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captain-huggy-bear · 5 months ago

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A Love that Gives, Gives, Gives

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Toplessness/nudity but completely non-sexual, just intimate/tender

Summary: Sometimes you think you have the perfect fitting bra and it turns out that it's actually a traitor in disguise. Sometimes your boyfriend is personally offended that an article of clothing would hurt you so much because he's a sap.

Notes: Reader's skin goes red from the pressure of the bra band so apologies if this isn't what happens for you i'm just basing it off my experience as someone who's skin goes bright red.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

There's a special sort of excitement as you get older about seemingly boring and uninteresting things like new underwear. A new fun pair of socks makes your day a bit better, new knickers make you feel more put together than the old ratty ones in your drawer and a new bra make you feel more confident, like you can take on the entire world.

Today is no exception, you had gone into your long day with a sense of confidence thanks to a new underwear set. It had fit just right, or it had originally felt like it had fit just right, when you'd put it on at 6am before going to work. Either way, in that first moment of the day, you'd felt like a bad bitch and like you could take on anything.

Your day had been long, like normal you were out of the house from 6am until near 6pm, and in that time the comfort of your new bra had shifted to a discomforting sort of torment. A level of discomfort that had fallen into pain.

If there was one thing you cursed about being a woman it was the inconsistency of bras. How you could buy the same size in different places and find that they all fit differently, how one style could fit perfectly and another could be torturous, what you hated even more than that was that a bra could feel comfortable and like it fit right for the first few hours, for the time that you tried it on, only to betray you later in the day when it was too late.

This bra had done just that. Perhaps it had been that the band was too narrow? Or maybe that the straps were too tight? Or the style was just the wrong sort for you? Whatever the root cause, by the end of the day you could feel the band of your new bra digging into the skin of your side and back so harshly that you were certain it would be imbedded in you forever if you didn't get it off immediately.

You were quick as you unlocked the apartment door, slamming it a little too hard behind you as you kicked off your shoes, dumped your work bags on the floor without much care and began to rush past Quinn who had sat up from his space lounging on the sofa to greet you.

"Hey, baby," You barely acknowledged him, not more than a grunt as you passed and he frowned. Those green eyes of his following your hurried footsteps to where you disappeared into the bedroom.

It wasn't really a choice that he found himself up and following behind you, leaning against the doorframe of your shared bedroom. More of a compulsion really, an unthinking action, something he couldn't have not done if he tried. Where you went, he followed. You weren't always in the best of moods when you got home, but when you weren't in a good mood you usually sought him out, curling up into his lap as soon as you could for comfort. It was unusual for you to practically ignore him and it left a bad taste in his mouth, a worry that festered.

You feel bad for practically ignoring him, but the burning discomfort of cotton and lace digging into your skin was a more pressing matter, literally. You can feel Quinn's eyes on you from the doorway as you rush to peel out of your work dress in such haste that Quinn's almost certain he hears a rip as you shrug it off your shoulders.

He watches as you reach back, fingers fumbling with your bra clasp and slipping each time despite the years of experience with it. It's your urgency, the frustrated whine you let you that has him stepping forward and reaching for you unthinking, not questioning why this is so urgent but knowing it.

He has the clasp undone in half a second, and the gasp he lets out is as sharp and loud as your sound of relief when the bra falls away from your body and to the floor. Your skin is indented, a divot where the band of your bra had dug in over the day, flesh bright red, every stitch mark clear as day on the surface. It looks so uncomfortable to Quinn, painful and he can tell by your relief that it is.

"Baby..." There's abject concern in his tone, a quiet sort of worry that can be heard in his voice but also felt in the way his fingers barely graze your side. Fingertips careful and cautious as he traces the edge of the welts in your side.

"It's fine...I just clearly brought the wrong size...or style or something..." You lift your arm, looking at your skin in the mirror as you say this. It doesn't reassure Quinn, in fact your casual disregard for your own comfort pisses him off.

"It's not fine." Quinn's tone is short, clipped. His hands find the dip of your waist pulling you back against his chest, chin dipping down so he can press soft kisses to your shoulder, as if it will erase the discomfort of your skin, "Burn it."

"Quinn, I just bought it! It cost like $80!" The price itself makes you wince, $80 on something that seemed to fit but actually couldn't be worn comfortably for more than a few hours no matter how pretty it was.

"So? It hurt you, it can go in the trash and i'll buy you a more comfortable bra, one that won't do this," His hands trail up from your waist, over your skin until they meet the welts in your side. He's gentle, so, so gentle, as he massages little circles into the red marks. "Or, you can go without, who needs bras anyway?" He grumbles into your skin like bras were a personal affront to him. In that moment they felt like they were, anything that hurt his girlfriend was personally offensive.

"Quinn, I can't go around work with my nipples out. It's highly unprofessional." You roll your eyes at him even as you relax into his touch. His fingers are just cool enough that they provide a sense of relief against your burning skin. It's almost like he thinks he can massage the marks away, that if he caresses them enough they'll disappear.

"Okay, so just wear those bras that are stretchy." He thinks to the bra in your drawer, the one that you've managed to fall asleep in before, that never left marks on your skin

"You mean my bralettes? The ugly, shapeless things?" You think of the white that's now off-white from overuse, the fabric pilling, the elastic overstretched from wear. It's not exactly a bra you consider sexy, something practical instead, comfortable.

"They're not ugly. They're comfortable." He mumbles it into your neck, beard scratching your skin and making you twitch. His fingers are running along the indents in your side, giving up on small circles, and going for long strokes instead.

"I...I just wanted to wear something pretty."

"You're pretty enough on your own, baby," Quinn's kisses travel up your neck, pressing into your jaw and cheek as if he can kiss the thought into you, as if he can make you believe it with just a few presses of his lips, "but...if it's that important, we'll go get you fitted properly at one of those fancy lingerie stores and I'll buy you all the pretty bras you want as long as they don't hurt you."

"Really?" You catch his eye in the mirror, the look he gives you is soft and sincere, eyes crinkling at the edges. Quinn's good with his money, responsible, but he loves to spoil you, even more so because you don't expect it or ask for it. Even more so because you're so careful with your own money.

"Mmmhmm, still prefer you without a bra, but I can compromise, for you." He smirks as you twist to whack him in his shoulder, he laughs as his hands slip back to your waist.

"Quinn." Your voice is a bad attempt at sounding disapproving, the slight laughter you're trying to hide still coming out from underneath as you frown at him.

"First things first though," You watch as Quinn slips to his knees in front of you, still tall enough that he reaches the centre of your chest. There's something about him on his knees like that, looking up at you from beneath long lashes that feels devotional, like he's praying at an altar or shrine. It feels practically blasphemous and makes your stomach flip nervously.

"What are doing?" Your hand fingers his hair without much thought on your part, fingers glinding through dark waves, nails lightly scratching his scalp in a way that makes his eyelashes flutter.

"Kissing it better, then you're going to get into one of those really oversized t-shirts I have and we're going to watch your favourite movie and i'm going to order your favourite take-out."

"All because of my bra?"

"Mmhmm, gotta look after my girl."

He doesn't entertain your conversation any further, Quinn's lips trail over waist before they meet the left side of your ribs. He kisses across angry, red skin, warm to the touch from the pooling of blood under your skin. He takes his time as your eyes flutter close, revelling in the simple quiet intimacy, the tenderness as he cares for you. It's perhaps all in your head, but you think every kiss seems to erase a little bit more pain, a little bit more discomfort.

Your nails trail across the back of his neck as he shifts, lips pressing kisses across your ribs until he reaches the marks on your right side. He's as careful, as gentle as before as he presses kisses over the deep red grooves, nose brushing the skin lightly as he goes. It sets an ache of the best kind in your chest, an ache of affection of love, for this man who will supplicate himself to you, who will press kisses to your skin over something as simple as a too tight bra.

Until Quinn you'd never known this sort of love, all consuming, but not loud. Quiet, gentle. The sort of love that seeks to provide for you in every way imaginable even when you argue, even when you fight. The sort of love that sees all your broken and tender parts and just seeks to soften them, soothe them. A sort selfless love that seeks to give, give, give.

"I love you..." You whisper it, the quiet atmosphere too tender and delicate for anything louder. Your thumbs moving to rub against his cheeks as Quinn places one last kiss on your skin before looking up at you like you've hung the moon.

You're not entirely sure what you did in a past life to deserve Quinn and the sort of love that he gives you, but you choose not to question it. Scared that if you do it will disappear like a puff of smoke.

