#(especially after she spent all that time doing press saying

[sideprince]

I would personally love to read your 30 page dissertation on privilege, bigotry, and misplaced abuse trauma 🙏

Haha, I haven't actually written it but challenge accepted! This ask is referring to a comment on this post, for reference. It goes without saying, as will become apparent in this post, that I condemn JK Rowling's bigotry and don't support her in any way. As always, TERFs will be blocked on sight so DBI (don't bother interacting).

OK, so.

A bit about Rowling

I'm going to try my best not to do any armchair diagnosing, and to stick with existing statements Rowling has made about her abuse and stance on feminism. A lot of Rowling's current bigotry and biases - her assertion of the gender binary in ways that uphold patriarchal power structures, her (upper?) middle class privilege blinders - are compounded by her abuse trauma in ways that perpetuate abusive behavior, but were also always present to some degree and made apparent in her approach to a number of characters in Harry Potter. This came up in a post about SWM and the sexual assault that occurs, and my reading of it as having been written to illustrate that Snape was unpopular in school, instead of as a condemnation of James and Sirius as bullies. I'm not the first to point out that Rowling wrote Snape unkindly, and she also speaks of him without sympathy and with judgment in interviews. This reveals a lot more problematic aspects of her thinking than it appears to at first glance, not to mention that this approach to writing a character is something I think is counterproductive and ultimately detrimental to the text.

Rowling grew up middle class, had an unhappy adolescence, and a strained relationship with her father. She went to the University of Exeter, which is basically where upper class kids who couldn't get into Oxford or Cambridge go, and where she says she did little schoolwork and spent a year studying abroad in Paris. This implies a fairly comfortable upbringing, especially as most students who are struggling financially are unable to afford doing a study abroad year (all of this information is on her wikipedia page, btw). She got married in a vulnerable state - having moved to Portugal after her mother's death and being laid off from her job - to an abusive man named Jorge Arantes. After she eventually left him, she claimed to have been very poor, moving to Edinburgh as a single mother.

Her description of poverty, however, involved writing at a cafe every day in Edinburgh, an expensive choice in an expensive city. Anyone on the dole (welfare) in the 90s wouldn't have been able to do that, nor someone living paycheck to paycheck and counting pennies. This is the idea of poverty of someone who's used to a solidly (upper???) middle class lifestyle (I spent time in Edinburgh during college and despite having worked alongside classes I could barely afford more than a coffee and maybe a biscuit at the local cafe if I went daily). Being a single mother is hard no matter what, acknowledment to that, but the press - and I think Rowling herself - played up the narrative of the poor, struggling mother living hand to mouth to romanticize her story. Writing at cafes sounds like the idea of poverty of someone who has a lot of privilege, but is a luxury to someone living in actual poverty, especially in England in the years after Thatcher.

There's a phenomenon known as "white tears" that anyone who's studied racism in the U.S. will be familiar with, of white women exploiting their social status positing themselves as vulnerable, ill fated victims in order to gain sympathy. There's a similar phenomenon in the UK, that I think Rowling turned to her advantage with her own narrative, leaning on her victimhood as a domestic abuse survivor and exaggerating her poverty in Edinburgh in order to build a sympathetic brand for herself. This served her as the author of a children's book series, and as the HP series was released, she ensured there were press events where she read to children, and was thus constantly perceived by the public through photos of her as the quintessential matriarch to young readers, the heroic mother and survivor who is perpetually surrounded by loving children looking up at her with admiration.

This became problematic when she began to weaponize this status she had built and turn it against trans people in order to perpetuate her personal bigotry. I can't say how much of this was deliberate and calculated, and how much of it was fed by radicalization and the psychological effects of fame such as entitlement and the inability to cope with differing opinions from her own. I also can't say how much of this has been a mis-directed projection of unprocessed abuse trauma, which can often perpetuate a cycle of abuse through victims who enact it on others because it's what they've learned to expect from the world and is therefore also the primary way they know how to interact with others (or rather that abuse victims struggle to regulate their emotions in healthy and constructive ways and often end up doing so in destructive - or even self-destructive - ones). What I can say is that there's a significance in her choice to publicly pursue a personal bias in the ways she has, and that she's consistently relied on her White Tears to dig her heels in, in the face of opposing viewpoints.

How is all this reflected in the HP books? I'll do my best to keep this reasonably brief.

Misplaced abuse trauma

The most obvious indications of unprocessed abuse trauma are the myriad examples of excused and under-rug-swept abusive behaviors throughout the books. To understand these we must first understand how abuse is perceived from the victim's perspective - and this can be difficult, because abuse is notoriously (and insidiously) difficult to understand the dynamics of if you haven't experienced it firsthand. It can be difficult to understand even if you have experienced it, and a lot of the work therapists do with abuse survivors is centered around this kind of processing.

All people struggle to see someone they love in a bad light, or as doing things that only "bad people" would do, and abuse victims are no exception. Abusive behavior gets excused because the person perpetuating it is framed by the victim as being justified in their actions (often by blaming themselves) or because they're perceived as a good person so they couldn't possibly do harm. It's a common misconception that abusers are bad, evil people - most of the time they're well liked people with a lot of friends, who are also emotionally damaged and have unhealthy tendencies to exert control over others in moments of emotional dysregulation. These moments usually happen behind closed doors, because even the abuser tends to feel ashamed of themselves when they happen (and obviously that doesn't excuse or justify their behavior in any way).

Abusers still love their children/partners/etc. and also have warm, loving moments where they bond with their victims. There's just also a power dynamic in which these moments primarily happen when it suits the abuser. Victims develop a mindset in which these moments are focused on and used to try to fill the painful gaps left by the bad moments, the ones where they're hurt emotionally or physically. Our brains rely on denial and selective memory to deal with trauma, so abusive behavior gets excused, downplayed, or ignored by being unprocessed and unaddressed. Until this trauma is processed in a healthy way and the survivor learns how to identify and deal with their experiences, they'll keep repeating and projecting them. How the trauma is processed affects not only the victim, but how they're perceived - if they show signs of trauma in unsympathetic ways that make others uncomfortable and ask them to have patience and empathy, they're a "bad victim." If they bear their trauma with grace and show minimal signs of it and don't make anyone uncomfortable, they're a "good victim." (Many abusers are, in fact, good victims outwardly, and bad victims in their home lives - which, again, doesn't justify or excuse their actions, but it does give an insight into how abuse trauma manifests.)

The tendency to downplay, excuse, or ignore abusive behavior shows up again and again throught the HP books. In PoA Sirius breaks Ron's leg in his determination to get Pettigrew - who's in Ron's pocket - into the Shrieking Shack. It's actually quite a violent moment, Sirius yanking Ron with force because his leg being stuck under a branch is keeping Sirius from being able to drag him into the tunnel. But once Harry realizes Sirius is not a mass murderer and accepts him as his godfather, there's no addressing of this casual violence. Sirius doesn't apologize to Ron, and it's Lupin who puts his leg in a splint* (never mind that Ron is then tied to Lupin who hasn't taken his potion at the full moon and this endangers Ron's life directly). The point here isn't Sirius' character, but how the narrative treats his actions - and Ron.

*Even though Sirius has his wand on him too, which is never really explained? How did he get his wand back? He wouldn't have been allowed it in Azkaban, so where did it come from? But I digress. That's a question for another post.

As soon as Sirius takes on the mantle of being Harry's godfather, his carelessness, violence, and the damage he caused are forgiven - much like how abuse victims will explain away their abusers' actions and minimize them. Ron doesn't show any signs of trauma after this incident, or any wariness of Sirius, which is unrealistic and uncharacteristic, but fits in with Rowling's writing style when you consider her projected abuse trauma and the mindset she's likely to be writing from as a result. Sirius does nothing to assure Ron that he won't hurt him again in the future. In fact, all he says to him is indirectly, in a letter to Harry:

“I thought your friend Ron might like to keep this owl, as it’s my fault he no longer has a rat.”

-Prisoner of Azkaban, Ch. 22

He doesn't acknowledge the harm he inflicted, nor does he apologize for his actions. Instead he gifts Ron an owl he found (which, off topic, is objectively funny - Sirius found an owl and just said "keep it I guess"). He clarifies this owl is meant to replace his pet who turned out to be a murderous traitor in disguise, but makes no mention of wanting to earn back trust. Again, this isn't about Sirius as a character, who's deliberately written with these flaws. My point is to highlight the ways that other characters react to him and how those behaviors seem to echo the reactions of an abuse victim to abusive situations, and the blinders they require for survival. Kind of like how we never see Ron confront the reality that he spent several years sharing his food, bed, and life with a 30 year old man in rat form. Egregious breaches of trust and safety are sidestepped silently, accepted, and ignored.

Again and again physical and verbal violence is addressed minimally or not at all in Harry Potter. Lupin has his turn when he argues with Harry in Deathly Hallows. Harry tells him to go home to his son instead of abandoning him, but Lupin is agitated and resistant to the idea, his behavior signifying that his trauma may be triggered.

‘I’d never have believed this,’ Harry said. ‘The man who taught me to fight Dementors - a coward.’ Lupin drew his wand so fast that Harry had barely reached for his own; there was a loud bang and he felt himself flying backwards as if punched; as he slammed into the kitchen wall and slid to the floor, he glimpsed the tail of Lupin’s cloak disappearing round the door. -Deathly Hallows, Ch. 11

Lupin never apologizes or acknowledges he was wrong to do this, and the closest he gets to it is a passive aggressive statement on the radio that he has no way of knowing was actually heard by Harry:

‘And what would you say to Harry if you knew he was listening, Romulus?’ ‘I’d tell him we’re all with him in spirit,’ said Lupin, then hesitated slightly. ‘And I’d tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right.’

Deathly Hallows, Ch. 22

Again, the point here isn't to discuss Lupin's character, but that the author has chosen to skim over his violence and continue to write him as heroic without him having to take responsibility for his actions. We're meant to empathize with his trauma and continue to see him as a sort of parental figure, but there's no exploration or acknowledgment of how it might affect Harry that the last remaining friend of his father's, his once favorite teacher, enacted violence on him the second Harry challenged him, and how this might have triggered Harry's own abuse trauma after enduring years of violence at the Dursleys. There's merely a dramatic moment that results in assault, that is then skirted past, unaddressed, and the narratives simply moves on. It feels like the literary equivalent of a fighting couple where one partner hits the other, and instead of apologizing they just go back to business as usual once they've calmed down; the argument is never resolved, just swept under the rug with all the others ones like it.

Harry, meanwhile, is an abuse victim who bears no mark of it. The Dursleys abuse him emotionally as a matter of course, starve him on numerous occasions, there are clear implications that Vernon is physically violent with him, as is Dudley, to the point where Harry is socially isolated because Dudley's gang intimidates anyone who might want to be his friend. This also prevents any outsiders from getting close enough to Harry to recognize the abuse and calling CPS on the Dursleys. They aren't taken to task by anyone, unless you count Dumbledore's passive aggressive hint to them about keeping Harry in a cupboard, or the threat from the Order that's given at the end of the OoTP:

‘We thought we’d just have a few words with you about Harry,’ said Mr Weasley, still smiling. ‘Yeah,’ growled Moody. ‘About how he’s treated when he’s at your place.’ Uncle Vernon’s moustache seemed to bristle with indignation. Possibly because the bowler hat gave him the entirely mistaken impression that he was dealing with a kindred spirit, he addressed himself to Moody. ‘I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house -‘ ‘I expect what you’re not aware of would fill several books, Dursley,’ growled Moody. ‘Anyway, that’s not the point,’ interjected Tonks, whose pink hair seemed to offend Aunt Petunia more than all the rest put together, for she closed her eyes rather than look at her. ‘The point is, if we find out you’ve been horrible to Harry -‘ ‘- And make no mistake, we’ll hear about it,’ added Lupin pleasantly. ‘Yes,’ said Mr Weasley, ‘even if you won’t let Harry use the fellytone -‘ ‘Telephone,’ whispered Hermione. ‘- Yeah, if we get any hint that Potter’s been mistreated in any way, you’ll have us to answer to,’ said Moody. Uncle Vernon swelled ominously. His sense of outrage seemed to outweigh even his fear of this bunch of oddballs. ‘Are you threatening me, sir?’ he said, so loudly that passers-by actually turned to stare. ‘Yes, I am,’ said Mad-Eye, who seemed rather pleased that Uncle Vernon had grasped this fact so quickly.’

