but yet he was whimpering and writhing all over the bed, gripping the sheets whenever you hit his prostrate at regular intervals. he desperately tried to fuck himself on your cock when you slowed down, noticing his tears, begging you to start again. after a bit, you felt like you were about to reach your climax. "hey, i'm about to co-" "do it inside me." you didn't have time to argue as he pulled you closer into a hug, making you cum inside him, much to his delight. he adored the way you filled him up, feeling you pump load after load into his hole. he rubbed his stomach, wishing he could get pregnant with your child. but alas, he can't have everything. today was already a huge victory. exhausted, he collapsed into your arms as you stroked his hair, apologising for being a little rough and hoping his ass didn't hurt too much. he couldn't really focus on what you were saying as he just lay there and stared up at you affectionately. god, you were just perfect, weren't you?

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

in the middle of night, as you slept peacefully, the boy you fucked a few hours ago had just finished going through your phone, his one objective being obtaining the names of your exes. "don't worry, darling.... i'll take care of those unappreciative bastards myself. no one gets to make you feel stupid." he whispers to your ear lovingly before getting out of bed. he hoped you wouldn't be too mad when you found out he killed them when you woke up. or maybe he did, just so you could punish him. ♡

[sooniebby]

First Drabble after a month or so… Anyway, reader is a bisexual man, deal with it. Kinks are: voyeurism, spanking, dubcon, cucking, manhandling, praise, lite feminization. Brief mention of m/f sex but reader is a bottom and is mentioned to have a cock. BDSM relationship. Tw. Girlfriend is a bit abusive so skip this if bad doms bother you 🫶🏼 no set character, but I gave him a name! A little long tbh, not even a Drabble anymore

The things you do to make your girlfriend.

“Ohhh! Gimme more, Mark.”

You roll your eyes, checking your phone as your girlfriend gets her pussy fucked by your “friend” Mark. They were too busy having the time of their life to notice you stopped paying attention to them.

Your girlfriend, Lizzy, just loved this whole cuck fantasy shit. Whatever made her happy. You tried many other times to tell you that you didn’t necessarily like it but she always somehow made you the bad guy.

It was your first relationship dealing with BDSM, she was more than likely right since she had loads of relationships before you.

Right? She wouldn’t use your naivety to her advantage… right?

Hah.

Anyway, she loved making you watch other guys fuck her. Especially if their dick was bigger than yours. Though you didn’t like her saying your four inches was small.

Some guys had two inches, you were perfectly fine.

She began moaning something about how big he was, you didn’t really care at this point. You didn’t even know if you liked this whole BDSM thing. Sure, being the submissive was cool at first but now it just felt… eh?

You certainly hated her way of being a sadist. You hated being a masochist. It wasn’t fun.

But, whatever makes her happy. She’s freaking Lizzy Powers, the hot girl from your university. Every guys falls for her.

There was particularly high pitched yelp that caused you to look up in concern but it seemed Mark had just manhandled her into another position. You huffed and just went back to watching TikTok thirst traps.

The few times you looked at them to pretend you actually cared, Mark seemed set at staring right at you. His thrusts would always get faster each time. Weirdo.

Mark was popular, just like Lizzy. Loved by many girls (and guys). He was supposedly good natured and kinda but you kinda found him creepy, especially right now.

Was there something on your face???

“Ooh, (Name)~!” Lizzy whined, “he’s so much better than you… Just look at how well he fucks my pussy.”

She looked over at you—you quickly forced a frown. She loved seeing you “upset” about the other guy fucking her. Something about getting you to try harder when you fucked her the next day.

It worked the first time, but after that, you stopped caring. You kinda stopped caring to fuck her as well. It wasn’t even that she was fucking all these other guys. Something just kept bothering you.

Maybe the fact she didn’t go on regular dates with you and there didn’t seem to be an end to the dominate actions she had.

A shrill voice filled the room, Lizzy was cumming. You used to always love seeing this part—just seeing your gorgeous girl coming undone.

Eh, you’ve seen it before. These days, you found yourself watching the guy fucking her instead of her. Which was bad, that was cheating, or at least that’s what Lizzy had told you.

So you made sure to not look at Mark as much. Mark pulled out and rolled off his condom, tossing it into the trash bin next to the bed. The loud sound of music was still ringing downstairs from the party.

You would’ve thought this dumb party would’ve been done by now. “Was that it?” You asked, standing up. “I have a test tomorrow so I need to get back to my dorm.”

There was a moment of silence as Lizzy and Mark stared at you. Mark simply nodded and moved to put his jacket and shoes back on. Lizzy however, looked furious. She stood up abruptly, putting on her dress and stormed over to you.

Oh no.

You knew that look. She was about to “discipline”you. Her punishments were so humiliating—you hated it so much. 

You fought back the urge to roll your eyes. Her anger radiated off her face. Though she only stood to your chest, she managed to make your heart drop. There was no fun in this. But isn’t this what these relationships involve?

This was just how it was.

Her harsh words began spilling out, probably promising a punishment once you reached your dorm. Or possibly even when Mark left. But knowing her, she’d get a kick out of him watching.

Maybe you should’ve gotten a different girlfriend. This one doesn’t exactly make you happy. The thought couldn’t go any further though when Mark cleared his throat, ending Lizzy’s tyranny with ease.

“Your submissive isn’t exactly listening to you. I don’t mean to pry,” though the smirk on his lips tells you otherwise. “He looks legitimately scared. No sense of pleasure in him.”

Lizzy scoffed. “And you can do better? He’s just new to this, but it seems to be taking forever for him to listen to me.” She said, harshly poking at your chest with her finger. You try not to show any emotion from the slight pain.

“I can. But that’s if you want your submissive to get a taste of what’s better.”

A pin could be dropped and it would’ve made more noise. You watch in awe as Lizzy practically turned pink in the face. Wow, you’d never seen her this anger. There was silent rage in her eyes before she pulled a quick smile.

“Sure. He’s all yours.”

But Mark looked over at you. He stood up and took off his jacket, walking over to you with a look of determination. “Do you want it?”

“W..wha..?” You whispered, feeling dwarfed against his tall height. Jesus, does he play volleyball or basketball??

“Do you…” his hand slowly reached up, gently grabbing your chin before forcing you to look up at him. Oh. “…want me to touch you? Show you real pleasure.”

“….yes…”

His lips pulled into a slight smirk. “Good boy.”

So here you are, pants less. Mark was kinda enough to let you keep your sweater on. Lizzy was sitting at the desk chair you once were. You felt bad for whoever’s frat brother’s room you guys were in. Poor guy.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” Mark suddenly said, sitting on the bed as he patted his lap.

You huffed and moved over to where he was. “Attitude probably.” You muttered, looking down at the bed sheets. Ooh, sport cars.

A tug at your sweater caused you to yelp as you were forced to look Mark in the eye. “Look me in the eye when you’re speaking to me.” With little force, he pulled you to drape over his thighs. They were quite muscular. Hm, maybe soccer?

You could feel Lizzy’s harsh glare on your body. It was just reminding you that she was so pissed over you having a slight attitude. Gosh, we doms all like this? You were seriously considering if you wanted to stay in this type of relationship.

Mark’s hand gently gripped your butt, softly massaging it. “I don’t think you deserve a punishment, but I’m going off what your dom wants. This can be really easy, (Name). Just count, okay? I’ll only go to ten.”

“Just ten?” Lizzy cut in.

“Ten is enough. He didn’t do anything terrible.” Mark countered. “Was I even speaking to you?”

You didn’t want to know the look Lizzy gave him. His hand gripped your ass before he released it, gently tapping it.

“(Name), what’s your safe word?”

You blinked, “what’s that?”

There was a tense silence. You tried to look up but Mark quickly pushed your head back down.

“Just whenever you want to stop. In case it’s too much.”

“Oh uhm. Stop should work fine, no?”

“Alright. You can always say red as well. Yellow would be if you just want a breather, okay?”

“Oh… would green be for keep going?”

Mark hummed, gently massaging your butt. “Mhm. Aren’t you smart?”

You blushed slightly. Oh, that was nice. When was the last time Lizzy complimented you?

“Starting now.”

You prepared for the worst. Whenever Lizzy spanked you, it was torture. Just hit after hit with no room to breathe. Didn’t help she would use those whips. It took you awhile to convince her to just use her hand.

Sometimes the damn thing would just start hitting your thighs or back. It was like she was purposefully missing your ass.

Smack!

Oh. What were you supposed to do? You could’ve sworn you were supposed to say something. That felt so weird, but you felt your toes practically curl as a gasp left your lips. He must’ve had experience doing this…

He gently rubbed the slight curve of your hip. “C’mon, count for me.”

Oh right. Counting…

“O..One.”

It went on, each time you momentarily went blank in the head. This wasn’t anything like Lizzy’s spankings. Mark was spanking you hard, definitely, but there still was a slight softness to it.

Hmm, you could probably revisit spanking.

“Ten…” You muttered, sighing in slight relief that it was over. You gently got up from Mark’s lap, ready to pull your pants back up but he pulled your back down.

“What are you doing?” He asked, rubbing your sore cheeks. You heard the sound of a container being opened before a cooling substance was rubbing onto your skin. It was pure relief. A relaxed hum left your throat.

Lizzy coughed, breaking the moment. You almost forgot she was there. “Are you done with my boyfriend?”

“Hm, no. His moans were cute, I want to hear how he sounds cumming on my cock.” He said bluntly, causing you to blush in pure embarrassment. His cock?! He was going to fuck you?!

Lizzy sputtered as she stood up. “What?! That’ll be cheating!”

“It’s just cucking. A man can cuck a woman.”

“But—”

“—It’s only fair (Name) can cuck you too.”

It was wrong. But his words made you grin. Cucking her back? Oh that sounded fun. Finally, she could feel how you felt.

“Okay.” You suddenly said, removing yourself off Mark’s lap. “You can fuck me.” You weren’t scared about anything going into your butt. Lizzy has fucked you with a strap before, those were the few times you had the most fun during sex with her.

Shame she never wanted to do after the two times.

You grabbed the lube that was left on the nightstand from Lizzy and Mark’s previous fuck and drizzled a decent amount onto your fingers. Sitting down on the bed, you began to stretch your ass open.

It was pretty easy, you did masturbate this morning with a dildo. The entire time, Mark just stared at you with hunger, his eyes watching your hole swallow your fingers with ease. He was probably expecting some type of resistance.

“I’m ready.” You muttered, moving to get into a doggy position but Mark grabbed your hand. A shriek left you as he picked you up with ease and plopped you down into his lap.

This position… was embarrassing to say the least. Your legs were wide open, your cock hard against your tummy. Lizzy was literally right across from you, seeing everything. You squirmed, wondering why Mark was so set in humiliating you.

His lips suddenly pressed against your ear, his chin resting on your shoulder. The sound of his zipper and slight shuffling filled your ears as his cock slipped out. Holy shit. He was definitely huge… maybe 7 inches??

“I want…” his hand reached up and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look Lizzy straight in the eye. “Miss Powers here to see you cum on my cock, seeing you become my pretty little slut.”

Your cock twitched. His cock pressed against your ass, gently teasing your hole. Slowly, he lowered you down, letting the stretch become comfortable.

He was definitely huge. You didn’t understand how Lizzy took this thing without crying out in pain? Once he was fully in, you let out a shaky breath, gripping his hand that held your hip.

“Good boy. You’re taking me well.” He whispered, pressing a kiss on your neck. “Now move.”

“What?”

“Ride me.” Mark simply said, gently patting your thighs.

Holy fucking shit. You were supposed to ride this guy while your girlfriend watches? Jesus. You moved slightly, gripping his thighs as a way to hold yourself help as you began bouncing up and down.

The sounds of skin slapping filled the room, your soft moans right behind it. This was better than any strap. You could feel him inside you—his heat. A shudder left you when his cock pressed against your prostate. You quickly tried to keep that position, gasping at the constant pressure.

You practically forgot Lizzy was even there. All you cared about was getting off.

No, all you cared about was making sure Mark was enjoying it.

That was a first.

You glanced down, wanting to see if Mark was enjoying himself. The sight caused your hips to stutter. He was staring right at you, a smirk on his face. His free hand was gripping at your ass, pulling the cheeks apart slightly.

He broke eye contact to look down at your hole, laughing slightly. “It’s so cute. Hey, I’m your first real one huh?”

“Y..Yeah..”

“Good. I’ll be your only too.” He said, delivering a harsh spank on your ass. A scream escaped your lips as you stopped for a moment, trying to process everything that was happening.

First and only? What?!

“Hey, why’d you stop?” His hands suddenly had your waist in its grasp as he pulled you back. You were once again looking at Lizzy, seeing her pure anger. Gosh, you were really betraying your girlfriend.

“Why are you treating him so gently?” Lizzy suddenly commented.

Mark hummed. “It’s his first time. You always gotta treat beginners like glass. Once he’s properly trained… I’ll fuck him like the whore he is.”

“Whore..?” You muttered, but before you could ask why he kept calling you stuff like that, he was suddenly making you bounce up and down on his cock. It was so sudden, so fast and made your previous movement seem like nothing.

If this is him treating you like glass, you wondered just how mean he got…

Your back arched as you cried out, resting your head on his back as the pleasure began to take over. It was so much. But you wanted more. You just knew he could do more.

You wanted it so bad.

You were too lost in the pleasure to even notice that Lizzy left until the sound of a door slamming caught your attention. “Hng…? Why’d she..?”

“Fucking finally.” Mark muttered, pulling you off his cock. You whimpered, feeling your cock leak dejectedly with pre-cum. He plopped you down on the bed and pushed your legs up, putting you in a mating press.

His cock easily slid back inside as he leaned down, grinning. “Now that she’s out of the way, I have you all to myself.” He whispered, his hips moving upwards in harsh staccato type motion. Each slap caused a struggled gasp to leave you in tandem.

“Been hearing all about how you were just her little cuck. Using you because you knew nothing about how these type of relationships work..” he mumbled, a groan leaving his lips when you clenched around his cock.

You couldn’t even care about what he was talking about. You just wanted to cum already. This position was so odd, you didn’t even know your body could fold this far.

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore, baby. I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself as mine.”

“Y..yours..? What..? Ngh, did you..”

“Fuck her to get to you?” He laughed, leaning down to kiss your lips. You blushed, shocked that the kiss was so sweet compared to the sinful thrusting. “Yeah, anything for you.”

Anything for you…? You didn’t get to truly understand just how deranged that sounded when he began to roughly fuck you. He managed to push your legs even further as he draped himself over your body, ravaging you like a cheap slut.

Your screams and his grunts mixed together as you gripped at the sheets beneath you for type of stability. If that stupid loud music from downstairs wasn’t still playing you were sure everyone would be able to tell you were getting your stomach rearranged.

“(Name)…”

You let out a strangled hum.

“Your pussy is tighter than hers.”

Yaaaay… first post back! Feel really proud of this one, though I didn’t mean to make it longer than a usual Drabble, felt like I had to add a lot of stuff before the porn… lmao.

@the-ultimate-librarian @mello-life25 @chill-guy-but-cooler @kiiyoooo @iwishtobeacrow @star-3214 @smellwell @ofclyde @flurrina @tehyunnie @remdayz @love-kha1 @mooncarvers-world @rhetorical-conscience @tomoeroi

[paigestrap]

i need you.

paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings? smut (minors dni), light angst and fluff, swearing

summary - you and paige are friends until you aren’t 🤭🤭

enjoy!!! (please?) even if u don’t pls don’t tell me i’m sensitive.

you couldnt identify the point at which your friendship with paige grew into something more. meeting her in one of your soc classes when she showed up late and sat next to you, you two became friends almost instantly.

you knew who she was of course, had gone to many of the uconn women’s basketball game. and you would never tell her, but you were definitely a fan from the start, her game and personality being a major draw, and maybe also the fact that she was beautiful, like really really beautiful (a fact you would also never tell her).

you two started hanging out pretty much everyday, whether you were doing work, going out to eat, or hanging out with her and the rest of the team at a bar after games, the two of you had become quite comfortable in each others company.

but one day, things started to change. when your shoulders would touch watching your favorite show with her next to you, it sent electricity throughout your entire body, you felt yourself looking forward to the times when your hand would brush hers while walking side by side with her to class, your mood would lighten when she would text you to hangout or simply tell you about her day, and the time you spent together felt more and more intimate as your fondness for the blonde grew.

sometimes, it felt like paige was feeling the same thing you were. her eyes would linger for longer than you felt a friend’s eyes should, her touches felt more intentional, her compliments more frequent, and her words gentler. there were times when you both were alone where it seemed like the two of you were so close to crossing that line. like the first time she asked you to spend the night, and you woke up the next morning in her arms. or when she asked you to wear her jersey to her game the next day, and of course you obliged. she asked you afterwards if you would wear her jersey for every one, justifying her request by saying you’re her “good luck charm” and of course her good luck charm needs to rep her jersey, and of course, you obliged. when you were out with her at the bar and the two of you had been drinking she would constantly be touching you, hugging you, and telling you how much you meant to her. you couldn’t tell if this was paige being paige, or if she was truthful in her words and actions.

these moments were always left unspoken, as neither you nor her felt confident enough to ever cross that line. but your heart yearned for her. her touch, her voice, her laugh, her beautiful mind. and it was getting harder and harder everyday to hide your feelings.

now, with her returning to campus after the uconn women’s basketball team lost to iowa in the final four, you feel those inhibitions being lifted. your phone screen lit up as her contact appeared on your lock screen.

p: need u rn. can u come over?

you: of course, i’m on my way

as you walk out of your apartment to make your way to your friend you realize now the extent to which you feel for her and you want nothing more than to hold her in your arms and comfort her.

“hey,” she says, opening the door for you, her face betraying her overwhelming grief. you don’t say anything, you just pull her into a hug as she lets out her first of many tears.

“i know. i’m so sorry paige. you deserved the win, you all did” you say, comforting her while also holding back tears of your own.

“can we go to my room, just wanna be with you right now,” her tear stained eyes meet yours, and your heart swells at the urge to kiss her tears away.

“of course, i’m here for whatever you need, always” you say, grabbing her hand as the two of you make your way towards her room.

“i wish you’d been there, missed you so much it’s crazy,” she admits as you both lay down side by side in her bed. her eyes never breaking away from yours.

“i missed you too paige, im so sorry i couldn’t be there for you. i hope you know how much i wish i could’ve” you pull her into your arms and embrace her as her tears begin to fall again.

“i think,” she starts, but stops herself and pauses for a long time. you are about to ask her about it before she continues, “i think i realized something about myself this weekend”

another pause. your heart beats faster, you curse yourself knowing paige could feel it too. “what’s that,” your voice is barely audible as you struggle to get the words out.

“i need you, like i really really need you. ever since i met you i just wanna be by you all the time. when we lost i just wanted you to be there and,” she propped herself up to look at you before pulling you in to a tight embrace “i’m scared that you don’t need me too” her voice breaks at the end, shattering any hope of disguising her emotions.

“oh paige, you have no idea,” you say, feeling yourself breaking at her words. you pull away from her embrace and stare into her eyes, searching for a reason not to let your walls fall. you don’t see one, “i need you like i need oxygen to breathe. the world feels muffled when you’re not next to me, i admire everything about you and i’ve never felt this way about another person before. i’ve been so scared these past few weeks that i’ll lose you if you find out how much i want you, but i can’t go on pretending i think of you as my friend when you are so much more than that.” there it is. there’s no going back now. your eyes move away from hers as you await her response.

“baby,” she whispers, hand moving to caress your cheek as she gently pulls your face in her direction, “you’ll never lose me,”

suddenly, the space between you feels so small, and in a swift motion she closes the gap between you and kisses you. the world around you begins to spin as all of your senses become heightened. you feel yourself kiss back, not too hard, not too soft, and suddenly the emotions brimming for the past months come flooding to you all at once.

her hands meet your waist as she shifts her weight to be positioned on top of you, your legs opening as she places herself in between them, never breaking your kiss.

she eventually breaks it to look down on you, a million emotions displayed on her face. she reconnects your lips with hers and you feel yourself giving in completely, desire for the blonde blooming as her kisses grow hungrier. “i want you so bad” she says breathlessly in between kisses. her tongue grazes your bottom lip, requesting entrance, and as with all of her requests, you oblige.

“please, paige,” you let out, suppressing the moans threatening to slip out as her tongue explores your mouth. you tug on her shirt, needing to feel her body closer. she takes it off and removes your shirt as well. leaving you in only your bra on top. she smiles as she looks at your now exposed body.

“god, your tits are fucking amazing,” she remarks, staring at them lustfully. you blush, suddenly feeling so exposed. her hands reach your back as she unclasps the final layer, removing your bra and revealing your bare chest. she fondles your tits and the sudden touch elicits a moan you didn’t have the restraint to hold back. her hands feel so good, and you desperately need them somewhere else, “i wanna fuck you so bad babe”

“god paige please i need you so badly” you whine, so far gone at this point to even try to hide your burning desire.

“yeah?” she grins, biting her lip and licking her lips, “where do you need me, my sweet girl, show me”

you pull yourself up and remove your bottoms, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. you grow increasingly aware of how wet you are, and embarrassed at how obvious it is. her hands roam your body and she grips both of your thighs, her gaze lowering to your heat. “you’re so wet, all because of me?” she asks like she doesn’t know the answer and lets her finger graze over your clothed pussy. you moan as she touches your clit, grinding your hips desperate for more. “so needy baby, i’m gonna take these off now alright?” you nod as she removes your panties, leaving you completely exposed and at her expense.

her hand meets your bare pussy, rubbing in between your folds and onto your clit, eliciting a loud moan from you as your body reacts to her touch. you move your head to the side and close your eyes, letting the pleasure take over. but you are quickly brought back to reality when she stops touching you and takes your face into her hand, bringing it back to face her, “i want you to look at me when i fuck you, do you understand baby?” she plants a kiss on your lips and you nod in response, unable to say a thing.

her fingers move back towards your heat and she slides one into you, “how’s that sweet girl, does that feel good?”

“yes. please. more.” you whine, your body burning at her touch, desperately needing more.

“oh yeah?” she teased as she slipped another finger in you, slowly pumping them in and out of you, curling them so she could feel them stretching against your walls.

you were done for. your body twisting and rutting against her, only causing her to quicken her pace inside you, never breaking your gaze for a second. “god you’re so fucking gorgeous like this, all mine”

your senses overloaded by her hungry words and quickening pace, you felt yourself nearing your climax “paige, please don’t stop. i’m so close” you beg, causing her to fuck you harder and faster.

“yeah? come for me baby, you’ve done so well, my pretty girl,” that was all it took to force you over the edge. you come hard, screaming out her name as the pleasure enveloped your entire body. she fucks you through your orgasm, whispering in your ear the entire time telling you how pretty you look and how good you are.

the wave of pleasure subsiding and your senses gradual coming back to you, she slides her fingers out of you, licking your wetness off of them and falling back onto your smaller figure.