Quinn is no less gentle when he rises to his feet and guides you by the hand to your bed, no less gentle when he finds the biggest, softest t-shirt he can find and helps you slip it over your head.

His love for you is evident when he puts your favourite movie on without asking what one it is again, its evident when you hear him on the phone ordering your exact favourite takeout order, not forgetting a single item off the list. He doesn't need to say it, it's evident in all his actions, still he does. He mumbles it into your hair as you curl up together in front of the television.

For Quinn there is no greater goal in life than making you feel seen, known, loved and he does it so effortlessly.

#huggy bear writes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes/reader #quinn hughes #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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lovegoodlane · 6 months ago

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Pursuing the Prefect - 4

4k words

18+ only

Warnings: none? No sexual content, only angst/arguing

Summary: Fred struggles to patch things up with his prefect after a disagreement (stubborn Fred)

A/N: The next part as requested. No smut this time, didn't quite fit the storyline. Let me know what you think!

Link to part 1, part 2, part 3

----

It was Saturday morning, and you tore through your drawers trying to decide what sweater to wear to Hogsmeade. It was early November, and the cold air was starting to become brutal.

You settled on a burgundy one, pulling it on over your head and inspecting your reflection in the mirror. You hadn't picked out a pair of pants yet, so you were stood in just your sweater and knickers.

Your eyes wandered down to your thighs where you could still make out the outline of where Fred had left love bites. It made your stomach turn. You hadn't spoken since Thursday night when you disagreed about going on a date during the Hogsmeade trip.

You tried to force it out of your mind, grabbing a pair of jeans and pulling them up your legs. You checked your reflection again, deciding to pull your hair up into a pony tail.

You heard a knock at your door, answering with "come in!"

Beatrice peeked her head into your room. "Almost ready?" she asked, clearly excited for the day ahead.

You exhaled, studying your reflection once more. "Almost ready," you replied.

——

It was colder than you had expected. You bundled up with a puffer jacket and put on a pair of earmuffs, knowing that you were going to be frigid walking from shop to shop.

Beatrice linked her arm with yours. "Where should we go first?" she asked. "I think we should get some chocolate frogs, they're my favorite."

Cho had decided to skip out on the Hosgmeade trip, so it was just you and Beatrice today. You were still struggling to handle Cho's snappiness, so you didn't mind having some one on one time with Beatrice.

You wandered into a sweets shop, looking at all of the candies they had to offer. Sweets weren't really your thing, but Beatrice's weakness was chocolate. Every time you went to Hogsmeade, she always bought chocolate.

Beatrice had picked out a couple of chocolate frogs and some truffles, making her way towards the register to pay for her treats. You waited for her, peering out the window to see the other students who were exploring the shops. You caught a glimpse of red hair through the window, making your stomach flutter.

You really wanted to talk to Fred, but you had no idea how to approach him. A public relationship made you feel uneasy, but the more you thought about it, the less miserable it sounded. You wanted to be with Fred, and people were going to find out at some point.

The silence between you two was palpable, and Beatrice picked up on your change in mood yesterday at breakfast. You explained the situation to her, and she sympathized with you, but she brought up some important points.

"But don't you like him?" she had asked you once you were in your dormitory for the evening. "You've been spending more time with him and he clearly makes you happy."

"I just don't want other people to be so nosy about us being together," you explained to her. "Fred is incredibly popular, meaning that everyone will suddenly be looking at me. I don't need that kind of pressure."

"You thrive under pressure," Beatrice argued. "Fred isn't asking you to declare your love from the rooftops. He just wants to be able to hold your hand in public and not have to feel like he's hiding something. He probably feels like you're ashamed of him."

Beatrice's last comment made something click, and it had been floating around in your head ever since she said it. Even now standing in the sweets shop, you felt guilty about the possibility that Fred thought you were ashamed of him. That couldn't be further from the truth.

Yes, you and Fred were admittedly pretty opposite, but that didn't matter to you. You were a prefect with perfect marks and he was a troublemaker that focused on anything but his academics. It seemed like you two couldn't be more different, but somehow the pairing just seemed to work. Opposites really do attract.

Beatrice approached you, her bag of sweets in hand. "Where to next?"

"I want to get a couple of new quills, I need to replace my old ones," you answered, heading for the door.

A wave of cold smacked you as you exited the shop, causing you to cross your arms in an attempt to preserve your warmth. You and Beatrice walked together down the cobblestone path, heading toward the quill shop.

You entered the shop, a familiar scent and warmth overwhelming you. You visited this shop every time you came to Hogsmeade, as you loved their quills and were willing to spend your allowance on them.

You browsed their selection of quills, deciding on one hawk feather quill and one eagle feather quill. Beatrice hung back by the door, relatively uninterested in quill shopping. She was more interested in sweets and trinkets.

You paid for your quills, giving your quid to the shop owner. He packaged them up for you, giving you a small package to tuck into the tote bag that you had slung over your shoulder.

"Why don't we grab some butter beers? I could use a break from the cold," Beatrice commented as you headed toward the exit.

You linked arms with her as you two set out for the Three Broomsticks. On your way there, you noticed Fred with his group of friends. He was goofing around with George, Angelina, Lee Jordan, and Alicia Spinnet.

You locked eyes with Fred for a moment, a blush forming on your cheeks. He looked away first, pretending like you weren't even there. This caused your stomach to sink, as you could tell that he was still upset from your conversation on Thursday evening.

Fred was disappointed. He was hoping that you were less concerned about your reputation, but after shooting down his proposal of a Hogsmeade date, he wasn't so sure. You were willing to sneak around with him, but public acknowledgment of your involvement was somehow a step too far. This didn't sit well with Fred.

He knew that he was being immature by ignoring you, but he didn't know how else to deal with his feelings. It was a complicated situation, and he felt that you wouldn't understand his perspective. You two ran in two completely different circles, meaning that your lives at Hogwarts were nothing alike. This created a certain tension that Fred didn't know how to bridge.

You and Beatrice walked past the group, entering the Three Broomsticks and finding a booth. You settled in, unzipping your puffer jacket and removing your earmuffs.

"Are you and Fred still not speaking?" Beatrice asked, unzipping her own jacket.

"No," you replied, clearly dismayed. "I think we're both too stubborn to admit our feelings. I know that I let him down, but he needs to acknowledge that my fears about dating are relevant."

"Why do you think he's so upset about you not wanting to be on a date together in public?" she asked, taking off her jacket and setting it in the booth next to her.

"What you said about it seeming like I'm ashamed of him made a lot of sense," you answered. "Fred seems confident on the outside, but that's not always the truth. Him and I have opposite priorities and different reputations. I think he might feel like I'm nervous about tarnishing my reputation by being with him, but that's not true."

Beatrice reached across the table for your hand. "Then what is true, love? I think you need to work that out with him."

"I like him a lot," you admitted, your cheeks flushing. "He brings out a different side of me. I get so focused on my marks sometimes that I forget to let myself have fun. He loves surprising me and being spontaneous, I think he's exactly what I've been missing in my life."

"Wow, that's....a lot," Beatrice replied, letting out a breathy laugh. "You need to tell him that. He probably has no idea that you even feel that way."

You shrugged. "I know. But things feel impossible right now. He clearly doesn't want to talk to me."

"Since when have you been afraid to approach someone?" Beatrice questioned. "You always stand your ground, sometimes I wonder how you didn't get sorted into Gryffindor."

Beatrice gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You were grateful for moments like these. Beatrice never judged you for anything.

"I'll try to talk to him today, then," you decided. "How about I get us some butter beers?"

——

You and Beatrice had finished your butter beers and decided to simply stroll around Hogsmeade until a shop caught your eye. You walked past a number of couples, trying not to sneer at the way they seemed infatuated with each other.

As you approached a trinket shop, you noticed Fred and his group lingering nearby. The shop was known to sell a number of joke toys and all around bizarre things, so of course the Weasley twins were interested. You watched as Fred demonstrated to his friends the magic of the exploding pen he had just purchased.

You took a breath and looked over to Beatrice. "I'm going to see if he'll talk to me."

She gave you a reassuring pat on the back as you stepped toward the group of Gryffindors. Fred noticed you approaching, and he averted his gaze.

"Oi, hey there prefect!" George greeted, causing Fred to punch him in the shoulder.