-Order of the Phoenix, Ch. 38

Of course, this doesn't happen until Harry is almost 16 and only a year away from getting out of Privet Drive anyway. Yet Harry has no anxiety, no panic attacks, no social anxiety, and shows no triggered behavior. Even after Cedric dies he has very limited PTSD symptoms. The only time he acts out is in OoTP, and his behavior is explained away by the realization that Voldemort has been sharing his mind, and so his short fuse and "bad victim" behavior is attributed to a kind of possession, and not his own psyche. Harry is the fantasy of an abuse victim - the sympathetic orphan who bears no scars of his trauma. He's patient, bears his abuse with grace, and if anything he responds to it with cleverness and snark that endears the reader to him. He's a "good victim," but almost goes beyond that: Harry is almost a kind of projected fantasy of an abuse victim who wishes they could live their life and be themselves without the inherent trauma and its effects, even while continuing to be traumatized.

It's a recurring theme with a lot of characters that violence and emotional abuse/manipulation is excused and unresolved as a matter of course. Harry is shocked when he sees his dad and Sirius assault Snape in SWM, but he goes back to putting his father on a pedestal quickly, and without processing his feelings, while his empathy for Snape is short lived. Hagrid spends most of OoTP getting violently assaulted by Grawp but he doesn't mind it because he loves his brother, who's just big and stupid and can't help it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Hagrid also has a dysfunctional relationship with Harry and his friends, who he endangers on numerous occasions, and who have to take care of him when he's drunk or unable to manage his emotions and makes bad choices, despite being children. It's an imbalanced relationship in which Harry is often unsafe and required to do the emotional labor of an adult. Dumbledore exploits Harry's entire existence, as well as Snape's, but he only apologizes to one of them and even then just barely.

The list goes on an on, and the dynamic is always the same: the character perpetuating the violence is alleviated from blame or responsibility by the narrative overlooking their faults and skimming over their damaging actions. It's also worth noting that many of the characters who perpetuate abuse are parental figures to the protagonist (Sirius, Lupin, James, Dumbledore, Hagrid, the Dursleys), because it's hard not to feel like there's some degree of personal projection going on here on the author's part. The way the writing justifies and avoids addressing the dysfunction and abuse in these relationships is almost like a parallel for the battered partner/child who says it was their fault for saying or doing the wrong thing and they should know better and the abuser doesn't really mean it, they're very sensitive and can be so loving and, and, and.

SWM is interesting in that it seems to be the pinnacle of how Rowling sees Snape and characters like James and Sirius. Even in The Prince's Tale we barely see why Snape and Lily were "best friends," not just Cokeworth buddies, because as an author she viewed Snape's role as utilitarian to the story but without sympathy for him. SWM was about establishing that Snape was a loser; feeling sorry for him was incidental, and more about Harry's own character development, which ultimately doesn't even follow that thread through. James and Sirius weren't written in that scene to be exposed as abusive bullies, but to be shown as the cool kids in a British grammar school, the handsome privileged boys at the top of the social ladder.

What's fascinating about Rowling's writing of Snape is that she seems to project a lot of her own abuse trauma onto him but has continuously expressed a clear dislike of him both in her approach to writing him and in interviews. The text alludes to his difficult childhood and abusive father, which Rowling has confirmed in interviews, and through the Wizarding World website where it's stated that Snape's father "didn't hold back when it came to the whip" (and while Wizarding World and Pottermore aren't always reliable sources for canon material, they do have a vetting process so if something is stated as fact it tends to be canon, as opposed to content that's qualified by statements like "possibly" or "might be" etc. which denote them as unverified theories). Snape also displays triggered behavior in situations that evoke his trauma, such as in the Shrieking Shack in PoA and when Harry tries to hit him with a Levicorpus in HBP. All this to say, Snape is a character who is written as having survived abuse at home, assault at school, and who bears clear markers of trauma.

With all this in mind, he was written unkindly. I don't necessarily mean how he's consistently described as ugly and dark in ways that recall prejudiced gothic tropes of the demon lover, or the ways the reader is meant to see him through the biased lens of Harry, whose eyes we see the story through. Snape was written with no empathy, and as someone who is completely alone in the world. Even Dumbledore, the person whose trust he works to gain, and who he trusts, betrays and exploits him mortally. When Harry sees Snape's memories at the end of DH, there's nothing in there that shows he was ever lovable, or his vulnerability and path to radicalization, or that Lily loved him as the best friend she said he was to her. Even when he's sacrificed his life and it's revealed to the reader that he's done so, and done it in the service of love - the central theme of the HP books - he's not granted the grace of being shown as having any redeeming qualities, except that he loved Lily deeply enough to dedicate his life to protecting her son (and grew to believe in Dumbledore's cause in the process), but this love is shown only through regret after her death, not through any expression of it during their friendship.

The opposite of Harry as the "good victim," Snape is the "bad victim," the abuse survivor who is defensive, unfriendly, unkind, and reflects a socialization that absorbed all he was taught through mistreatment. Ultimately, the good vicitim is good because their trauma doesn't burden others with its visibility, and Snape is the bad victim because his trauma asks patience and understanding of others while he struggles to show kindness and grace. He runs to help when he hears a scream upstairs, he tells Dumbledore "only those I could not save," but he's outwardly unkind and at times downright hostile, which means the reader has to put in critical thought and analyze the text before being able to extend him sympathy. In short, he takes work, which makes him a bad victim. This is also why so much of the larger fandom harbors a vitriolic hatred for him and feels absolved of having to put that work in.

And while there's a lesson in there that even the surliest of people can turn out to be brave and have an immeasurable capacity for love, the narrative still shows no interest, even in his deepest relationship, in Snape as a person who his best friend had affection for beyond being her only source of information about Hogwarts, or as someone Dumbledore saw more in than a clever and gifted wizard who could serve his cause. There's no curiosity in the writing when it comes to Snape, no kindness toward him, and Rowling has shown time and again that she still judges him.

What's interesting about this is that Snape is also the character who the most trauma and abuse seems to be heaped on, despite Harry's journey, and all of these aspects of him seem to be unaddressed, and if they're ever touched it has no real impact or affect on the characters or the narrative. It's almost like Rowling projected her worst trauma onto him and then resented him for representing her experiences. I would posit that perhaps what she really dislikes about Snape is that he's a representation of her own unprocessed trauma, of the ugly parts of trauma that are messy and painful, but I feel that's getting a bit too close to armchair psychoanalyzing so I'll leave that thought there and let you come to your own conclusions.

Privilege

The structure of the world in which Harry Potter exists relies on privilege. Wizards are a privileged group, singled out by their genetic advantage which gives them the ability to make their lives easier, and which most of them feel entitled about. They live in secret to protect themselves from having to use these abilities to help muggles, and because muggles would likely exploit them - of course most wizards also look down on muggles with condescension for their lack of magic (and ultimately we're talking about a bunch of Brits, so exploiting others and condescension is baked into the culture anyway). Added to this baseline social structure that is built on wizarding privilege is the character of Harry, who doesn't just learn that he's part of this privileged group, but that he's singled out as special among them. As soon as he's brought into the magical world, he's shown his Gringotts vault which is full of gold, so he also enjoys the privilege of wealth as soon as he learns he's doubly special.

There's yet another layer, which is the class dynamics within the wizarding world, which hinge on inherited privilege, ie. the privilege that comes with being pureblood or half-blood vs. being muggleborn. As Rowling works through this aspect of world building, she's consistently focused on the variety of ways her protagonist enjoys privilege. Moreover, in a series where the world-building is often half-baked and not thought through, an incredible amount of the work she did do is focused around establishing class dynamics and approaching them with a focus on privilege. This feels inherently British in some ways, though it does also challenge class systems to some degree.

Except that the class system remains intact at the end of the series. Voldemort is defeated as a villain, but his ideas of blood status aren't. The evil Harry fights against is a specific antagonist, not his ideas, and not the class dynamics that inform the variety of privileges he himself enjoys as a pureblood wizard with generational wealth. House elves aren't liberated, and are ultimately not only content to remain slaves, but fight alongside wizards and preserve the system that oppresses them. That itself is a signifier of Rowling's unchecked privilege: that she takes a local myth - house elves - in which magical creatures help with housework in exchange for milk/some kind of payment, co-opts this myth for her story and changes the terms of these creatures to be a deeply unethical one where they're neither working voluntarily nor paid but are instead enslaved. Most importantly, she posits that most of them are happy to be enslaved - and what reeks of privilege more than the idea that slaves enjoy their situation? It's a narrative that serves the enslaver and disenfranchises the enslaved even further.

Rowling's own class privilege is also reflected in how she writes poverty. For example, the Weasleys are consistently described as poor, but they actually seem to be doing alright. They have a lot of children, so most of their annual expenses like school supplies are secondhand, but that's pretty normal in a lot of families, even middle class ones. Mrs. Weasley is a stay at home mom who could be working if she wanted to, but in Rowling's determination to write Molly as quintessentially matriarchal, she overlooked this fact, the result being that the Weasleys seem to have a tight budget but don't seem to actually be poor. They own a large home and land around it, live comfortably as a single income household, and it's even mentioned in DH that of the trio it was Ron who struggled the most with scrounging for food when on the run, because he'd spent his whole life enjoying delicious, consistent, filling meals at home, not just at school.

Harry, meanwhile, is noted as thinking that he would happily give the Weasleys all the gold in his Gringotts vault, but knows they'll never accept it - and he leaves it at that. It's not until he gives his TriWizard winnings to Fred and George at the end of GoF that he tells them to get Ron new dress robes. Before that, he doesn't use any opportunity to give the Weasleys any gifts - in fact, while we see Harry give Ron and Hermione thoughtful Christmas gifts in the later books, there's no allusion to him giving them birthday gifts like they give him, or of him giving Molly or Arthur Christmas gifts despite always receiving them, including a hand-made family jumper. Despite growing up with so little, Harry is written as feeling an understandable excitement at receiving gifts, but it doesn't occur to him to give back - or rather it doesn't occur to Rowling, as the author, that a boy who comes from having nothing, who now has a vault full of gold, would think of using it to make others happy as they've made him. Despite her writing Harry's entire character arc to hinge on his willingness to sacrifice himself, this aspect of him gets overlooked when it comes to making the best of his privilege in his interpersonal relationships by thinking of others. Unsurprising once you consider that she claimed that writing in cafes was an experience of poverty after having studied at Exeter, and how her own privilege might inform how she approaches her characters and their choices (or lack thereof).

The subject of poverty in HP is laced with unconscious bias. The Weasleys are described as poor but have all they need, own land, and have the safety net of a wealthy family to fall back on. Like with Harry's character, there is, essentially, a moralism reflected in their comfort - they're good people, therefore they are comfortable, just as Harry is a good person, therefore wealth is bestowed on him that he didn't earn. In contrast to this is Snape, who grew up in a slum in an abusive home (and while poverty doesn't guarantee abuse, it's often traumatic and trauma inhibits emotional regulation which can lead to abuse). He bears the physical signs of poverty, such as poor hygiene and poor health (yellowed teeth, pallid skin), is unlikeable, lonely, and doomed by the narrative. Snape, while being described with these markers, is judged negatively and harshly both by Harry and James in their own times, as well as by the author herself who, despite having said that he's heroic and morally grey, has also said that Snape is a "deeply horrible person."

Just as Harry's virtue is signalled through his inherited wealth, Snape's markers of poverty establish him first as a foil in PS, then as an antagonist for the rest of the series. Each time Snape acts antagonistically, he's described with the physical traits that are meant to make the reader judge him - his teeth, greasy hair/face, pallid skin - without any seeming awareness that these are markers of class and his poverty (hygiene would have been a weekly, not daily practice growing up in a Midlands slum in the 60s, not to mention limited access to dental care). It's this lack of awareness that shows Rowling's own unaddressed privilege, and reeks of the well-cared-for middle class child who ostracizes the kid on the playground who wears visibly secondhand clothes, doesn't have the cool new toy, brings a "yucky" lunch instead of buying it in the cafeteria, etc. (much like how James and Sirius ostracize Snape).