“holy shit” you breathe out, panting. suddenly feeling very sleepy.

“yeah, holy shit.” she laughs, “you’re so fucking hot, you know that?” you blush at her compliment, burying your face in her chest.

“do you still think i don’t need you?” you ask, looking up at her with a shy smile. she grins, giving you a sweet kiss and looking at you with so much endearment it makes your heart swell.

“no, i’m pretty sure you made yourself clear” she laughs, pulling you closer.

[innerfare]

Sex Toys - Part 2

Summary: What are their opinions on and how do they use sex toys? Mostly just them using vibrators on afab!reader, mentions of a few other toys. 

Characters: Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Mihawk, Smoker, Doflamingo, Corazon, Marco

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // lots of toys

——— 

Shanks: Kinkiest man alive, more than willing to incorporate any number of vibrators, plugs, and cock rings into your routine, but he likes to do his own dirty work and get you off with his mouth. Despite being more of a titties man, prefers butt plugs to nipple clamps, but uses them sparingly. Only on the nights when daddy dom Shanks comes out to play do you end up on all fours with both holes full and his calloused hand around your throat. 

Beckman: Keeps a vibrator in his desk drawer to use on you when he’s working late and you come looking for him. He keeps another on the nightstand because it’s a really good way to loosen you up and prepare you to take his cock (big dick Beckman is basically cannon). He doesn’t really use it on you while he's inside you, though, because you end up clenching much harder on his cock and it makes you so sore (downside of big dick Beckman). 

Crocodile: Has made you sit in his lap with a vibrator against your clit more times than either of you can count. When he’s finally finished working, he’ll put the vibrator away and bend you over his desk. Has a habit of binding your hands to the headboard and leaving you with a vibrator between your legs for as long as it takes him to sit back and smoke a cigar at his leisure.

Mihawk: Definitely has a pair of fur handcuffs hidden somewhere beneath his bed (and Shanks has definitely used these handcuffs on him). It’s a tossup as far as who ends up in them- sometimes it’s you, sometimes it’s him. Prefers a whip to a paddle, likes to use it and have it used on him. More than happy to use a vibrator on your clit, but he’s not going to take it upon himself. You’re going to have to ask him, and you’re going to have to do so very politely. 

Doflamingo: The sort of man to have a sex dungeon. In lieu of that, he’ll at least have a chest full of toys that he takes great pleasure in using, things you’ve never even seen before this man is torturing you with them. He typically ties you up with his devil fruit power before digging through the chest for something fun to torment you with, teases you mercilessly. Definitely has bougie cock rings, the kind that cost a small fortune. 

Corazon: Such a sweetheart. When he finds your vibrator on your bedside table, he can’t help but tease you about it, not because he wants to make fun of you but because he can’t think of a better way to bring it up in conversation. He’s so curious about it, he just can’t help himself. That curiosity leads him to ask more and more questions, until finally, you’re on your bed holding it between your legs so he can watch, eventually allowing him to take over while he fucks you. Overstimulation > teasing, as far as Cora is concerned. 

Smoker: This man is gone a lot. Even if you’re in the Navy and in the same unit that he is, he has a habit of going off on his own. Thus, you have to be able to get yourself off, which he understands. He’s chivalrous, too, so he didn’t make you pay for your own toys. You have a nice collection of vibrators and dildos to get yourself off with, though he doesn’t really like using that stuff on you himself. He might do it when he’s feeling extra kinky, but he really prefers it to just be the two of you. 

Marco: Almost clinical in the way he goes about it. He noticed very early on in your relationship that orgasms help relieve your stress/anxiety levels, so if he doesn’t have very much time to devote to you, he makes sure to whip out a vibrator and get you off with it. He doesn’t typically use it during sex, but he will let you hold it to your clit while you suck him off. Also has a habit of falling into bed drunk and pressing a vibrator to your clit just for fun. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[nsharks]

can we see more of dad ghost ♥︎ im obsessedLMAO

“soft around the edges”

aka when ghost’s son runs up to him in front of the team (a little part 2 to this fic. part 3 here.)

Soap doesn't share the Lieutenant's secret with the rest of the force.

Things go back to normal after that brief, bizarre encounter with you. When their break is over, Ghost carries on the typical dry humor and sharp orders, pretending that Soap never had dinner at his cozy home and met his pregnant wife.

Though, MacTavish does notice little differences in his stoic superior turned new dad. Ghost is shockingly, and ever-so-slightly, nicer. His language is still foul. But he's a little less rough around the edges: compliments Soap a bit more, tells him to shut the fuck up a little bit less.

It's not something that any of the others notice, of course, which is why they are all so baffled when they finally do figure out about Ghost's secret family.

It's two years later when they are disbanding at a base in the UK that you accidentally reveal yourself.

It's truly an accident.

Whenever you pick him up from the military base, Simon instructs you to wait outside. Says he doesn't want to put you at any risk. But you have a knack for not listening to him. You missed him so much during the past four months, and the two-year-old in your arms was old enough to start asking where his dad was, so you figured you could wait for him inside this time, hidden away in a corner.

Your plan might have worked if it weren't for the swell of your belly making it difficult for you to hold the squirming toddler.

He recognizes his dad even with the skull mask on.

Immediately starts to yelp for him, kicking his little feet around, and giving you no choice but to set the toddler down for a second. But your son is growing so much, and he's got his father's determination.

It's definitely riveting for Soap and the team to witness the whole thing unfold.

At first sight, the waddling two-year-old boy doesn't faze them. There were usually family members and little ones waiting at the gate. Gaz and Price are saying their goodbyes when they both notice that the toddler running around is coming in their direction. Or more specifically, in Ghost's direction.

Soap knows right away what's happening.

Watches with raised brows.

For the rest of the team, this is the first time they witness Ghost's demeanor shift to something so soft and peculiar. His mannerisms give everything away before the kid even reaches him: a typically-unfazed Ghost looks around frantically, probably wondering how the hell his son even got here, until he spots you waddling sheepishly after him.

Oh, fuckin' hell.

You give your husband an apologetic look that says I'm sorry and help me at the same time.

“Can’t believe what I’m seeing," Gaz mutters, watching as Ghost bends down to pick up the small child.

Tell me 'bout it, Soap wants to say. But he's already gone through the initial disbelief two years ago, so now, he simply watches with knowing eyes.

He can't say he didn't spend some time the past two years wondering what kind of parents you and Ghost had become. He knew bits and pieces of his past and hesitantly wondered if Ghost had carried on that behavior.

But now he witnesses the Lieutenant scoop the toddler in his arms, making him look so small against his broad chest. “I’ve got ya, kid.” And he is tucking the boy's head underneath his chin and pressing his masked nose to the top of his hair.

Then, the toddler reaches a small hand to his mask and pats it, perhaps harder than he realizes, but Ghost simply shakes his head and patiently wraps his much larger hand around the curious little one’s.

Ghost is soft and gentle and anything but angry, even though you worried that he might have been.

Everything seems to sink in for the team when they see you finally reach your husband. Your mouth moving to rush out apologies:

"I'm sorry, Simon, I know you said to wait outside. We just really wanted to see you and I tried to hold him and-"

And Ghost might have been frustrated on another day. But on this day, he’s just relieved to see you again. It's apparent to all of the eyes watching that this brooding man, with his deadpan eyes and a trademark mask, is utterly and unabashedly in love with you and the little family you have gifted him. Finally able to fully relax as he wraps an arm around your waist and nuzzles your neck, something you could never imagine him doing in public like this a few years ago.

“S’okay, love,” he tells you. “Can’t be mad, can I? Not when I get to see you two.”

You’re carrying his second child and he hasn't seen you in months and he simply doesn't give a fuck at the moment.

To his team watching, the Lieutenant seems like another person.

They're watching Simon, not Ghost.

"That's his girl, then?" Alejandro finally asks, as they have been frozen in place. Watching in curiosity and bewilderment.

“Wife seems like,” Gaz says. Shooting Soap a curious look, he adds, “Did you know anything about this?”

“Hell,” Soap shrugs to feign innocence. “Didn’t know a thing-“

But, of course, you’re soon waving over at him and smiling before your husband can stop you. “Hi, Johnny!”

Guilty and caught, Soap offers a small wave in return before shaking his head. “Christ, alright. May have ran into them awhile back.”

“And you didn’t tell us, MacTavish?” Gaz scoffs.

“Not my secret to tell,” Soap shrugs again and watches as Ghost caresses your pregnant stomach. He leans down to whisper something in your ear and you smile coyly at him, planting a little kiss to the cheek of his hard mask. Ghost is somehow able to hold you and your son firmly against his chest and still have more room. Must be what had the two of you realizing that a fourth family member was needed.

Soap hears the snide remarks as your family leaves and is out of earshot.

Looks like Ghost keeps himself busy on leave.

You think he helps with the diapers?

The kid’s even got his eyes.

Reckon he takes the mask off during sex?

Finally, Soap groans out, “Haud yer wheesht. That’s enough.”

“Sergeant’s right,” Price, whose own surprise has faded into something more stern, quiets the members of the team who are still lingering. “That’s your superior you’re gosspin’ about. Show some respect and bugger off.”

But once the Captain is gone, Soap allows himself this one quip (because, he’d been so good at not sharing what he’d seen for two years).

It’s a quiet one that he mentions only to Kyle.

“He takes her shopping an’ carries all the bags. Saw it myself.”

[authorhjk1]

Does this light blue-ish outfit on Yuna considered as dress? If yes, hopefully you can make something based on this, sorry for the back to back asks too author😅. Keep up the great work and take care👋

Sky Blue

(Shin Yuna X Male Reader)

Yuna is easy. In more ways than one. But one of them is definitely the one you thought of first. She is fun, easygoing, a sunshine. But whenever you even look at her the wrong way, Yuna is already on her knees, her mouth wide open.

You're not her her husband, or boyfriend, or even friend for that matter. And you doubt that Yuna sees anything in you. Well, except for your ability to make her scream.

That's why she is now standing in front of your apartment, wearing some sort of blue dress and white over knee boots. You don't know if she just finished performing or not. Itzy isn't your favorite girl group. And you don't follow Yuna. But you still see almost just as many stage outfits of hers than her fans.

"Are you going to let me stand here all night?"

Yuna can sometimes, on rare occasions, turn a little bratty. When she is needy and she can't get off immediately is one of them.

"Get in. You know where it is."

Yuna quickly steps inside and you close the door.

Five minutes later, Yuna is on your bed on all fours. She arches her back like she always does, slightly elevating her ass. She probably had safety shorts on during her performance, but they're already gone. Her skirt barely covers her ass.

Your cock is still wet from the blowjob she just gave you, but it won't be enough for what the two of you have in mind. The small bottle is almost empty, even before you start pouring the clear liquid onto your cock.

You kneel behind Yuna and push her skirt up. Her beautiful ass is right in front of you. You caress her cheeks, before letting some of the cold liquid drop between them. You catch it with your finger, right at her rear entrance. It slips inside, making Yuna let out a deep moan. Soon, a second finger joins. You finger her ass, making Yuna whine.

"Please, I need it. Please."

Yuna begs for you to fuck her. You align yourself with her entrance and push past the ring of muscles. You both groan in union as you both feel something different, but still the same. Pleasure washes through both of your bodies as you start to fuck Yuna's ass.

It has become much easier, compared to the first time. While her tight grip has stayed the same, her ability to let loose makes it so much better.

You take a fistful of her red hair, making her raise her head, which was hanging between her shoulders just moments ago.

"Please. Be as rough me with me as you want. I need it."

Yuna whines more the harder you fuck her. She can't get enough of your cock inside her ass. How she feels so full. How you stretch out her hole. How your length glides along her inner walls.

As you keep thrusting into her, the lube makes it easier to slide in and out. It was just a liquid at first, but you probably poured too much. Some of it is now sticking to Yuna's delicious cheeks and your hips. Whenever you move back, long silver strings connect the both of you. And when you push forward, it sounds wetter, her cheeks jiggling with every thrust.

"Fuck, Yuna. How are you still this tight?"

"It's just for you."

Yuna moans, her response leaving her mouth in small portions, interrupted by her lewd whines.

"I'm so tight only for your cock."

You start to lean over her and Yuna's upper body leans closer towards the bed. Eventually, her face is buried in your sheets. Her arms have moved to her side and you can see how her hands are holding onto her heels. Yuna's ass is at an even better angle than before.

Instead of thrusting forward, you're almost thrusting downward now. Her tight ass is just a hole for you to fuck. It feels like her whole body is made for sex. It's made to please you. And that's the only thing Yuna wants. She doesn't just get off by you fucking her ass. It's the fact that you use her ass like a cheap cumdump. That's what turns her on the most.

And you're about to fill her up again.

"Fuck, Yuna!"

Your hands have moved to her waist, but her moans are still muffled by your sheets. She can feel your cock throbbing inside of her. She can feel how you use all the power that's left inside of you, to ruin her ass. She can feel how your thrusts go deeper than before.

"Yes, breed my ass! Please!"

You climax, when Yuna begs you to cum inside. Your cum quickly fills up her asshole. It's warmth spreads through her body. Since she is in a downward position, she can feel how your seed flows deeper into her body.

"Stay like this."

After collecting yourself from this intense orgasm, you slowly pull out of her. You watch how Yuna's asshole opens and closes and opens again. Her body longs for your cock, even after you just filled her with your cum.

As always, Yuna lifts one of her hands and covers her ass, making sure her body isn't pushing anything of your precious cum out of her. You reach for your nightstand and pull out a butt plug. You have so many of them, since Yuna comes by so often. She either already wears them, or the two of you play around a little on days where you have more time.

But every single session ends like this. You take out one of the glass ones. It has pink sparkles on it, which reflect the light of your lamp. You usually like to go for something with writing on it, but Yuna took the last one home two days ago.

You kneel behind her once more and start to push the glass object inside her ass. Expect for an initial whimper, Yuna takes the butt plug with practiced ease.

Now your cum is secured. Deep inside her ass.

[ariestrxsh]

*˖ ݁𖥔.𓀏·:*¨༺ .♱.✮.♱. ༻¨*:·𓀏.𖥔 ݁ ˖*

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, pure filth, rough unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation, voyeurism/exhibitionism, degradation, humiliation, ripping clothing, mean!matt, roughdom!matt, cuckhold!matt, bratty!reader

📝 author's note: 📝 this is the second part of this fic. you can read part one here. 💖 storyline will be hard to follow if you don't read them in order.

✍️ Summary: ✍️ After Matt loses a bet to his brother, Chris, he has to watch Chris have his way with you, his girlfriend. Once he sees how much you are enjoying Chris' company, he has to remind you who really owns you.

*˖ ݁𖥔.𓀏·:*¨༺ .♱.✮.♱. ༻¨*:·𓀏.𖥔 ݁ ˖*

she thinks of me part two

"You've been dreaming about fucking Chris, huh? Is that so?" Matt gruffly asked me as he pulled out his meat.

Was this really happening? I'd always wanted to know what it would be like to be hate fucked by Matt. I nodded slowly while I looked back at him as I was on the bed on my hands and knees like he'd ordered. "You like making a fucking fool out of me, you dirty little slut? The deal was that you were gonna fuck Chris, not that you were gonna like it, cum all over his cock, and then tell him this pussy belongs to him," he growled through gritted teeth while he roughly shoved his rod into me. I gasped.

"I bet you'd fuck him again given the chance," Matt said, jackhammering into me harder than he ever had before. "Answer me!" He yelled. I nodded at him, which caused him to shove my face into the pillow and thrust harder and faster. "Mmm, you're such a little slut. I can't believe all that shit you were saying to my brother. I bet if you could have us both at the same time, you would, wouldn't you?" He breathlessly grunted while he continued to pound into me with the force of a thousand suns.

I loved the way he was talking to me, and I'd do and say anything to keep it going. "Yes, please," I moaned, and I meant it, but Matt could barely hear me since my voice was muffled by the pillow. "What was that, slut? Speak up," Matt grunted as he grabbed me by my hair and lifted my head, so that his lips were practically touching my earlobe. "Yes, please!" I repeated.

The only thing better than Matt sexually punishing me would be if Chris joined him and fucked me in the same aggressive manner.

"Cheap little whore," he rasped into my ear, and he threw my head back down as he chuckled at how pathetic I was. I felt myself tighten around him as my first orgasm tore through me. An involuntary yelp passed through my lips as I relaxed into my climax and fell limp beneath Matt's vengeful touch. He didn't slow down his strokes one bit.

"Chris could never fuck you like I could fuck you," Matt said through clenched teeth, and he was right. Regardless of how animalistic, hedonistic, and passionate Chris was when he fucked me and no matter how much I loved it, Matt was topping it. But without having watched Chris fuck me, Matt never would have been able to tap into this level of anger and passion, and neither of us could deny it.

"Please punish me for cumming all over your brother's cock, Matt. I'm such a naughty little whore," I cried out as my second orgasm brewed within me. "Tell me who owns this pussy, and you better not give me any fucking wrong answers," Matt threatened me, baring his teeth. "It's yours, Matt! My pussy is all yours!" I cried out as I clenched around him once more.

I couldn't hold myself up anymore. I gave into futility while Matt continued taking what was his. "That's right. I'll just have to fuck the idea of him out of your head, and then we better not have this misunderstanding again," Matt responded in a deep growl. The way his voice echoed throughout my being sent me over the edge one last time, and this had an effect on Matt this time, causing him to bust inside of me. He filled me with his liquid and grunted loudly as he delivered a few last powerful thrusts.

I was completely spent. After climaxing four times back to back, I was an absolute mess. I must have laid there, not moving, for about five minutes after Matt was done, just taking in the experience. He got dressed, left the room, and didn't say anything.

That was undeniably the best sex we'd ever had in the two years we'd been together, and I'm sure Matt had to leave to go process the experience as well, because I could tell he was actually mad. He was definitely the jealous type and possessive, but he also definitely got off on watching Chris fuck me, and we could all tell, and I'm sure it was fucking with his head.

Did he love watching me with Chris? Did he hate it? Does he love to hate it? It was all very complicated and intricate.

All I knew was, I needed to fuck Chris again or at least make it known to Matt that I wanted to fuck Chris again, because now that I'd had angry, hateful, and violently good sex with Matt, I could never go back.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Matt and I didn't talk about the incident for several days. He was even rather cold and short with me for the first twenty-four hours after it happened, but things seemed to slowly return to normal. "Meet me at my house in an hour. I wanna have a special date night with you," Matt texted me. My face lit up. I loved when Matt would plan dates for us, and I wanted to surprise him, too. I put on a red laced teddy underneath my oversized sweater. Seeing me in red lingerie would always drive Matt crazy. I did my makeup, grabbed my overnight bag (just in case), and headed out the door.

The autumn leaves were dwindling from the branches on the trees outside as fall slowly turned to winter, and the air was growing cooler. The sun was starting to set earlier and earlier, so I was surprised when I went out to my car and had to turn on my headlights even though it was only 6 p.m. I made my way to Matt's house, taking all the backroads to avoid red lights, but also because the scenery was prettier. I had an indie folk playlist playing softly in the background as I took in the view and passed through Halloween-decorated neighborhoods.

Finally arriving at the Sturniolo household, I realized Matt's car wasn't there yet, but I'd just use the key Matt has given me for our six month anniversary. He even had it decorated for me with rhinestones. I checked my phone after I shut off my car and saw that Matt had texted again. "Sorry, traffic. Running about 15 min late," it read.

I slowly turned the key in the lock and let myself in. The house was quiet and mostly dark, so I assumed I was the only person there. I started to stroll to the kitchen to grab myself a glass of water when I heard a faint whimper, and as I approached Chris' room and noticed a soft light pouring into the hall from his bedroom, I realized he was home, and the sounds were coming from him. I slowly approached the slightly open door and peeked in.

I took in the glorious sight of Chris sprawled out on his bed, laying halfway under his blanket with his hard member in one hand and in the other, my black panties from the other day, just like I'd imagined when he'd shoved them into his pocket. The lighting was dim, but I could see everything I needed to see.

He had a delighted expression on his face. He was smiling but biting his lip, and every few strokes, he'd release his bottom lip from his teeth, throw his head back, and open his mouth further to let out a moan. He intently stared down at his cock. His tumescent head slowly leaked with a bit of pre-cum, and his hand was gliding slowly but skillfully up and down his length.

I felt a warm, wet sensation forming between my legs while I peered in at him. It was so hot to watch Chris in such a vulnerable state, completely unaware that he had an audience.

"Take that cock, princess," he grumbled under his breath. "Yeah, you like having Matt watch us?" I was so flattered to have made my way into Christopher Sturniolo's sexual fantasies. I couldn't get enough of the sight I was taking in. He was so thorough and methodical, paying special attention to the tip, running the pads of his fingers over the glistening slit, stroking the backside of his cock almost as if tracing his veins. "That's it, pretty girl. Cum all over my cock," he whispered to himself in between his delicious moaning sounds.

I mindlessly started rubbing myself over my clothes, applying pressure against my mound with my palm. I bit my lip to keep my whines stifled. I watched as Chris started bucking his hips up towards his clenched fist, and I could tell by his movements, the expression of pleasure he wore on his face, the sounds spilling from his mouth, and the irregular pattern of his breath that he was starting to lose control.

I was so entranced by what I was witnessing that I didn't hear Matt come in through the front door or feel him come up behind me. Suddenly, Chris reached his breaking point. His sticky, white matter ejected from the tip of his cock like a geyser or a water fountain, and I admired the way it shot onto his bare stomach, a bit of it pooling into his belly button and leaving his hip bones covered in a sheen of his own fluid while he tightly gripped my panties in his other fist.

"Hey, Chris, shut your fucking door while you're jerking it, freak!" Matt's voice boomed behind me, and before Matt pulled the door closed, Chris made eye contact with me for a fraction of a second and the way I was reaching between my own legs for some relief while I watched him with a shocked but aroused look on my face. His beautiful blue eyes were glazed over, and he shot me a smirk that silently asked me, so, did you like watching me cum to the thought of you? I could tell by his demeanor that he liked that I had been peeping in on him. The view was taken away from me by Matt closing the crack in the door angrily.

"So, you like watching my brother play with his cock, huh? Why didn't you go help him, you little slut?" Matt inquired in a condescending tone while his warm breath lingered on the back of my ear. I turned around wide-eyed with my jaw hanging open, not sure what to say. He pulled my sweater off of me, pulled down my pants, and left me standing in the hallway outside of Chris' bedroom in nothing but my red lingerie I'd put on for Matt. His frustrated expression morphed into a primal one. "You look so fuckable in this," Matt growled, "but I can't devour you in it."

He tore my lingerie off of me, literally ripping it with his bare hands, and I gasped. He unzipped his pants, pulled his cock out, and spun me around. After pushing me up against Chris' shut bedroom door, he plunged his hard package into me. I gasped and let out a yelp as he started fucking me with incredible vigor.