The other students in the group snickered, enjoying Fred's embarrassment. Your nails dug into the palm of your hand as you clenched your fists, trying to maintain the courage to speak to Fred.

"Fred, do you have time to chat?" you asked.

"Uhm, not really," he brushed you off.

It felt like a stab to the heart. He was suddenly so cold toward you. That wasn't the Fred you knew.

"You need to make time," you replied, willing yourself to sound assertive.

The Gryffindors stood there in shock, not believing that you would stand up to Fred like that. Fred huffed at you.

"Fine. I'll be at the Hufflepuff party tonight," he said, finally meeting your eye for a moment.

You tried to keep his gaze, but he looked away. You felt so defeated.

"Alright, I'll see you then," you answered, offering the group a tense smile and nod before turning back toward Beatrice.

You felt like you couldn't reach her fast enough, your breathing becoming more rapid with each step you took. You were panicking. Everything you thought was true about Fred was unraveling before your very eyes.

"What happened?" Beatrice asked, noticing the frantic look in your eyes and pulling you to sit on a nearby bench. She wrapped an arm around your shoulder, attempting to comfort you.

"Fred just...he's acting so...I don't understand," was all you managed to get out before frustrated tears began rolling down your cheeks.

"Love, take your time," Beatrice soothed, leaning her head against you.

The Fred you knew was assertive. He wasn't afraid of conflict and he always spoke his mind. Fred was kind and thoughtful, and he had done everything he could to make you feel special. But all of that had changed over the matter of a couple of days.

"He barely even looked at me," you sputtered out, wiping the tears as fast as they fell. You hated crying. It made you feel weak. Your stubborn streak hated giving in to your feelings.

"I'm trying to make things better, and he's acting like he doesn't have time to work things out," you explained, trying to slow your breathing.

"I'm sorry. He's being a git, there's no excuse for that behavior," Beatrice said.

"I thought he cared about me. A few days ago he wanted all of Hogwarts to know we were together, and now he doesn't even want to speak to me," you said, exhaling to try to gather yourself.

It was confusing. Fred had never sent you mixed signals like this before. He was always very clear about his intention to woo you and make you his girlfriend, but that didn't feel so clear anymore.

Fred's group of friends walked past the trinket shop heading toward the Three Broomsticks. They didn't seem to noticed you and Beatrice, as the bench you were sat on was tucked around the side of the shop.

Fred and George were at the back of the pack. You were crossing your fingers that they would keep going toward the Three Broomsticks and not see that you were crying on a bench. But of course, George happened to look over his shoulder and saw you.

He stopped for a moment, crinkling his eyebrows and cocking his head to the side as he tried to evaluate the situation. He noticed your splotchy face, and it was clear that you had been crying. He turned to Fred, pulling him by the back of his coat.

"What?" Fred said, sounding frustrated. George motioned toward where you and Beatrice sat on the bench. You tried to shrink yourself, not wanting to speak to Fred in this moment.

"I think that's your fault," George said, referring to you in your upset state.

Fred nodded, muttering something else to his brother before he began walking toward you and Beatrice.

"What do you want, Weasley?" Beatrice challenged, her voice sounding fierce. She was trying to protect you.

"I just...we need to talk," Fred replied, sounding guilty.

Beatrice looked at you, and you nodded at her to tell her that it was okay. She stood up, giving Fred one last glare before walking off into the trinket shop to give you some space.

Fred sat on the bench, a wide space between the two of you. It felt like you were worlds apart. Just two nights ago, you were in his bed crying out his name. Now you felt like strangers.

Neither of you wanted to start the conversation, but you just wanted to get it over with at this point.

"I'm so confused," you said, sounding small. "You told me that you would never stop pursuing me and now you can't even look at me."

"Birdie...." Fred started, but nothing else came out. He didn't have anything to say.

"I know that I hurt you when I said I wasn't ready for a date at Hogsmeade. I'm sorry for that, but I didn't say no because I'm ashamed of you. I said no because the last time I was dating someone, everyone had an opinion on it. When we broke up, I could hear people whispering about me in the hallways. I don't like that," you explained.

You still weren't looking at each other, choosing to look at the ground instead.

"I don't know how to feel, Fred," you confessed. "You have spent the past couple weeks convincing me that we should be together, and we have one small disagreement and you don't even want to speak to me. That's terrifying, and that's not the kind of person that I thought you were."

Fred laced his fingers together in front of him, considering what to say to you. You were right. The way he was reacting was out of the usual.

"I'm sorry, birdie," he finally said. "I just...when you said no, it felt like proof that you thought you were too good for me."

"But Fred, I have never once said that to you," you said, turning to look at him. "You know that I don't think that. We're different people, but neither of us is better than the other."

Fred sighed. Once again, he knew that you were right.

"I know. I get in my own head sometimes. I guess it's just the way that I feel about myself. I feel like you're better than me, and I've been trying to find ways to prove that you think that too," he said, sounding defeated.

You dared to reach across the bench to hold his hand. He let you.

"Freddie, it's not possible for me to think something like that. I'm sure that people will say that you're too good for me. Every girl at school would be chuffed for the chance to date you. You're cracking at quidditch. You know how to make anyone laugh," you listed out. "There are things that you will always be better than me at. And I am better than you at other things. But that doesn't mean that I want to compare us to each other. It only reminds me of why I admire you and the ways that you inspire me to want to improve myself."

Fred finally looked at you. It seemed like he finally understood. The soft look that you were familiar with had finally returned to his eyes.

"I'm so sorry that I made you upset," Fred said. "I was being a git. I didn't know how to handle my feelings, so I just tried to ignore you. Clearly that didn't help either of us."

You nodded your head in understanding. It felt nice to be able to talk like this again after over a day of silence and turmoil.

"Will you let me make it up to you?" he asked, squeezing your hand that was still holding onto his. A hopeful smile played at the corners of his mouth, causing your own smile to spread across your lips.

"Alright," you agreed, leaning your head onto his shoulder. You still probably needed to work a few more things out before all could return to normal, but Fred was making steps in the right direction. You knew that you tended to hold grudges, but you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Free scooted closer to you on the bench, wrapping his arm around you. "Is it too late for that Hogsmeade date?" he asked, a light chuckle punctuating the end of his question. "You and Beatrice can join us at the Three Broomsticks. We're going to get lunch and have butter beers."

"Bea and I already had butter beers," you confessed, leaning into his warmth. "But she always loves chatting up Gryffindors. I'll see if she wants to go."

You stayed like that for another moment, cuddling on the bench before going to find Beatrice inside the trinket shop.

——

You and Beatrice were going to the Hufflepuff party tonight, and you felt nervous for some reason. Not nearly as nervous as you were when you were getting ready for the Gryffindor party, but being with Fred in a semi-public space was brand new.

Beatrice had once again lent you a t shirt of hers, cropped just enough to hit along the waistband of your low rise jeans. She was perfecting her makeup, stationed at her desk while you stood in front of the full length mirror.

"Are you really doing this again?" she teased, referring to your struggle with getting ready earlier today. "It's just Fred. I'm sure he thinks you look great in anything. Or rather, maybe he'd prefer it if you wore nothing at all."

Beatrice chuckled deviously at you, and you picked up a pillow from her bed and threw it at her. This just made her laugh even harder. You cracked a smile, knowing that there was probably a bit of truth to her statement.

"This is the first thing we're doing together where other people can see," you said, sounding stressed. "I don't want to be the topic of gossip for the next week."

Beatrice turned in her chair to look at you. "I know love, but that's just what it's like to be with someone like Fred. He's always up to something. If you want to be with him, you'll have to get used to it."

You huffed. "You're right. It's just...being with Adrian was so peaceful. No one batted an eye until we broke up."

"You've never been someone who likes when things are easy," Beatrice commented, raising her eyebrows knowingly at you.

You shook your head at her, smirking because she was absolutely correct. You loved a good challenge. This usually meant in your academic life rather than social life, but you would try to embrace the uphill battle nonetheless.

"Let me at least put some lip gloss on you if you're going to be despised by every girl at Hogwarts for the next week," Beatrice joked, getting up to join you at the mirror.

You let her put the gloss on your lips, something sparkly but not over the top. You pressed your lips together, checking your reflection with satisfaction. "I think it's time to party," you declared.

----

You and Beatrice wandered into the Hufflepuff common room, already packed with upper year students. The music was loud, and most people were dancing in the middle of the room. Fred spotted you immediately, joining you and Beatrice near the entrance.