It's also unnecessary for Harry's virtue to be signalled through his inherited wealth the way it is (ie. that his being special is emphasized by his access to a vault full of gold, or that this is metaphorically a reward for being a good person in a very Cinderella story kind of way). We learn in HBP (through Dumbledore's memory of first meeting Tom Riddle) that Hogwarts has a fund for students who can't afford supplies, and as a orphan hero it would have been more compelling for Harry to rely on this fund and add "charity student" to the list of things that set him apart from his peers and challenge him. Instead, Rowling goes out of her way to justify writing Harry with middle class privilege, perhaps because she doesn't really know how to write a character living with the realities of being in a lower socioeconomic class. It can't even be argued that Harry's Gringott's vault is a plot device to enable him to go to school, because there's a system in place for students in his position that could easily have sidestepped it. Speaking of being unable to write characters living in actual poverty: this also shows that the Weasleys aren't really poor, because we see them go to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies each year, instead of relying on the Hogwarts fund. This reiterates, again, that the Weasleys aren't really poor, they're more likely lower middle class, and that their supposed poverty is more about virtue signalling, but so is their comfort despite how poor they're meant to be. This profound lack of understanding of what it means to truly be poor, and the judgment with which the only character who experiences true, abject poverty is written with, reflect the author's own privilege and lack of experience outside the sphere of the middle class.

Bigotry

What's interesting about Rowling's idea of bigotry as seen through her choices writing HP is that she shows both a profound lack of understanding of systemic racism and that she has pretty strong biases of her own that are rooted in bigotry. The class system she writes wizards as having is based in a parallel of racism, but when the stakes get raised it stays pretty two dimensional and there's no indication that Rowling did any research into the social and political histories the Death Eaters and Voldemort are meant to allude to.

If I'm honest this subject could be its own separate post, but briefly: Rowling seems to have been writing a parallel for fascism, but in the process doesn't appear to have researched it. While the fascist - Voldemort - surreptitiously sows chaos and mistrust, the propaganda machine is established by the legitimate government he eventually overthrows (which is intended to be democratic, although we don't much see it in practice - it certainly doesn't seem to be a representative democracy, in any case). Although we see conflicts between students, they're very clear cut and lack nuance: there's no confusion or moralism. Most crucially, there's no real reason to exploit or oppress the targeted minority group, other than bigotry: wizards don't have that much to gain from oppressing or killing muggles, because they're outnumbered, and the effort of it outweighs the benefits. For every fascist dictator's bigotry there's a root of exploitation, whether its seizing wealth, exploitation for labor, or both. Rowling clearly doesn't fully understand the parallel she's writing, doesn't understand politics or political systems nearly as well as someone whose story centers their importance should, and hasn't done her research.

And while it seems noble that she nevertheless wrote a protagonist fighting against bigotry, she also displays a fair bit of it herself. There are the obvious issues, like how tokenized and unresearched her minority characters are, such as Cho Chang, the Patil twins, or even Anthony Goldstein, not to mention that Nagini's backstory of an Asian woman enslaved as a pet by a British man is a whole other mess of internalized biases, and that's the more generous interpretation. Then there are the anti-semitic tropes that the Gringotts goblins are steeped in, from their hooked noises and double-crossing to their fixation on money. And, of course, there's Seamus Finnigan, the Irish kid whose penchant for explosions is hard not to read as a deliberate allusion to the IRA.

Rowling also seems to be fatphobic, with a narrow view of femininity. As with Snape, she often uses physical descriptors to denote whether or not a character is sympathetic.

“Uncle Vernon was large and neckless, with an enormous black moustache; Aunt Petunia was horse-faced and bony; Dudley was blond, pink and porky.”

-Chamber of Secrets, Ch. 1

Vernon and Dudley Dursley, both males, are described as fat, almost comically. A couple of books later, Dudley will be described as having:

“finally achieved what he’d been threatening to do since the age of three, and become wider than he was tall.”

-Goblet of Fire, Ch. 3

This is physically impossible, of course, but Dudley is described as having three main traits: being fat, being a bully, and being stupid, the first always preceding any of the latter descriptors.

Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, is described as very skinny - she's an antagonist (or an aunt-agonist, if you will), and so her "bony" frame and "horse-face" indicates that she is not feminine, a signal that she's antagonistic and not maternal. Conversely, Vernon's sister Marge, a woman who is so un-maternal as to not even have children, is described as masculine:

“She was very like Uncle Vernon; large, beefy and purple-faced, she even had a moustache, though not as bushy as his.”

-Prisoner of Azkaban, Ch. 2

Malfoy's cronies Crabbe and Goyle are similarly described as big and stupid, and it's worth noting that there's a consistency in Rowling's fatphobia being primarily directed at overweight men, specifically because it reveals a lot about her attachment to gender norms that Aunt Marge is the only woman described as large (did Rowling get inspired by Pee-Wee's Big Adventure? Unclear). She's also unmarried and childless, ie. hasn't fulfilled society's expectations of a woman, breeds dogs in the country, and is the only woman described as having explicitly masculine features including a moustache and looking strikingly similar to her brother. The more matriarchal a woman is in Harry Potter, the more kindly the narrative looks on her, and the less so she is, the more antagonistic she is.

Because the women in Harry Potter are either virtuous mothers or wicked stepmothers - or rather just wicked, with their childlessness standing in for the trope of stepmotherhood because these books are set in modern times, after all. Aunt Petunia, Aunt Marge, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rita Skeeter, and Dolores Umbridge are all either antagonists or outright villainous characters, none of whom are maternal and only one of whom has a child at all - and there's special emphasis put on Petunia's failure as a parent when Dumbledore points it out overtly. In contrast, Molly Weasley and Tonks are sympathetic women who are mothers - or rather, Molly is profoundly maternal and Tonks becomes a mother towards the end of the series and dies heroically. Kind of like the angelic mother figure on a pedestal that is Harry's own self-sacrificing mother, Lily. Even Narcissa Malfoy is redeemed because despite being an antagonist, she's first and foremost a mother concerned for her son's safety (she's also the only person we see in Voldemort's circle who isn't branded with the Dark Mark, and the lack thereof is a sort of virtue signal unto itself). There's a clear bias against women who aren't mothers/are bad mothers, and in favor of women who are mothers and exhibit maternal behavior.

In Harry's generation we see a similar bias in that there are girls who are sympathetic and others who aren't. Hermione and Ginny are sympathetic, in a very "not like other girls" kind of way. They're not emotional, most of their friends are boys, and they eschew femininity except for rare occasions like the Yule Ball. It's mentioned especially that when Harry breaks up with Ginny, she's unsentimental enough not to cry because she grew up with older brothers, and that this is a positive trait. Conversely, characters like Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil are silly and flighty, unconcerned with anything except Divination and boys, with Lavender fawning over Ron in overly feminine ways that become a caricature of a misogynistic depiction of a teenage girl. When she does eventually die heroically in the Battle of Hogwarts, it's mentioned only in passing. Fleur Delacour is vain and haughty, comes in last in the TriWizard tournament, and is an un-virtuous flirt who goes off into the rose bushes with her Yule Ball date and makes eyes at Bill Weasley. It's only after she gets married that she becomes more sympathetic (and while yes, she earns respect before then for not loving Bill less after he's attacked by Greyback, it really isn't until after their wedding that the trio and Ginny stop judging her). She also becomes less relevant to the story, with little to contribute when the trio stay at Shell Cottage.

In short, Rowling perpetuates the sexist trope of representing women as angels or villains (and at times there's a sense that if the target demographic weren't children, she would outright make it the angels/whores trope instead, as is evidenced - among other things - by the reveal in Cursed Child that Bellatrix had an extra marital affair with Voldemort Which I still don't buy. Voldemort would never have allowed himself to engage in something that required any vulnerability from him, like sex, but I digress). What Rowling also perpetuates is a Thatcherian idea of feminism, in which female empowerment boils down to the emulation and adoption of the patriarchal power structure. It doesn't seek to overthrow the patriarchy, but instead to become it. It doesn't seek to dismantle a sexist social system, it just resents being on the side of the oppressed and wants, instead, to be the oppressor. There was an interesting post recently that broke down female representation in HP through the use of the color pink that really hit the nail on the head of how traditional femininity is looked down on by the narrative, and how female empowerment is equated with embracing traditionally masculine traits (the irony of this kind of feminism and how its entrenchment of patriarchal value systems inherently requires participants to emulate the kind of gender bending that it condemns trans people for is mind bogglingly hypocritical, frankly).

This, of course, feeds directly into Rowling's current pet bigotry: her transphobia. Because transphobia relies on and reinforces the patriarchy, by upholding traditional gender roles and punishing anyone who deviates from them. It also posits women as helpless victims of the masculine violence that men can't help but enact because it's supposedly in their nature. Of course, all of this is gender essentialist nonsense. It also achieves the goal of Thatcherist feminism without acknowledging that it does so: in this ideology, women see themselves as oppressed, but simultaneously leverage their oppression - through white tears - in order to oppress others. Because while they continue to buy into patriarchal social structures, their only option is to fight to get as close to the top as possible, and to step on others to maintain their position. And that requires bigotry. Once you've accepted the gender essentialist nonsense and begun to actively entrench yourself in misogynistic perspectives that reinforce the patriarchy, you've bought into the bigotry that oppresses you, and that's a gateway to all the other kinds of bigotry you have to buy into in order to convince yourself of the validity of your actions when all common sense, logic, and basic ethics are telling you otherwise (which is also why TERFism is often a pipeline to neo-naziism and requires radicalization).

The groundwork for this was already laid in Rowling's value system even before she was radicalized as a TERF. We can see in the way SWM was written that she already lacked empathy for male victims of patriarchal violence. Snape is written as feminine-coded, and given James' characterization as a handsome jock whose main actions in the narrative are that he died to protect his wife and child and that he assaulted another student to attract the attention of the girl he likes, I think there's a reasonable reading of SWM as an enforcement of patriarchal norms and gender conformity. The point of that scene was to show the reader that James was at the top of the social hierarchy and Snape was at the bottom, specifically in a way that represents social dynamics in a British grammar school setting. Those dynamics also serve to enforce patriarchal power structures and gender norms, and the most cursory research on them will lead to countless works of literature and film that elaborate on the rampant homophobia in these institutions and their lifelong impact on queer boys and men. Whether or not Rowling was aware of what she was doing, the violent enforcement of patriarchal norms, and the doling out of punishment to anyone who doesn't live up to them, is baked into the dynamic between James and Snape in SWM.

In her own biased view of Snape (as expressed in interviews etc.) Rowling wears on her sleeve her lack of empathy for male victims of patriarchal violence, which isn't surprising when you consider that her own gender politics center not only women, but specific women - women like her. TERFism harms more than just trans women, it also demands that women who don't emulate a specific idea of femininity also take a hit for the sake of gatekeeping trans people out of society, like women who have hormonal imbalances or were born intersex or eschew gender norms in even the most basic way (ie. even the middle aged suburban mother who keeps her hair short and wears jeans and hoodies because she's tired). This kind of thinking twists itself into knots only to reinforce gender norms that serve patriarchal power structures - the same structures that are represented by James when he assaults Snape, whose very character is written to be antithetical to them. Rowling is entrenching these gender norms through her lack of empathy for Snape in both her writing, and the views of him she's expressed publicly, and that perspective directly informs her radicalization and subsequent commitment to the specific kind of bigotry she puts so much money and energy into funding.

In conclusion

Privilege, bigotry, and misplaced abuse trauma inform Rowling's writing throughout the HP books, and coupled with the radicalization she was primed for, are apparent in her current personal politics. Her bigotry is essentially a cop out, however. It's an oversimplified view that focuses on men as a whole and posits them all as inherently violent and oppressive, instead of acknowledging the existence of the anthropological concept of the patriarchy as a social system that disenfranchises anyone who doesn't conform to its standards, including men. This also allows Rowling to dig her heels in on an ideology that ultimately supports patriarchal power structures despite its insistence on being feminist. British feminism is different than American feminism in that it seeks to perpetuate the existing power structure and co-opt it in women's favor, as opposed to seeking social equality. Unsurprising in a country with an ancient class system that relies on everyone accepting their place in it.

The idea of upsetting the power structure isn't acceptable in British culture, and the only tolerated progressive idea is to change who's at the top of it. Rowling's TERFism allows her to absolve herself of sympathy for how this affects trans people, queer people, and even men. To some degree it's understandable for an abuse victim to not have the emotional spoons or simply not have the will to understand their abuser (or someone who represents their abuser in their mind). Extending that to all men indiscriminately is bigoted, judgmental, and upholds patriarchal ideas of men as inherently stronger, more powerful, and predatory (and subtly reinforces the idea of penetrative sex as an act of dominance and violence). It doesn't acknowledge the power dynamics at the core of Western society and instead focuses on vulnerable groups like trans people and anyone who doesn't conform to gender norms in ways that make public life dangerous for anyone who doesn't live up to the established norms. Rowling could choose not to engage with any of this, and in doing so she's also perpetuating cycles of abuse in ways that reflect unprocessed trauma, but do so on a massive scale instead of keeping it in the home.