"Mmmm, so wet. Is that from watching Chris beat his meat?" Matt cooed. "Yes," I whimpered. "Yeah, I bet you wanna fuck him again," Matt chuckled, wrapping his tattooed arm around my neck to hold me still. "More than anything," I cried out while he slammed into my pussy over and over. I found myself simultaneously humiliated and extremely turned on by the fact that Chris could hear everything from the other side of the door and that he couldn't even really leave until we were finished. I wondered if Chris could be stroking himself towards another climax while he listened to Matt punishing me right outside his room.

"You little fucking brat. You can't stay away from him, can you?" Matt whimpered into my ear while he began to fuck me even more fervently. With every thrust, Matt brought me closer to the brink of orgasm. "Don't stop. I'm so close," I cried out, practically clawing at the door. "I'll only let you cum if you tell Chris who owns this pussy," Matt menacingly whispered. "You, Matt. My pussy is all yours!" I wailed as my body trembled, and I started to rhythmically spasm around Matt's dick. "That's it. Good girl," Matt cooed while I finished on him.

Seconds later, Matt was grunting, filling me with his essence and slowing down his thrusts. He let out a mean chuckle as he pulled himself out of me, and when he did this, a few drops of his cum leaked out of me and onto the floor. "You can come out now, Chris. Thanks for letting us use your door," Matt laughed, zipping up his pants and walking towards the kitchen.

Chris emerged from his room with a flushed look on his face while I balanced myself against the doorframe, trying to catch my breath. He looked me up and down while I stood completely naked in front of him, and I looked him up and down, noticing how red and swollen his lips were from him biting them and the outline of his hard on in his sweatpants.

"Listen, I'm not trying to get between you and Matt," Chris told me in a hushed voice. "Well, please try, because the more jealous he gets of the way we interact, the better our sex is," I whispered while I looked into his dreamy blue eyes. He bit his lip.

"Did you like watching me? Because I fucking loved listening to you," his voice grew deeper and quieter. I licked my lips at him and slowly nodded, "I loved every second of it." I bent down to pick my clothes and my torn lingerie up off the floor, feeling Chris' eyes watching me, and I strode off towards the kitchen to talk to Matt. Chris trailed behind me.

part three posted here 💖

taglist: @ariithereyet @bsturnzmtt @sofieeeeex @ribread03 @fratbrochrisgf @sturniolo-girl @strnlxlqve @sturnzluv @gwennybenny @theeternaloptimistt @sleepysturniolo @hearts4thetr1pl3ts @witchofthehour @slutforsturnioloss

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY ONE

in which you try everything you can to make eddie feel better after his encounter with chrissy - to make him forget, to make him feel cherished, to make him feel worthy.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, a single use of Y/N, smut (p in v), oral (m receiving), voyeurism, edging, good old fashioned ball worship if you squint, maybe some sub!eddie if you squint even harder, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.3k+

→ a/n: shout out to @hellfire--cult for the balcony idea. i knew i'd get them there at some point, little freaks. and everyone say thank you to @icallhimjoey for the early post 😏

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

21:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

HOUR TWENTY ONE - 12:00 PM

STEVE-O: why do you guys suck so much at providing photographic proof of being alive? seriously

You’ve been staring at Steve’s text ever since the two of you arrived back at the apartment. You’d reply soon enough, but for now, the message was a distraction.

Eddie wasn’t speaking to you.

Not in a brooding sense, but in a way that let you know he was too far gone in his own head right now for you to reach him. When you’d said those words to him, when you’d admitted that you found him worth it, you saw his eyes glaze over slowly. You’d watched in real time as he slipped away from you. It might be that he doesn’t believe you, it might be guilt that continues to gnaw at him for a past that can’t be changed — whatever it is, you hate it.

The easy solution would be to send Steve the photos from the cafe, but you’d already tried that. Your thumb had hovered over that photo of Eddie with a mouthful of croissant, still bright and brilliant before all his waves of self-hatred had gotten ahold of him, and you just couldn’t. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t share that piece of him with others. Some small, childish, hopeless bit of you needed to cling to the man in that photo and keep him safely inside your chest. It wasn’t a new version to your friends, they’ve always tried to defend Eddie and convince you he wasn’t all bad, but it was new to you. It was all so unexpected and unforeseen, the look behind his golden eyes as he seemingly looked right past the camera and right into you. 

No, you couldn’t send that photo. It was for your eyes only. A souvenir you had greedily stolen. 

Eddie had excused himself to the bathroom when you two arrived at the apartment, and this time, there was no dirty intentions behind it. You left well enough alone — he needed a moment to be by himself and that was fine. You could entertain yourself until he was ready to come back to you, back down to Earth. Right now, you were currently picking apart an almond croissant as if it were the most interesting thing you’d ever laid eyes on. 

Croissant dissection — see? You absolutely could distract yourself in order to give him space. Absolutely no sarcasm there.

You finally sigh when you see a message bubble pop up with three little dots, signifying Steve is typing again. You don’t give him the time to properly finish out his message before you click on your camera icon, snap a shot of the picked apart croissant in front of you, and send a message with the image attached.

YOU: we were eating breakfast, eddie’s been in the bathroom. happy, mom?

STEVE-O: he’s been in the bathroom for an entire hour? 

YOU: oh, you know how you men get with toilet time. 

Despite the playful tone of your texts, your face is completely flat, chest still heavy as you think about Eddie behind the wooden door. Should you be giving Eddie this amount of space? What if it’s doing more damage than good?

You’re about to stand from the stool you’ve occupied for nearly ten minutes now and go try your hand at knocking, try and remind Eddie that you’re still here, when Steve’s next text comes through. 

STEVE-O: stop bullshitting me. what happened? 

You swear you taste metallic blood from how hard you bite down on your bottom lip, staring at the mocking message. You can’t even begin to explain to Steve what has transpired, not just this last hour, but the entirety of the time. The parking garage, the joking marriage, Chrissy showing up, Eddie’s painful vulnerability – you can’t find the words to tell him about any of it. The same as you can’t find it in you to send the photo of Eddie in Betty’s. 

YOU: nothing happened. do you need any more proof than that?

He only reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You assume that means you’re in the clear, for now. 

When you exit your thread of messages with Steve, a new thread that has been started catches your eye. It’s a new number, no contact on it. The only message sent is from you – the photo of you with your coffee, head thrown back and eyes shut with a wide smile boosting your cheeks. 

Eddie’s phone number. 

You look at the photo of yourself for a while, trying to not cringe at your appearance. To you, you just looked ridiculous. You don’t understand why Eddie wanted this photo preserved so badly. Your smile is too wide, your eyes are mere slits from the way your cheeks were squishing up with joy, most of your makeup you’d started the night with has long since faded due to a multitude of activities. You don’t feel like anything special in this photo.

But Eddie had wanted it. He had deemed this moment in time of you as picture-worthy, had gone so far as to send it to himself so that he’d have this memory even if you deleted it from your phone. 

Before you think too hard on it, you tap on that line of numbers and add a proper contact profile to it. 

EDDIE. You keep the contact name simple, eager to get it out of the way as you move onto the next step. A contact photo. You don’t even have to ponder on it – in a flash, you’ve selected the picture of him with the croissant. 

You’re back on the thread of messages – or, at least, the singular message – and don’t stop yourself as your thumbs begin to fly over your keyboard.

YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out? 

To be fair, you didn’t even know if Eddie had his phone on him. That green message stares back at you for a few moments before you get your answer. 

EDDIE: Excuse me? 

He has his phone. You lift your head, looking at the closed door of the bathroom before glancing back down at your phone. 

YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them. 

You perk your ears and listen for any sign of life from down the hall. Anything. A scoff, a pitiful laugh, him calling you stupid aloud. You’ll take whatever he offers. 

It takes a moment, and you truly have to strain to hear it, but you can hear the laugh that would better pass as a sigh. 

EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke? 

YOU: ‘supposed to be’. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that. 

EDDIE: Debatable. 

You find yourself smiling down at the phone. Your neck aches from the way you keep glancing up suddenly at the door, silently pleading for him to come back out. To come out and fight with you, come out and bicker with you, come out and ignore you. Anything, for him to leave the bathroom and do anything but keep that door shut between you two. 

He doesn’t, so you send another bad joke. 

YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant? 

This time, he plays along. 

EDDIE: I don't know, what? 

YOU: what a BREADtaking sight. 

This time, you hear a more proper scoff come from within the bathroom. 

YOU: i heard that. don’t even try to tell me it wasn’t funny. 

EDDIE: I’m not laughing because they’re funny. I’m laughing because they’re BAD. 

YOU: bet you wouldn’t say that to my face. 

Immediately, you discard the phone, facedown on the counter as you look up to the door with unbridled hope. He could always ignore the comment, choose to not respond and continue to sulk away from you. It’s entirely possible – but you pray to every star in the sky that that isn’t what he’s going to do. 

Please come back out. Please, even if just to sit in silence with me. 

Your prayers are answered.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and await for the click of the door unlocking. It never comes, though – the door was never locked in the first place. He opens it, and you realize that the entire time, you could have stormed into the small room with him and demanded that he not hide away.

But you didn’t. You gave him space, gave him patience, and it’s clear he knows this as he comes out. 

His eyes are red. As if he’s been crying. 

“Hi,” you meekly say, taking in his face past those red-rimmed eyes. The tip of his nose is a fading shade of pink, as if he’s been rubbing it incessantly, and he sniffs for good measure as he turns the bathroom light off and walks to where you are. 

“Hi,” his voice is rough around the edges as he greets you back. He won’t look you in the eye once he’s within reach – his gaze remains downcast, and you catch him fiddling with a few of his rings. 

You hadn’t considered what you would do if you got this far. In every carefully considered scenario, you’d assumed he’d shut you out. You never expected him to come straight to you, as if seeking out comfort from you, without you having to beg it of him. 

His eyes catch the croissants on the counter, torn apart and lazily picked at. He’s about to open his mouth and say something about it, probably questioning what you had done to the poor pastry, but you don’t give him a chance. You’re quick to snatch up one of the pieces you’d been picking apart to snack on for yourself and hold it out to him. An olive branch, an offering – a reason for him to sit and stay for a while with you. 

He takes it tentatively, finally looking you in your eye again as he takes a small bite. It’s nothing compared to the bite he had taken when you’d snapped the photo of him, mere crumbs compared to that mouthful. 

“Did you just… massacre our croissants?” he questions, squinting his eyes down at the crime scene. 

You shift your body jokingly, failing at blocking him from seeing the mess you made, “Absolutely not. I have no clue what you’re talking about.” 

He almost cracks a grin, “Right. Of course. I must be imagining things.” 

“Wanna hear another pun?” you blurt out, suddenly nervous as he continues to stand before you. You hate the incessant need inside of your chest that calls for you to comfort him, to make this all better for him. 

“I feel like you’ll tell me one even if I say no,” he raises an eyebrow at you, “So, sure.” 

“Why did the croissant go to the doctor?”

He hums, trying to peer over your shoulder again at the croissants you were badly hiding, “Let me guess. Is it because you tore it apart mercilessly?” 

“No,” you scoff, reaching behind you to grab another piece to offer to him as well as one of your own, “It was because he was feeling crummy, dumb ass.” 

A crack of a smile. It’s miniscule but there. It makes that terrible pun worth it, just to see him not looking quite as defeated is worth all the stars in the sky at this point for you. 

You’d certainly been the reason for his unhappiness in the past, and you surely would be again at some point. It all feels so inevitable; just as he believes that he can only bring you misery, you can’t imagine yourself bringing him joy. A belief that strikes something in your chest, something albeit more painful than you’d care to admit, but it’s true. You’ve crossed a line, you’ve changed everything, but the past still remains. 

You aren’t perfect. Neither is Eddie.

Heartbreak is imminent, but for this brief moment, you can make him smile. You don’t need to worry about the next time you’ll piss him off or upset him, you just need to focus on making that twitch on his lips more permanent. 

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way,” you decide to rip off the bandaid as he moves as if to sit beside you. Quickly, your words make him freeze. A bad sign, but you push through, because he needs to hear these things, “You deserve good things, Eddie. Good people, good things- you just… you deserve those things in your life.” 

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He’s turning away from you. Turning and heading to the living room, walking away from you.

You don’t let him. In an instant, you get onto your feet and follow him, continuing despite him acting as if he’s finished with the conversation. You’re not.

“You’re a good person, Eddie,” you insist, reaching out for him before he makes it to the couch, “Don’t walk away from me.”

He spins easily in your grip. “Just because you say something, doesn’t make it true, sweetheart.”

He’s back to saying it like a curse. Like it’s a harmful title. As if it’s not a privilege to you and all your metaphors to hear that nickname fall from his lips. 

Right before your eyes, his defenses are on the rise. Brick by brick, he’s slowly reforming those walls to separate the two of you. Instead of defeat, instead of acceptance, it just makes you angry.

“Stop doing that,” you say quietly, carefully, firmly.

“Stop doing what?”

“That. Pushing me away. Locking me out,”  you tighten your hand on his bicep and watch the way his nostrils flare, “I fucking hate it.”

“Despite what you believe,” he takes a step closer to you, “Not everything I do is meant to piss you off.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying, and we both know it,” you can feel his muscles tense beneath your touch.

This time, his smile that emerges is cold. But you can still see the rubbage left by his tears — pink water lines and a new puffiness around his eyes. His words and his sudden cool demeanor can’t hurt you when you see it for what it is.

“Clearly we both don’t know it,” he chastised you, “We are very rarely on the same page. This isn’t a damn exception. You don’t have to prove your point, it doesn’t matter.”

He’s a wounded animal, striking out. He’s letting Chrissy’s words get to him.

“You’re worth i-“

“Don’t,” One of his hands shoot out to grip your waist, “Don’t fucking say that. Please. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” 

He didn’t believe you. 

“I meant it,” you whisper, anger shaking out of your grasp inch by inch as you realize that your words can’t break through to him, “I mean it. You’re worth it, to me, to St-“

“This isn’t about Steve,” he cuts you off, “It’s not about Steve, or Nancy, or Robin, or fucking Argyle. No need to play dumb anymore.” 

It’s about you.

You both know it. For once, contradictory to what he’d just claimed, you’re both on the same page. And like he said, no need to play dumb. 

“You’re worth it to me,” you say it with more confidence this time, “You’re a good person to me.” 

“How can you say that?” he laughs out, void of amusement, “How can you say shit like that after everything we’ve been through?”

How can you not?

You only squeeze his bicep tighter, and he returns the action by gripping your hip harsher. “Because I mean it. I believe it. Whether you do or not.” 

For a moment, the cracks in his armor expose themselves. 

“You shouldn’t,” his voice should waver, “You shouldn’t believe those things, Y/N. You should hate me.” 

“But I don’t,” And I never did.

“But you don’t,” he echoes.

You’ve done the opposite of what you had wanted. His smile is gone, that sadness creeping back up. You hate that. You don’t hate him — you hate that world of mourning behind his eyes, that defeat that brings his shoulders down and makes his grip on you falter. So you do the only thing you can think of to distract him. Make him forget.

“Make me hate you.” 

His eyes widen briefly, “Excuse me?”

“Make me hate you,” you practically beg of him, “Show me why you’re such a bad person and I’ll let this go. I’ll drop the conversation, we can- Fuck, we can forget this entire morning happened. Make me hate you, Eddie, and I’ll stop reminding you that I don’t.” 

His fingers curl back into you, slowly and gently, as his brows furrow. He’s considering what you’ve just said — more than that, you can see him trying to untangle all the hidden meanings behind it.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” his voice is low and calculated. 

You shrug, stepping forward, letting your lips get even closer to his, “Not my problem. Just make me.” 

The fingers are no longer gentle as he pulls you into him, finally catching onto the emphasis you place on those two little words.

Make me.

When his lips meet yours, they’re rough and brutal, taking greedily what they want from you. The only thing on your mind is making him forget. Make him forget, carry the load for him — they’re both more important than making him smile for now. Both these driving needs burn brighter in your chest because it’s clear that’s what he needs. 

You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now.

“You want me to make you hate me, baby?” he mumbled against your lip, practically drinking in the way you gasp as he starts to pull back, “Is that really what you want?”

It’s what you want. “Yes.” 

And maybe you do too, when he leans back in to bite your lip. There will be another time for you to convince him with words that you find him to be worth it. Both hands from wrap around you and rough start to guide you back towards that fucking couch.

“Not the couch,” you suddenly protest, digging your heels into the carpet at the center of his living room, “Anywhere but the couch.” 

And oh, the way he’s looking at you in that moment might be your new favorite thing. Your new favorite color is his eyes as they sparkle with a bit of life that had been missing since the coffee shops encounter. Your new favorite sound is the silence that encases the little breath he lets out. Your new favorite movie is watching him move in slow motion as his eyes dart behind you, towards the door to his balcony, before his lips finally curl up with a hint of the genuine warmth that had been hidden behind his walls.

“Anywhere?” he teases, beginning to walk you backwards.

You nod, grinning right back at him.

“I think I have an idea.” 

If you had known twenty one hours ago that Eddie Munson, your sworn enemy, would have you out on his public balcony and on your knees for him in only a matter of time, past you would have….

Well, you don’t really care what past you would have done or thought anymore. You’re making him forget, yes, all while making yourself forget. You don’t care what you, twenty one hours ago, would or wouldn’t do as you let the past slip through your fingers so eagerly. All you can focus on is the dig of concrete against your knees, the way Eddie’s hands grip the railing as he leans against it, and the way the early afternoon sun forms a halo around him as you look up through fluttering lashes.

You just want to make him feel good. Every action is intentional, doing everything in your power to erase whatever storming thoughts had been haunting him so cruelly since Chrissy had so carelessly said what she had. You want to make him feel worthy. You want to make him feel loved.

Loved. You certainly didn’t love him — you couldn’t possibly, could you? He wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t let yourself. But for now, you could play pretend; you could worship his body, drag his shirt out of the way and place playful kisses across his hips, and you could pretend that only this moment exists. 

“You wanna know what makes me such a bad person?” he sighs out as you let your teeth graze his skin, shoulders rolling to shake off that shiver you elicit from him, “This. The fact that this is all I can fucking think about.”

“Hm,” you can only hum in response, nails taking over the denim of the jeans he currently wore. You walk your fingers up his thighs, moving closer and closer to his zipper. Your mouth is nearly watering at the prospect of worshiping him. 

And the fact that any neighbor could walk out at any given moment and catch the two of you. You should probably insist on it being fast, on him being quiet, but the thought sends a thrill through the pit of your stomach. Your thighs clench and your cunt aches at the thought of being caught. 

You want to do more than make him bite back mere moans of your name. You want to make him scream.

Suddenly, a hand tangles into the roots of your hair, pulling back and making you focus on him again.

“Eyes on me,” he instructs. Once you focus on him and only him, he continues, loosening his grip and letting those fingertips rub at your scalp soothingly, “You know why you should hate me? For all the nights I pictured this.”

“Yeah?” you smile innocently, playing along. He can talk all he wants, you know once you get your mouth on him, he’ll be lucky to remember his own name. “How many nights, hm? Tell me all about them, pretty boy.”

You catch the wobble in his knees, the way his breathing picks up, the brilliant shade of ivory his knuckles stretch to. You lean back on your haunches, and the hand in your hair slips as he glowers down at you. 

“What are you-”

“Take off your shirt,” you calmly command.

“Excuse me?” 

“Your shirt. I want it off.”

His hand that was once tangled against your scalp now comes down to your face, movement slow but not hesitant as he pinches your chin. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, and you let out, even making a show of letting your tongue peek out to tap at it. “And who said you were calling the shots?” 

“I did,” you put it simply, completely removing your hands from him now, “Take off the shirt, or I’ll leave you out here with blue balls.” 

You close your lips around the end of his thumb and his knuckles dig in deeper to the skin below your chin as you suck subtly. He chuckles, but you can hear just how breathless he goes at the small action, even as he keeps up the act with a hard press of his thumb on your lower lip. Your mouth hangs open for him, waiting patiently for his next move. 

A game of chess, an exchange of power, a fight for dominance. All the lines of who is and isn’t in control are blurred. 

“Have you always been so mean, baby?” he taunts, trailing what spit you’d left behind on his thumb along your lip. 

His movement stops when your lips spread into a provocative smile, “I learned from the best, didn’t I?” 

The retort had potential to backfire. You wait for smoke and glory, for him to pull away from you further. He’d slam down a brick right in front of your face, lay the mortar to leave you high and dry. He’d push you away, and you’d have to retreat, tail tucked between your legs in the shame of trying when it came to him. 

No smoke, no glory. He secedes, but makes no move to add to his walls, only removing his hand from your face and taking off the shirt. Just as you had told him to. 

“Better?” he asks as he makes a show of tossing the shirt to the other side of the balcony. It could have even flown over the railing, for all you paid attention to the scrap of clothing. Maybe some innocent bystander is on the streets below, confused to all Hell as to why it’s raining obscure band t-shirts. 

You’re just a bit too distracted to consider that right now. 

With Eddie’s torso revealed, all words seem to evade you. You catch the sweat beginning to gather across his sternum, watching the way he’s flushing beneath your gaze, reveling in the pink chest exposed to you as the blush crawls wider. Instantly, your original purpose is forgotten, the primal urge to pepper kisses and bites alike across his skin almost lifting you up off your sore knees. You want to leave bruises – you want to make him scream, you want to mark him up, you want to make him feel worthy. 

You stay on your knees, but compromise with all your wants as you lift up and stretch a bit. Your lips start their trail a bit lower than you (or Eddie) would have liked, taking their time to get familiar with the spanse of his rib cage first. You don’t nip with teeth, not yet. Just chaste kisses, lining each bone you can hardly feel residing beneath the skin, feeling his lungs expanding against your affection. Your tongue swipes alongside one of his side tattoos, a large and detailed dragon you hadn’t paid much mind to before. Every time you’d seen him shirtless, you’d been a bit distracted.

Not now. Now, you’re focused, determined to learn every curve and dip there is to explore on Eddie. You want to know him better than the back of your hands, memorize him more intricately than your own palms. After all, in order to worship a deity, you must know them. 

You return back to the center line of his abdomen, kisses chasing after one another, even taking the time to suck his skin between your teeth but never bite down. You pause once your lips rest right beneath his navel, the tip of your nose brushing that rough patch of hair that leads down to your end destination. Your hands reach for his belt, toying with the buckle.

Through heavy lashes, you look up at him, staring down at you in awe, “You know, you’re not doing a very good job at making me hate you, pretty boy. Think I might just have to worship you instead.”

A deity of your own making. A deity for your own taking. 

With skill, your hands undo the buckle effortlessly. You unbutton and unzip his jeans as if you’ve done this part a million times, as if you’d spent every single Sunday of the last year right here and doing exactly this. On your knees, worshiping him. This balcony, for all its exposure, certainly knows how to serve as a holy place. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re impatient. You still haven’t left him speechless, meaning you still hadn’t made your point, clearly. 