"You look....I have no words," Fred commented, chuckling and shaking his head. It made him flustered when he saw you out of your uniform. Especially when you wore shirts that showed off a little bit of your stomach.

"Thanks, Freddie," you replied, taking his hand and giving him a grin.

"Oh yuck," Beatrice joked, sticking her tongue out. "Why don't you make yourself useful and get us some drinks? We're going to hit the dance floor."

Beatrice eyed Fred up and down, waiting for him to depart to get drinks. He looked at her for a second, seemingly unsure if she was serious. She gestured toward the makeshift bar, prodding at him to fetch the drinks. He obliged, turning on his heel toward the bar.

Beatrice looped her arm through yours, dragging you to the dance floor. "I know you've got some moves, little miss prefect," she joked. "Let's see those hips move."

You scoffed at her words, scandalized by the idea of dancing in such a way. You always just did a simple sway from side to side, dancing wasn't your personal specialty.

You tried to stay on the beat, hesitantly moving your hips from side to side. "Alright! Get it, girl!" Beatrice encouraged, giggling with you as both of you danced.

You felt a hand on your waist, and you instinctually leaned back to meet the person behind you. "I missed you, Freddie," you joked as you danced up against him.

"Freddie?" the voice asked. It was not Fred's voice.

You turned around to find Adrian behind you instead of Fred. You felt your face heat up instantly, embarrassed at your actions. You had assumed that it was Fred coming back with your drink.

"Adrian--" you started, unsure of what to say.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said, his voice raising in volume. The other students at the party began to stare at you, only making the situation feel worse.

"You've been shagging Fred Weasley?" he asked, almost yelling at you. Everyone definitely heard it, with conversations coming to a halt to watch the confrontation.

It felt like your voice was stuck in your throat. This was a scene from your nightmares. All eyes were on you, and your private life was being exposed for all to see.

You saw Fred over Adrian's shoulder, still hovering near the bar where he had a drink in each hand for you and Beatrice. He met your eyes for a moment then looked away, assuming that you were going to deny Adrian's allegations.

You cleared your throat, trying to gain some semblance of composure. "So what if I am?" you replied, squaring your shoulders.

"You've lost your bloody mind," Adrian said, shaking his head and laughing.

"Might I remind you that I have something called free will?" you shot back. "You don't own me. Now fuck off and mind your bloody business."

You crossed your arms, a fire burning in your eyes as you stared Adrian down. He huffed, seemingly unable to find a snappy reply. He pushed past you, exiting the circle that had formed around the two of you.

Everyone was still staring, and instead of staying in the middle of the crowd, you headed toward Fred.

"Fred, I'm so sor--" you started before he cut you off by slamming his lips into yours.

Fred pulled you into the kiss, one hand cradling your head and the other wrapping around your waist. You hesitated for a moment before returning his kiss, trying to ignore the attention that was on you.

For some unknown reason, the other students began to cheer. You pulled out of the kiss, absolutely confused by the commotion. Then you realized that they were cheering for you and Fred.

You had just stood up to Adrian, which is something that almost no one would fathom doing. And you were snogging Fred Weasley, everyone's favorite prankster. It was a combination that inspired awe in your fellow students.

"Want to get out of here?" Fred asked, leaning close to your ear so you could hear him.

"Please," you said, holding his hand. He led you through the crowd and out the door, heading straight for his dormitory.

----

Link to next part

#smut #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fic #fred weasley smut #fredweasley #harry potter #the weasleys #weasley twins #wizarding world #angst #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley fluff

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shotmrmiller · 1 year ago

Note

Werewolf alpha ghost with werewolf omega Fem reader where she thinks he’s been courting her by accepting all her gifts and having sex but she overhears him yelling soap he’s just using her to keep his dick wet and denying the feeling he has for. Which causes her to use scent blockers to run off and hide/avoid him until he starts to notice and miss you

so that's how it is. Alright. Alright.

then he can go find another pliant omega to 'keep his dick wet.' with.

you grab whatever you deem the most important and disappear, but not before getting your hands on some scent blockers. He'll never see you again.

At first, Ghost didn't think much of your absence. He thought you were off preparing for your next heat, which he always helped you with.

But then the date comes and goes, and you're nowhere in sight. He can't smell you, either. His mouth has always watered at your scent, drooled even, especially when you were in heat. But there was nothing.

And when he went to look for you, what greeted him was a room that's been unlived it for so long, the top of the furniture started to collect dust.

It looks like you simply faded from existence, at first glance. But Ghost is sharp, his eyes picking up the minute details. The slightly open drawer that held your knickers was empty. Your toiletries, gone. And the shirts he'd given you to make your little nest lay in tatters, strewn about the room.

He sucks his teeth but chooses to do nothing about it. You were a grown omega, and if you wanted to run around in public unmated, well that was your problem.

Until it wasn't.

Ghost slept with other omegas, and yet his teeth didn't itch to sink into their scent gland— never knotted them either.

One stupid omega had the nerve to expose the side of her neck during one of his ruts, and he'd been so enraged that he broke it instead.

He's starting to realize that maybe there isn't another for him— that it's you or it's no one.

So he pulls Soap into his quarters, tells him that he's to join in on the hunt for his sweet omega.

"I thought tha' she'd been but an outlet."

"No. She's mine. It's about time she came home."

#alpha ghost can get it #kinda mean?#love that f'me.#alpha ghost

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machveil · 5 months ago

Note

alright I know we’ve all talked about how johnny is a bush guy and honestly. bars. but it got me thinking about the why (the smell, obvi) and the how and the nitty gritty details.

start off with the facts: he didn’t ALWAYS know he was a bush guy. I love my beautiful pathetic man but I also strongly believe that part of his gym behaviors and simp tendencies stem from being a Loser in his youth. man was terminally bitchless. and that means, of course, that he watched truly SO much porn. and thanks to that influence, he spent much of his early adulthood thinking body hair on a woman or man was gross.

his path to enlightenment began in his first threesome. he proudly brags about the time he banged two chicks at once to his army buddies— and he did! but the reality might do less for those guys than it did (and still does) for johnny. some femme top and her pet butch took him home for the night, a little three person party to satisfy the craving for some strange. he’d planned for SOMEONE to spend the night face down ass up, just didn’t think it’d be himself. ariana and len had taught him the joys of pegging, body hair, and pad thai that night. he still sends them christmas cards.

from that day on it was him and his love of pubic hair against the world. fascinatingly, he isn’t as committed to other forms of body hair— whatever state of shaved or not his partners come to him is fine, so long oral involves him diving face first into bliss. he likes chest hair on a man, but he won’t weep the way he does when he sees a naked twig and berries. women with armpit hair? cute, but shave it if you want. just don’t leave his poor kitty out in the cold 🥺

and when he finally settles down with his girl (gonna go cis afab on this one bc it’s wish fulfillment for yours truly), best BELIEVE he is involved in that grooming routine. not in a controlling way (or not without prior consent, anyway). but as soon as he had the green light , hes buying the mildest hair oils, cotton underwear, the most unscented soap he can find! he wants his best friend to be comfortable and cared for!!!!! also you ig, whatever. he’ll even help with trimming every few months if it’s ABSOLUTELY necessary. just be prepared for him to pout the whole time. gently massaging his “favourite forest” (that one got him a kick to the head) is his most beloved pastime. he views cotton as the cleanest canvas for an artists masterpiece, folds his darlings panties with the care and admiration of a craftsman with the tools of his trade. there’s a special sort of hum in his chest as he tucks them into their shared intimates drawer, knowing he’ll see them on the other side when they smell musky and used and perfect.

AUGH i just live for Johnny being an absolute dog when it comes to being a munch+!!!!! (the plus is the hair). him coming home from a stressful day and peeling his sweet thing out of her knickers just so he can’t put his face down and kiss and smell and nuzzle. and half the time it’s not even sexual, he just feels so CLOSE to his partner at this, the most essential part of them. short of cracking open their ribcage and climbing in, it’s the best he can get to satisfy the part of him that craves the safety and closeness and comfort of them being one. FUCK he’s such a freak I wanna match it!!!!!!!!!

anon, I’m kissing your cheek, my Johnny thoughts have been loud lately and this scratched my brain just right. I don’t even have any notes, it was just a stellar take. shoutout to Ariana and Len, iconic

#manifesting him #real shit #soap #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap cod #soap call of duty #soap headcanons #soap x you #soap x reader #john mactavish x you #john mactavish x reader #cod #cod thoughts #call of duty #hit post

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queen-of-the-avengers · 10 months ago

Text

My Hero

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: none

Summary: You're sunshine and rainbows. He's darkness and rain storms. You brighten a room. He darkens it. Maybe that's why you two go together so well even if neither of you want to admit it.