Patriarchy is violent to men as well as women, but Rowling's bigotry allows her to justify ignoring this. Looking through this lens at how she approached writing the HP books, the choices she made in her approach to characters like Snape or even Harry, we can see the seeds of this mindset and how it was exploited by radicalization - ironic given that everything she wrote into Snape's character indicates he was also a vulnerable, abused youth whose vulnerability was exploited to radicalize him into a fascist cult. In many ways, Snape is the character who Rowling's own experiences are closest to (domestic abuse, radicalization, being bullied), but perhaps she's so judgmental of him because he represents the parts of herself she is still unable to confront.

[ssaalexblake]

jodie ‘method acting’ whittaker growing another heart to play the role of a two hearted alien is what puts her at no.1 in the doctor actor competition and that’s that. 

[teapartyprincess4two]

On Stream- M. Sturniolo

pairing: gf!reader x bf!Matt

classification: fluff

warnings: use of y/n, short, slight cursing, some suggestive comments

summary: Matt mentions you on stream, causing the chat to go crazy.

—

Nowadays it seems that Matt and Chris have an abnormal amount of free time.

The pair have spent the past few days running errands, catching up on chores, spending quality time together, and unwinding. But two energetic young men can only do so much relaxing before it becomes unbearably boring, especially without you and Nick around.

Nick’s somewhere across the globe, relishing in the perks of having good friends. He’s experiencing the world with a sense of individuality, having been apart from his triplet brothers for over a week.

Without Nick around the house is quiet and boring enough, but Chris and Matt can usually count on you to keep them company. But it seems that they see you less and less every day.

You aren’t somewhere far away, not physically at least, you’re just very, very busy. As you enter the fall semester, you’re juggling a multitude of responsibilities including school, work, your social life, and your relationship. But as you adjust to your crazy hectic schedule, you spend less time at home with Matt and more time nose deep in a book.

So, just as the brothers grow accustomed to the eerie silence that haunts the halls of their home and the boredom that settles into their everyday lives, they decide enough is enough and take up a new hobby. Streaming.

Today, as Matt anchors himself in his rolling chair, his eyes skim through the endless chats that flood his screen. Chris sits next to him, a vibrant and excited smile adorning his features.

This is their third consecutive day going live on Twitch. At first they went live to entertain and chat with their fans, but now they’re doing it to occupy their bored minds.

Chris’s eyes skim the chat, fixating on one message in particular. He subconsciously reads it aloud, “Is Y/n on tour with Nick? We miss her.”

After reading the comment, the chat was flooded with similar messages asking for you. Matt slumps into his chair, the mention of your name reminding him that it’s been a week since he’s seen you.

“Nah, she’s just busy with school right now,” Chris replies mindlessly, skimming for another comment to read.

A lot of the viewers noticed Matt’s mood shift. They noticed the way his eyes drooped and the way the corners of his mouth turned into a frown. They especially noticed the disassociated look he wore, mind traveling to a place only you could bring him out of.

“Matt,” Chris says, waving a hand in front of his brother’s face. No response. “Matt!” He tries again, louder this time. Matt still doesn’t respond, only coming back into reality when Chris violently shakes his shoulders.

“What, dude? What?!” Matt asks, annoyance evident in his tone.

“Your phone’s ringing.” Chris replies with an eye roll and a small scoff.

Suddenly the blaring ring registers in Matt’s mind as he pats his pockets in search of his phone. When he finally finds it, your name illuminated the screen.

“Who’s calling?” Chris asks, stretching out his neck in hopes of catching a nosy glimpse at the caller ID.

“Umm be right back chat. Y/n’s calling,” Matt says, words spewing out a mile a minute. He disappears from the room faster than ever, immediately pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.” Your voice is music to Matt’s ears. It feels like forever since he’s last heard it.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “everything okay?”

You hum in response, followed by a soft yawn.

“You sound tired. When are you coming home?” Matt asks, softly leaning against the wall. You’ve been at school all day stuck in lectures and studying, so Matt knows you need some well deserved rest.

“I’m on my way now. That’s why I called, wanted to see if you guys were hungry so I could pick up something to eat.”

The excitement that courses through Matt’s veins is unreal, winding him up with enough energy to last until tomorrow. He can’t wait to see you, hold you, kiss you, and make up for all the lost time.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he replies, pausing for a second to compose himself, “I just wanna see you.”

A warm smile graces your features and if Matt could see it he’d mirror your expression.

“I’ll be home soon don’t worry. How’s the stream going?”

“Huh?” For a second Matt forgot that he and his brother were live streaming for thousands of people.

“The stream. Aren’t you live with Chris right now?”

“Ohhh. It’s going… it’s going good.” Matt replies with a soft sigh.

Your smile is momentarily replaced with a frown. “It doesn’t sound like it’s going good. What’s wrong?”

Matt’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose before gliding across his eyelids and massaging the tense nerves and muscles on his face. “It’s going fine. I just can’t focus. The chat keeps asking about you and it’s honestly making me really sad.”

A small chuckle escapes your lips. “Aww my poor baby. Can’t focus on Fortnite?”

“Not Fortnite.”

“Oops, sorry. Fall Guys?

“Y/n.” Matt warns, though he finds it slightly funny too.

“I’m joking, I’m joking. I’ll be home soon with some good food and open arms. We can cuddle and watch a movie, or do anything else you wanna do. Okay?”

Matt feels his spirit lighten up again, a cheeky smirk forming on his face. “Anything?”

“Don’t push it,” you laugh.

Just as Matt’s about to respond, he’s cut short by Chris calling his name from inside the room.

“Get back to your stream. I’ll be home soon, handsome.”

Matt’s lips form a silly pout you can’t even see as he replies, “But I wanna keep talking to you. Miss you so much.”

“MATT!” Chris calls again, this time much louder than the last.

“We’ll talk all you want when I get home. Now go! I have the stream pulled up on my computer and I think Chris is gonna start twerking,” you say, trying your best not to laugh.

“Holy fuck this kid,” Matt groans, face palming. “Alright baby, I love you. Drive safe.”

“I love you too,” you say through small giggles before hanging up.

When Matt renters the room, he’s not surprised to find Chris dancing for the camera. He pushes past him and settles back into his rolling chair wearing a huge, toothy smile.

“What did Y/n want?” Chris asks, briefly glancing at Matt as he switches from doing the griddy to shuffling across the room.

“Just asked if we were hungry,” Matt shrugs, attempting to act nonchalant, but there’s no hiding the newfound pep in his step.

“And it took you that long?”

“I was catching up with my girl. —Why the fuck are you still dancing?”

“Someone gifted,” Chris says, slightly breathless as he bops from corner to corner.

“Alright…” Matt shifts towards the computer, “What did I miss?”

He reads comments, expecting most of them to be about Chris and his absurd dancing skills, but he’s surprised to find that they’re all about you.

Some fans ask where you are, others ask what you’re doing, some speculate on the conversation you and Matt had, and others simply comment on how much happier Matt seems since talking to you.

All Matt can do is smile and patiently wait for you to arrive, ready to bombard you with kisses as soon as you step through the door.

—

MASTERLIST

a/n: hi babies! Hope you enjoy this short oneshot! I know I haven’t updated or posted much in a longggg time but I honestly had writers block :P I’m trying to get into the habit of writing again, so bear with me pls. I have a lotttt of drafts (some that just need to be edited) so be expecting that soon! Luv you all 😚

- L.A.M.B🪽💝

—

taglist: @nickgetsmewetter @sturniololovers @raysmayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03 @k-l-a-w-s @maryx2xx @biggesthat3r @herxyzblog @getosuckers @sturnioloarchive @tillies33ssss @fratbrochrisgf @rxeae @riasturns @sturnikitty @sturnrc @sturtriple16 @sillyfreakfanparty @imwetforyourmom @mattslovelygf @certifiednatelover @cartiiwannagotoplutoo @luvr4miya @somegirlfromasgard @l0vergrlll @pepsicolapussy333 @unbruisable @sugrhigh @khxna @wh0resstuff @jnkvivi @callsignwidow @sturnstvr @inkyray-deactivated20240729 @stasiesturn @poopiepantsworld @cvnt4matty @eleanore2204 @jhutchismyl0verb0y

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐 if your user is striked through, I wasn’t able to tag you :(

[luveline]

i just discovered bombshell reader but omfg she got hit in the face with a sledgehammer??? how does the healing process go for her? especially since she’s very focused on her looks. how would she cope?

thank you for requesting <3 fem

Your new scars are… an adjustment. 

The worst one is where the hammer hit you. Where your jaw shattered, and the impact of the hammerhead split your skin. You don’t remember the pain, just the nausea, and the blackness as your consciousness slipped away, and now you have a permanent reminder stretched from the corner of your mouth to your jaw. 

You turn your chin up in the mirror, looking. When you smile the scar puckers, rigid and starkly purple against your skin.  

You can hear Spencer in your kitchen. He’s singing. You haven’t heard him sing many times, despite all your days and nights spent together. Your smile is out of your hands, you don’t really think about it, and so for the first time in weeks you see your own happiness in the mirror. 

You didn’t have your jaw wired for as long as most people, just three weeks. At first you’d decided against it, and then you’d realised it wasn’t really an option. That entire time, Spencer stood by your side like he’d been glued there supporting every decision with vigour. And considering he hadn’t been your boyfriend for very long —your best friend, arguably, but not officially your partner— he’s done more than you ever expected of him. He’s been perfect. 

He continues to be everything you need. “Hey, Y/N! Are you eating breakfast today or not?” 

You give yourself a last look in the mirror, cringe at your scars, and check your newly repaired teeth. They look fine, Spencer swears that he can’t tell the difference. 

You can. 

You leave your room for the kitchen. There are twin plates of breakfast waiting and steaming hot on the kitchen table, with a glass of juice and a second of water waiting beside them. Spencer’s coffee sits half empty beside the cutlery. 

“I love breakfast. What are we having, Spencer Reid, egg and sausage muffins again?” 

He appears from your little pantry with a big smile. “No, it’s bacon and egg. But I can make something else.”

“That’s perfect, it’s perfect.” 

Spencer puts a package of rice crackers down on the table. “Let me get the hazelnut spread. Sit down.” 

“It’s fine, we can have them after. You need to eat before it goes cold, Spence.” You open your hand for him. “Please?”

Spencer takes your hand, but only for you to sit. He stays standing at your legs, looking down at you, all brown curls and eyes as his hand runs up your arm to your shoulder, where it stays. 

The other follows a similar path, but then he holds your face, and you feel your breath catch. 

Forward, for Spencer. 

Suddenly, he’s the confident one. 

“You were in there for a long time,” he says. 

“Just making sure I look alright.” 

“You do. You look more than alright.” His thumb presses into your cheek, forcing a hollow. 

You lean into it. 

“You’re beautiful. Nothing can change that.” 

You need the comfort, and you know you’ve had enough. He keeps telling you how pretty you are, and you are, but he must be getting sick of it. 

…But no. He’s not getting tired of it. 

“Love you,” you whisper. 

He’s only had a couple of those from you. Many more since your injury, not because you didn’t love him, but because it can be synonymous with so many things, like please, and thank you, and please stay. Lately, you’ve had to ask him for more than you’ve ever asked before. 

“I love you, too,” he says, with that pout that tells you his cheeks will be pink before he’s so much as sat down. 

He rubs your cheek. Over and over, little circles as your eyes close. You’re tired again. His hands smell like toast and butter. 

“It’s really not as bad as you think it is. Nobody at work will think anything less of you.” 

“Of course they will. I used to be perfect.” 

“Hey. That’s not fair, to you or anyone. A scar doesn’t have the power to– to make you less perfect,” —you peel your eyes open at his intensity— “you couldn’t be any less pretty. It’s not possible.” 

“I know it’s ugly, Spencer.” 

“You keep saying that, but it’s not.” He raises his second hand to your cheek, the one with the scar, careful though it stopped feeling tender to the touch weeks ago. The pad of his thumb follows the line. 

You raise your chin, pulling him down for a quick kiss. “Sorry,” you say against his lips. 

He smiles in turn. “It’s okay. I can keep telling you.” 

“Can you tell me again?” 