His jeans hang loosely as they creep down his thighs, abandoned for a moment as you occupy your mouth against his hips. The hips you once thought would look so pretty properly decorated. You decide you were wrong – they don’t need ink burying into the skin, they need your teeth digging in. 

You cover that skin with mirroring images of bursts of purple and pink, flowering bruises that you take your time to mark onto him. With each suck and bite, Eddie rolls his hips into you, head leaned back and throat straining with each moan he swallows down. 

With the last hickey finished, you finally lean back, proud of your masterpiece as Eddie whimpers above you. Blooms in the shape of your lips mingle with faint and quickly fading teeth marks. 

“Fuck,” he gasps out when your fingertip stops trailing over your markings and comes down to apply the softest pressure over the straining bulge in his boxers. 

“What was it that you said earlier?” your finger traces over where you know a vein is – you know it because you’ve felt it, been driven insane by it – before circling around the wet patch now forming. He’s desperate, hips bucking again and a moan finally escaping. You think he’s bitten his lips hard enough in an attempt at self-restraint that they might be bleeding, “You said I’m not calling the shots, right?” 

“You’re not,” he pathetically grits out, hands forming tighter fists on metal railing, as if the moment he lets go of it they’ll find their way home to you. 

You lean forward, breath washing over his crotch before you place a feathery kiss to his clothed tip, “I’m not?” 

You are. You both know you are. A constant battle of control, an ever-growing fight for dominance. 

He lets out something crossed between a sigh of relief and a whine of protest when you remove your lips and hand from him completely, only to let out a sharp yelp when your finger curls into the waistband of his boxers and pulls back the elastic, letting it snap back into place sharply. 

“Say I am,” you barter, “Say I’m in control right now, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is.” 

You don’t expect him to break so easily. You’ve underestimated just how tightly you’ve caught him beneath your thumb.

“You’re in control,” he gasps out, head hanging low to meet your gaze fully, “You’re in complete and utter fucking control of me. You’re calling all the shots, baby. You always are.” 

He didn’t have to sweeten it up with baby, but it spurs you on. 

You shove his boxers down, watching his cock spring out for the taking. And you do as you promised; you put your money where your mouth is.

You start softly, taking your time as you gingerly suck on his pretty pink tip as you had his thumb. Hardly hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue circle his slit to gather up the precum. You let the taste of him completely cover your tongue, even hum in satisfaction when he lets out a loud groan. It motivates you, feeds your fervor as you let his tip fall from your mouth and trail the tip of your tongue down the underside of his cock. That vein you’d traced with your fingertip, yours for the taking, covered in a faint line of saliva as you let it rest on your forehead and graze your lips against his ballsack. 

He can’t hide his shiver, even as his fist flies to his mouth to bite down on. 

“Have I ever told you how cute you are?” you say low enough for just him. You can hear the sounds of traffic, a dog barking, birds singing — all reminders of the outside world and the looming threat of being caught. Warmth floods you again at the reminder of that threat, thighs clenching closer together in a desperate search of friction, “Just falling apart for me, acting so tough for so long until I got you alone.” 

He whimpers your name. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You wrap your lips around the sensitive skin, sucking and pecking away on one side before moving to the next. His reaction throttles your movements. When his hand loses the fight of resistance, coming down to the back of your head, you laugh breathlessly against the now wet skin. 

“Let me make you feel just how worthy you are to me,” you praise, pulling back finally, letting your nose brush against his sack as you do so. The hand that was once merely resting now tangles up in your hair — a warning. 

You let the velvet skin of his cock drag down your cheek as each movement is deliberate, taking your time and in no rush. You want to savor him like this. Imprint him to memory. 

You want to make him forget while making yourself remember. 

You want to remember the way his hand flexes at the base of your skull when you finally kiss his tip once more, remember the way his abdomen tenses as you sink him further into your mouth. You want to remember every little sound that escapes him as he hits the back of your throat, as you constrict around him, as you moan around his base and the vibrations have him slipping out of control. 

Your nails dig into his thighs to balance yourself, eyes watering as you look up at him. One subtle nod. He doesn’t need more than that.

Your jaw goes slack, trying to steady your breathing through your nose as you let him take control. His hips thrust at their own pace, gentle enough that he only grazes the back of your throat rather than bruise it. The issue is you want him to bruise it. You want him to mark you from the inside out. Until there’s no part of you left untouched by him. 

You gag again, and he slows. Your fingers that grip his thighs immediately tap against him, and he mistakes it as a signal to pull back completely before you chase after him, pressing him onto your tongue until your lips are snug around his cock a mere inch from the base. Your nose is grazing those pubes in the dead center of all your love marks. Shapes of semi-permanent scars that whisper, you’re worth it to me. I want this. I want you. 

The last thing on his mind was Chrissy Cunningham and her words alluding to him not being worth it. 

You make sure of it when you finally release him from your mouth and begin to pump with an eager fist, ducking down and returning to pay attention to his balls once more. You nuzzle the soft skin, let the tips of your canines graze them before you suck them onto your tongue as you’d done his cock. He’s no longer containing his moans – they flow freely along with curse words, chants of your name, sounds you’d love to capture and play on repeat until the end of your days. 

“Oh my God,” he groans out particularly loudly, “Fuck, baby. J-Just like that, please- Fuck. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl, just for me.” 

Your hand is still wrapped around him, slowly coming up to squeeze hard around the tip as you whisper up to him, “Only for you.” 

“Yeah? Only for me?” 

You don’t know how to explain to him that it’s true: you’re only ever that mean for him, you’re only ever this eager for him, you’re only ever this desperate for him. 

You don’t answer him with words. There are none. Instead, you take him back in your mouth, and you solely focus on bringing your deity to climax. The man you were worshiping, the man who was worth the ache in your knees that surely told you they would be left bruised, if not skinned. 

“Is it just like you imagined?” you question as you break your lips off him. He’s close, leaking precum excessively and entire body taut, “Was it worth it? To picture this, to want this so badly?” 

He almost can’t answer you, but somehow manages between pants, “It was. It is. You’re- fuck, you’re worth it.” 

“Good,” you drop your hand from him, leaving him right on the edge as you rest both sticky palms on the tops of your thighs. You look up at him with relinquished control – the perfect image of submission, for him. “Then you get it. When I say you’re worth it, you get it.” 

He’s clearly still reeling from you bringing him so close only to leave him hanging, teetering on a cliff as he stares you down. 

His chest heaves as he questions, “What was it you wanted me to do earlier?” A deceiving hand comes down, tucking any baby hairs behind your ear and cradling the side of your face. One moment, his thumb is stroking a soft arch beneath your eye, the next that hand is pulling you up, “Make you?”

You know that if you hadn’t been so eager to follow his touch, you’d still be on your knees. Even as you watch him take the reins, you know you will always call the shots – just like he had said. 

“You really think you can make me hate you?” you whisper once you’re standing tall in front of him, leaning your cheek into his touch.

“I shouldn’t have to make you hate me,” he corrects, the thumb back to gentle strokes, loosening the touch to be more tender once again, “You should already hate me.” 

“Why?” 

He flips positions immediately, your lower back now curving into the railing as he presses himself up against you, his achingly hard cock between your bodies, “Because of this. Because I always want you on your knees for me. Because of all the fucking filth I want to do to you. I want to bend you over, right here, and take you where anyone could see. I want to have you screaming my name loud enough that every single person on the streets of this city hears you.”

With each word, a knot ties inside of you, desperate for release. 

“Because you’re fucking right,” he leans down, lips going straight for your neck, not looking you in the eyes, “All it fucking took was for you to get me alone for one night, and now? I’ll never get enough of you, I’ll never get clean of you,” he takes a deep breath, and suddenly, his lips latch onto you, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting hard. You can’t stop your fingers from latching onto his curls, tugging hard, body rolling into his. It hurts, it stings, you need more, “Everything changes. And that includes me.” 

His face finally leaves the crook of your neck, pulling back to look you in your eyes. Doe brown eyes search yours, wide and honest and pleading. You let everything else melt away; for a moment, it’s only him and only you. The tension, the last twenty one hours, the last year — you let it disintegrate and focus on him.

It never mattered if everything changed. 

It only matters that he’s changed, irreversibly, and so are you.

“How can I hate you for those things?” you press into him again, this time less desperate and more consciously, “Do it.” 

“Do what?”

“All of it,” you trail a hand up his chest, “Every single thing you just said. Fucking- Do them. Bend me over, make me scream, change me,” your voice breaks, shaking with anticipation and need. 

It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Every single thing he wanted, he craved, he does. A flurry of him properly discarding his jeans as he unbuttons yours to shove them down, spinning you and shoving you hard enough into the railing that it digs into your abdomen and leaves you breathless. You’re hardly aware of the way you step out of your pants and kick them to the side, looking out to the city skyline but not seeing it. It’s all a blur as you focus on the way your shirt rides up and he grabs your hips, bruising you finally as you have desperately needed. 

You wanted to be left haunted by the end of these last few hours. You wanted to see him every time you looked in the mirror for the next week, to remember the map of where his body molded to yours. You want to dream of the way he stretches you as your underwear is ripped to the side. You want to be followed by the sounds of his skin slapping against yours as he snaps forward with intention.

Changing you. He has no idea that he’s already ripped you open from the inside out, has already rewired your entire chest and set flames to your brain. 

Everything changes, and sometimes, everything is only two people. Just you. Just him. New versions that would have never met had it not been for this stupid fucking bet.

“Eddie,” you nearly sob, nearly choke on, his name burning in your throat like kindling embers. 

His hand walks up your spine, trailing wildfire even with a layer of cotton between you two. Burning and singing away all you’d assumed for far too long. When he reaches the nape of your neck, he takes care in wrapping your hair around his wrist, tugging back hard and forcing you to stand from where the railing had been bending you in two.

“Say it again,” his lips brush you ear with every gasping breathing, timing with the way his cock is sliding in and out of your warmth, “Say it louder.” 

“Fu-“ you start to moan, cut off by him pulling even harder on your hair, making his point so that you cry out, “Eddie!” 

He thrusts harder. You swear you could feel him in your throat. 

“Scream for me, baby,” an arm wraps around your torso, firm and solid for you to cling to rather than the warming metal of the railing, “Tell them who’s making you feel so good. Let them know. Be a good girl.”

Even when he claims to have control, it’s your actions, your reactions, that call the shots.

It’s the echo of your voice that spurs him on as you chant his name over and over, as if he were your only God. Primal worship dripping from every syllable. It’s the tremble in your thighs that has him pressing deeper into you, chest glued to your back as if he could never get you close enough. It’s the clench of your cunt around him, a vice that sucks him in as you drag him closer to the high he’s been dizzily chasing since you first dropped to your knees in front of him. 

It’s you. You’ve changed him, as he’s changed you.

He pulls your hair until you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, back arching and feet still spread as he only maintains his quick and brutal pace, leaning down to whisper in your ear one last time.

“You know the real reason why you should hate me?” he grits out between to particularly forceful thrusts, “It’s not just because I don’t deserve you. It’s because I’ve wanted you for so long,” you’re right on the edge, fluttering around his cock as his movements stutter. A tell tale sign. “I- fuck, fuck. It’s- God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.” 

You shatter around him in waves. Your entire body tenses as the words dig claws into you, piercing through vines and blooms. His body stills, warmth flooding you deep within as you continue to see stars. You can’t make a single sound, fingerprints surely left behind on where you clasp onto his forearm. 

I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.

When the waves recede, when the high has passed its peak, you both freeze. Your body tensed in his hold, struggling to process what he’d just said. 

Loved you. 

He’s frozen in place, scrambling to figure out how to undo the damage just done. 

I’ve loved you for so long.

He slips out of you, his spent dripping down your thighs. His forearm drops from you. Your hands don’t even try to stop him.

I’ll never be fucking worthy.

You should be worried of neighbors coming out to see the two of you on his balcony. If not worried, you should be embarrassed, or aching at the thought once again. Anything. You should feel something.

You turn slowly to him, entirely numb as you catch his rueful expression.

Loved you. He loved you.

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

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[weasleyreidstyles]

Serendipity

chapter seven

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): this is quite long, canonical voldemort style violence, use of one wizard slur (bloodtraitor), one mention of torture, parental death (minor mentions)

series masterlist; previous part; next part

The weeks flew by after that day in the Room of Requirement. In those weeks, you and Mattheo had gotten nowhere with researching your newfound siphon abilities, as most literature was just a regurgitation of previous works. The two of you grew closer, sessions usually ending in a spontaneous make out or sensual tryst, but he still refused to go any further than that. Refused to be completely vulnerable with you. Safe to say that your days were a lot more interesting, but it was becoming harder to hide your clear feelings from the prying eyes of your curious friends.

Harry had been frequently visiting Dumbledore's office for his own lessons of sorts and he had learned more about Mattheo's father, Tom Riddle, but nothing about why he needed one of Slughorn's specific memories.

The four of you were slaving away in one of the Herbology greenhouses when Hermione brought up the subject of Slughorn's illustrious dinner parties, which Harry had been avoiding.

"There's no way you'll be able to get out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come." she said, wrestling with the weird pod-like creature that you were studying for that week.

Harry groaned as you snickered at his misfortune. Meanwhile, Ron, who was attempting to burst his pod in the bowl by putting both hands on it, standing up, and squashing it as hard as he could, shared a look with you and said angrily, "And this is another party just for Slughorn's favorites, is it?"

"Just for the Slug Club, yes," said Hermione, annoyance written on her face.

The pod flew out from under Ron's fingers and hit the green house glass, rebounding onto the back of Professor Sprout's head and knocking off her old, patched hat, causing you, Ron and Harry to let out loud laughs that died out at the Professor's unimpressed look sent your way.

Harry went to retrieve the pod while Hermione carried on, "Look, I didn't make up the name 'Slug Club'—"

"'Slug Club,'" repeated Ron with a sneer worthy of one of Malfoy's. "It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug—"

"You almost sound jealous, Won Won." you teased, using Lavender's cringe-worthy nickname that he clearly abhorred. Despite having a girlfriend, you just knew that somewhere deep down in his stupid, stupid brain, Ron still had feelings for Hermione.

"We're allowed to bring guests," Hermione, who had turned a bright, boiling scarlet, snapped, "I would have asked you, but I don't think your girlfriend would like that very much."

You turned to face Ron as he gufawed at your best friend. "Don't worry Ronald, I'm not one of his favourites either. Teddy's invited me as his plus one for this one, I'll let you know what we're definitely not missing out on." He only glared at you again in response.

Theodore had asked you to accompany him so that he wouldn't be stood alone as Blaise flirted his way through the other pureblood attendees. You had agreed and he gave you free reign of his Gringott's vault to choose a dress from a boutique that Pansy had graciously taken you to. It paid well to have a rich friend or two in this world.

It seemed that everyone knew of Slughorn's party and the chance of going as a guest with one of his members – you and Hermione caught Romilda Vane and her friends whispering about 'Harry' and 'Fred and George' and 'Love Potions' in one of the girls' toilets in the intermission between Transfiguration and Potions, and had watched in shock as they discreetly opened one of the twins' own Love Potions disguised as perfumes between them. You had both warned him to be wary of them, but of course Harry rarely listened to the two of you.

The three of you were walking out of the now-closed library, Ron off with Lavender Brown somewhere, when Romilda came up to him and offered him a bottle of Gilllywater. Hermione's i-told-you-so look had him declining it, but she seemed prepared and had shoved a pink heart shaped box of chocolates into his arms.

"Chocolate Cauldrons." the girl had said. "They have fire whiskey in them. My grandma sent them, but I don't like them."

Romilda smiled before walking away.

"Definitely firewhiskey in there," you say sarcastically. "Give it a whiff before you eat them. Make sure it's not Ginny you're smelling." you say before leaving the pair, laughing at Harry's disgruntled look and making your way to the Ravenclaw common room, intent on researching a book on Mermaids and Siphoners, but you weren't confident that you'd find information that wasn't in the books you'd already combed through.

~∞~

"I'm going with Luna." Harry said the next day. "To Slughorn's party. I'm going with Luna."

"That's wonderful, Harry." you say with a smile. "She really needs a pick-me-up bless her. Some idiot in her year keeps stealing all her things."

The girl came and told you not an hour later, an excited gleam in her pale blue eyes.

~∞~

A few days later, you were waiting outside the Slytherin common room, nervously smoothing out nonexistent creases from the fine silk of your deep green evening gown. You had agreed to meet Theo, Blaise and Pansy here before walking to Professor Slughorn's office together, where the dinner party was being held.

Hesitantly, you knocked on the door to the common room, not knowing the password for it, obviously. The person who answered it made you want to smite them immediately – Greggory Goyle was as nasty as they came.

"What do you want, bloodtraitor?" he spat as he glared down at you, before his beady eyes snapped to your body, namely your chest.

"Not that it concerns the likes of you," you say, voice full of venom, "But I'm waiting for my date to Slughorn's dinner party."

"What poor soul agreed to take you to something as sophisticated as a dinner party?" the boy sneered, his gaze beginning to become an uncomfortable hindrance before your friend's voice rung out into the empty corridor.

"I did, Goyle. Now kindly fuck off." Theodore snapped before his gaze softened on your form. "Tesoro, you look dazzling." his face lit up with a smile as he twirled you under his arm.

"Thank you, Teddy." you flushed, while giving him a once over. "My, my, don't you clean up nicely." he swatted away the hand that patted his cheek.

As you were greeting Theo, the rest of his friends exited the common room, Lorenzo announcing that you'd have to wait for Blaise to 'stop staring at his reflection' as he did. It was obvious that Theo and Pansy were regulars at illustrious dinner parties: Theo wore a tailored suit, with a crisp white shirt and a dark green silk waistcoat and tie (charmed to match the exact colour of your own dress); Pansy wore a sleek dress in a rich shade of deep plum and her face was painted exquisitely with makeup that accentuated her pretty siren eyes, her short black hair styled into a flattering bob. She had come right up to see you in the dress she'd helped you pick out: a dark green silky number that hugged your body in the most flattering way.

She was busy fawning over the way your hair fell over your shoulders gracefully, when the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and you felt a familiar prickle in the back of your mind. You turned to find Mattheo, white shirt partly unbuttoned, hair disheveled and eyes slightly bloodshot as he admired you with no shame. The way his deep, onyx eyes took you in from head to toe made you feel hot all over, and the words he spoke into your mind, made you melt even further. If that was even possible.

You look beautiful, love.

You smile at him in gratitude which was sent in waves to the forefront of his mind – a new trick he had taught you. He nodded his head with a proud smirk which sent flutters right to your core.

You look much better in Slytherin green than Ravenclaw blue, darling. You should indulge more often.

The boy was actually flirting with you and he basked in the sight of your flustered expression.

Pansy was the only one of the surrounding group to see your interaction and she gave you a look that you understood was her way of telling you that the two of you would be discussing this later.

Finally Blaise, who had just stumbled out of the stonewall entrance, said with an exasperated breathe: "Let's get this over with, please. I want to get there so I can leave earlier. If Slughorn asks me about my mother's latest husband one more time I may explode."

You stifle a laugh behind your hand as the tallest Slytherin glares down at you. "Were you not the one making us all wait in favour of admiring yourself in the mirror, Zabini?"

"When you have a face like mine, it must be admired Meadow." he replied with a self-assured smirk. Lorenzo practically guffawed at this, which is when you notice that his eyes were bloodshot like Mattheo's. But he was always a cheerful boy, seeing him laugh was a regular occurrence within this group.

Soon after Blaise appeared, you hooked an arm in the crook of Theo's elbow and the four of you began your walk to the classroom, completely missing the glare that Mattheo was pointing at the back of his best friend's head.

Compared to other offices you'd seen, Slughorn's was namely the biggest. Drapes of emerald, crimson and gold were streamed about the ceilings and walls, creating a tent-like effect about the room and thousands of faeries fluttered about the golden glow of where the apex of the drapes met, the faint fluttering of their wings could be heard over the music and chatter. The moment the four of you entered you'd commented on how crowded and stuffy it was as a live classical band played over the loud conversation from older wizards all around the room.

"I didn't know he invited elders here." you mumble to Theo who hums at you.

"It's all networking. A way to secure future positions in the Ministry." he said, resentment dripping from his tongue.

"And you don't want that?" you ask, staring at his profile, thanking him when he gave you a flute of champagne.

"I wanted to be a professional quidditch player, but my father wants me to follow in his footsteps." he says, before dropping his voice to a mere whisper. "And I mean that in all senses of the word, tesoro. It's not something I particularly want."

You hummed at his answer but squeezed his arm all the same. He sent you a sideways glance full of warmth. You'd almost forgotten about what he would endure during the upcoming holidays; it made you feel inexplicably guilty that you'd be having fun with your friends and family while Theo would be suffering.

Blaise and Pansy had already found themselves at the table of food platters with Daphne Greengrass, which is where you also found Harry, Hermione, Luna and Cormac Mclaggen. You grabbed Theo's hand and dragged him towards them, ignoring his discontent with being within radius of Harry and Mclaggen.

"Hi guys! Mclaggen." you say as you reach the quartet. "Mione, Luna you both look gorgeous."

They both thank you before all four of them frown at the boy behind you. "Oh for Rowena's sake, he won't bite, will you Teddy?" You sent him a pointed look over you shoulder, which had him instantly agreeing, albeit reluctantly.

"Only if they don't bite first." he says, his deep, accented voice dripping with uninterest. "Let's go and dance, tesoro. Make the night a little less unbearable."

You agreed and spent a majority of the night sipping on expensive wine and laughing with your three Slytherin friends, mindful to avoid Harry's looks of something that you couldn't name that he sent your way.

~∞~

The four of you spent hours dancing, only interrupted when Harry asked to steal you away to dance with him, as Luna had become caught up in a conversation with Ginny, Dean Thomas namely absent from her side. While you and Harry were contently swaying, there was a disturbance at the entrance.

You watched in the corner of your eye as Harry's face lit up with a sinister smirk at the sight of Malfoy being dragged into the room by Filtch who had him by the scruff of his robes.

"Professor Slughorn!" he said in his typically slimy voice. "Found this one lurking in the corridors upstairs. Claims he was invited to your party but was delayed in attending. Did you issue an invitation?"

If looks could kill, Filtch would be six feet deep.

Malfoy was glaring at the man with distain and fury as he yanked himself free of the caretaker's grasp, brushing away imaginary flecks of dirt from his rumpled suit.

"All right, I wasn't invited!" he said angrily. "I was trying to gatecrash, happy?"

Filtch was evidently not happy about this, but the look of immense joy that crossed his face sent shivers down your spine.

"You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the Headmaster say that night-time prowling's out, unless you've got permission, eh?"

Slughorn dissipated the situation with drunken ease, inviting Malfoy to stay for the remainder of the dinner party. Harry's face was a picture of bewilderment, mirroring Filtch's one of overwhelming disappointment.