Squares Filled: complete opposites (2021) for @lokibingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

This is the last box from the car which you’re grateful for. When you decided to go out shopping to redecorate your room, you didn’t expect to find a bunch of stuff on sale—more than you really need. Never mind that. You’re always happy to have trinkets that make a room lighter.

Tony graciously allowed you to live at the Avengers compound up north in exchange for your shapeshifting skills. You can shift into anyone and anything just by looking at them. You gain their DNA code through your almost x-ray sight, and you’re able to shift into them no matter how small or big they are compared to you.

It’s your specialty.

It took a long time for you to master your skills but you’re always learning something new about yourself. It’s why you’re at the compound. You get to live with living legends such as Steve, Wanda, Sam, Vision, and unfortunately, Loki. The only reason he’s on Earth is because he’s being punished for what he’s done in Asgard. You’re not sure of his crimes but it’s severe enough to banish him from Asgard even if it’s only for a short time. The agreement is that he’d help out with the Avengers until he’s learned his lesson whatever that may be.

The only issue is that you really, really, really don’t like him. It’s not enough to use the word ‘hate’ since you believe that’s such a strong word, but you can’t stand the man. Not only is Loki arrogant and cocky but he hates doing anything remotely helpful. He’s a nuisance most of the time and loves to get under everyone’s skin, especially yours.

It doesn’t help that you two are the complete opposite of each other. He’s a black cat while you’re a golden retriever. He loves being alone while you love being around people. He loves reading and staying in while you love going out. He’s grumpy most of the time whereas you’re all rainbows and sunshine (as he likes to put it). You’ve always been such an upbeat and bubbly person, and you’re not going to let someone like Loki dim your light.

The box you’re carrying to your room contains pink and frilly pillows for your bed along with some yellow curtains you fell in love with at first sight. It won’t keep the light out but it’ll give some color to your white-wall room. You enter your room and notice Loki standing on the other side of the bed looking through one of the boxes you brought in earlier. He’s such a dark contrast to your colorful room.

The walls might be white but you have rainbow lights strung up, pink and yellow picture frames, a blue-framed bulletin board filled with even more pictures of you and your friends, and other pops of color. Loki is the only thing that’s black due to the clothes he’s wearing.

“What are you doing in my room?” you ask and set the box on the bed.

“I’m looking for something.”

“This is only because I’m trying to rise above and be a better person, but what are you looking for? How can I help you?”

Loki pulls out something from the box he’s looking through with a frown.

“Really? Rainbow stickers and dreamcatchers?”

You storm over to him and snatch the items from his hands.

“How can I help you?” you repeat.

“I’m looking for the tape,” he smirks.

“Out of all the rooms you could have gone to, you thought my room was the best to go snooping around for tape?”

“You’re right.” Loki shrugs. “I just wanted to see where you keep your knickers.”

You scoff, grab the tap from your desk drawer, and shove it into his chest.

“There. You have tape. Get out.”

Loki doesn’t argue and leaves while laughing. You can’t help but glare at the spot he was just in. You hate violence despite what you do for a living, but you want to strangle that man sometimes. Push down the negative thoughts. Just focus on you. You put away most of your new decorations and shove the rest of them in your closet. It’s the weekend and there isn’t an active mission to go on so you think you’ll spend it relaxing by the pool and enjoying time to yourself.

You might like being around people but you enjoy time to yourself as well. You quickly change into your bathing suit and grab your towel before heading down to the pool. You pick a lounge chair that’s right below the skylight so that you can still be in the sun. You’re alone for maybe ten minutes before the pool doors open and someone walks in. You look through your sunglasses to see Loki walking in wearing nothing but black swimming trunks.

You roll your eyes and close them again with the intent of ignoring him. He jumps into the pool and makes a big splash in which water splashes on your legs. You have the urge to jump into the pool just to drown him but you keep trying to rise above.

“Come on, love, jump in. The water’s nice.”

“No. Leave me alone.”

Loki has never been good at listening to orders given to him or he does listen and chooses not to follow them. He continues to make noise in the pool to get a rise out of you but you will not sink low enough to give him what he wants. He continues to make noises for a good ten minutes before stopping completely. Finally, some peace and quiet. You smirk and look to the water thinking you have won this round but your eyes go wide when you see him lying facedown in the pool.

You scream and rush over to the edge of the pool. Your glasses had fallen off but you don’t care about that right now. You might not like Loki but you don’t want him dead. You reach in and grab his arm so you can pull him out of the water, and he flops onto the ground like a dead fish. You roll him onto his back and shake his shoulders in an attempt to wake him up.

“Shit, Loki, this isn’t funny. Wake up.” You push at his chest but he doesn’t budge. “Loki?”

One of your previous jobs was as a lifeguard for the public pool in your hometown which you needed to get CPR certified for. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t used it since that time, you still know how to administer it. You start chest compressions on Loki’s chest three times before pinching his nose together and blowing air into his mouth. Three chest compressions and blow into his mouth. You do this twice before going down for a third time.

This time, however, just as your lips touch Loki’s, he reaches up and places his hand on the back of your head to keep you there. He presses you more firmly on his lips and kisses you like you two are a couple. Your brain is working to catch up to the rest of your body and the second his tongue touches yours, it does. You quickly push Loki off you and jump to your feet.

“My hero,” he smirks at your flustered face.

“You’re an asshole.” You snatch your glasses and towel before storming over to the doors. “I hope you drown next time.”

“Oh, come on, love. I was joking,” he laughs.

You want to be mad but the only thing you can think of is stupid Loki with his stupid face and his unbelievably soft lips.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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escalaregalia · 8 months ago

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"Really now? I even get to touch?" Cloud questioned, a brow raising at the woman. "That can only end poorly, I don't have the self control to be given that kind of power."

"As much as you'd like to. I mean, you can keep looking. Or you can maybe have a little touch. Whatever you're feeling like."

#the-knicker-drawer #ch; cloud

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biblical-chronicles · 2 months ago

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Dear Diary

_____________________________________________

where Noel discovers a rather interesting diary while helping you move.

_____________________________________________

Moving was a pain in the arse. Everyone knew that.

But having Noel Gallagher sprawled out on your living room floor, doing fuck all and only rummaging through your old boxes instead of actually helping? That was just taking the piss.

“Y’know,” he said, pulling out a faded gig ticket like it was some ancient relic, “you’ve got a lot of shite in these boxes.”

You huffed, lifting a heavy box into your arms. “You’re meant to be carrying ‘em, not givin’ me a running commentary.”

Noel just smirked, flicking the ticket aside. “Yeah, well, where’s the fun in that?”

You rolled your eyes. Typical.

Growing up, you’d always been closer to Liam, which made sense, seeing as you were nearer in age. The two of you had spent years knocking about the estate together, getting into trouble, winding up Peggy. Meanwhile Noel was just Noel—Liam’s older brother, the one who never had time for your antics, always sneaking off with his guitar and acting like he was so much better than the rest of you.

And maybe that’s exactly why you’d been completely gone on him since you were a kid.

Not that he’d ever noticed.

“Back in a sec,” you said, nudging the door open with your foot. “Try not to nick owt while I’m gone.”

He hummed noncommittally as you stepped out, carrying the box down the hall.

The second you were gone, Noel did what he did best, ignored your instructions completely. He reached into the box again, pushing aside some old cassettes and notebooks, fingers skimming over worn pages until something caught his eye.

A journal.

The cover was battered, edges frayed from years of being stuffed into drawers and under pillows. But what stopped him dead was the writing scrawled across the front in loopy, familiar handwriting.

Future Mrs. Gallagher.

Noel snorted. Fuckin’ hell, this should be good.

He flipped it open, expecting to see Liam’s name littered across the pages, effectively giving him more ammunition to make fun of you when you came back.

But then he saw his name.

Over and over again.

His stomach tightened slightly as his eyes flicked across the entries. Old memories, childhood crush confessions, little daydreams about what it’d be like if he ever noticed you the way you had noticed him.

Noel stared at the pages, silent.

That silence lasted a little too long, long enough for you to step back inside, wiping your hands on your jeans, expecting him to be boxing up records or sifting through yet another box. Instead, there he was standing with some old battered notebook in his hands.