Spencer kisses you again. His way of kissing has been toned down now, and sometimes you miss feeling like he was gonna press you against a wall, but it was necessary. Even now you feel a phantom twinge as his nose smushes yours. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, pulling back now, just one hand at your neck. “You are. You’re so pretty it gives me palpitations.” 

“That can’t be good.” 

“I think it’s really bad.” He laughs like an idiot. “I just don’t care. I’ve had you-provoked tachycardia for years. Nothing’s gonna change that now.” 

—

bombshell au

[ithebookhoarder]

Hello hi ! 🤗

Can you do a "bau reacts" when they are undercover in public and about to be found out so the reader just starts making out with them to pretend they are just a couple?

(BAU Headcanons) Making out Undercover

A/N: Mwahaha. Oh, this is a good prompt. Thanks for making me daydream all afternoon. Enjoy my lovelies 😉 Also, as a note, I'm writing the main BAU where I'm at watching it (season 13) plus Luke as he was requested previously 💕

Warnings: Mentions of threat, mentions of weapons, alcohol references, sexual references, implied cases / unsubs. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

We know Aaron doesn’t go undercover for most cases, so this would have to be a big case to get him into the field. 

This man would be in shock. Let’s be real. He would freeze in place and try to argue for a split second until he realises what you’re trying to do and why - even if you were already together. 

As soon as they’re gone though, you’d glance up and see his usual steely glare that tells you you’re in for a scolding once this is over. 

However, you’d have to be blind to miss the way he lingers for a moment, holding you close for half a second longer than necessary. 

“I feel I should remind you that we are in the field, and whilst it may have worked, I can’t endorse it as a tactic in future. Understood?” 

“So I’m hearing that we’re leaving this off of our case report then?” 

“Agreed. I don’t need to give Strauss anything else to use to go after us and the team.”

He would roll his eyes and take off after the Unsub, but you’d have to be blind to miss the way he smirks as he goes. 

David Rossi 

He’d be a little embarrassed but mostly quite smug about the whole thing, even if you were supposed to be undercover. 

“Well, I can safely say in all my years in this field I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.” 

He’d also refuse to let you apologise for your actions afterwards either. 

One, because he’s kind of flattered. 

Two, because he’s been around the block a few times and knows that sometimes you have to do what it takes to solve a case or protect yourselves. 

Three, you were supposed to be a couple and kissing is what couples do. He’s only sour because if anything he would have liked to be the one who kissed you. 

“Relax about it, would you? I won’t tell you some of the things Gideon and I had to do back in the old days. That was before all this new paperwork and guidelines, so that’s all I’ll say on the matter.” 

You make a point of remembering to ask him about that at your next night off over drinks. 

Derek Morgan

Derek is always up for anything so I feel like he’d be pretty relaxed about being undercover with you, even if you weren't together romantically. He has no issue playing your pretend boyfriend for one night, and is quick to wrap his arm around you. 

Which is why it would be such a surprise to him when it’s you who initiated the kiss. 

Derek would freeze for like a second, but only out of shock. However, you know he wouldn’t fight you on it. 

The second his brain catches up to his body he would be kissing you back, doing everything in his power to match your energy and sell this kiss. 

If anything, you’re going to have to be the one to break away once the coast is clear and remind him you’re still technically in the field and that your team is probably wondering where the hell you are right now - and why you stopped responding to your comms. 

“I’m just saying, if we get to do that then we need to be partnered up more often.” 

“Yeah yeah, Morgan. Let’s just hope Penelope didn’t see that else we’ll never be hearing the end of it.” 

Emily Prentiss

She’s been undercover plenty of times in her life and spent a whole chunk of time actually fake-married to Doyle for an op, so she’d be the most comfortable and understanding if you grabbed her for a kiss - especially if you were meant to be a fake couple. 

She’d work it out pretty quickly and would respond in kind, pressing herself against you and running her hands all over you. 

“Quick thinking with the kiss,” she’d whisper as she brushed a kiss against your neck. 

She’d also know exactly where the Unsub is afterwards too, having kept watch in her peripheral vision. 

She wouldn’t even have to break eye contact with you before she informed you, “3 o’clock. He just left out the fire exit.” 

With that, she’d be off. 

She also probably wouldn’t even bring it up again until you’re both back on the jet. Then she’d be smirking at you across the top of her drink and chuckling to herself. 

“Normally I’d insist dinner first but given that we caught that bastard I think we’re even.” 

JJ

JJ knows about going undercover and it takes a lot to rattle her. She would probably go along with the action, even if she’d stay kind of stiff for a good minute or so. 

However, she’s a good agent and knows about maintaining a cover so quickly catches on when you pull her in. 

She’d return the kiss, shooting glances out the corner of her eye when she thinks it might be safe to check on their target. If it doesn’t look like they’re buying it, she’ll turn things up a notch and spin you around so that she could take control. 

“My gun is under my jacket. Reach for it slowly if he comes any closer,” she’d warn, but thankfully you don’t need it. Eventually they leave, distracted by something else, leaving you and JJ to recover.

After catching your breath, you both take off in the direction your target just left in. You can tell JJ is trying not to laugh about what just happened, choosing to make it funny rather than uncomfortable if you weren't together romantically.  

Which means you know she’d enjoy teasing you about it in front of the others, making your cheeks burn as she announces on the jet: “For the record, even though it was a ‘cover kiss’ it was pretty good. Just saying. Maybe you should give Morgan some tips. That way he might get a girl to call him back after a first date.” 

Luke Alvez

It doesn’t matter if he’s ex-army or whatever. Undercover is not really Luke’s thing and even then, he is more used to infiltrating gangs than playing house. 

Basically, he would be surprised by your actions, despite being undercover together. Like, I can see his eyebrows hitting his hairline so fast, bless him. He’d look like a deer in headlights. 

“Woah, sweetheart, slow your roll-“ 

“- Luke. Shut up and kiss me. Now.” 

“I - ok.” 

Just like that, he’d take control, turning and pressing you against the nearest wall in an attempt to shield you from whoever was watching. He’d also be such a gentleman about it if you weren't already together romantically, keeping his hands on your waist and pulling away the minute he’s sure the danger has passed. 

Even then, he’d wait a minute before letting the two of you move from your position, just in case they come back. He’s your partner and he’s returning the favour for you keeping him safe, even if in an unsuspected manner.

“You good?”

“Luke. Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I was the one who planted myself on you.” 

“Potato, po-tah-to. Are they still over there?”

“No. They just left out the back.”

“Then let’s go, partner. Let’s catch this freak.” 

Penelope Garcia 

If Penelope is in the field then you know she is already hella nervous and out of her element. It doesn’t matter if there was a reason she was needed for this particular assignment, she would just take that as added pressure not to let everyone down.

Which is why I’m sure you’d feel worse about planting one on her - even if it does also help distract her from worrying for a minute.  

All I can imagine is her giving her trademark squeal of confusion and surprise, even if you gave her a hasty warning - and apology - about what you were going to do.

She’d be stunned at what was happening and probably takes a minute to realise she should probably try and kiss you back, or at least look less visibly startled about it. 

“I feel I should point out how unfair it is that this is permitted as ‘suitable workplace behaviour’ as we’re undercover, yet my flirtatious texts with Agent Morgan are not? I will be writing a strongly worded email when we get back, telling HR they can go shove their-”

“Pen? Hey, focus here. Unsub still watching us.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry! Ahem… as you were?”  

Also, you know that like a day or so later, once it’s all over, she sends you an email informing you that your new username on the BAU system is now ‘smoochykins’ and she will not change it until it becomes not-funny for her… which will probably be never. After all, Morgan has been ‘Chocolate Thunder’ for the last two years and is still going strong.  

Dr Spencer Reid

Spencer has been undercover before and is usually quite calm about it, even if it is faking a date or maintaining a story. Still, despite having to do your jobs, you’d hate to make him uncomfortable, knowing how he feels about any kind of physical contact - especially if you're not together. 

As he says, with the amount of bacteria shared by shaking hands you’d be safer kissing … guess it was time to take it literally. 

He’d be blushing like a tomato as you grab his jacket lapels and pull him close. And honestly? it’s kind of adorable. As is the way he tries to kiss you back, even if he still takes a minute to remember how to even move his body. 

I’m just picturing the Lila kiss in season one and how he eased into that and how stunned / embarrassed he seemed afterwards. He would pretty much be like that, but with a fake smile on his face as he rambled in your ear. 

“What was that?”

“I was covering our asses. We’re undercover, remember? We’re supposed to be a couple and couples kiss. Also, I’d thought you know, genius, that kissing and displays of public affection make people extremely uncomfortable.”

“No kidding… Morgan can never find out about this.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. You got a deal, pretty boy. This is between us.” 

Masterlist

[heartiis]

the big apple ꩜ .ᐟ pt.3

pt.1 pt.2 pt.4

pairing - ellie x reader

synopsis - you've just moved to nyc and ellie's your new neighbor. she hates you though and you don't know why :((

cw - mean ellie, eventual side gig dealer ellie, weed, tattoo artist ellie, smut, reader is not a total pillow princess, swearing, ellie flicking joint scene but different

a/n - sorry for the late upload, I tried finishing this yesterday but it just wasn't flowing very well. not my best work in terms of sentence flow etc. and it was actually my first time writing smut like this which was uhh a funny experience but yeah I hope u like it ;)

The next week after the night at the club had gone by in a frenzy. Dina and Jesse had both followed you on instagram and shown up for their drinks on the house as early as Monday. It made you happy because you felt they genuinely liked and wanted to spend time with you, especially Dina, who loved to chat and who also listened when you talked. She’d asked you to stop by her workplace too, which you did on Wednesday and were met with excited talking and lots of book recommendations. You two were becoming quick friends.

As for Ellie, you didn’t see her again after that Friday night, which made you increasingly less hopeful of anything happening between the two of you. Had her staring at you on the dance floor meant anything at all? Was it just her being pissed at you? If it was, hadn’t it been a strange moment for her to choose to express it?

You didn’t dare ask Dina. She had most likely caught on to you and you did not want to stoke the flames. Yes, she was nice, but she knew Ellie longer and as such was more loyal to her. You didn’t want to risk her mentioning your questions.

It was hard keeping it all in, especially because your mind couldn’t help wondering to your neighbor every so often. Her freckles, her tattoos, how her hair looked with the top half tied back. The way she had gazed at you that night.

You were almost at end of your Friday shift and anxious to go home when Dina walked in beaming. She came up to the cash register and leaned her hands on the counter, looking from the register to you.

“Hey there.”

“Hi.” You grinned. “What are you so exited about?”

“Well, me, Jesse and Ellie were thinking we wanted to do something today, but we were all too spent to go out. So Ellie suggested we have a smoke sesh at hers. I remember you told me that your shift ends at six today, so I’ve come to get you. What do you think?”

You bit your lip. You’d told Dina about you missing weed. Of course you wanted to go. You had been itching this whole time to get high, and you really were curious about what it would be like to get high with Ellie. But it didn’t seem at all like she’d want you there. “Did you ask her if it was okay for me to come?”

“She knows we’re friends now.” Dina gestured with her hands. “Imagine if I came to her place to smoke, which is right next door to yours, and didn’t invite you?”

“Dina.”

“Okay, okay! I know you two have a lot of tension.” Your heart fluttered at the way she said tension. Like that word contained so many things, and not all of them just some version of animosity. “But like I said, she’ll warm up to you. She’s got no choice now.”

“Did you ask her if I could come?”

“I told her through text, actually. And she didn’t say anything, which is as good as a ‘that’s fine.’”

You sighed. “You’re sure it won’t be weird?”

“Oh, it will be at first. But then we’ll get high, and everything will be great. Her weed’s amazing.”

You crossed your arms, then unfurrowed your brows. “Okay,” you said. “My shift ends in fifteen minutes.”

“Yay!” Dina pressed her palms together. “I’ll have an iced tea, then.”

-

Dina knocked on Ellie’s door after you had left your things at your place and changed into fresher clothes. You wore simple jeans and a tight fitted top this time. Jesse was the one to answer, soft music streaming out around him as he opened the door. As soon as he saw you were next to Dina his mouth opened up into a smile.“Y/n! Nice to see you. Come in.”

You stepped inside, feeling as if your stomach was folding unto itself. You took in your surroundings. The apartment was well kept but obviously lived in, with pieces of memorabilia and hints to Ellie’s personality scattered all over, including an acoustic guitar sat on a stand by the window.

Your stomach only squeezed in tighter when your gaze landed on Ellie laid back in the living room couch, wearing a loose t-shirt and baggy jeans. On the coffee table next to her lay a mason jar with more weed than you’d ever seen at once, as well as rolling papers, a lighter, and a grinder with a planet print on it.