"He looks a bit ill doesn't he?" you say under your breathe as Hermione comes to stand beside you.

"Who?" Harry asked, dumbly. You stared at him with a deadpan expression on your face.

"Malfoy. He does look ghastly pale." Hermione mumbled while you all watched as he chatted away to Slughorn about his grandfather.

"He's up to something." Harry said obstinately. You and Hermione shared a look and simultaneously rolled your eyes.

"You've got to stop with this Harry. You don't know for certain that he's a Death Eater." Hermione muttered, keeping her voice low enough that others wouldn't hear. "It's bad enough that you outright accused him in front of Professor Mcgonagall and Professor Snape."

"I still can't believe you had the audacity, to do that." you say, but Harry wasn't listening to either of you. In fact he followed right out behind Snape and Malfoy when they exitted the room, not ten minutes after the latter's noisy arrival.

"Oh for fuck's sake." you grit your teeth at your friend's stubbornness. Hermione shook her head before dragging you over to where Luna and Ginny were stood, having watched Harry sneak out.

~∞~

With the Christmas holidays finally upon you, you were spending a few days at the Burrow with Ron's family before you floo'd home to your family.

Hermione's lack of presence seemed to lay heavily upon you as you sat next to the empty seat in the kitchen that she'd always sit in. You don't know how she puts up with Ron and Harry without you – a headache was slowly building up in your temples as Ron asked Harry to repeat what he'd heard when he followed Snape and Malfoy out, for the millionth time, as the three of you polished Mrs. Weasley's cutlery.

Finally reaching a breaking point of sorts you snap at the pair.

"If you defy the unbreakable vow, you die. It's a sacred pact, Harry. Are you certain that Snape accepted one?" they turn to look at you as if forgetting you were there.

Ron nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Fred and George almost convinced me to make one when I was five, but Dad went mental when he found us. Only time he's ever been scarier than mum." he pauses before adding an anecdote about Fred being punished pretty severely, which seems to summon the two giant twins into the kitchen, clad in expensive slacks, making fun of the fact that Ron and Harry were still not of age yet – unlike you. Fred turned to you then, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"Hello gorgeous, how are you coping with these ninnies without Mione?" he had a dazzling smirk on his face, which you would've fallen for once upon a time, had a polar opposite, wicked smirk not taken up your entire mind.

"Barely, as usual. How've you been, Freddie?" you smile up at him as he sits on the edge of the table, leg brushing your's.

Ron dramatically gagged, interpreting this as a flirtatious interaction. This turned the twins' attention onto him once more.

"We've heard through the grape vine that you have a new beau, Won Won." George said with a smirk. Ron turned to glare at you and you held your hands up in surrender. If you could use your legillimens abilities on him, you'd be screaming "it wasn't me, I swear!", but Ron would surely have a heart attack if you so much as whispered into his mind.

"Lavender Brown, was it? That's what Ginny said in her letters. How'd you manage to bag a girl, Ronniekins?" Fred chimed and they snickered as Ron's face went bright red.

"Piss off, will you." Ron mumbled, you and Harry smirked at his discomfort. "She's sweet."

"And here I thought he and Mione would've overlooked their pride and gotten together by now." Fred murmured to you, his breathe hitting the shell of your ear. You turned to face him, finding his alluring blue eyes staring right into your own.

"I believe that means you owe me a galleon...or five. I recall a bet we made at the Yule Ball, Weasley. It's time to pay up." you say, your eyes glinting mischievously as you held out your palm expectantly.

"You and your memory will ruin me, woman." he mutters scornfully, but he gives you a stack of galleons, discreetly nonetheless. You smile victoriously.

"Good to know business is treating the two of you well, Freddie." he smiles and shares a look with George.

"When are you coming to visit the shop, Meadow?" George asks as he uses his wand to slow Ron's polishing down.

"Is that an official invitation, Weasley?" you ask, satisfied with the peace you feel by being in the Burrow again, despite Hermione not being there.

~∞~

Mattheo hates his father with a burning passion. Tom Riddle was a cold, manipulative and tyrannical man who was absolutely not fit for the role of 'dad'. It's ironic, he thinks, that he should have a father who was incapable of feeling love, in all senses of the word. But Tom had loved Mattheo's mother once, in some sick and twisted way. Maybe it wasn't love, but he had a sick devotion for the woman that Mattheo never got to meet. She died after giving birth to the Riddle heir.

When his father was defeated all those years ago, Mattheo was handed off to the first family that bothered to know of his existence. Theodore Nott Senior was even less of a good father, to both him and Theo. But Teddy's mother took on the responsibility of showing them what it is to be kind, loving and compassionate.

That all withered away upon her death when he was only eight years old. It broke him, but it broke little Theo even more to lose the only parent who ever cared for him. Over the years, the well-mannered, inquisitive little boy transitioned into a coldhearted, unfeeling person, but sometimes Mattheo wished that people saw him for who he truely was, instead of the person they painted because of who his father was.

It's the reason he feels so drawn to you, he summises.

Someone who should hate him, someone who should despise him for all that he is, looked past his carefully constructed armour and saw that broken boy within. He wondered how long that would last, when you found out how much of his facade was his true identity. In his eyes, Mattheo was a monster. A carbon copy of his father.

The vast dining room that he found himself seated in felt entirely too small. The atmosphere was ripe with anticipation as the Dark Lord himself stared down at them from his erected throne at the head of the table. Mattheo sat in the seat adjacent to him, as his 'right hand man'. Showing that he would never be anything more than a soldier to his father. Lucius Malfoy sat opposite him, Bellatrix Lestrange in the next seat as she nodded in rapt attention to whatever Voldemort was saying.

The doors to the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor swung open with a slow and menacing creak, inviting Draco to walk in, followed closely by Theo and Enzo.

This is the part of the holidays that Mattheo had been dreading the most.

"Thank you kindly for fetching me our guests, Draco. Please be seated boys, and let dinner be served." Voldemort's hand sweeped through the air and the three chairs beside Mattheo pushed out at their own accord; his friends took the seats wordlessly, Theo seating in the one opposite Bellatrix.

Shortly after, the family's house elves wordlessly clicked their fingers and a feast appeared before them all. Mattheo didn't touch a single piece of food on his plate. Neither did his three friends, his brothers. He was infinitely grateful that Blaise and Pansy were not here. He planned on maintaining that for as long as he possibly could.

After the food, some of which had barely been touched by the hoard of Death Eaters in attendance, had disappeared, Voldemort stood up, towering above them all like an angel of death.

"Now we indulge in my favourite part of the evening." he says, clapping his thin, boney hands together delicately. "Theodore, Lorenzo...please, join me."

He held out his hands, offering the 'stage' to his son's friends. Mattheo had to physically claw at the seat beneath him to refrain from stopping them as they obeyed. Theo's chest shook with uneven breathes and Enzo didn't dare look anyone in the eye. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unprepared to watch his friends submit to the same fate.

"Who wants to go first?" Voldemort asked the two boys, his snake-like voice coated in something akin to excitement and glee. When neither boy spoke up, he slammed a hand to the table, causing everyone in near viscinity to flinch. A vision of pure psychotic rage paints the monster's face.

"Fine." he snapped. "Mattheo, my son, come up here please."

Mattheo schooled his features and locked any thoughts of his friends, of you, up tight. When he was within reach of his father, Voldemort caressed his shoulders, strong from years of relentless Quidditch training, and whispered, his voice a mere hiss as he spoke in the tongue that only the two of them, and Harry Potter could understand.

Choose. He whispered. Who will go first? Choose and I'll spare you my wrath later.

Mattheo didn't know what to do, he was crumbling in front of his father's loyalist of followers, who were snickering and whispering amongst themselves. The insurmountable feeling of guilt festered in his stomach, a sick feeling persisting in his gut. How could he subject any of his friends to this?

CHOOSE! Or I will hunt down anything you hold dear. That is a promise, boy.

He couldn't let his father know about you. He knew the moment he discovered your abilities, Voldemort would seek you out and trap you with no hope of escape and use you for his own power hungry means. He couldn't let that happen.

"I'll go first." Theo's voice broke through his inner turmoil and Voldemort's sinister smirk travelled to his best friend's face. Theo was masking his terror well, but Mattheo saw right through him. Enzo visibly sagged in relief, no matter how short lived it was. He straightened when Mattheo entered his mind.

Don't show weakness. It'll be over soon, I promise brother. I'm sorry.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod. His features schooled into masked indifference.

"Theodore, my boy." Voldemort crooned. "What a good example you set for our young recruits. So...eager." a dig at Draco, who was yet to make headway in his task. "Come."

He beckoned Theo with a single come-hither motion. Theo moved with poised grace and knelt before the Dark Lord, staring up at the creature with stoney eyes. "Just like your mother." he tutted, and Mattheo clenched his fists tightly, fury painting his veins in vibrant fire. "It's a shame, truely."

Voldemort took hold of Theodore's left arm with bruising force but did the opposite of what Mattheo expected. "Mattheo, come. Since you failed to choose, you will do the honours for me. Mark him."

He began to protest, but Fenrir Greyback was behind him in seconds, pushing him to the ground with brute force. He struggled and fought until his father held a hand that physically stopped the fight with his magic.

"I won't do it." Mattheo spat. "No."

Voldemort's head contorted the way a snake's would when agitated and he shot a singular curse at his son with no hesitation.

Mattheo writhed as the effects of the Cruciatus curse overtook all his senses. Consumed in his agony he failed to acknowledge the sound of his best friends' grunts and screams as their skin was branded with the skull and snake of the Dark Mark, identical to the one festering on his scarred left arm.

There was no saving them now.

But at least Blaise and Pansy were safe in their own manors, not privvy to the price he would eventually pay in exchange for their own freedom and safety.

~∞~

hope everyone had a lovely christmas and a happy nye🫶🏼 thought i'd give you a long chapter by delving into a mattheo pov ;)

i love my degree but sometimes psychology makes me want to rip out my hair🙃🙂

taglist:

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @sunasbbie @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @topguncultleader @gimalo135

[after-witch]

Indulgence [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Title: Indulgence [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Synopsis: Just Feitan wanting to touch your nyloned feet.

Word count: 774

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, forced footplay, brief tickling

Feitan's grip on your nylon-clad ankle is not especially tight. His fingers do not press into your flesh, ensuring small printed bruises that will last for days.

Instead, he holds your ankle like it’s something precious and sentimental. Like you held your grandmother’s porcelain figurines when you were little, and she’d told you again and again that she loved those figurines so much that if you were to crack a single one, it would break her heart.

But, taking in the look in his eyes, perhaps sentimental is the wrong word. He looks more fascinated than anything else.

“Feitan?” You ask, shifting yourself on the worn cushions of the sofa. You don’t dare pull your foot away--he’d stop you, if you were stupid enough to try.You’re not that stupid anymore.

He doesn’t acknowledge you at first.

You curl your toes, unused to the stretch of the thin nylon material over them--and his eyebrows actually lift up. Seeing any expression on him that wasn’t irritation or disgusted glee while he tortured people was almost astonishing enough to make your own eyebrows raise.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice low, almost husky.

It’s the question you wanted to ask him.

“Nothing,” you say. Right? You’re just sitting here. He’s the one acting odd.

“You curled your toes.” His answer is short. Factual.

Because well, you did curl your toes. But… you didn’t mean anything by it. They were stiff, you’ve been sitting here so awfully long, and Feitan hasn’t explained a thing.

He didn’t respond this morning when you asked why there were nylons on the bed with the outfit he’d picked out--a short white nightgown that you’ve had for ages, worn in the armpits, with a lace trim that needed a good bleaching--or where your socks had gone.

He didn’t give you a reason when you told you to sit on the sofa, or when he grabbed your legs and yanked them up, forcing you to pivot around to avoid an uncomfortable twist in your hips.

Nor did he offer up any explanation when he’d taken your ankle in his hands and placed your foot on his thigh and simply… held it there--is still holding it there.

“I… I didn’t mean to?” You lick dry lips. “I mean, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just going to ask you why you’re…” You trail off as his eyebrows go from high to furrowed. 

Slowly, his other hand moves from its spot on his thigh and hovers above your foot. Your heart begins to beat faster--you weren’t disobedient lately, or at least he hadn’t said so.

He wouldn’t break your foot without telling you the reason, surely. The lecture he’d given after he broke a few of your fingers the first (and last) time you’d ever slapped him was a testament to that.

His fingers descend--one, two, three, four, five--but he doesn’t break your foot. Instead he begins to massage it.

That should make your heart slow down, but instead it only speeds up, even as his fingers begin to press down harder, a firm pressure down the length of your arch, then up your sole, ending just underneath your toes.

The nylon material shifts under his fingers. It feels strange, like some kind of thin second skin that heightens the sensation of being touched. It feels warm from the rubbing, despite the vague undercurrent of ticklishness that makes you want to yank your ankle away.

His fingers begin to lightly massage your toes, which stretch and curl instinctively. It’s too light, too ticklish.

Your breath hitches.

So does his.

“Ticklish?” He asks.

You nod. Lying had been trained out of you long before this.

He hums. There’s a pit in your stomach that begins to eat itself as you watch emotions play out on his face. It’s harder with the cowl up, but his eyes can give enough away, if you know how to look. You’ve had lots of practice.

He’s delighted by something.

Which is rarely a good sign.

Still, you know better than to try to yank your foot away, even as his fingers return to your toes, pressing down harder. It still tickles, but there’s more to it, now. The warmth is back, an unexpected, unwanted pleasurable feeling.

He stares at you the whole time, gauging your reaction.

Your fingernails dig into the sofa, digging into the already frayed threads. You bite your lip. You don’t want to give him anything. But he’ll just take it anyway, won’t he?

It’s going to be a long evening, you think. And judging by the expression on Feitan’s face--he thinks so, too.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Cherry Blossom. aka - Cherry, Part Four.

a night of conversations, kisses and long awaited confessions.

pairing - bestfriend!steve harrington x female reader

warnings - cursing, kissing (but no real smut).

word count - 2.6k

authors note - the babies are back!! no smut in this one - it was getting too long. but don’t you worry… there’s gonna be so much smut in part five !! sorry for the cliffhanger. love u <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

series masterlist. main masterlist. inbox.

The smoke from the bonfire is stinging your eyes, ash sticking to the strands of your hair. Orange embers burn rapidly, dry wood being occasionally thrown on top by drunk boys with red cups in their hands.

The music is way too loud for a forest party, but no one seems to care. Someone’s haphazardly strung lights between the trees, creating a surprisingly cosy ambience. The atmosphere is alive, charged with the electricity of being out later than curfew.

“M’lady!”

You laugh, accepting the drink from Eddie’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you, kind sir,” you say as you curtsy sarcastically, making both of you laugh harder. “Hey, you didn’t bump into Steve on your way over here, did you? I haven’t seen him for like an hour.”

The curly haired boy kicks the toe of your sneaker with his.

“Saw him with that Clara girl, talking by the lake.”

You take a steadying breath, pretending it doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

“You should go and check if he needs rescuing,” Eddie jokes. “God knows she can talk for hours without coming up for air.”

You smile at him, pulling at one of his curls.

“Good idea. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” he winks, pushing you in the right direction.

You saunter down towards the water, spotting your best friend instantly. He’s stood with his arms across his chest, weight on one hip as he tries to listen to whatever Clara has to say. The minute he sees you, his posture is straightening, lips quirking up at the corners.

Clara turns around to see what Steve is looking at, her face falling when she recognises you.

“Hi. I don’t mean to interrupt! Just wanted to check if you needed another drink, Stevie.”

The boy grins, beckoning you closer with a nod of his head. When you’re near enough, he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, all affectionate and tender.

Oh.

You don’t do that.

The two of you have kept your romance completely behind closed doors, up until now. It hasn’t got a name, never mind a label, and you don’t need people asking questions when you don’t even know the answers yourself.

You could blame it on the alcohol, but you know Steve’s on his first drink. With your head spinning, you look up at him as if he is the sun and all things warm. He looks down at you the exact same way.

“I’m gonna go see where my friends are,” Clara says a little too loudly, strutting away with as much confidence as she can muster.

You have a sudden feeling that you’re the villain in her story, but you’re not entirely sure why.

“How many drinks have you had?” Steve asks as he pulls a strand of hair away from your face.

“This is my second. I was nursing my first one, Eddie says.”

The boy laughs, and you grab onto his bicep for support. The sound of it is enough to buckle your knees.

“This is my first. It’s not doing much for me.”

“You want something different? I’m sure Robin has that beer you like in her bag.”

“Nah, I’m okay. Don’t think I’m gonna drink any more tonight.”

Steve slips his hands into the back pockets of your jeans, pulling you in closer and keeping them there.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he whispers back.

And then he kisses you. Again. It’s slow and careful and so romantic that you think you might start crying about it.

“What time is it?” he asks when he pulls away as if nothing happened.

“Eleven thirty.”

“You wanna stay a bit longer?”

“Not if you don’t.”

Steve presses his lips to your forehead, hands cradling your cheeks.

“I kinda wanna go home.”

You smile at him, all soft and sweet.

“Then let’s go home. I’m getting a little cold, anyway. And I didn’t bring a jacket.”

“Will you ever learn?” he laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“If it means I have to stop wearing your jackets that I know you bring to parties just for me? No, I won’t.”

You weren’t supposed to say that out loud, but the way Steve chuckles soothes the sting of the accidental wound.

“Let’s go home, Cherry Baby.”

Home. The assumption that the two of you will always be returning to the same place makes your heart so full, you wonder how it doesn’t spill over.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You good?”

“Feet hurt.”

This happens every single time the two of you go to a party, so you feel as if you’re reliving a memory.

“Hop on.”

“Steve-”

“Cherry. Come on. We’ll get home quicker this way.”

You can’t argue with that. Steve crouches as you jump onto his back, his hands wrapping around your thighs to keep you steady. You wrap your arms around his neck from behind, resting your head on top of his.

“Comfy back there?”

You hum, the noise of agreement enough for Steve to start walking.

The two of you chat each others ears off on the way home, talking about nothing and everything. You laugh so hard at something he says that you end up with a mouthful of his hair, which he in turn finds hilarious.

“Have you thought any more about what I said the other day?”

“You say a lot of things, Steven.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and giving your thighs a squeeze.

“About college.”

You go quiet for a moment, and Steve wonders if he’s chosen the wrong time to have this conversation.

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s talk about it later, okay? When I’m not constantly worried I’m gonna accidentally trip and kill you.”

You nod, and he feels it. You know it needs to be a discussion sometime soon, but perhaps having it when you’re being carried down the street on your best friends back isn’t all that practical.

“Love you,” you mumble into the crook of Steve’s neck.

He shudders a little at your lips on his skin, leaning his head sideways to rest against yours.

“Love you, Cherry Pie. More than anything.”

You let Steve piggyback you all the way to his front door. Neither of you say anything else. Neither of you feel the need to.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Steve bumps his hip into yours as you both brush your teeth, laughing at your shocked reflection in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” you ask as you place your toothbrush back in its holder, right next to his.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

You hop up on the bathroom counter, sitting up so you’re eye to eye with the boy in front of you. He takes a step forward, standing between your legs as he splays his cold hands over your thighs.

“Why’d you ask?”

You trace over his fingers where they rest on your skin, quiet for a moment.

“You seemed pretty eager to go home tonight. It’s unlike you. You love a party. Leaving at eleven thirty is like… unheard of, for King Steve.”

“King Steve would rather be at home with you than at a party with all those people.”

“Really?”

“Really. Clara was going on about something or other, the music was too loud, and I could feel the chill coming in. It hit me, all of a sudden, that I’d rather be in bed. Or, anywhere else, as long as I was with you.”

You lean forward to rest your head against his chest, sighing when he starts playing with your hair gently.

“You’re a softie,” you mumble into his shirt. “And a mind reader.”

“It’s my one talent,” he chuckles. “I wish reading your mind was a college major. I’d be the best in the world.”

You shake your head, laughing like you can’t help it.

“If I don’t move soon, I’m gonna fall asleep on this bathroom counter.”

“Want me to carry you?”

“Contrary to popular belief,” you tease as you hop down, “my legs actually do work.”

Steve gasps, all theatrical and exaggerated, which only makes you laugh harder.

“Come on, sleepy girl. Let’s go to bed.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“We’re not talking about stuff.”

You whisper it into the darkness, the trees rustling outside Steve’s window serving as the only sound you can hear.

“Hmm?”

Your legs are tangled with his, tired head resting on the boys shoulder as your sides are pressed together. You’re both lying on your backs, staring at the ceiling.

“We keep saying we’ll talk about stuff, but we haven’t been. It’s not like us.”

“You mean, like, feelings?”

“Yeah.”

All that can be heard now is two sets of heaving lungs. Steve’s hand finds yours under the duvet, fingers intertwining.

“Is there something specific that’s bothering you?”

“Not bothering me as such. I just… I think the more we don’t talk, the more complicated things become.”

There’s silence for a moment, before Steve speaks.

“I’m scared, Cherry.”

The tone of his voice is paper thin and vulnerable, and you will yourself not to cry about it.

“Of what, Stevie?”

You squeeze his hand, tucking yourself further into his side until there isn’t an inch of space between you.

“Of… everything changing. You’re my best friend in the entire world, and I know that what we’ve been doing isn’t typical… best friend stuff. I just…” he takes a deep breath, exhaling carefully. “I worry that something will happen and we’ll break up, and I’ll lose you forever.”

His voice cracks on the last word, fear seeping through his pores. Yet, he continues.

“I’d die without you, Cherry. I really would. I don’t know what it’s like to live in a world where we’re not… us.”

You turn onto your side to face him in the dark, reaching up to cradle his cheek softly. You rest your forehead against his temple, pressing a kiss into his skin.

“I’m scared too. I have been ever since that first night in my room. Not because I don’t trust you, or because I don’t feel that way about you… but because I don’t want to lose you either. More than anything, I don’t want to lose you.”

“Why didn’t we talk about this sooner?” he laughs, throat thick with emotion.

“Because we’re us. And whether we talk or don’t talk, we know we’ll figure it out. We always know we’ll be okay.”

“I love you,” he whispers into the dark. “More than all the stars in the sky.”

“I love you,” you whisper back. “More than all the grains of sand on all the beaches in the world.”

You press another kiss into his temple, letting your lips linger on his soft skin. He smells so familiar, so warm, so yours… you can’t help but inhale, chuckling when he shudders.

You continue to leave kisses across his jaw, over his ear, down his neck. He tilts his head to give you better access, groaning when you nip at his throat with your teeth, licking over the scrape to soothe him.

Steve pulls you in as if you weigh nothing, moving you so you’re lying on top of him. You sit up, straddling his lap, as he does the same so you’re chest to chest. Running his hands under your shirt and over the bare skin of your back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You look so pretty like this,” he hums against your lips. “Prettiest girl in the world.”

“You wanna talk about pretty?” you tease, running your fingers through his hair. “My pretty, pretty boy.”