And then you saw it.

Your stomach dropped.

There, on the cover, in your loopy, childhood scrawl—Future Mrs. Gallagher.

Your heart actually stopped.

“Fucking hell,” you blurted, feet frozen in place.

Noel’s head snapped up, but instead of looking guilty, instead of chucking the journal aside and pretending he hadn’t just uncovered the most mortifying piece of your past, he just smirked.

“Well, well, well. Future Mrs. Gallagher, eh?” His tone was light, teasing.

You fought every instinct telling you to shrivel up and die right there. Instead, you forced your face into a blank mask and shrugged, tilting your head like this was nothing. Like he hadn’t just uncovered years of embarrassing pining.

“Yeah,” you said breezily, moving toward him like it was no big deal. “I thought it was obvious. I reckon everyone knew but you.”

That wiped the smirk right off his face.

Noel blinked, looking at you like you’d just spoken in tongues. “You—what?”

You exhaled, feeling your confidence slowly creep back as you watched him scramble. “I was quite mad about you. I even did that thing, y’know, where I wrote your name on me knickers.”

Noel choked, hand flying up to rub at the back of his neck as his ears went bright red. You could see the short circuiting happening in real time, his mouth opening, then closing, then opening again like he had about five different responses fighting to make it out.

“You—on your—fuckin’ hell,” he finally sputtered, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s a lot to process.”

You grinned, biting back a laugh, watching him properly flounder for the first time in your life.

“Didn’t expect that one, did ya?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No, I fuckin’ did not.”

Silence settled between you. His fingers tapped absently against the cover of the journal, a small, nervous rhythm. That was unusual.

Then, before you could speak, he said it.

“…D’you still feel that way?”

It took a second for your brain to catch up, to register that he’d actually said that.

You felt heat rise to your face, your body betraying you in real time. It was one thing to joke about an old crush, to brush it off like some silly childhood thing. But this? This was different.

Noel wasn’t teasing anymore. He was clearly serious.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, trying to smother the sudden lump in your throat. “Oh, give over, Noel.”

But he didn’t laugh. Didn’t crack a grin. Didn’t do anything except watch you, gaze steady, unreadable. “I’m serious.”

You hesitated, suddenly feeling like you were standing on the edge of something. Because the answer was yes. A stupid, obvious yes.

Noel licked his lips, shifting slightly. “Why?” you asked, voice quieter now.

He swallowed, hesitating for just a second before answering.

“‘Cause I reckon I may feel the same way.”

You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, waiting for the smug grin. But there was none of that. Just Noel, stood there, watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

You let out a breathy laugh, more nervous than amused. “You’re takin’ the piss again.”

Noel shook his head, eyes steady on yours. “I’m not.”

That should’ve been your cue to do something. Say something, anything. But instead, you just stood there, heart hammering in your chest, your mind racing in circles. You wanted to kiss him, but now that it was right there in front of you, you had no idea how to go about it.

Did you just do it? Did you ask? Was that weird? Would he think—

Noel let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head like he could see the little battle happening in your brain.

“Come here and get your kiss, then,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, all easy confidence.

Your stomach flipped, but you weren't about to let the opportunity pass.

The second your lips met, his hands found your waist, steady and sure, pulling you close. You curled your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, holding on to remind yourself this was really happening.

When you finally pulled back, Noel smirked again.

“Just like you imagined, Future Mrs. Gallagher?”

A rush of heat flooded your face.

With a groan, you dropped your forehead against his chest, hiding from his smug expression. He just laughed, arms tightening around you.

_____________________________________________

I love cutesy requests like that, so big thank you to our local legend @shes-thunderstormssss for that xx

I'll try and post summat earlier tomorrow, love ya !

#oasis x reader #oasis one shots #britpop x reader #britpop fanfiction #britpop x f!reader #noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher x f!reader #oasis fanfiction #britpop x you #noel gallagher fanfiction #noel gallagher x y/n

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on-a-lucky-tide · 4 months ago

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Had the shock of my fuckin' life this morning. He had a velvet box in his knicker drawer. But it's fine. He bought me new cufflinks for Christmas and they arrived late. Stand down red alert.

#rawr personal #jfc #JFC NO #thought he was off his fuckin melon for a bit there

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bumznblowz · 5 months ago

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When your wife's bestie catches you going through her knicker drawer!!

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mypoisonedvine · 2 years ago

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𝓵𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷 & 𝓵𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 | kitten braden x reader

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 | it's been hard for you since she moved out, of course, and she didn't give you much warning before she stopped by to acquire some forgotten belongings. you know this time, if you let her leave again, she'll be out of your life forever-- could that really be what she wants?

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 | 4.3k

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | smut (18+ only - thigh riding, fingering, a touch of dom!reader), angst (break up), internalized transphobia/body image stuff, insecurity, lesbian reader, fluff and sweetness 💕

You swung open the front door, having to stop yourself from biting your lip at the sight of her— just how you remembered, except… no, even more beautiful.

She was wearing a simple silky slip dress with a massive fur, the perfect contrast as always; pearls, of course, but not the ones you’d bought her. Maybe she just wanted to show off that somebody new was buying her pearls now, and god, could you blame them?

You probably looked ridiculous, staring at her like that and not even saying anything. “I just came to get my things,” she informed you in that soft, melodious voice of hers.

Your chest deflated. “Y-yes, sure,” you nodded, stepping back to let her in. She brushed past you quickly, a sort of tightness to her walk— a little prissy, you thought. But you sort of liked that, too.

You inhaled a whiff of sweet perfume just after she walked by so briskly, something new, something fresh and a little tart: lemon and lavender. Had she put herself together like this, just to come here and flaunt how incredible she looked? How she’d somehow become more beautiful since she left— how she was doing so well, probably better than ever without you? It should’ve hurt but you didn’t even mind; she could walk all over you with those stilettos and you’d be grateful for it—

You shook your head as she made her way to the bedroom, deciding not to indulge in that train of thought… at least not until after she’d left.

“I thought you, erm, took everything already,” you mumbled as you followed her, watching her go through your drawers— she kept her chin up as she looked, only lowering her eyes in that way that made the length of her lashes all the more apparent. Was she toying with you on purpose? You really hoped she was.

“I couldn’t find my earrings,” she explained, “the little blue ones? I think I left them here— and a few pairs of knickers.”

“The blue ones,” you remembered, “I remember them— they match your eyes.”

She shot you a little look, a frown, and kept searching amongst your socks. “Don’t be like that,” she mumbled, eventually. “I’m just here for the earrings.”

“I know, sorry,” you breathed, “it’s just that— you look great.”

“Hm,” she acknowledged, quickly turning her head to send those blonde curls in a swing; it reminded you of when she twirled in her dresses, laughing and blushing when you told her she looked beautiful. You still couldn’t really believe that was all behind you now, that she was really gone…

“You look good too,” you added, doing an impression of her soft voice, and she seemed confused as she finally looked at you again. “That’s the polite thing, you know— what you say when you run into an ex.”

“I know,” she agreed, “but, well… I said I’d never lie to you. I’m still keeping that promise.”

You scoffed, not sure which part of that to start with. What promise did I break to you? You remember saying you’d never lie to me? I don’t look good?

“And—” she started again, like she’d tried to bite her tongue but couldn’t help herself. She spun on her heel and crossed her arms at you. “And you look like a mess! Stained joggers, your sock’s got a hole in it—”

You looked down at your feet, sighing when you saw your big toe exposed.

“And look at the apartment!” she continued, raising her arms to gesture around at the disorganised room. “God, you’ve got take-away boxes everywhere, you’ve got dirty clothes and dishes on the bed—”

“I am a mess,” you explained, stepping closer. “Of course I am. I’m not like you, I can’t just… I can’t just forget.”

“Forget?” she repeated, offended. “Is that what you think I’ve done?”

“How else can you come in here, looking like that,” you laughed thinly, motioning over her form as she held her coat together shyly, “asking about some bloody earrings… how can you walk through this apartment and not get your heart broken with every step?”

She glanced down, almost looking embarrassed— an emotion you were all too familiar with on her face. You stepped a little closer, dying to meet her gaze.

“I can barely stand to be here,” you breathed, “and I lived here first— I lived here for years before I even met you! And now— fuck, Kitten—” you stopped for a moment to bite your lip as you tried not to cry— “now I just come home and I keep thinking: that’s our apartment.”