“Ooh, nice,” Dina said, already getting close to peer at the spread on the table. You followed her lead and she took your hand and sat you down on the other edge of the couch. You waited for her to sit in between you and Ellie, but she didn’t, instead plopping herself down on the carpet. Jesse sat on the carpet too, criss-crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on the coffee table.

Ellie’s stare fixed on you then dropped away. As you, Dina, and Jesse chatted she got to work on rolling a joint. You couldn’t help but stare when her tongue slid against the paper and her deft fingers pushed it down She took the lighter from the table and lit the joint, taking two hits before passing it to you. It went around without much talking, but on Jesse’s second turn he glanced at you, then at Ellie, then at Dina.

“So,” Jesse started. “Ellie was telling me about this client who came in and got a big moth tattoo, but started absolutely sobbing after it was done, demanding a refund.”

Ellie’s mouth broke into a grin. “Dude, you’re making it seem like I’m bad at my job.”

“What? Of course not! Everyone knows you’re fucking great. She obviously just hadn’t thought it through. It was funny.”

Dina laughed. “You guys are horrible! The poor girl’s going to be stuck with that for life.”

“Could be a worse situation,” You said. “Ellie’s tattoos are pretty good.” It was at that moment when you complimented her that you realized you were already beginning to feel high. Jesus, it really was good weed. And like any good weed, it was lowering your inhibitions, making you less afraid to talk.

For a second, it was quiet. Then she spoke. “Thanks.”

Dina subtly threw a grin your way. “So, did you get her a refund?”

“Hell no. I spent six hours on it.”

“Damn Ellie, that’s cold,” Jesse teased.

Ellie just took the joint and smoked.

The night went on with the four of you in conversation. Ellie was still much quieter than you imagined she normally was, but at least she wasn’t being actively hostile towards you. She would say things to you sometimes, and you would say things back, and the higher you got the easier it was.

Eventually your high began to fade, and everyone else agreed that it was going away for them too. Ellie rolled another joint and flicked on the lighter, dragging the smoke in in order to light the end properly. As soon as she raised her hand at Dina to pass it to her, Dina stood up and declared she was tired and needed to go home.

You looked around, unsure of what to do now. Dina saw you begin to adjust yourself to stand up and quickly pushed you down. “Don’t worry, y/n. You can stay. You told me you’d been craving weed, right? Ellie’s already lit the thing. Enjoy it. She’s got a shit ton more.”

You looked at Ellie, who had withdrawn her hand, leaned back and brought the joint once again to her lips.

“Well, I’m staying here,” Jesse took the joint from Ellie. “It’s still early.”

“No you’re not.” Dina walked around the coffee table and started to pull him off the floor. “I need you to ride the subway with me so you can walk me home. It’s not safe for me at this hour.”

“What—“ but before he could get in more words of protest, Dina was already saying goodbye and dragging him away. Between you still being slightly buzzed and it all happening so fast, you could barely think of what to do besides watch them walk out.

You turned back to Ellie, who was grabbing the joint from where Jesse had left it on the table. To your surprise, she offered it to you. You accepted it. Why not, right?

“So,” you said, trying to make conversation. “You play guitar?”

“Yeah.” She watched as you took a drag. “Do you play anything?”

You looked at the guitar. It really was a beautiful instrument, clearly well made. “Unfortunately not. I wish I had something like that to impress girls with,” you joked, passing Ellie the joint.

She frowned as she took it. You were keenly aware of every move she made, every ripple in the taut muscles of her arms. “You think that’s why I learned to play guitar?”

You crossed your legs. “No, no. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

“You’re not sorry. But it’s fine.” She scoffed. “And you don’t need a guitar to impress girls.”

Your heart fluttered. “What do you mean?”

Ellie stayed quiet. When you wouldn’t stop staring at her with an expectant look on your face, she shrugged. “It’s… it’s nothing. Just, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.” You pulled in closer, uncrossing your legs. If she wasn’t going to tell you, then fine. “Maybe I do, actually. That girl at the club seemed pretty into me. Maybe I just have to dress like that more often.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And to let girls play with your ass in public?”

You opened your mouth, stammered, then shut it. You were not expecting a response like that. After the initial shock, it made you angry. “What’s it to you?”

She just stared. You could feel her gaze burning into you. The whole living room, with its low yellow lighting and quiet surroundings seemed warm with it.

“You really piss me off sometimes, you know that?” She said.

You took the joint from between her hands and took a drag, not letting go of eye contact one bit as you breathed out and the milky smoke rose around you. “Yeah. I know.”

“Fuck you,” she said breathlessly.

You got in closer to her. You were burning now, too. “Fuck you too.”

You moved your hand to take another hit, but Ellie snatched it out of your fingers and flicked it on the floor. You only had time to make a ‘what the hell?’ face at her for a split second before she had her hands on your face, pulling you into a kiss.

The instant you felt her warm lips on you, you gave in. You kissed her back, not caring that she could feel your desperation because you wanted her to feel it, you wanted her to know what she did to you. What she’d been doing to you, all this time. And you could feel hers too.

You placed a hand on her jaw and soon she pulled away, hands still on your face. You frowned. She just took it and brought it in close again, but not enough for your lips to touch fully. Just enough for them to ever so slowly slide against each other. You tried to kiss her properly again, but she stopped you, adamant on letting you only have that much.

“That’s how you made me feel,” She said softly.

Oh, really? You thought. Two can play at this game.

You pulled away fully, taking her hands in yours and pulling them down. She frowned. Then you came back in, only not to kiss her. You brought your face to the level of her neck and left your mouth open as you slid your lips over the soft skin, painstakingly slow. Her breathing got heavier.

Then you rolled your leg over her, getting on top of her lap. With one hand on the neckline of her shirt and the other on her jaw, tracing the line of her bottom lip with your thumb, you smiled softly. “What did I make you feel, Ellie? Did I make you feel desperate?” You lowered your face, your cheek just brushing against hers, mouth right next to her ear. “When I danced with that girl at the club, did I make you jealous?”

“Fuck you,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” you said. “Fuck me.”

She threw your back onto the sofa and kissed you hard. It was fast and rough, rougher than you were used to, but she was so good at it and you were both so feverish that the harshness felt good. She was warm, so warm. With her body against you and your mind high you felt as if you were melting into her. It was intoxicating, she was intoxicating. You’d kissed girls before and it had felt nice and sometimes it had even felt pretty good, but not like this. Never like this. Like pure, poisonous nectar was dripping through your bloodstream.

You ran your hands over her back, digging your fingers in, and let out the smallest moan in her mouth. You felt her back rise and stand there for a moment before falling. Then she lodged her thigh in between your legs. Right on that spot that had been aching like hell.

You kissed her harder, and she pressed her leg in a little harder. You grabbed at her hair, running your hands through it. She pulled her leg back slightly and pressed harder.

Then she drew back. “Do I have to fucking beg to hear you?”

You looked at her eyes. Green, with the tiniest bits of brown running through them. There were slivers of yellow light reflecting off of them, and in your high state it was as if there was liquid gold running over her irises. No, she didn’t have to beg.

You kissed her again, gently this time, and ground yourself on her thigh. You whimpered into her lips. Then when she grabbed onto your hips and started guiding them, you parted from the kiss and moaned. It was like she couldn’t get enough, every noise from you made her move faster, more restlessly, until you put your hand on her stomach and when you couldn’t find skin, lowered it so you could push her shirt up and touch her abs.

Once you did that, she started pulling it up. Your hands immediately rose to help her, and when the shirt was fully off, you gazed at her body. She was wearing a similar sports bra to the one you saw before, and underneath it, inked over her skin was the rib tattoo, a snake coiling over a bird. Along with it were others, over her hips and her stomach, crawling down her hips to her pelvis, where it disappeared under her jeans. You traced that one with your pointer.

She drew back her thigh and touched your own stomach, toying with the hem of your jeans as if asking a question. You used your other hand to guide her in, just enough so she could feel the lacy top part of your underwear. She slid her hand down onto your cunt. You could feel her smile against your cheek when she noticed how wet you were.

A whimper left your lips as she started to move her fingers. God, you didn’t know that could feel so good. Nobody had ever done it that well on you, not even yourself. As she sped up, strained moans spilled out of you. Your body wanted you to be louder, but you were scared someone would hear.

Ellie’s cheek dragged against yours. “Why the hell are you holding back?”

“I… don’t want the neighbors to…”

She lessened her pace, leaving you desperate. “Fuck that,” she said.

She withdrew her hand. Once you were desperate for more, but now you were full on throbbing. She started to move back on the couch, and you furrowed your brows in protest until she fully unzipped your jeans and pulled them down. Not satisfied, she tugged at your shirt so you would sit up and take it off. Then she slowly pushed you down, her hand on your bare rib making your skin feel electric.

She studied your body, breathing hard. “Jesus Christ,” she said, before putting her hands all over you, sliding them up and down. Massaging your breast, she licked the soft part of your belly just over your panties. Even though she wasn’t touching your cunt, you couldn’t help but make soft noises. Then she moved her tongue up, around your belly button, to your sternum, where she stopped.

“Don’t keep quiet this time.”

She pulled off your panties and spread your legs, planting her tongue on you.

“Shit,” you breathed.

She sped up and slowed down at just the right moments, using just the right pressure, as if she already knew your body better than you. All the while the feeling of it, the wetness of her tongue sliding over your folds made you delirious with pleasure. You couldn’t hold back anymore. The more you moaned the better it felt, the closer you got until you were gripping her hair and shifting your hips back and forward.

“El, fuck,” you moaned as you came, instinctively using the nickname. She guided you through the orgasm, lapping her tongue slowly.

You let go of her hair and she brought her face up, then began to fidget with your bra, pushing her hands to your back so she could find the clasp as she licked the parts of your boobs which were bare.

“No, wait,” You said, still a little breathless. Ellie stilled, looking at you. You gently pushed her back, and she let you, until you were back on top of her lap and she was staring up at you. Your hands led hers to the back of your bra where the clasp was so she could take it off. She brushed her thumbs over your nipples, causing them to harden. A pleasurable electric sensation shot up between your legs, but you only let out a few whimpers before stopping yourself from becoming too distracted.

You touched your face to her neck, sliding your mouth once again over it. You started to grind yourself on her while making lewd noises right next to her ear. Her hands went over your hips and guided them back and forth, urging you to thrust harder. One of your hands traveled to the button of her jeans. You fidgeted with it but held it there. Biting at her neck, you moved your hips ever so slightly in time to the sliding of your fingers on her stomach.“Do you want it?” you asked.

“Yes—fuck, I want it,” she replied.

You undid the button and zipper of her jeans then dug your hand underneath her underwear, smiling at the feeling of her bush and her wet folds. You were worried you perhaps weren’t going to be as good as she’d been, but your worries faded as she whimpered, gripping your hips hard. The noises became quieter when she began to suck your breasts, to your delight still making muffled grunts and whines against them.

As you sped up she became more frenzied until she took your face in her hand and kissed you, tongue against tongue. You realized she was coming when she couldn’t kiss you properly anymore and buried her face in your neck and cursed, her body tensing until it began to twitch. You both caught your breath, inhaling and exhaling raggedly. Then she laid you back down on the couch and kissed you softly as your legs wrapped around her. The two of you made out until you were too sleepy, at which point your arms and limbs intertwined as you drifted off to sleep.

pt.4

-

a/n - depending on wether or not ppl seem interested I will be continuing this series, which I will prob finish in one or two parts. if you really want me to continue feel free to comment or dm!!

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ take a seat ] q. hughes

day 3 of kinktober (face sitting w/ quinn hughes)

paring : Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

summary: Quinn grows a playoff beard and his girlfriend loves it. the day he decides to shave it after the Canucks get eliminated, she tells him how she really feels about it and Quinn gives her the moment she’s been wanting since he started growing it before he shaves it

warning(s) : smut ! face sitting / riding, oral (f receiving), fingering

author’s note : been waiting to write this one hehe. it’s on the shorter side but i hope y'all enjoy anyway

kinktober schedule

༺──────────────༻

The playoffs have treated her and Quinn so well. Quinn because he got to captain the Canucks to the second round after a short 3 year playoff drought. Her because Quinn grew a playoff beard over the past month or so and she's barely managed to keep her hands off of him while he was playing.