Steve’s hips buck up into yours, making you giggle.

“Oh, you like that? You like it when I call you pretty? Or do you just like it when I call you mine?”

His hips buck again as his cheeks flush pink.

“I am yours,” he murmurs. “Always have been.”

You thought you had the upper hand for a minute, but now you just want to cry. You’re overwhelmed by the way you feel about the boy underneath you, unsure of how to process it without bursting into tears.

“All mine,” you whisper, tracing the features of his face with your fingertip.

Steve takes a deep breath, watching your eyes as they look over him again and again, taking him in as if it’s the first time. He decides it’s now or never.

“Cherry?”

“Stevie?”

Your voices are low and careful, irregardless of the fact that you’re alone in the house.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stops, and so does the world outside. Everything pauses, the two of you suspended in this moment in time.

Steve takes another breath, exhaling it carefully before meeting your eyes and continuing.

“You don’t have to say it back. Now, or ever. I just - I needed you to know.”

You blink back tears as you watch his face, biting your lip to stop them from falling.

“Steve-”

“Hey, I told you. You don’t have to say anything, babe. I know-”

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“Just-”

You surge forward and kiss him with all the affection you can muster, trying to express your feelings. You grip his hair, plastering your bodies together where you sit in his lap still. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in as close as he can.

“If you let me talk,” you say when you pull away, all breathless, “you’d hear that I have something I’d like to say.”

Steve smiles, humming in acknowledgment and encouraging you to keep going.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

The boy looks shocked to hear it, as if it’s news to him.

“What’s that face for?” you laugh.

“I just… I didn’t expect you to say it back.”

“Steve,” you chuckle, looking at him sternly. When you realise he’s being serious, you double down. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. When we were kids, and someone would say the word ‘husband’, I always pictured you. I was so convinced it was always going to end up being you and I.”

“Why… why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Why didn’t you?”

He laughs, and the sound makes you feel as if you’re on cloud nine. You can feel his heartbeat where his chest is pressed to yours, frantic like he’s just ran a marathon.

“Fuck, I love you.”

He leans up to kiss you, all saccharine and honey sweet.

“Say it again,” you whisper against his lips.

“I’m in love with you, Cherry.”

“Say it again.”

“I, Steve Harrington, declare that I am completely, utterly, ridiculously in love with this girl right here. I always have been. I always will be.”

You can’t help but throw your head back with laughter.

“And I love you. So much.”

The words you’ve always said mean so much more now. It’s a welcome change, one you never thought you’d see happen.

“Hey Steve?”

“Hmm?”

You lean in, nosing at his jaw as you murmur into his ear.

“Want you. So bad.”

“Fuck, honey,” he groans, all low and rough.

“Please. Want it to be you.”

Looking up at you with big eyes, he searches your face for any kind of hesitation.

“Are you sure?”

Smoothing his hair away from his face, you trace your thumb over his bottom lip.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “I’m about to rock your world, Cherry Blossom.”

@psychicnerdcat @allcheesemelts @valerievortex @swiftsgirlfriend @steviespookie @betweenstarsandsatellites @mrsjoequinn @internallysalad @saucypeanuttt @empathyroad @niceskyler @spookysins @theoraekenslover @7minutes-tomidnight @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @clairesjointshurt @livsters @diffrent-spokes @regular-joe-shmoe @ihatepeanutss @ladyburberry @thenonweeknd @abarelyexistentbeing @jennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @slut4gaga @hopelessromanticwriter @mgchaser @wintrsoldrluvr

[junesilk]

hiii just saw you were a new account and decided to drop by 🙉 loving the account btww

as for a suggestion, how about some kurapika dating head canons? thank you🫶

DATING HEADCANONS

aka: how the hxh main 4 act in a relationship!

characters: kurapika, leorio, killua, gon

gn!reader

kurapika—

The way your relationship started was a slow ordeal. And by that, I mean, it was a gradual shift from friendship to something… more.

You fell first, but he fell harder type of relationship.

It took him a while to realize that what he felt was love, but when he did, he was quick to act.

Sitting you down and having an adult conversation about how he felt was how he confessed.

He’s a soft lover, and protective of you. It can feel a little overbearing at times, but really he’s just trying to keep you safe.

Not the most physical out of the four, but he often has his hand on your waist or holding yours.

It would have been a while into your relationship when he finally relayed what had happened to him as a child, with his clan & all.

He’s very open about everything about himself to you after that. You’d ask him to tell you stories about his family, and he would gladly oblige, avoiding sensitive topics.

His hands would be combing through your hair as you laid your head on his lap, looking up at him as he quietly told you about his mother. His other hand would be tangled in yours, drawing little circles on the back of your hand.

He lives for those hushed moments with you, tangled in sheets as he memorizes the details of your face, just talking about anything and everything that comes to mind.

leorio—

He’s a very sexual lover in my opinion, so you’d have to be okay with that before being in a relationship with him.

He’d probably confess his love to you on a whim, probably when you’re least expecting it. He fell first and harder, that’s just the way he is.

Genuinely thinks you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, and he treats you like it too.

Takes you on romantic, candlelit dinners at least once a month. An allotted day, in which he makes sure you’re free from work or any distractions, for the two of you to get dressed up and go out.

He’d be insistent that he needed to be in your arms in order to go to sleep. He claims he can’t sleep without you, but you’d occasionally find him with his head on his desk, glasses lazily strewn aside while soft snores leave his lips.

Loves it when you tie his tie. He knows how to do it himself, yes, this is true. But when your hands diligently and softly pull the fabric together around his neck, he falls even deeper in love with you.

Listens to jazz music. I will die on this hill. Pulls you into his arms when you’re trying to make dinner, and sways with you to the sound of the song playing in the background.

killua—

His favorite pastime is being with you, playing videos games. It doesn’t matter what, even better if it’s some low-quality game for duos. It’s endearing how competitive he gets, jokingly betting that he could finish the game so much faster than you could.

His fashion sense infects your fashion sense, and before long, you’re wearing his clothes. Loves when the two of you wear matching outfits, or even just similar styles. Out in public, at home, wherever you are.

Dates with him usually reside in arcades, malls, or wherever you like to go. He never lets you pay for anything, insisting that it’s nothing, even if the sum is well into the thousands.

Sharing earbuds with him is also one of his favorite things to do. You two have a shared playlist of all of the songs you like. After a few months, you notice how he has begun adding songs he thinks you’d like, and you had been adding songs you think he would like.

Buy him candy, and he will serve his heart to you on a platter. The first time you bought him those beloved chocolate robots he had loved so much, he seriously considered marrying you. Only to be dismayed when he realized that people his age shouldn’t be getting married.

He’s very sarcastic. You’ll have to put up with some downright sassy responses if you want to be in a relationship with him.

Prefers texting over calling if you’re long distance.

gon—

He radiates energy and loves to be doing something at all hours of the day. This can be good or bad depending on the type of person you are, as he adores going on hikes and traveling with you.

Likes it when you brush his hair. He doesn’t know what exactly about it he likes, but he finds himself leaning in to your touch when you card your fingers over his scalp.

Picnic dates for life. Just being outdoors with food and his partner, he could die of happiness.

Wears earth-toned clothing. You find yourself stealing his tank tops most often, because he always buys pure cotton clothes. They’re just comfier, he argues, and not at allll because he loves how they cling to your scent after you wear them.

Isn’t on his phone very much. You’ll text him asking what you think you should wear that day, and he might respond two days later with an answer. It’s frustrating sometimes, but being with him is like a breath of fresh air from such an online world.

Always loses at board games. No matter what game, from Monopoly to Life, he just can’t fully grasp the rules. Hey, at least that means you always win.

His body naturally runs really warm, so you’ll wake up in the mornings find all of the blankets are on the floor. You don’t really need them when you’re stuck to him like legos when you’re cuddling at night.

guys…….. two weeks turned into an entire month and a half IM SORRRYYYY. anyways i keep getting requests for singular characters and i always turn it in to requests for all four because honestly there’s not enough content out there for characters like leorio and gon and they deserve love too.

as always, likes and reblogs appreciated but not necessary!

[tinytennisskirt]

Rematch

ex situationship patrick x reader

summary: you and patrick used to be the epitome of casual. aside from a few things... he was cheating on his girlfriend with you and all you could do from then on was hate him. eight years later, you work together. you're forced to share transportation and stay at the same hotels. The close proximity isn't much good for two people who have gotten by on avoidance. And it only becomes harder to avoid certain words. and certain actions.

warnings: smut! mentions of sex, unprotected sex. enemies to lovers- hateful words, slight miscommunication (through hating so much), a lot of swearing. somewhat edited...

“You’re hitting on my sister?” You said, overhearing him as you approached the outside gate of the tennis court. You walked over, knocking Patrick in the chest with your racket. That sly son of a bitch didn’t budge an inch. “You know she’s only nineteen? And she’s a fucking lesbian you absolute idiot.” You followed up. He just grinned. 

“I didn’t know she was any of those things,” he shrugged, hands up in surrender. “You don’t look alike. She’s actually pretty.” 

You rolled your eyes. You knew he didn’t mean what he said but still said it. “Fuck you, Zweig.”

“You used to like that, you know,” he said, grin widening to something evil. You didn’t know how he could stand in front of you and say the stupid shit he was saying, seemingly unabashed. 

“That’s enough,” your sister said to both you and him. Your racket didn’t waiver from the place it rested against his chest. You kept that warning in your eyes. “Y/N, he didn’t know. And he wasn’t inappropriate. He just said my swing was good with a weird tone.” 

“Weird tone?” Patrick repeated.

You smiled just a bit at that. “It’s better than good. You know- you are the same guy you were eight years ago somehow. Grow up and go away, Zweig,” you said, glaring at Patrick. And to think you were the sweet one in your family. It was all fun and tennis until Patrick was around. He wasn’t exactly an ex, but someone who frequented the bed in your dorm room eight years ago at Stanford. He was a drug of choice, a situational type of person who when visiting his friend Art Donaldson, would also visit you, a few dorms down. 

It was hot. He’d be sneaking around with you at parties, finding unoccupied rooms to kiss you with a force that usually winded you, wide hands on your waist, holding you close against a wall, a door, and sometimes the floor. If he saw you in the cafeteria all it took was a glance at you to communicate exactly which stall in the bathroom to meet him in while he excused himself from Art and Tashi Duncan. He’d be in your room late at night making you finish in three different ways and walking back to his friend’s room at four in the morning. 

Sometimes you’d make out for hours on end with only touching, but all of it, every action, every trace of his finger, every word was all traced with lust. Sometimes you swore he liked you, lingering after you both had finished, still grazing his hands over the curve of your hip, kissing your forehead, tucking your hair behind your ear… It was supposed to be casual, you reminded yourself. He was too attached. 

The funny thing was, you’d been in Stanford tennis too, a hometown prodigy with a father successful in the tennis world. Tashi called nepotism and you never got along, but you and Tashi never hated each other more when she found out you were fucking her boyfriend. If you had known you wouldn’t have been doing it, but the damage was done and there was no apology for a girl who fucked her knee up after a big fight with Patrick. No apology could include the extent of how sorry you were without telling her what for. 

And you met with Patrick just to yell at him. He was a shitty person with shitty morals and you made sure he knew that. And even in all the yelling, you still fucked him in your car. But that was the last time. The second your lips disconnected for the last time, it was supposed to be the last time you spoke to him. And it was simple. “Fuck you. You’re an asshole, I never want to see you again.” His eyebrows furrowed as you collected your clothes and disappeared back home. 

It went well, not seeing him again. He stopped visiting his friend who had sided with Tashi, he had no reason to come around. But he picked up a job coaching in the area you moved to seven years later. Your boss was a powerful woman and the pay was amazing, so Patrick became your coworker and you put up with that. And it was awful, but you scheduled yourself away from him and your paths only crossed at meetings and maybe once every few months, but it was still too much. You made do with the few words you had to give him, but other than that you stayed far away, and rightfully so. The only conversations you’d had in all of the year you’d been around him again were easy jabs, quips, argumentative things. But for the sake of your job, it didn’t go farther than easy insults. You still hated him for what he did, for how he used you when he was seeing Tashi. For how he treated you when he had a whole girlfriend waiting for him after hours. You weren’t proud of what you did and he was just a living reminder of something that haunted you. 

He was this adult douchebag-type now- you swore you saw him with two different women at the cafe you passed on your way to work. You could mind your business, but it was fucked to know he hadn’t changed. Eight years and no change. So yeah, Patrick talking to your sister, granted- step-sister, was something you had to nip in the bud. 

Patrick nodded, his jaw tensing. “Your sister here is my student today.” He said, gesturing to the split court. Sometimes split courts happened, but you’d only been paired with him on one once. “The list here says so.” He uncrumpled a piece of paper from his pocket and pointed at her name. 

“So you’ll switch me. Easy,” You stated, trying all you could not to hit him with another insult. Your sister picked up her rackets, moving to your side so Patrick didn’t have a say. It was your turn to smile. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking report you.” You added. 

“You’d miss having me around too much, I don’t think you have it in you,” He replied. 

You narrowed your eyes, “Get a grip.” You said, turning away from him. You heard his low chuckle as he called your student over. You rubbed your face while you walked to the other side, trying to wipe away the feeling you’d lost brain cells just talking to him. This was why you didn’t engage with him- it never went well. “Sorry.” You apologized to your sister. 

“It’s fine, honestly. He’s such a dick.” 

“I know,” you sighed. “I’m unfortunately cursed with knowing when Patrick has the intention to flirt. He’s fucking obvious.” You said, grabbing a ball. 

Your sister laughed. “He was coming on a little weird. To be fair I think he thought I was some random girl outside the court. But this is why I don’t date men.” 

You were glad you didn’t have to see him for another two months. You continued to train your sister as the other girls you were training had all fallen off. Your company made sure to only train the most competitive of girls and that was your sister for sure. She was amazing- not better than you- but amazing. When the time came for another Junior US Open, she was the perfect candidate for it. Your company, your boss, she usually sent two, booked them and their trainer a room at an amazing nearby hotel, paid for travel and food and gave a spending bonus for the hard work and you were hoping to god that it was your sister. You’d lost the Junior US Open to a twisted ankle- and Tashi Duncan and it would be amazing to see your sister go and win. 

She had worked so hard for it. And finally, your boss called all the trainers in for a meeting. There were ten of you, some with two students, most with only one, but you all sat in the fluorescent-lit room in front of the projector that projected the logo of the company on the white wall. Your boss thanked you all for coming and congratulated all of you on all your amazing seasons and work coaching the students. Talking about the best of the best. Eventually came to the portion where she would name the two students who were going to the open, the two that were going on the trip. 

And she said your sister's name. Your chest filled with excitement and happiness and pride and obviously you had to contain it. You were going back to the Junior US Open, it was an amazing way to get her name out there as a player and make everything all worthwhile. You started thinking up creative ways to tell her, thinking about the company limo on the way up, thinking about how to increase training all crossing your mind. “-And Simon Abernathy.” She added. For the boy's division. His name was familiar. 

And it was no wonder. Patrick clapped once out of success and you felt your eye twitch just a bit. It was his student, it was Patrick’s student, which meant you’d be with him this entire trip. He would be one of the only people you knew out that way- and it would be just him, you, and your students. There was only one word and it slipped out of your mouth quietly enough to go unnoticed. “Fuck.” You avoided Patrick’s gaze, but you just knew he had that big stupid grin on his face. 

When the car pulled up outside of your apartment, you insisted on putting your own bag in the trunk. It was just how you were. You were first to be picked up and it was always fun to be in a limo. A road trip was still a road trip, two days to be specific and it would have been something to look forward to if it wasn’t for him. Thank god you picked up your sister next, then Simon, then Patrick. You and your sister were far too engaged in your conversation to think about the boys on the other end. You talked about training, and game day, and you went over what it was like when you competed. 

The day passed by, book in hand, iPod on, and earbuds plugged in. You stopped once for lunch and another for gas but at the end of the night you were at a nice motel. Nothing like the motels you knew when you were in the Junior Open. In this motel, everything worked properly, smelled nice, and was actually clean. Patrick, unloading his bag for the night passed you yours and you said the only word you’d said to him all day- “Thanks.”

You and your sister hung out in your motel room, two-bed, talking about the day. She lay like a starfish on her bed, but she rolled over to face you as you pulled on your pajama shirt. “You never told me why you hate Patrick so much.” She said, eyes wide. You just groaned and rolled onto your back. “Come on. You obviously know each other from something.” 

“I will be so honest with you, I am too tired to get into it,” You said. “I just… ugh.” 

“It’s fine- like you don’t have to give me all the details, I just want to know why.” She replied, moving to sit on the edge of your bed. “You guys dated, right?” 

You covered your face, “Not exactly.” 

“Okay, so? What happened? I’m nineteen, Y/N, come on.” 

You hated talking about it, you hated admitting it. Knowing that he was one of the few men in the world to ever touch you but the only one who had left impact, left you wanting in his wake, the only one to make you finish… It was crazy, it was despicable. You hated remembering it had only ever been him to touch you right. And now you were admitting it to your sister. “Casual… sex. Friends, almost. Mostly the benefits.” You said, trying to keep it simple. Her eyes widened even larger. “Turns out he was cheating on his girlfriend with me.”

“He’s just a dick,” she nodded, understanding. “I’m so sorry, that must have put you in an awful position.” 

“I felt awful, I still feel awful,” you told her. “One of the worst things I’ve ever done.” 

“I get that,” she nodded. “Was he any good anyways?” 

You hated the question. “No.” You lied. “Awful.” 

She laughed, “Makes sense.” You knew she had more questions but didn’t want to pry. Besides, you were both tired. She showered before bed and by the time she got out, you were asleep, waiting for the next day of the road trip to be over. In the morning you showered, tied your hair up, and got into the car again with your sister. Patrick and Simon were doing their own things as the car got back onto the road. 

You continued listening to music, looking out the window, shutting out the sounds of the car. Your sister watched you change the song three times, but when her gaze shifted back to the conversation with Simon, she noticed Patrick’s eyes on you. Knowing what she knew now, she hated him just a little bit more. She watched him for a bit and he didn’t look away, so she addressed him to take his attention off of you before you noticed. 

That night at another motel, your sister was much too tired to stay up watching the motel television bullshit with you and passed right out on top of her covers. You fixed that, obviously, but after getting into bed yourself you let an hour pass with no sleep. You just couldn’t, no matter what you tried. At that point, you said fuck it and put your bathing suit on. The motel had a hot tub and a pool and maybe a quick swim could tire you out. You wrapped yourself in a towel and headed out to where the motel pool was. The lights from within the pool gave off a sort of aquamarine tint to the things around it- it was the only source of light aside from the ones lining the wall of the motel and the shining motel sign that flashed gold and red. It was perfectly dim and the night was perfectly still, just as the empty pool was. You put your towel to the side and waded in, pulling your hair up into some lazy updo so it wouldn’t get soaked in pool water. You were barely up to your shoulders when his voice spoke up, “It’s a bit late to swim, don’t you think? Isn’t it your thing to get an early sleep for an early start?” He asked. Patrick was in the hot tub, you’d completely missed him. 

“Maybe when I was playing or when I’m coaching, but we’re in the middle of nowhere with no court in sight.” You replied. “Can I just enjoy my swim, please? I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me.” 

“Fair,” he replied. You could hardly see him in the dim of the pool lights, but you could make out his figure, arm draped over the edge of the hot tub like he was reversing a car. “Since you said please.” 

“Uh huh,” You replied. You didn’t stay for as long as you intended. Being alone anywhere with him was too gross for comfort. Neither he nor you said goodnight when you went back to your room, showered, and fell asleep.

The next stretch of road was the last before the hotel. You were set up nicely and you thanked the concierge boys who helped you with your bags as you went to the front desk to retrieve your room keys, everything dealt with already by your boss. You handed the keys out. “Here’s how this is going to work. There’s a week before the Junior Open and this hotel, even if it comes across as luxury, it’s here so you can get a good, safe, comfortable rest on the days leading up. If Patrick and I have nothing on the schedule for you, you’re free to roam around the local area, however, curfew is 11. Please check your emails for the daily schedule.” 

Simon nodded and Patrick looked like he didn’t pay any attention- why would he anyway? “Sounds good,” Your sister smiled. “And we get our own rooms?” 

“We have the second-to-top floor suite. It’s like four hotel rooms joined into one, attached to a main bathroom, living room, place to eat, and a kitchen. Kind of like a house with a four-person hotel hallway built in.” You said. You were so excited to finally lock yourself away in your hotel room with a book and not have to sit in a car with Patrick for hours at a time. Sure, he’d be nearby but the hotel and its amenities would make for an amazing way to keep yourself far from him. He plucked his key card out of your hand and as he passed, you could smell his cologne. 

The room was amazing and the view was even more beautiful. There was a balcony in the suite as well as in your room, but the joined balcony beat that one out for a better view. You curled up in your super comfortable hotel bed with your book and finished it before dinner. Your sister came in and out wondering what she should wear to the Junior Open, already stressing about that because she didn’t want to stress about the actual game. You helped for a bit, then you went out to the main room. 

“Simon, do you have dinner plans?” You asked him. He was on the couch playing with some portable video game device. 

“Nah, I was thinking room service. My parents gave me a hundred to spend.” He said. 

You nodded, “I was thinking the same thing.” Your sister agreed, busy going through her schedule. So you ordered room service for everyone, sending Simon to go see what Patrick wanted. You were surprised he even stuck around the room and wasn’t at the casino downstairs or out at some club already. Dirtbag activities. 

The next day was a late start, but you and your sister went down to the hotel gyms to work out a bit before going to the hotel courts to practice. Three days until the game. You practiced all methods, swings, serves, and Patrick and Simon practiced in the next court over. Then you went separate ways for lunch just to meet back after at the court. You were done around four so you didn’t overdo it and the rest of the night was free. You and your sister continued to talk strategy and gossip over cranberry juice in the main room of the suite and you were vaguely aware of Patrick sitting in the corner going through his phone, his hand on his head, elbow resting on his knee. He looked up at one point, meeting your eyes and you looked away. The price you paid for being curious. Your sister and Simon, both tired from the day went to their rooms a little early. You decided to get dressed properly and head downstairs to the casino and play a few hands of whatever games they had going. 

You adjusted the length of your skirt as you sat down at the table and took part in everything happening. You were dealt in and in only a small amount of time, you had a good amount of money owed to you. You were definitely on a roll. “Didn’t know you gambled,” Patrick said, sitting beside you on the empty stool. You groaned out loud, rolling your eyes. “You're good, too, what is this, around $400?” 

“$700, and what are you doing here?” 

“I can’t enjoy the casino?” 

“You couldn’t enjoy any other game?” You asked, not even caring to look his way. You raised your hand to signal the dealer to let you out of the game. 

Patrick waved the dealer off and turned to face you better, “Don’t stop just because I’m here. And I like this game- my favourite one, actually, and the only table that has it.” He told you. You looked at him, hoping your eyes would burn through him. But he looked maybe half genuine, aside from the smirk. It was your favourite game too. 