She blinked quickly but said nothing. You waited for a while for her to say any of the thousands of things you wanted to hear right then: for her to admit that she still wanted you, too, that she was so lonely without you, that she came up with an excuse to come by because she wanted to make you jealous— even just that she missed living here. But she just bit her lip and avoided your gaze, and your heartbreak shifted to frustration: you quickly knelt down and yanked open the bottom drawer, forcing her to pull her leg out of the way before the wood scraped her ankle. You flipped open a shoebox and dug through until you found the blue ceramic flowers.

“Here,” you decided as you balled them up in your fist, “the earrings you wanted so damn bad.”

But before you stood up, you tossed them carelessly back into the box and picked it up, standing and facing here.

“You know what? Take the whole thing,” you offered roughly, pushing the box into her chest until she delicately held it. She took the lid off and gently began to look through what was inside. “It’s all there— the knickers, too.”

But it wasn’t just her earrings and lacy underthings in the box— it was everything. Ticket stubs from movies you’d seen together, receipts from diners and lingerie stores, dried flowers and ribbons from picnic baskets… the pictures you’d taken of her, Polaroids mostly— some a bit more salacious than the rest. “Darling…” she breathed, and your heart skipped. “You kept all this?”

“Of course,” you replied, hating the way your voice cracked; you turned your head away when she looked up at your face, defiantly wiping a tear from your cheek. “You can keep it now, I don’t… I don’t need it anymore. I just wanna forget.”

She cooed at you sweetly as she set the box aside, grabbing your face and wiping another tear away tenderly with her thumb. You found the strength to look at her again, though you tried not to get your hopes up that she’d really come back. “Oh, sweet thing,” she sighed, “we can’t forget. Neither of us can.”

“Then how am I supposed to go on?” you wondered, sniffling. “I don’t— I really don’t know if I can live like this—”

“Ah, hush,” she dismissed, “you’ll do fine— you can have any girl you want, you won’t have any trouble.”

“But I only want you,” you insisted, grabbing her wrists and holding them tightly. “I only ever wanted you, Kitten.”

Now she turned away, looking like her eyes might be getting misty. “N-now, that can’t be true,” she denied softly.

You laughed a little, mostly out of amazement rather than amusement. “Who the fuck else did you think I wanted?” you wondered. She got her hands free from yours, chewing her lip and crossing her arms, but you stepped closer again. “Kitten, who else would I possibly want?”

“Well, you know,” she stalled, “I just wondered if maybe… I mean, nobody could blame you if— you know, you’re… you’re a lesbian!”

“You’re just now noticing this?”

“No, I mean,” she choked, “I just mean maybe… maybe you would’ve wanted…”

She didn’t say it, she just held her hand up to her mouth— starting to bite her thumb nail nervously— and finally met your gaze. And you heard it in the air, you saw it in her eyes. Maybe you wanted a real girl.

You knew she was sensitive about it sometimes… for the first few months you were together she didn’t even like you to see her naked, didn’t want to be touched too much down there. Then it was okay as long as it was in the dark— or through panties. It took a lot of patience and promises to get her really naked for you, and god was it worth the wait. And now here you were, fucking bewildered that she could think you didn’t like what you saw.

“Kitten,” you breathed, stepping up and frowning when she looked away again. “Kitten, look at me. How could you think that?”

“I just—”

“Was I not obsessed with you enough? Did I not kiss you enough, touch you enough? You had me on my knees— you had me around your finger—”

“I know,” she groaned, “but doesn’t the novelty wear off after a while? You got to try something, you know, different— strange. But a fetish is just that, you know— not meant to be forever.”

“That’s why you left?”

She nodded.

“Oh, Kitten— you stupid, stupid woman.”

“Hey—!” she protested, cut off by your lips pressing onto hers. The resistance didn’t last for more than a half-second, and then she melted into you in the most beautiful way. The way you’d been imagining ever since she left… or, really, ever since you first laid eyes on her.

She hummed sweetly into the kiss, and let you pull her closer. Normally this is where you would’ve dragged her to the bed, but the bed was an aforementioned hellhole, so you had to try to think quickly while your brain short-circuited from the loveliness of the kiss.

Tugging her back by the fur coat, you guided her towards the couch with you, bringing her into your lap without ever breaking your lips away; then you could tug the coat down her arms, exposing the impossibly-thin straps of her dress. She dropped her freckled shoulders in a coquettish way, as you finally pulled back and admired the way you'd ruined her lipstick.

Running your hands down her arms, and then over her sides, you sighed at the sight of her draped in silk— the way her legs straddled your lap only made the dress ride up a little higher, and it was driving you wild already. “Tell me you weren’t just dressed like this to run errands,” you laughed breathlessly as you pet her thigh, dragging your nails a bit to tickle her through the stockings.

“No,” she admitted, watching your hand brush over her garters and reach up under the skirt— only to come back down before it got too far. She whimpered as you teased her, and you felt your chest fill with pride. “No, I dressed up like this for you…”

“Fuck,” you groaned, “all for me?”

“Yes,” she sighed, partially an answer to your question, partially a response to the way you started to kiss her neck.

“Dolled up for me, huh? Wanted me to see what I was missin’?”

She nodded, biting her lip, and you carefully ran your fingertips along the edge of her panties.

You scoffed as you lifted the dress and found those garters pinned to delicate lace. “Earrings my fuckin’ arse,” you mumbled, tickling her inner thigh as she hummed coyly. “Knew exactly what you wanted when you came here, didn’t you, naughty Kitten?”

Her smile fell into a shuddering gasp as you grabbed her between the legs, and she could only nod a little.

“Well, then come and take it,” you offered, grabbing her hips next and pulling her down onto your lap to rub on your thigh. “Go on, lemme see how bad you missed me.”

She sighed, moving carefully at first, but then really started to rock against you as you groaned proudly. “Oh, kiss me,” she pleaded after a moment, and you pulled her down to your open mouth. Finally she was letting go, relaxing in your arms, kissing you and grinding on you shamelessly. She moaned and hummed against your lips, and you ran your hands all over her body— the stocking-clad legs, the curve of her waist, up over her back and chest until you could hold her head. You cradled her face in your palms as you pulled away, enough to speak to her softly while you ran your fingers through her hair.

"Can't go leavin' me again, Kitten," you warned her with a little tug on those lovely blonde curls. "Need you too much. Hear me?"

"Yes," she promised, panting as she thrusted herself a bit faster against your thigh.

"You're mine," you reminded her, and she moaned happily. "Say it."

"Yours," she whined, gasping as you suddenly groped her chest through the silk. You smirked when you felt her nipple harden against your palm: they were always so sensitive. "Yours, all yours—"

You roughly tugged her dress down to suck on her tit, and she gasped before giggling sweetly as she held your head.

"Oh, you brute," she moaned, "you'll rip my dress—"

"You wanted me to," you challenged, letting your teeth graze the little bud until you felt her shudder in your arms. "You put this dress on— these panties and stockings— and you thought about me ripping it all off of you, didn't you?"

Her hips jerked a little in your lap, and that was answer enough for you.

"Needy little Kitten," you praised. “Now let me suck these pretty tits.”

She moaned, head falling back, as you went back and forth between them, mostly shutting your eyes tight and remembering exactly how to lick and tease her, but occasionally looking up at her face: it was just perfect like this.

She whimpered as she started to grind harder against your thigh, pretty pink lips open loosely for her moans to pass through. Just when you thought she was lost in it entirely, and you started to lean back to just look up and watch her go, she moved her own leg between yours to press against your heated centre. You sighed a little and caught her raising an eyebrow as she looked down at you, looking a little proud of herself. "Want you to feel good too, darling," she explained, nodding encouragingly.

You moved your hips and groaned as the friction made you shiver all over. You'd gotten so turned on from watching and touching her that every movement made you groan softly, and you had to take a tight hold of her ass— which made her whine sweetly— just to have something to keep you steady.

"I want us to come together like this," she whispered. "Don't you think it's romantic this way? Just moving together, too desperate to slow down, feeling each other…?"

"This is how it was the first time," you reminded her through a sigh. You remembered it like it was yesterday, even though it was months and months ago: the way she was so shy and delicate about it at first, the sweet noises she made for you as you touched her— Does little Kitten purr? you'd asked her teasingly. She does when a handsome new friend makes her come, she'd replied, or gives her some money.