She loves everything about the playoffs, but especially the fact that Quinn hasn’t shaved in a few weeks. He looks so good with longer facial hair and she loves the way it tickles her lip when he kisses her. She kinda just wants him to go down on her for as long as possible to feel it against her core.

The thought of Quinn eating her out with the beard is enough to soak her. The feeling of his beard on her core is something she thinks about an unhealthy number of times over the course of three weeks. She’s gotten off multiple times just at the thought alone, especially when he's away playing in Nashville and Edmonton. She’s wouldn’t know what to do if it happened.

But the Canucks were eliminated by Edmonton last night so it’s time for Quinn to shave off the beard he has spent the past few weeks growing. He doesn't do it the day after their season ends because he wants to just lay around and have the laziest day ever, so she gets an extra day to admire him.

The morning of the day Quinn wants to shave his beard though, she wakes up before he does. He stopped setting alarms once the Canucks got eliminated two nights ago but she is naturally an early riser. She doesn't dare move because part of Quinn's morning routine is shaving. If she moves and wakes him up, he's going to go shave and that's the last thing she wants right now.

She softly sighs as morning Vancouver sun creates a muted orange glow throughout the room. Quinn already looks so good and he's not even awake yet.

All because of that stupid beard he grew.

Quinn begins to stir moments after she wakes. His eyes flutter open and look bright in the morning sunlight.

"It's creepy to stare at people while they sleep, baby," he tells her, his voice slurred since he just woke up. Also kind of raspy, which she loves.

"Not my fault you look pretty all the time," she replies. "I also just woke up a few minutes ago so give me a break. I wanted to admire my boyfriend before he woke up and started making comments that ruined the whole vibe."

He groans and rubs his face. He touches his facial hair and hums. "I gotta go get rid of this mess," he says. "Then you can admire me all you want, okay?"

Her eyes widen and Quinn begins to move to get out of bed. She quickly grabs his arm to stop him from getting any further.

"I like that mess," she finally admits to him. He turns back around and looks at her. She begins to talk before her brain can catch up to what she's saying. "I mean, you look really hot with that mess on your face. Except, I don't think it's a mess. I wish you wouldn't run off and shave it first chance you get."

Quinn blinks at her slowly like he's processing what she said to him. A smile grows on his lips and she presses her lips into a line.

"Come here," Quinn tells her as he lays back down. She blinks at him, confused. "I know you've thought about it. I've seen the way that you would look at me then excuse yourself to go use the bathroom." She feels her face get hot in embarrassment. She thought she was more subtle than she actually was.

She plays with her fingers while she watches Quinn get comfortable. "Quinn, I-"

"Come take a seat, pretty girl," he interrupts as he runs his fingers over his beard. "Sit on and ride my face. I know you want to so I am giving you what you want before I go shave."

Who is she to say no to him? He's offering so she might as well take it.

Without anymore hesitation, she moves so she's kneeling above his face with her knees on the pillow on either side of his head. Lucky for her, she's only wearing one of Quinn's Canucks t-shirts and a pair of underwear. Nothing else.

Quinn kisses the inside of her thigh right by her core while he pushes the fabric of the t-shirt up. She hums softly as her body finally begins to wake up. She feels the gentle scratch of his facial hair on her skin and she gnaws on her bottom lip. "Oh my God," she sighs.

"I haven't even done anything yet," Quinn laughs.

"Shut up and do something then," she retorts. "Please, Quinn." She's not above begging at this point.

He licks a stripe over her panties, which are soaked by now. Like she said, the thought alone makes her drip. His finger follows his tongue and she hums. Quinn pushes the fabric to the side and runs a finger through her soaked folds. She bites down on her bottom lip to keep from making any loud noises since it is morning and their neighbors are probably still sleeping.

She grabs onto the headboard above Quinn's head as he runs his tongue through her folds. "Fuck, Quinn!" She cries out. "Oh my God."

The feeling of the gentle scratch of his facial hair is almost too much for her. Quinn wraps his lips around her clit and hums, sending a shock through her body. It almost jumpstarts her own movements as she begins to roll her hips.

"That's it, baby," Quinn says against her core. "Take what you want."

His hands rest on her waist and he pulls her down so she's completely sitting on his face but he's still able to breathe. His tongue continues to run through her folds as she rolls her hips. Her core grinds across his face and she feels the scratch of his facial hair with each movement. She welcomes the new feeling. It only adds to her pleasure despite the beard burn she'll probably have when all this is over.

Quinn hums every so often, and she groans with every hum. Her grip on the headboard gets stronger the longer she moves. She's almost afraid that she'll lose her balance despite his hands keeping her from falling.

One of his hands slides up under the loose t-shirt and cups her breast. She throws her head back and lets out a borderline pornographic moan as she continues to ride Quinn's face. One of her hands flies to Quinn's messy hair, fingers finding a home.

He slides his other hand so his thumb can access her clit. He rubs the sensitive nub while continuing to run his tongue though her folds with each movement. "Oh my fucking- Quinn," she cries out. "Holy-"

"Look so pretty riding my face, pretty girl," Quinn mumbles. His words shoot straight to her core. "Fuck."

His thumb moves and slides into her. She gasps and her movement falters for a second while she recovers from the addition. "Quinn," she groans, holding the 'N' sound.

Between his tongue, his thumb, and his facial hair, she's not sure how she hasn't come all over his face by now. Her legs are shaking so she has to stop moving, but Quinn completely takes over despite being under her.

He speeds up his thumb for a second before switching fingers, using his pointer and middle fingers instead. She welcomes the familiar stretch.

His fingers and tongue are enough to bring her to the edge. She's white-knuckling the headboard with one hand while her other hand remains in Quinn's hair.

"Gonna come," she pants. "Quinn. I'm close."

"Told you to take what you want," Quinn replies. "So take what you want."

Quinn speeds up his fingers and curls them in a 'come here' motion. The gentle scratch of his facial hair turns less gentle as he speeds up his tongue movements, but she still loves it.

She throws her head back and cries out his name as she comes. She involuntarily rolls her own hips so her core grinds against his face again. Her fingers curl in his locks so she has something to hold on to as she reaches her climax. She loses her vision for half a second because of how hard her orgasm hits her.

Her body turns to jelly as she recovers. With Quinn's help, she's able to lie back down beside him. Her breathing is labored and she stares up at the ceiling, unable to move to look at her boyfriend.

All this morning showed her is that Quinn needs to grow out his facial hair more often because it made her come harder than she ever has before. She can't move for about ten minutes after her orgasm.

When she's fully conscious again, she looks over at Quinn. He didn't go and shave yet.

"I think I'm going to keep this for another day or two," he tells her. "Just for you. That is going to happen a few more times before it goes away."

She smiles and rolls so she can touch his face. "I'm going to need you to grow it out like this again soon because holy shit, Quinn," she giggles. "So hot. Felt so good."

Quinn matches her smile. "Maybe over the summer," he tells her. "No promises though."

"Gonna need my favorite seat back at some point."

"Next year when we make playoffs against for sure."

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MAIN MASTERLIST

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taglist : @katie-the-bookworm @mommahughes19-23 @ceces-obsessions @pucks-goals-penalties @justwanderingbutneverlost @alwaysclassyeagle @Zegrashughes @unicorns3993 @herbouqetbasement @haechanslovey @this-ass-is-eikonic @scoupsdetyong @themotogirl @iclyj @devilsandpensfan @loveforaugust @estapa94 @flysdaleflyby @lunaloves9 @beez-86 @h0e4fictionalme-n @orphicdreamers-wp @goalsongspinkthongs @hischierswhore @hughescanucks

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Say yes to me

Paring: fem!reader x alpha!Nat

Warnings: SMUT, a/b/o, alpha Nat, omega reader, consensual human trafficking?, sex toys, begging, praise kink, pet names, breeding, unprotected sex, creampie, belly bulges, age gap (obviously)

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional. I do not own these characters!

A/N: look who’s back

Masterlist-

You were prepared for once belonging to an powerful alpha, after all you had spent all your upbringing on a farm designed to produce omegas like you. In a world where most of the population either consisted of betas or alphas your kind was especially rare. Which meant there weren’t enough omegas for the alphas and that concluded in the farms like the one you had grew up in. The avengers mostly consisted of alphas, alphas with mates. Tony had Pepper, Clint had Laura and Nat had well no one until now. Tony thought he had been a damn genius when he got the idea what to get Nat for her 40th birthday. Why not get the alpha her very own mate? 

Natasha couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw you, younger, unmated and exactly her type. She was grateful for her gift of course, ever since she got you she had been all over you. Trying to make you hers. Natasha despised the idea by mating you by force so she tried her best to appeal to you. You were surprised by the kindness of the older alpha as she respected your borders and never made you uncomfortable. She’d take you out to dinner, watch your favourite movies and even teach you some martial art. 

You were certain to mate with her after all it wasn’t like you had much of a choice, however you weren’t complaining. You didn’t want her, no, you needed her. Every time you sat down on her lap and let her cock strain in her boxers. You tried to kiss her again and again but it never brought you anywhere. She insisted on waiting until your second heat which one bothered you more after all you hadn’t even had your first. 

"Please Tasha" you whined rolling your hips in anticipation for her. "You know what the farm said mating in your sleeping with an alpha in your first heat only makes it wore" You rolled you eyes sitting up to get a better view of the assassin sitting on the edge of the king sized bed. "I need it, please touch me, please. You begged her. "We can use the toys they gave you for your heat" She prosed, it took everything in her not to mate you right now. 

"Better than nothing" You signed watching Natasha tug off your shorts. She climbed up your body catching your lips in a heated kiss. You released whimpers as she shoved her tongue down her throat. You rocked your hips against hers, crotch on crotch as you tried to get her attention. "Fuck, you're a naughty girl" She groaned kissing down your neck to your chest nibbling on the sensitive skin of your breasts. "Please Tasha, please" you begged her "I'll make it better I promise кроли" Her calling you russian pet names only made you go even more crazy. 

She had you laying on her chest with your back your legs spread over her crotch. One hand played with your breast using it as a sort of stress ball as she paled the sensitive flesh with her veiny hands. The other one held a vibrator to your puffy clit as you buckled your hips desperately against the toy. She had put it on a low setting enough to make you get close to your edge but not enough to actually make you cum. You moaned right in the older woman's ear in an attempted to get her to break her facade and finally mate you. 

After a while of teasing your puffy cunt he decided to finally turn the toy up to give you the sweet release. You threw your head back on her shoulder crying out for a release. "Good girl" She praised you once more turning the device higher. "Come on sweet girl cum for me, cum for your alpha" With a few more rolls of your hips you had your release pressing your face into her neck as you clenched around nothing. Natasha helped you through your first orgasm of the night but you were far from satisfied, you were going to get her to mate with you that day. 

Natasha seemingly not aware of your determination stood up from the bed to get a wash cloth from the bath couldn't believe her eyes when she came back to her bed room. You had placed yourself on her bed on all fours you back arched to present your tripping holes to the older alpha. "Please alpha breed me" You whined your face smushed against the soft pillow. 

"Fuck you're making this hard for me baby girl" she chuckled standing behind you to palm your ass. "Jus' take me this rule is so stupid" you complained, there had been this stupid rule of not mating in your first heat because it should be something every omega should get over with however you couldn't care less. You could hear her unbuckling her belt before hearing the sound  of the zipper going down. She placed herself behind you rubbing two fingers through your slit before pushing them past your tight hole. 

"Fuck you're tighter than I thought but I'll make it fit кролик" She smirked pulling her fingers out again before alining her self behind you. Natasha pushed her hips forward pushing her cock into for weeping hole. She was big, bigger than you thought but after a while her stretch was so delicious you'd never want anything else. After she bottomed you out she waited for your approval to move. Her hands smooth over your lower back and womb feeling a small bump where the head of your cock was whimpering at the feeling of your tight walls behind her. 

"Please, Natty, move" You breathed out anticipating the movement of the older woman. She started to pump her dick in and out your already sensitive cunt. You couldn't help but release sweet whimpers at the fast pace she had she had set. One arm sneaked around your body pulling you up against her chest as she never stopped pounding into you. She released an almost animalistic groan before biting down on your shoulder making you cry out to mark you as her mate.

"Fuck" She groaned into your ear "I'm gonna fuck you pregnant, you'll be tripping with my cum when I'm done with you" "Please Tasha breed me with your pups" You cried out. One of her exercised hands found its way to your overstimulated Clit rubbing the nub.  "Cum, cum with me" She called out before releasing inside of your womb painting the insides white as her knot formed making her slow her movement. That triggered your own orgasm making you see stars. 