“You’re just going to lose to me, you know that, right?”

“I’m okay with that,” he smiled and his eyes met yours. “Or, I’m okay with you thinking that. Say goodbye to your $700.” His grin slowly crawled up his face.

“Uh-huh?” You laughed at him as he got himself dealt into the game. It was a laugh of disbelief- one, that he thought he could win and two, that he was really that sure. “You’re really still that sure of yourself?” 

“Still? You think I’m sure of myself?” 

“It’s not a compliment, Zweig.” Your laughing at him died down just a little, you couldn’t maintain it when he was just such a fucking loser.

“I am that sure of myself.” He replied. “You don’t think I can?” 

You shook your head and spoke firmly. No. I don’t think you can.” Your tongue pressed against your cheek and you pushed all your winnings to the centre, eyes not leaving his. “Try me.” Anything to put him in his place, truly. You could taste the win in your mouth the way it handed itself to you on a platter. And Patrick put a little extra money in on top of yours and the other player’s, eyes not leaving yours. But he did end up looking away first and the hand began. 

He had good cards and knew how to play them, but yours were better and you knew how to use them to their fullest potential. You placed yours down and they were better and the hand was about to go to you, but at the very last moment, unexpectedly, another player had a card just above yours and it was over, just like that. The man swept away your winnings and you just scoffed. 

“You were that sure of yourself?” Patrick replied. “Nice.” 

“Nice? Asshole.” You got up from your chair and grabbed your purse, ready to move on to another game at another table and let him enjoy his ‘favourite’. “My cards were above yours anyway.” You said as your face passed his. He just grinned as you walked away. 

You were good at other games, thank god. It wasn’t all lost money. You won another $350 by midnight and decided to stop and leave behind the men who had been hitting on you during the last few hands of poker. You were happy with the winnings and the fact Patrick hadn’t been seen the rest of your night. It was a good distraction either way. 

You bought yourself a bottle of iced tea with your winnings and walked over to the elevator, pressing the button to go up to the suite and using your key card to confirm it. It was just your luck that Patrick walked into the elevator. “You have your own keycard, you know that, right?” You sighed, turning away from him and pulling out your phone to pay attention to anything else as the doors closed, locking you in there with him.

He held it up, then shoved it into his pocket. “So did you end up winning your money back? I watched your games, you’re not all that great at poker. I don’t think a career in gambling is in the cards.”

“I think I missed the part where I asked, Zweig.” You stated, folding your arms. “And I think you missed all of the context clues that tell you that I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“You’re so angry,” he remarked, leaning against the metal elevator wall. “Isn’t it exhausting?” 

“Not as exhausting as talking to you.” 

“Fuck you,” he replied. 

You turned to look at him, pausing a beat just to look at him in disbelief. “You used to like that, you know?” 

“You’re not better than me for anything that happened after. You knew I cheated and you still fucked me after, you remember that one?” 

“It wasn’t very memorable,” You chuckled to yourself even though it was one of the biggest lies you’d ever told anyone. He’d put you in a corner. Of course, you knew you weren’t better than him for that last time. It haunted you, but not much more than the entirety of it haunted you. His lips against your lips, his lips against your skin, his lips between your thighs, they were memories that acted like ghosts. All of it was wrong, every kiss, every touch. It was sickening to remember that it wasn’t just you- and that it wasn’t just Tashi either. It was memorable, all of it, but for all the wrong and right reasons, and those right reasons were ten times more haunting because it was so wrong that it felt right. You knew Patrick sensed the lie but you couldn’t act like it. “I can be civil with you, Zweig, if you leave me alone like you have the past year or so. I don’t want to talk to you, why can’t you get that through your head?” 

He was silent, just staring at you, no grin on his face, not even a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. And as soon as the elevator doors opened, he funneled out and right up to his room. You let out a breath and blinked a few times to recalibrate. You took your melatonin, changed, washed up, and headed to bed. 

The next day he kept up exactly that. He didn’t address you, he hardly even looked at you and even if he did, you didn’t notice, you were far too busy. The Junior US Open was tomorrow. You woke up your sister at dawn to go to a hotel aquafit class and then dry off and hit the court. Patrick was there with Simon running east swing drills and you got your sister working hard. She was more than ready, you knew that, but you also knew that giving her any break would make her believe that you didn’t think so, so you kept her going. 

Simon called to you and your sister. “Doubles? For fun, before lunch?” He asked, walking over. Patrick stared at the ground as he walked over just a few steps behind. Poor guy didn’t know the vendetta both you and your sister had against Patrick. She nodded, so you nodded. You hadn’t played in a match in a while, honestly. It was all training and hitting the ball back and forth. 

You stood opposite Patrick on the court and it reminded you of a time when you had played him and Art next to Tashi, for fun. How you didn’t know they were together was beyond you, but you did remember how Art looked at her. You had to blink a few times to get the imagery out of your head as Simon served the ball. You were lucky your sister was on it. 

Patrick still played rough, swinging hard just to challenge your sister a bit. You appreciated the push from him if you were honest. She needed it. It was a good game and there were a few flop swings from you and Patrick that were laughable. You laughed more at him than yourself but he didn’t seem to mind it at all. He just dribbled the ball and served it back to you to hit it over to Simon, etc. 

Your sister watched how Patrick’s eyes stayed on you when the ball was over with Simon being served. She couldn’t help but think it was a little weird how he seemed to be fighting a smile and she followed up with wondering why. And you didn’t notice at all. 

Lunch was good, but you were back to it until dinner, then at the gym after dinner doing a bit of yoga. Your sister turned to you, “He knows that you don’t like him?” She asked. You hated knowing who ‘he’ was. 

“Mhm,” You hummed, stretching upward.

“He doesn’t act like he cares very much.” 

You looked over at her, “I don’t care if he cares. And he’s had around seven years to not care about any repercussions, so that’s just on the passage of time.” 

She moved into downward dog, “Have you talked about it?” 

“No.” You answered. “Kind of. When it had just happened. But that was all I ever said to him about it.” You disregarded last night. “He knows what he did was wrong and I don’t let him forget.” Your mind slipped back to what it felt to lay in his arms afterward, the way he kissed your hair and still cupped your face, the way all of it was wrong, the entire time. And how it felt to feel his hand trail against your skin as you pulled yourself away from him that very last time in your car. 

She clicked her tongue, “I can’t believe you have to work with him. Couldn’t you get him fired for so many things?” 

You nodded, but it hadn’t ever occurred to you why you hadn’t. It would have been simple, a collection of evidence and a complaint and surely he’d be out, but you hadn’t done anything like it. “I could.” You replied. “But I’m not that much of a bitch.” 

“You’re never a bitch,” your sister laughed. “You only become one when he’s around.” 

It was true. And later that night the only hint of Patrick there was, was the eye contact you made with him on the way up to your room. He sat on the couch on his phone while you exited the balcony with your cup of tea. Then it was early bed- the Junior US Open was tomorrow. 

That rolled around all too quickly. You got your sister up early for a massage and a stretch, you ordered her a protein shake as she stressed the entire time. You only spoke in affirmations all morning as you double and triple-checked that she had everything she needed, rackets, water, food, etc. The day was warm with a perfect cool breeze that was gentle enough to play tennis in. You tried not to let the stress of the day get to you as you were driven to the courts. You reminded your sister of all she trained for and she was more than excited, she was bouncing more than the tennis balls were around the court as she warmed up. She wasn’t on until later, so you hit the ball back and forth to pass the time outside. 

Game in game out she was a winner and she knew it, winning her games consecutively. 

In between, you watched Simon’s games and he did well until he didn’t, falling behind. Your sister continued later and by the time she was on the very last game, you knew she was a winner. You were on the sidelines cheering her on. She won, of course, she won. 

She came right to you and hugged you tightly, thanking you for everything. It was an amazing victory and nothing could ruin it. 

The car ride back to the hotel was your sister just yapping uncontrollably about the details of her game to poor Simon, who had not won. She was so excited about it, she was talking endlessly. Patrick was engaging with her at her own speed and you were tired, it was a good thing someone could do with all that she had to say. 

She had the biggest nap of her life when she got back to the hotel room. She was almost asleep in the car and she was lucky she made it to bed. You had a nap on her hotel room couch, that’s how tired you were as well. It was a big day. You woke up around seven pm, but she was still dead asleep. You snuck out quietly and into your room. You’d finished your book, your phone was boring, and Simon honestly wasn’t the best company so you showered the day off, dried your hair, put your makeup on and got dressed again. 

Just a black skirt and a comfortable black long-sleeved shirt, some jewelry you liked, and a bit of sparkle to your eyeshadow. You deserved it. All that and some easy kitten heels and you headed downstairs to the restaurant and bar. It was beautiful, warmly lit and dim, stained glass between the bar and the kitchen casting the light through the panes in different colours across the bar. You ordered a vodka cranberry and ate the lime out of it first. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?” A man said. It wasn’t any man you knew, but a stranger. He came from behind you, old, but not too old, and a little bit handsome aside from the obvious aging. “I’ve never seen a pretty woman alone at a hotel bar. Hotel bars are for the straggling men, lost in the city. Like that one over there,” he said, pointing to the other end of the bar. You weren’t sure why your stomach flipped when you saw it was Patrick. He didn’t seem to see you, but he sat there at the bar with a short glass of what you knew was whiskey, swirling it around, his head resting against his fist. He was wearing a black t-shirt and black pants, having changed from earlier as well. “Now what’s your story, I’m curious.” 

You turned your attention back to the handsome older man. “Tennis,” you told him. And it sparked up a conversation that was really more insightful than the being hit on that you were expecting- not that you weren’t bought drinks by two other men at the bar who smirked from where they sat at a booth. The man seemed to be in his early sixties with some good things to say and you listened intently, not noticing Patrick’s eyes on you from where he sat. 

It was good to talk to someone so removed from the tennis world who had so much to say about investing in stocks and surprisingly, you didn’t hate it. You sipped your drink, getting a little surprised at the attention you were getting and it was something new. The night continued with more men hitting on you, trying to sit with you… You weren’t the most beautiful woman ever but you weren’t ugly… this was a lot either way. The night continued to pass. 

When Patrick got up, you noticed it, he locked eyes with you, raising his eyebrows and chuckling. At what? At you? You watched his tongue press into his cheek before he pointed at you on his way by… it took a moment to realize what exactly it was he was pointing at until you looked down. Your shirt with only a few buttons at the top, had all of the buttons undone and you had somehow not noticed. Your bra was on display like a hooker or like some common whore and you knew Patrick’s chuckle was at exactly that. 

“Fuck!” You said, turning away from the man and getting up without explaining a thing. You must have looked a little crazy. Patrick laughed out loud as he passed you; your anger and embarrassment got the best of you. Your voice became genuine, “Did you know the whole time?” 

He looked at you, looking at the hand that covered the undone buttons, “Almost, yeah.” You didn’t want to be angry, instead, you just stayed humiliated, your eyebrows furrowing. You couldn’t be mad, not now. So many paid-for drinks you didn’t even drink and so many compliments you’d taken so graciously and you didn’t know and he did? “I thought maybe it was on purpose, though. Maybe if I haven’t changed, you haven’t either.” He said. And now you could be angry. He couldn’t be unaffected, he couldn’t be normal. What he meant by what he said was that you were a slut. And that wasn’t fair.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that and let it go because you’re drunk.” You said, straightening yourself out, trying to shake him off. “Not because you’re just an asshole who can’t mind his own business.” 

“I know my business- it’s you who came to the bar after me, today. If you wanted space so badly, why follow me?” 

“Follow you? Don’t flatter yourself, Zweig.” Your conversation moved just a few steps outside the hotel bar and into a corner of the vast lobby. You chuckled at the fact he really thought so. “I wanted a drink so I got a drink, like an adult who goes to a bar, I didn’t know these are your moping grounds.” 

He shook his head, rolling his eyes, “And you wanted civil?” 

“Everything you say is so completely self-absorbed. You’re obsessed with yourself, honestly get a fucking room. It’s disgusting how much you want to fuck yourself, pardon my reaction to it.”

He just grinned, “Yeah, okay, have fun with your senior citizen, how’s the bra thing working out for you?” 

You shook your head, tone changing again, “That- I didn’t know. I’m mortified.” 

“I’m sure. You know most women who are trying to gold dig go for a more subtle route.” He said, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. 

“That’s enough,” You snapped. “That’s enough. You’ve been drinking, I’m not arguing with you over something so stupid as the buttons on my shirt. You’re not worth it. You’re not worth a second of my time, you are so beneath me, I am so past you. You are so pathetic, thinking I still give a fuck about what you think of me.” 

“That’s what you think of me? I’m pathetic. You say you don’t care but you seem to care an awful fucking lot.” That terrible fucking grin was so aggravating. 

“Then you’re delusional. Grow up, honestly. I asked you to leave me alone, not slut shame me for some stupid buttons. How much would it have cost your ego to have told me that my buttons were undone? I hate you but I would have had the decency to tell you if this was you in this situation. Fuck!” You ran your hand through your hair and the argument paused for a beat, then two. You breathed out heavily, turning, your hand still on your chest. And you just started walking toward the elevator. What else could you do but just walk away? He was the problem but you became one too when you were with him. It was almost unavoidable when everything he said upset you for reasons both explainable and inexplicable. You had no control over it all, you just had too much to say, so much internalized rage for what you’d done, for the position he’d put you in all those years ago. You were glad the elevator was empty as you scanned for the suite and the doors closed, but the elevator didn’t move, it just made a clunking noise and you knew, as the doors opened again, that there was no escape from this personal hell. Thank god you only had a day and a half left here with him, you thought, as the doors let him into the elevator with you. 

“Walk away like you had no part in that, yeah,” he said, moving to his side of the elevator. You groaned out loud, rolling your eyes so far back it hurt. “Reminds me of the other time you did the same thing.” 

“Was last night not enough?” You laughed in genuine disbelief. “You put me in a disgusting position that nobody should have to be in. You cheated! On your perfect girlfriend! With me, over and over and over and I had no idea because you didn’t have the decency to tell either of us.” 

“I was also nineteen years old!” He retaliated. “You expected me to have my shit all sorted out? I’m sorry I wasn’t a five-year-plan type of guy!” 

“That’s a crazy take when not cheating is one of the easiest things to do.” You laughed, scoffing when you caught your breath. “You used me.” 

Another beat, his eyes softened just in the slightest. “I didn’t use you.” He replied. “For what? For sex?” 

You guessed he didn’t need you for that. The elevator became uncomfortable as it rose between floors. Both of your hands fell to your sides, the top of your shirt falling open again unnoticed. You just blinked at his words, looking away. But no, what? You went right back into it, “Then why? Tell me that you weren’t just selfish, keeping two girls around to satisfy yourself beyond the regular needs of a man. Tell me that you weren’t only thinking about yourself and not the feelings of both your own girlfriend and the girl you’d sneak out to see. You made me some fucking mistress! The other woman, I didn’t know I was the other woman, can you imagine what finding that out feels like? The guilt? The shame? Tell me you weren’t just selfish.” 

“Not everything comes down to that. You’re seeing this how you want to see it. You are at fault, you are not innocent in this. You knew and you still fucked me and-” Patrick hit the pause elevator button and you just glared. “No matter what you said to me afterward, you still did it. None of this is linear or organized, it just fucking happened. You are not the victim you say you are, you deserve a good portion of that guilt because you fucked me, even after, no matter what you’ve done to shut that part out.” He said. You felt the fire behind your own eyes. 

“I haven’t shut it out, I’ve grown past it. What you did is still wrong.” 

“I know that! I know that- I ended up with nothing when it was all said and done. I was fine with not having Tashi, but-” he paused and pressed a hand to his temple for just a half-second. “You’re still so angry! It’s hard to believe you’ve grown past it when you’re still reminding me of one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made constantly.” 

You scoffed again, “I’m sorry you can’t deal with your own problems and the shit you put on me still haunts me. How is it you get to live it down and I don’t?” 

“I haven’t fucking lived it down.” 

“Pathetic.” 

“Fuck you. Honestly.” He said. “I made a mistake as a teenager, I don’t know how to go back and fix how I felt about you. I can’t take anything back so I don’t know what you want me to do here. Was I selfish? Yeah, I was. You’re right. Does that make you feel better about yourself? Do you feel like less of a victim now? I’m so sure of myself, yeah, okay, at least I haven’t tricked myself into believing I disliked how wrong it felt.”

You blinked hard and hit the elevator button again so it would begin to move once again. “You think I liked it?” 

“I think you did. I think some part of you hated Tashi and you liked the fact you could have me once more for good measure. I think that is what ‘haunts’ you. That you liked it.” He said. And the elevator doors opened to the empty main room of the suite. You stepped out the second you could, trying to get away from this so desperately. “I admit I’m selfish so you can admit that. Or at least try and admit it to yourself.” 

At those words, you tossed your purse on the couch and turned on your kitten heel. You walked right back up to him and pressed your pointer finger to his chest. “You are still so fucking self-absorbed that you think I liked being your side-chick or whatever the hell I was to you? You think so highly of yourself- you’re presenting yourself as a thing to be had between girls? Some trophy? A prize?”

“You weren’t so special either.” He lied. As if he didn’t like you, truly like you, more than he liked Tashi, unfortunately. His mistake was trying to balance things while he figured out how to tell you that he wanted you. Tashi loved tennis more than anything, she was mean and she was cold and she was hard to please but you in his bed, you were warm in more ways than one and you always listened and you weren’t all about tennis the way she was. And he liked you- genuinely liked you. But he went about it entirely wrong. He told you that you weren’t special but you were. You always were. He watched your eyebrows furrow at his words and more bitter things came out of his mouth, “And you said you couldn’t give a fuck what I thought of you.” 

“You’re not worth my time. Fuck you, Zweig. Fuck you and your self-obsession. Get a grip, get a life, and get over yourself.” You pressed your finger hard into his chest and let your hand fall to your side, eyes meeting his, the fire in your eyes reflecting in his own. “Fuck you. You’re an asshole.” The stare lingered before you shook your head, just disbelieving in this entire stupid conversation. It felt like talking in circles. Pointless. You’d never see his point and he would never see yours. He just looked at you like nothing you said meant anything and was only to provoke him when it wasn’t. He made it feel pointless. And you were fuming, so fucking angry. He matched that as well, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. So you just turned and walked right into your hotel room, shutting the door behind you. 

What a fucking waste of time and breath, you thought. He wasn’t worth it. Any of it. You just breathed out, hearing his hotel room door shut next to yours. You pressed your hand to your forehead, letting out a second sigh as you thought about just how stupid he was, deflecting, avoiding. You were glad you were out of the heat of that moment. If you’d been out there any longer yelling at him who knows what you would have done? Or said. The number of times you’d said ‘fuck you’ were uncountable and you hated who he made you. You weren’t this person he made you- you were kind and sweet and gentle and patient but right now all you knew was this person he turned you into. He was just so disgusting and so self-centered and you couldn’t get past what he’d done and he never elaborated on what he meant by ‘I don’t know how to go back and fix how I felt about you’. Fuck, he just made you so fucking angry and it really was exhausting being around him. Dredging these things back up. Him and his fucking ego, really. 

You weren’t exactly sure just what you were going to say to him, the conversation felt final, but there had to be some reason you opened the door to your hotel room again. Took your back off of the door, turned again, buttons on the shirt still very open, and you opened the door by some possession of the mind and it was just coincidence that when you looked up, Patrick stared back at you, standing outside your door like he was about to knock. Your eyes met his and it was easy to see that there was still fire in his eyes the same as there was in your own. It was only a few seconds, maybe ten, maybe fifteen and he stood there and so did you, wordlessly. Silence, empty, just blinking and breathing and silence. Before the mutual crash of him stepping toward you, grabbing your face, and kissing you hard. You had met him in the middle just between your doorframe, and your hands immediately found themselves flat against his back, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. No other thoughts.

He kissed you like he meant it, with all of the hateful things that you had said still very much on the tongue that swiped past his own. And it was desperate, the way you kissed- hot, heavy, so passionate, too passionate. Your back was against the stretch of the wall just inside your room as he pressed you to it and him against you. The door shut beside you and it was a good thing. So much feeling, so much hate and so much time, so much weight in his kiss but it was as easy as breathing. 

He held your face between large hands that slowly slid down to your jaw, one of them down your neck, his body pressed so closely to yours that you thought maybe you’d start sinking through the wall against your back. His hand traveled downwards and you let it as his hand went around your neck, not pressing, not squeezing, just placement. It sent chills through your whole body though your bodies only radiated pure heat. Small sounds escaped both of your lips, small hums, as his hand slid down and over the exposed bra from your undone buttons. His hand cupped your chest, not too rough, but definitely without being gentle. None of this was gentle. 

You popped your knee out just a bit as he pressed himself against you so that when he did, he felt it. He groaned just a bit as you then took a step off the wall, pressing him to the wall opposite the small entrance to the hotel room. Still so desperate, still so in need, his hand still on your chest and one of your hands traveling to rest on his jaw while- as he began to take off your shirt- your other hand slid down his chest to break the waistband of his pants, just gently rimming it with your pinkie finger before undoing the button of his pants. His lips didn’t leave yours even as you slid your hand down into them. He was hard, he was so hard and in this desperation even you didn’t have the time to think. You didn’t want the time to think as your shirt was pulled over your head between the sound Patrick made into your mouth. 

All of this hatred just seeped out of your skin at a scalding temperature as you pressed yourself against him, your hand gripping him harder, he didn’t waste another second gaining back his leverage, kissing you as you walked over to your bed. He kicked off his pants and in seconds he was on you, really on you, over you. Climbing over you in your bra and little black skirt. Your hand left his boxers and you began to pull at his t-shirt, all of your actions desperate and wanting and his lips were on your neck, his hand resting at the base of it again, moving your hair aside. Gentle, but starving. His skin against yours, hands trailing all over your body, one of them deciding to drop down between your legs. With only a touch of his finger against the inner of your thigh, you opened them just a little so that very same finger could gently press against you where you needed it. This was too gentle, in a world that wasn’t gentle, so when you kissed Patrick harder he knew to cut the bullshit. You weren’t delicate, he didn’t need to act like it. He pulled your underwear to the side to gently rub circles into your clit and easily slipped his other finger inside of you, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. 

You hated how it was almost familiar, his pattern of heavy breathing and his fingers pumping inside of you with that careful curving middle finger hitting that perfect spot inside of you. You hated how it sent a flush over your whole body and made you feel almost euphoric like he was some sort of drug. His fingers curled inside of you, moving up and down as he went half in, half out, his thumb on your clit like it was the easiest thing and it probably was- he had good practice. You were moaning as quietly as you could, breathily against his skin before without warning, he cut that out too, just to pull your underwear down from inside the skirt and you kicked it off somewhere far away. His fingers went to resume his actions, but he wasn’t so lucky to go back to something so easy. 