You'd done both, actually, desperate to make this lovely Kitten your pet. It felt more now like she owned you, and you didn't mind it one bit. "I remember, too," she giggled, "you said it was the most fun you ever had without taking your clothes off."

“And then I asked you to stay with me,” you remembered with a laugh of your own. “I was yours from the start, Kitten, and you knew it, didn’t you?”

She didn’t answer, just petting your hair and lifting your head so you’d look up at her. “I was yours, too, darling,” she promised, looking deep into your eyes. “Now won’t you come for me?”

“I’m close,” you breathed, “fuck, Kitten— you wanna make me come, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she smiled, breathing heavily by your ear as you bucked your hips up against her faster. “Yes, I’d like to see it.”

“I wanna see you soak those panties,” you countered, panting yourself as the pressure began to build. “Show me, Kitten— show me that pretty face when you cream your little knickers—”

“Oh!” she yelped sweetly, and you could feel it— the pulsing between her legs, through the fabric of your pants. You pressed even harder against her thigh and came, too, both of you moving helplessly and instinctively— and it was pretty romantic, like she said. But it was dirty in just the right way, too.

“Good girl,” you praised, though your own voice wasn’t very commanding anymore as you were reaching your high. “Fuck, you’re so good—”

You choked and dropped your head back, your hips slowing to a stop while she smiled and relaxed above you; “Darling,” she purred, leaning down and kissing your cheek with a conservative peck. “That was lovely.”

You nodded in agreement, smiling up at her and tucking her hair behind her ear— it still looked pretty perfect despite all that it had been through.

“Now maybe let’s clean up and get some lunch,” she offered, but she whimpered when you grabbed her waist aggressively.

"No fucking way I'm done with you already," you growled, watching her eyes get a little wide.

You ran your hand up her body again, feeling the way her chest swelled and sank as she tried to catch her breath.

“Get them wet for me, love,” you ordered softly as you pressed two fingers to her lips, and she dipped down to wrap her mouth around them. You hummed in praise as she sucked them gently, batting her eyes at you— because of course she would.

She looked at you expectantly as you dragged the fingers slowly from her mouth, watching her plump lip go slack and bounce back when you pulled the digits away. “Gonna put those inside me?” she asked, trying to sound innocent.

“If you ask nicely," you teased.

“Oh,” she sighed, “please— I missed them, you know. Missed how you feel inside me— any part of you, really— but those fingers, darling, you know what you can do to me with those…”

“Did you try with your own fingers?” you wondered with a smirk.

“With these nails? Heavens, no,” she denied. You reached into her panties and teased her hole with the wet fingers, circling her rim as she mewled, hoping to break her patience. “C’mon then, did I not ask nicely enough?” she wondered after a minute or so of that.

“Lay down on your back,” you whispered your command to her, “and open your legs for me. Then I can give you what you want, princess.”

She got up off your lap and sank down to the floor in front of you— you figured she would’ve stayed on the sofa, but this felt a little more submissive— laying back slowly and seductively. How could she do that, look so much like an angel and vixen all at once, while just laying on the ground?

Looking up at you with sultry half-lidded eyes, she slowly spread her legs and let you get an eyeful of the stockings and garters, the lace panties stained with come, the sweetest legs and the heaven she'd been hiding between them.

You fell to your knees in front of her, snapping the garters off and yanking her stockings down to touch her bare, smooth skin. “God, Kitten,” you breathed in awe, “you know exactly what you fucking do to me.”

“Missed this sweet little cunt, didn’t you?” she noticed with a proud smile.

“Course I did,” you panted, kissing up her thighs. “You know I fucking did.”

You reached down and pulled her panties aside, pressing your fingers to her hole again, but this time you actually slipped one in. She jolted a little when you pushed past the resistance, and you smiled.

“Always so fucking tight,” you praised softly, still kissing her bent knee gently but meeting her gaze now. She had this look in her eyes when she had something inside her, a wonderful look you never wanted to go too long without seeing.

Tight, yes, but it was a needy hole, too— and you both knew she already wanted more than just one. She moaned through a smile as you added the second, carefully stretching her open as her hands clenched fistfuls of the shag beneath her.

A shag on the shag. You would've snorted to yourself as you realised the humour in the situation if you weren't too wrapped up in how gorgeous she looked spread out on your floor like this.

You still only had the two fingers about halfway in, focusing on stretching her carefully and just barely teasing that little spot that you knew all too well— you wanted her begging, if you had anything to do with it. You had to get some sense of control back after she'd walked in here and made a complete fool out of you.

She hadn't said anything yet, though, just moaned and rocked her hips against you. Your free hand kept petting her thighs encouragingly, and you kept looking back and forth between her hole swallowing up your fingers and that gorgeous face lost in pleasure.

You pushed your fingers deeper, all the way to the knuckle, and she arched her back up from the carpet. “O-oh, more, please,” she begged.

“More fingers?” you smirked. “Two’s not enough for you?”

“No, I just mean—” she pouted, “I just want more of you…”

You leaned down and laid over her, bringing your face close to hers, as she looked at you with the slightest hint of nervousness in her eyes. “Like this?” you offered under your breath, and she nodded before hiding her face in the crook of your neck. She was rarely shy about sexual things, even when she pretended to be, but sentiment sometimes made her act like this— she didn’t like to ask you for affection, as if she still feared you’d reject her. Generally, your solution to this was to shower her in it, so she’d never have to ask… but you had to admit, you loved the way she begged for you.

She moaned into your shoulder as you held her closer with your free hand, still curling your fingers inside her and finally properly rubbing the most sensitive place inside her.

She whimpered and bucked her hips a bit when you pressed against it, and you smiled; “There, baby? Is that where you need it?”

“Yes, yes,” she mewled, clutching tighter onto you.

You brushed through her curls with your fingers, trying to coax her out. “Let me see that pretty face,” you cooed, laughing a little when she shook her head against you. “No? I don’t get to see my angel?”

She sniffled and pulled back enough to let you see her: big, wet eyes with her mascara beginning to smudge, her lip caught between her teeth.

“You’re so beautiful,” you promised softly. “But I love you for who you are, Kitten. You’re not a fetish, or a compromise. You’re just the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She whimpered and held your face, kissing you sweetly— but the kiss got faster and more desperate at the same time that your movements inside her did, and soon she was making those sweet noises that you knew meant she would come again.

“Let me see one more time, love,” you requested, “lemme see that pretty face you make when I make you come.”

“O-oh, fuck, I’m close,” she promised. “I’m close, darling— I’ll come, I’ll come for you—”

“Yeah,” you agreed encouragingly, “yeah, you’ll give my fingers a nice squeeze, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” she whined, arching her back deeper. “L-lick them again, please…”

“Your tits, honey?”

“Yes, please, please—” she chanted, moaning louder when you dipped your head down and wrapped your lips around one of those cute little nipples. You suckled at it while she came, thrusting your fingers into her while she writhed and whimpered out your name; you didn’t stop moving your fingers until she seemed like she was trying to move her hips away, and you didn’t stop kissing her breast until she pulled you away from it by your hair, dragging you up to kiss her— it was sweet and lazy and slow, yet with a sense of desperation felt not in the speed of it all but in the way she tried to hold you tighter with weak and shaking hands.

You must have kissed for ages before you broke apart, and you rolled onto your back at her side; the two of you laid on the floor, sweaty and sticky, panting as you looked up at the ceiling.

After a moment, she turned her head and looked over at you, and you looked back at her as she offered you the softest smile— a real heart-melter, that one. Her smile made your knees weak from the very start. Reaching forward, she wiped some of her lipstick off of your lip, and you kissed the tip of her thumb.

"You really do look awful," she said suddenly, and you chuckled nervously.

"Your pillowtalk skills have seriously diminished since the last time we were together," you noticed.

"No, I just mean— I could tell you'd been crying," she whispered.

"Yeah," you sighed in return, moving a curl out of her face carefully. "Well, like I said, I was pretty miserable once you left."

"Then why'd you let me leave?"

"I figured you'd met someone else," you breathed. "You wanted to get out so fast— I thought maybe you found a man."

"A man?" she repeated, lifting her head slightly in shock.

"You don't have too much trouble with men," you reminded her, and she laughed.

"I only have trouble with men," she assured, and you felt her hand reach for yours, clammy fingers tangling together. "Besides— who else would I possibly want but you, darling?"

#patricia braden x reader #kitten braden x reader #kitten braden smut #cillian murphy x reader #breakfast on pluto

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