With a swift rocking motion, you were able flip yourselves over so now you were on top of him. You pulled your hair to the side as you bent down to kiss him now, feeling his hard dick against you, still hidden by his boxers. You kissed him, still fast, still hot, still in need as you slowly rolled your hips against him, causing him to groan out into your mouth just the same way you just had when his fingers were inside of you. And in seconds he was getting rid of his boxers and his dick was standing, waiting. He was so hard, still so in need, he almost pushed you down onto it but you didn’t want to waste any time either, moving down just a bit while his hands began sliding down your bare waist, resting on your hips, his eyes meeting yours for what felt like the first time since you’d crashed against each other at the door. His mouth was just a little open, eyes on you like you were everything, and it felt like a pause but it was only half a second. 

He kissed you again, just as hungry, his lips meeting yours in such a sickeningly sweet way but it was all so fast, his tongue in your mouth in a way you had not forgotten. A kiss only broken by the moan that slipped between both of your lips as you sank down onto him. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your ass, pushing just gently as he filled you entirely. You hated that with all the men you’d been with since, none of them had ever filled you the way he did. And that hate was momentum enough to begin to move up and down, hips rocking with his guiding force. “Fuck…” he said through his heavy breathing as you rode him, moaning in response as the rocking turned to a slight bounce, his hips lifting to meet you halfway. 

It was so all-consuming, the feeling. Like some hot flush in your body every up and down was worthy of the extreme rush of the perfect feeling of him. Fucking yourself on him, his hands tight on your hips, pulling you up and down harder, faster, as your hair fell into your face time and time again. This desperate sex got more desperate as Patrick made a move to regain his control, flipping you onto your back without even pulling out. You grinned breathlessly as his hands moved back to your jaw to kiss you all the same, not letting up on how hard he kissed you while he began to fuck you harder than before. Your legs wrapped around his body and his arm propping him up rested just beside your head and you needed each other more than anything it was violent, the way his body met yours rapidly, perfectly. It was a mixture of breathing hard, whispers of ‘fuck’ and ‘god’ and skin and the moans you tried to suppress along with his own. 

Your eyes rolled back as he fucked you. It felt like nothing had ever compared, like nothing could even come close to this feeling. It felt like you were losing all sense of the world outside the bedroom, being fucked truly dumb and numb to any other part of this, not the morals, not your principles. Nothing else mattered aside from this violent show of passion. His hand now on your waist, yours around his neck and his eyes met yours again. 

Barely open, in this world of lust, he looked back at you through his eyelashes like none of this was happening. You couldn’t see fire in his eyes anymore. His eyes were more showing water, still, calm, despite his actions and despite it all. Things slowed. And he kissed you again, slower, as his thrusts continued with the same power and the same force. Your hands slid into his hair and there was nothing you wanted more in this moment than the kiss… Somehow ignoring the outside world for sex became ignoring the sex for the kiss. You wouldn’t breathe if you didn’t have to. “Mm- I’m so close, fuck,” he mumbled over your lips, mouth opening just a bit as he picked up the pace and your fingers closed in fists of his hair as a new wave of pleasure completely overtook all of your thinking. 

“Uh huh,” You nodded, using your hands to kiss him again, to keep him close to you as his thrusts got sloppy and more spaced but still hard as finished. His moans mixed with your own as he slowed to a stop. “Fuck…” You sighed heavily. It was over, it was over, it was over and you were a mess underneath him. Your makeup all fucked up, your hair ruffled, your body sticky from the sweat of it all. Nearly-naked, almost entirely, under Patrick, of all people. You would have to deal with the high and it’s comedown, its consequences. 

The consequence seemed to be not having anything witty or hateful to say to him as he moved to lay next to you, rubbing his face, obviously thinking this over the same way you were. You propped yourself up on your elbow and looked at him, really looked at him. And all he had for you was that stupid, arrogant grin. But it made you laugh. And for the first time in all of the times he had ever fucked you and left after dating back eight years- he reached over and pulled you into another kiss, silencing your giggle. A real kiss, hands staying put on your jaw, your hand gently pressed again his bare chest. The high was gone but the comedown was cushioned in a way you had never felt before. You couldn’t hate someone who kissed you this way with nobody waiting for him at home. Like pieces falling into place, after eight years, there was the first kiss with no intention of sex. 

You couldn’t hate how right it felt with nothing about it having to feel wrong. It was surprising, how different it felt. The consequence was that you liked it. 

And on the way home, your sister knew something had shifted. You sat closer to him than you ever allowed, he addressed you when he had something to say and it was just all too normal. There was another night at the motel where you’d ended up talking everything out with Patrick, finding out how he really felt about things without the need for argument. He confessed to just about everything before the night of conversation ended with you both a little bit too close. Your eyes met his in the glow of the motel pool you sat next to and before any other words were said, his hand slid around the back of your neck and he kissed you again. You didn’t have sex that night. But you ended up in his arms, your hair being tucked behind your ear, his fingers tracing patterns over your thigh. 

Your sister knew something was up for sure when you returned to the motel room around 4am, but she didn’t question it. The biggest tell was that you were your regular, sweet self again. That and you had stopped calling him Zweig. There wasn’t any need to dwell on the past, you’d both decided. He was forgiven over a few cups of coffee. And your past actions felt less like something haunting... more like a mistake from the end of your teenage years.

It truly was exhausting feeling so much and not letting it serve a true purpose, you both found. You began to recognize that not everything formed in the fires of lust stayed on fire forever. It was better to succumb to the still waters that his eyes reminded you of. You liked this rematch, it was one of the best games you'd ever played.

[thatsdemko]

match point - c.leclerc

masterlist

requested: n

parings: Charles leclerc x gasly!fem!reader

warnings: nsfw + not intended for minors + mentions of nudity + mentions of oral (f receiving)

a/n: it needed to be done.. feedback is always appreciated xx

《 the following content is not intended for minors. 》

“you don’t even like tennis.”

he’s right, you don’t. but there’s something about the Monegasque man that you’ve been seeing, walk out his bedroom in a cream colored suit and matching drawstring pants, with a white button up that just makes you want to scream.

so yes, you’re fighting your disliking for the sport of tennis by wearing a loose midi sundress that hugs your curves and chest in the right places, it’s payback in some way. because when you walked out your room he nearly fell out of his chair, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“excuse me,” he makes an excuse to touch your leg, his finger tips brushing your bare skin as he pretends to adjust the knots of his tennis shoes. you roll your eyes under your sunglasses turning back to the match.

he’s situated between your brother, Pierre, and you with kika on the other end. the four of you watch the game, but there’s two of you that aren’t that interested in the rally back and forth. his hand keeps making dangerous placements on your leg, you’re sure your brother will catch one of them soon enough, but right now he’s engulfed in explaining the match to his girlfriend.

“did you have to do this to me?” he leans closer to your seat, he can see that you’re fighting to look away, but your eyes keep darting back between him and the match in front of you.

“I could say the same to you.” you whisper resting your hand on arm of the seat, his fingers give yours a squeeze, the metal that dresses his fingers are burning against your palms. you’d rather have that hand somewhere much more dangerous.

he scoffs moving his mouth closer to your ear so it’s just you that hears him, now that your brother is back to paying attention, “you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

before you can get a word in he’s turning to Pierre, he wants to switch seats, says there’s a glare from the sun that’s reflecting off his suit and the two men switch leaving you to sit with your brother and kika to sit with Charles.

“what’s his problem?”

“I wish I knew.”

—

your seats have been upgraded, you’re now sitting next to kika right behind Charles. every so often he turns to tell your brother some gossip he knows about the tennis players, he knows how to reel you in, if you’re anything like Pierre, in which you are, you’ll tune in to any gossip.

“yeah I heard he some girl told him he just wasn’t big enough.”

“that’s disgusting, Charles.” you scoff shaking your head trying to turn back to the game, but you catch those green eyes staring at you. his sunglasses are tipped down the edge of his nose.

“cherie, I’m not talking to you.” he sasses before flipping back around instantly switching his language to Italian with joris. the two men laugh at whatever it was he said, you curse yourself for not taking the time to learn the language.

“does he hate you or what?” kika whispers, she’s seen the whole thing go down. the way he stared at you when you came out of your bedroom, the brief hand touching, etc. she’s seen it all go down and she knows something is up, but you won’t admit it here. not with Pierre around.

“I don’t even know what I did.” you say it loud enough for him to hear you. you know he wants to turn around, tell you what it is you’re doing to him and make you pay the punishment. it’s too bad this is too public of a place.

“must be a misunderstanding? I’m sure Pierre can get him to apologize.”

—

he does apologize, but it’s in private with a kiss. he says his behavior was uncalled for and he shouldn’t have snapped.

“I forgive you, but you don’t need to make me look like a fool in front of my brother and your family.” you lightly smack his arm, and he nods getting up off his bed where you lay still in your sundress.

“I think the sun burnt me good.” you say checking the tan lines of the spaghetti straps from your dress. you stand correct when you see the redness versus the pale thin lines.

“want me to take care of it?” he says with a playful smirk that only sends you laughing, butterflies warm his stomach watching your head tilt back. he could’ve sworn if you asked him years ago if he’d ever date you, it would be a hard no. now here you are all grown messing with his feelings in that sundress.

“I want you to take care of me,” you say motioning for him to move closer to the bed, he does so with no hesitation. you move your dress up your thigh revealing that all day you’ve sat with nothing on underneath, “such a shame you never got a taste.”

he’s sputtering to find words, his face flushes red in nervousness and slight embarrassment, he’s so kicking himself for his behavior to you publicly, “let me make it up to you?”

“well I don’t have all day.” you roll your eyes watching him climb onto the bed, his hands roll your sundress up your thighs exposing the bareness down there, he can’t believe all day long you were like this. what a fool he was.

he pushes your thighs open, the moisture glistening in the light, he wonders how long you’ve been like this. his index finger traces your folds gently, he watches your body twitch under his touch as you begin to relax against the mattress.

“I want you in me.” you demand, you don’t even care how or what he does, just something to take this edge off that you’ve been dealing with all day. he knows how to end this mess he’s started, so he allows his head to dip down in between your thighs his tongue laps your folds. the moisture that’s created down there tastes good against his lips, it’s sweet and earthy.

your finger tips find his long messy brown hair, you allow the groans and grunts to escape, there’s nobody in his house but the two of you.

his tongue nudges your entrance, it’s tight but he’s able to make room for himself, you nearly choke on his name feeling his tongue inside you.

he’s slow, each spot his tongue discovers he takes his time hearing his name grow louder out your lips. he loves it from you, the way your hands tug his hair and the incoherent stutters that come for you, he’s the best at knowing how to make you feel good.

“r-right there,” you whisper it’s not even close to your clit, but the spot feels so damn good you’re fighting with letting yourself come. he’s got a punishment for you, and if you know him well, you know you’ll have to hold off. he hasn’t even gotten to the good part.

he hums against you, you’re sputtering once more, he feels your legs shaking the bed, you’re trying to fight your intuition. your body is on the verge of coming, and when that tip of his tongue, barely, hits your clit it all comes pouring out.

he pulls away, getting a look at you. your chest visibly rising and falling, sweat glimmering across your forehead, and hair all over the mattress, “you’re such a good girl for me.” he moves up your body, lips beginning to trail up your chest all the way to your lips.

“you always know how to take care of me.” you say, he rolls off the bed and you watch the suit jacket fly off, he tosses it in the hamper and you watch him unbutton his top, you lick your lips feeling that same warmth come back. it seems to never go away with him.

“on your knees, gasly, we aren’t finished just yet.” you do as he demands, he complied to your wishes, it’s time for you to do the same.

his pants and boxers are casted off to the side, his finger tips push your chin upwards to face him, “did you know this is my favorite view of you?”

you just roll your eyes ever so badly wanting to flip him off, but you just take his tip in your mouth and begin to swirl your tongue around, doing everything he likes.

it’s his turn to be a mess. his legs shake, finger tips knot your perfectly done hair, your name rolls off his tongue while he begs for more. it’s so easy to get him like this.

“y-y/n,” his breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling this is the best he’s ever had, and if he could write home about it and scream about it at the top of his lungs he would.

it’s not much longer that you keep swirling your tongue until your mouth is met with his earthy cum. when you finally pull away you catch a glimpse of yourself in his mirror, your hair looks like a rats nest.

he helps you up from your knees, pressing sweet kisses to your knuckles,“come on, amour let’s shower. we still have dinner with your brother to make.”

“then dessert?” you ask bitting your bottom lip brushing some of the hairs that stuck to his sweaty forehead. he nods pressing a kiss to your lips.

“then dessert.”

[lovinpelova]

make up for lost time | j. fleming

summary; jessie gets a new car after finally passing her drivers test in the states, you've been away far longer than wanted. [SMUT]

🎵 preach - drake

the one problem with being an international student-athlete is having to be away from family eight months a year, then once you get used to it having to be away from friends for the next four months, then repeating it. the one thing that makes it even harder to deal with is the fact that your girlfriend is canadian, meaning you're stuck in the uk five hours ahead and over 3,600 miles away from the love of your life.

most people would say you're insane to call a long-distance girlfriend the love of your life but you ignore them, you're both nineteen and fully aware of who you are, including how much you love each other and how happy you are together. that's all that matters to the both of you, you're making long-distance work the four months away and spending as much time as possible together the other eight months which is considerably easy since you're roommates.

(that and jessie has a contract lined up with chelsea the same year you plan to sign for arsenal, so you're going to be living not even a couple hours away from each other when you both leave ucla in close to two years time.)

your girlfriend texted you in the morning that she wouldn't be able to pick you up from the airport like usual whenever you came back from seeing your family as she was getting her car after finally passing her drivers test, the canadian having to pass it in canada and only being home four months a year meant all the slots were booked- apart from a last minute clearance four weeks ago.

instead you got a lift to your dorm from a friend in one of your classes, leaving all your suitcases by your bed just the same way jessie had done with hers, both of you too impatient to unpack and figuring it wouldn't harm anyone waiting until tomorrow as you had eight months to worry about it. your phone lit up with a notification from the midfielder, informing you she was outside in her 'new ride' as she called it.

a couple minutes walk and you were in the parking lot of the ucla campus, looking around for a car with a familiar face in the drivers seat or something else to indicate jessie was nearby. you had no luck until you heard someone blasting britney spears with their windows down, headed to park right in front of you with your girlfriend leaning over the console to yell in your face.

"get in loser we're going shopping!"

you laughed with the canadian as she turned down the music and wound the windows up whilst you got into her car, pulling her in for a passionate kiss by the collar of her ucla hoodie as she gladly kissed back. one of her hands trailed over the console seperating you and gripped your thigh lovingly, stroking the skin with her thumb as you both smiled against each others mouths.

"i love the smell of a new car."

"mmm... me too."

your girlfriend grinned before leaning in for another kiss, making sure it didn't go too far by leaving you with a couple pecks as she pulled away and insisted you put on your seatbelt before driving out of college. you'd only been able to get a late flight home so it was already nine pm, meaning if you wanted food you'd most likely go for takeaway and drive about whilst eating it- which is exactly what you did. you blasted music whilst eating your mcdonalds and having the occasional sip of your milkshakes, jessie needing to be fed by you so she wasn't too distracted.

"come on y/n, gimme the chip!"

"gonna have to try harder than that jessie!"

you chuckled at her attempts to get her last bit of food as you pulled it away from her mouth at the last second multiple times, eventually deciding enough was enough and feeding it to her as she pulled into an empty parking lot to have a break from driving. when i say empty, i mean empty- it was close to midnight now anyways so you were probably the only people awake around the ucla area.

"driving is fun but doing it aimlessly for three hours isn't."

"your car smells like takeout now."

you completely ignored jessies comment as there was no solution to it - you couldn't drive as you hadn't gotten a test slot in the uk yet so she was designated pilot for now - instead focusing on the way her new car no longer smelled new, more like mcdonalds with a tiny hint of her perfume.

"that is what happens when you eat a takeaway in the car."

your girlfriend replied sarcastically whilst turning the engine off, both of you unbuckling your seatbelts as you cleaned up your mess and moved the rubbish bag onto the backseat to deal with later. as you climbed back into your seat after leaning over the armrest you caught jessie staring at your thighs - or your ass, maybe both knowing her - and smirked at the blush covering her cheeks when she met your eyes.

"see something you like, baby canada?"

"i see a lot of what i like, baby england."

the sudden wave of confidence jessie wore shocked you turned you on but you weren't complaining, she was always so shy even when it was just you two. unless she was drunk off a win or alcohol she only became a tiny bit less reserved around you. you scoffed at the nickname she'd given you for debuting internationally at the same age as her, flicking her shoulder before leaning in to kiss her sweetly.

"you taste like a chocolate milkshake."

you laughed against her lips, the canadian shaking her head at you lightly as she kissed you back.

"you taste like a vanilla milkshake."

she countered, one of her hands holding your face gently as you both smiled into the kiss, her free hand coming to rest high up on your thigh as yours held her shoulders to ground yourself. the kiss quickly became heated, having been away from her for four months and only pecking her on the lips a couple times so far had been torture for you- seemingly for her too judging by the way she was desperately trying to deepen it.

the hand resting on your face trailed down to your hip and tugged you closer, a grunt of disapproval leaving her lips as the armrest blocked you from moving further. wanting this to go further, you climbed over the armrest as she read your mind straight away, pushing her seat back as far as it could go so she was lying down with plenty of legroom.

you straddled her lap just like you had done many times before whilst flipping your hair to one side, your hands resting on her chest and slipping underneath her hoodie to feel her toned abs as you continued to heatedly makeout. jessie smiled against your lips once you let out a moan into her mouth, obviously a result of the way she'd just gripped your ass before smacking it and moving her hands to grip your hips possessively.

"you like that baby?"

she whispered cockily whilst trailing her lips down your neck, hips starting to grind in unison with your nails digging into her skin and no doubt leaving their mark.

"don't start with that cocky shit, you know what i like."

you mumbled with your head thrown back, the midfielder chuckling at your visibly frustrated nature. hips desperate for friction, hands clawing at any bit of skin you could find, mouth whimpering and breathing ragged was all jessie needed to know you wanted more.

she couldn't believe this, not even seven hours after buying her first car she was christening it with the hottest girl she'd ever seen in her life getting off on her lap. her parents would be so disappointed right now, but she was so happy to finally see you again- touch you again that she couldn't care less.

without a care in the world she tugged off your shirt and threw it away, sitting up to take off her hoodie and shirt, a needy moan leaving your mouth at the sight of her body. if you were patient enough you'd lick every inch of her skin right now, but with the way her eyes were devouring your chest before her mouth could catch up you definitely didn't have the patience.

"missed you s'much jess."

she hummed up at you before lying down again, one hand guiding you to lie down on top of her like before prior to it travelling to your breasts, massaging them just the way you liked. she smiled when you let out a heavy breath, head falling onto her shoulder and tucking itself into her neck.

"did you touch yourself whilst i was away?"

you whined helplessly at her question, nodding your head shyly with your lips trailing kisses down her neck and leaving marks in their wake.

"how many times y/n?"

"only twice, didn't finish though. my fingers aren't the same as yours."

jessie smiled at your response and pulled you into another heated kiss, her tongue slipping in to glide against yours sloppily with her hands tracing the waistband of your shorts.

"want a reminder of how good my fingers feel?"

you nodded your head rapidly before pulling her into another kiss, sighing when you felt her fingers break past the waistband and trace the crevice of your thigh, stopping your movements completely when she grazed her knuckles against your clit.

"jess-"

the canadian hummed in acknowledgement, slowly sinking her fingers into you whilst she held eye contact and watched the way your mouth fell open. by the time she was down to her knuckles you'd sat up to make sure she got as deep as possible, feeling her sink an inch further as you moaned in unison. sounds like she missed being inside you too.

she started moving her fingers slowly as she stared up at you, your head thrown back in pleasure as she stretched you out deliciously with two thick fingers.

"faster, jessie- faster."

whatever her girl wants, her girl gets.

she started moving her fingers much faster inside of you, needing to see you fall apart on her digits after four months of going without it. her other hand gripped your thigh as yours found purchase on her shoulders once more, the brunette moaning alongside you at the sight. she wasn't moving fast enough or deep enough, she was being too careful, restricting herself too much.

you started bouncing your hips up and down in rhythm with her thrusts, closing your eyes in pleasure and scratching along her chest when she was finally moving fast enough and deep enough. she curled her fingers to reach that spongey spot inside of you, making you almost scream out her name as she smiled cockily up at you and moved to sit up with you.

her free hand held your lower back so you were sat chest to chest, the new angle meaning you couldn't move your hips anymore, only jessie could move her fingers- and god was she doing that just right.

she knew how to fuck you, and she knew how to fuck you good.

"you feel so good, jess. just like that."

you chanted as she pistoned her fingers into your g-spot repeatedly, moving her lips to leave love bites all over your body wherever she could whilst your hands scratched at her back and tugged on her hair.

"you like that baby? that feel good, huh?"

"don't stop- god, please don't stop babe."

your head fell back further as moans continuously spilled past your lips, jessie spurring you on with endless words of praise.

"c'mon baby, you can be louder than that. what's my name? who's fucking you this good?"

"you- you're fucking me this good!"

"didn't know that was my name now?"

her thumb came up to rub your clit at the perfect pressure, fingers continuing to curl into you relentlessly as her free hand grabbed your neck and pulled you into a dominating kiss. you moaned into her mouth again and again and again, the brunette continuing to spur you on with her explicit dirty talk of what she wanted to do to you and expertise on how to finger you into an orgasm.

"what's my name babygirl? who are you gonna cum for? who's gonna be licking you off her fingers later on, hm? who do you belong to?"

"jess- god! i'm gonna- jessie! fuck, yes jessie!"

you moaned into the humid air her car was now filled with as you came undone over her fingers, grinding your hips against her knuckles as she slowed down her thrusts and smiled up at you. jessie loved making you say her name during sex- but she adored when you screamed it out whilst you came all over her fingers or tongue, exactly the way you did just then.

"such a good girl. so good for me, so pretty. all mine."

you nodded wordlessly as she peppered sweet kisses over your body wherever she could reach, soothing the vicious love bites she'd left behind when she really got riled up by you moaning out her name a couple moments ago. the pair of you breathed heavily into each others necks whilst jessie pulled her fingers out of you, moving so you could see her bring her fingers to her mouth and suck your arousal off them. her eyes rolled into the back of her head momentarily as she moaned against her digits, swallowing all the juices she collected and smiling up at you whilst you shook your head in disbelief of how attractive she was.

"if i could i'd have you fuck me for a week straight."

you joked, both of you laughing before kissing sweetly, jessie letting you climb back into the passenger seat once you'd calmed down fully from your high and moving her seat back to normal. you threw on her shirt and gave her the hoodie she wore to put on again, not having a clue where she threw your clothes in the heat of the moment.

"take it you like the new car then?"