She held you close caressing your body and whispering sweet nothings into you ear as she writhe for her knot to disappear. After awhile she pulled out to place you on the soft mattress she took a look between your leg to see your ruined cunt sum tripping out of your abused hole onto the beddings. The sight only made her hard again. "Ready for round 2" 

:)

[p0orbaby]

You’re Tired of Moving, Your Body’s Aching

summary: after a loss, you’re there to ease the pain

warnings: all the feels

a/n: something small and soft

word count: 1k

-

The night is sweltering, a thick humidity hanging in the air like an unwanted guest. Paris, usually dripping with charm, feels oppressive, each winding street and picturesque facade mocking you with their indifference. The Eiffel Tower glows in the distance, a cruel beacon in a night you’ll never forget. It’s as if the city itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make your move.

You’ve spent the past hour navigating bureaucratic labyrinths, slipping through cracks in the system with well-timed smiles and carefully chosen words. Getting into the Olympic Village isn’t easy, especially now, but you’ve managed it. Your heart hammers in your chest as you finally make it to the Spanish team’s floor, your shoes barely making a sound on the polished tiles. It’s too quiet, the kind of quiet that buzzes in your ears and makes your skin prickle.

Alexia’s room is at the end of the hall, a sliver of light spilling out into the corridor like a weak beacon. The door is slightly ajar, and as you push it open gently, it creaks, the sound almost deafening in the stillness. She’s there, sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her kit, her face buried in her hands. Seeing her like this, broken, vulnerable, makes your chest ache. A dull, persistent pain that settles behind your ribs.

“Alexia,” you whisper, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind you. She doesn’t look up, but you know she’s heard you. The room feels too small, the air thick with unspoken grief. You cross the room and kneel in front of her, your fingers trembling as you reach for her hands.

She lifts her head slowly, her eyes red and puffy, tears tracing silent paths down her cheeks. Her face, usually so fierce and determined, is a mask of despair. The sight twists a knife in your gut. You wish you could take her pain and make it yours, to bear the weight she’s carrying.

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping her face in your hands. Her skin is warm and damp, her tears mixing with the sweat of the match. “I’m here”

Her eyes, usually so full of fire, are dull and distant. She leans into your touch, closing her eyes as if trying to shut out the world. You brush away her tears with your thumbs, your heart breaking with every hitch in her breath. The silence between you is heavy, each breath a struggle.

“It’s not fair,” she whispers, voice cracking. “We were so close”

“I know,” you acknowledge, because what else can you say? Words feel inadequate, useless. You slide onto the bed beside her, pulling her into your arms. She comes willingly, burying her face in your neck, her body trembling with sobs.

You hold her tight, fingers threading through her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense into her ear. The room is filled with the sound of her crying, the harsh, ragged breaths that speak of a pain too deep for words. Each sob feels like a blow, a reminder of her shattered dreams.

You’re not allowed to stay in the Village, but you’ve made arrangements to be here tonight. It took some doing, a few favours called in, but it was worth it. You’d have done anything to be here for her. The logistics and politics are nothing compared to the sight of her, broken and needing you.

As the minutes tick by, her sobs begin to subside, her breathing evening out. You press a kiss to her temple, lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against your lips. The taste of her tears lingers, a bitter reminder of her heartbreak.

“I love you,” you whisper, because she needs to hear it, because you need to say it. “I’m so proud of you, Alexia. So, so proud”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching your face. “I let everyone down,” she says, her voice barely more than a breath, laden with self-recrimination.

“No,” you say firmly, shaking your head. “You gave everything you had. You fought with everything in you. That’s not letting anyone down. That’s being a leader. That’s being a champion”

A fresh wave of tears spills over her cheeks, but there’s something else in her eyes now. A spark of the fire you know so well. You lean in and kiss her, softly at first, then deeper, pouring all your love and reassurance into that one kiss. The taste of salt and sorrow mingles with the heat of your desperation to make her feel something other than pain.

When you finally pull back, you rest your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling. “You’re not alone,” you tell her. “You’ve got one match left, and you’re going to win that bronze. I can feel it”

She nods, a small, fragile smile curving her lips. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For being here”

“Always,” you promise, the word a vow that echoes in the quiet room.

You spend the night wrapped around each other, the darkness outside the window a stark contrast to the soft glow of the lamp beside the bed. You talk, you cry, you kiss when she wants to. You hold her as if your very presence can stitch her broken pieces back together. Each touch, each whispered word, is an attempt to rebuild, to heal.

As dawn begins to break, casting a pale light over the room, Alexia finally falls into a restless sleep, her head on your chest, your fingers still tangled in her hair. You stay awake, watching over her, knowing that this is where you’re meant to be. The early morning light paints her face in soft hues, the remnants of her tears glistening like dewdrops.

In the quiet of the early morning, with the world slowly coming to life outside, you make a silent vow. To stand by her, to lift her up when she falls, to be her rock in the storm. Because love is more than just the good times; it’s the strength to face the bad ones together. You press a final kiss to her forehead, the gesture a silent promise.

[pipi-un-kaki-in-pipi-land]

demon slayer hcs: the hashiras reacting to your confession

wc: 830>

second post of the day? sí

Mitsuri 

you'd do it after eating at her favourite restaurant 

her eyes would definitely widen in shock as she wasn't expecting this at all, especially from you 

before she could respond, you tell her how she's the most beautiful and gorgeous woman you've ever laid your eyes upon 

i feel like she'd giggle and squeal and give you a ton of thank yous 

you'd leave her in a hot blush as she happily accepts your confession and tells her how she feels too  

the both of you go home, hand in hand 

Muichiro 

would happen while the both of you are strolling through the woods

"huh?" is the most he'd say 

hes never got a thing for love, but he had cherished the relationship he's had with you for a long time

he may come off as sarcastic saying like "what am i supposed to say??" but genuinely he does NOT know what to say 

you didn't know how to reply to him but you told him its up to how he feels 

his clueless ass is just gonna say "sure" 

after that he'll try to awkwardly hold your hand as he walks faster, trying to hide his sudden blush 

Kyojuro

will happen while the both of you are eating alone together

he was just about to put a spoonful of food in his mouth when he halted at those sudden words

he'd probably say "is that so, y/n?" 

he'll just randomly start smiling and laughing

he'll tell you that he was surprised that you had feelings for a man like him 

hes not a man of love but i guess he'll make an exception for you 

"well if that's your choice... i guess i'll happily be yours!" he smiled warmly, rubbing his hand on yours 

the rest of the evening was filled with happy chatter

Sanemi 

you were having a friendly duel with him when you managed to pin him down 

oh god he looked so good when you were on top of him 

when you finally said it, he looked at you in confusion at first but suddenly reversed his positions with yours

next thing you know, he was on top of you 

"say what?" he sneered, a grin forming at the corners of his lips 

"i-i like you," your hands quivered as you were scared that he wouldn't take it seriously 

then suddenly he just pressed his lips on yours as he locked his hands with yours, leaving you in shock

i don't need to explain what the both of you did afterwards 

god damn bro this guy is so down bad for you 

Shinobu 

you were watching her experimenting on stuff when it just came out 

"what?" she looked at you innocently, stopping whatever she was doing

you dropped your head down in embarrassment but she knew you were blushing real hard

she tilted your jaw so it faced hers and inched close to your lips 

"is that so?" she muttered under her breath but you could hear it as clear as day 

before you knew it, she placed a kiss on your lips before letting go and whispering into your ear "i wanna be yours too, darling," 

the butterflies in your stomach suddenly disappeared as you knew you had the real butterfly to yourself now 

Iguro 

the both of you were walking when you felt that it was the perfect moment to express your feelings for him 

he looked at you for a split second before turning back, his expression still constant

"y/n, i don't know how to feel about this," 

just like muichiro, he was inexperienced at feeling emotions, let alone love

you assured him that it was alright if he didn't return the feelings, but you just wanted to let him know that you appreciated him more than anyone else did 

those words managed to slither to the depths of his heart as he locked eye contact with you 

he slowly held your hand as he placed a clothed kiss on it 

you returned the touch by caressing the scars through his mask with your fingers, telling him how gorgeous he was 

"thank you y/n. i-" his breath hitched halfway. "i like you too," 

that was all you needed to hear as the both of you spent the rest of the night together 

Giyu 

he was walking you back to the dorm when you suddenly leaned into his ear and said it 

his eyes widened ever so slightly as he rubbed his ear to make sure he heard that correctly 

"i see," this man can't express himself LMFAOOO 

"well, you're quite- ahem- attractive too," he tried to muster up whatever words he could say before turning red

you took that as a yes as you dived in for a kiss on his cheek but you were suddenly stopped as his hands gently held your jaw 

"i deserve it," he said before leaning in to kiss you himself 

he definitely went in your dorm with you

[nikkento-writes]

Rub You the Right Way - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

Pairing: Choso x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~3.7k

cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio, 69 position), mutual masturbation, face-riding, face-fucking, use of sex toys, cum eating, multiple orgasms

Summary: You can’t stop thinking about your adorably sweet and shy next-door neighbor, especially after your very eventful night with him just two days ago. Lucky for you, Choso can’t stop thinking about you either.

Author’s Notes: I initially planned for this to be a one-shot, but I love the dynamic of these two awkward dorks so much that I turned this into a three-part mini series! I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

Two days following your risqué rendezvous with Choso, you find yourself standing in front of his door once again, a tad nervous to knock. It’s Sunday night, just past dinnertime, and you finally finished all the extra work you had taken home with you for the weekend. With hours spent pouring over documents, straining your eyes at a computer screen, all you want is to relax. And based on Friday night’s festivities, your shy and surprisingly sexy neighbor can help you with that.

You’re not here explicitly expecting sex. Sure, maybe you’re hoping for it to some extent. It was incredibly hot, so much so that you’ve masturbated yourself to sleep every night since, replaying it in over and over in your head. The fucked-out gaze in his eyes as he watched you play with yourself. His mouth pressed deliciously to your cunt, sucking and slurping on your swollen clit. That huge fucking cock deep down your throat. Most of all, you adore that swoon worthy smile of his as he caressed your cheek, thanking you oh-so-sweetly. What you really want is companionship, to be wrapped in his big, strong arms, so warm and comforting around you, completely at peace in the world. His lips soft, kisses careful, hands gentle on your body, like he truly cherishes you. You want that again. You want it all the time.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you knock, holding your breath in anticipation. Yuji is the one to answer, equally as surprised as you. He says your name, staring at you curiously. “Is everything okay?”

Of course he’s reacting this way; you’ve never visited, especially not at an odd hour like this. You didn’t even consider that his little brother would be here, even though he’s here basically all the time. You dumb idiot! Thinking quickly, you spit out the most generic and phony response that comes to mind. “Can I borrow some sugar?” Sugar? Really? That’s the best you can come up with?

He doesn’t seem fazed by the bizarre request, though you sense he doesn’t buy it, given the twitch in his lip, hiding his smirk. Still, Yuji, much like his brother, has a kind heart, so he plays along. “Hey bro,” he calls out, looking to his right.

Choso walks over from the kitchen, his eyes widening upon seeing you. He utters your name quietly, soap dripping from the gloves on his hands, in the middle of washing dishes.

“She wants some sugar.” Yuji has a cheeky grin on his face. “Think you can spare her some?”

Choso swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing apprehensively in his throat. “Sugar?” he repeats, an uncertain tone in his voice.

“Yeah,” you confirm, giving him an innocent smile. “I’m trying to bake some chocolate chip cookies and I have everything except sugar. So silly of me, right?” You’re not baking anything, but you can’t take it back now, not with Choso’s full attention on you.

He nods with a serious expression on his face, holding his arms up like a surgeon who just finished a procedure, suds slowly dripping down his forearms. “How much do you need?”

“Just a cup. That’s all the recipe calls for. It’s a batch of a dozen, so I really don’t need much.” There is no recipe, the lie keeps getting more and more elaborate, your voice getting squeakier and less convincing every second you speak. You really can’t help yourself when you’re put on the spot like this. Why must you be so goddamn awkward?!

He nods once more before disappearing back into the kitchen to retrieve the sugar you actually don’t need. Yuji continues to grin at you. “Choso bakes a lot, so he’s always got ingredients on hand.”

You’re relieved to change the subject in a slightly different direction. “His cookies are always so yummy.” All of the times Yuji has hand-delivered his brother’s wonderful treats to you flash in your head, making you smile.

“He’s a real sorcerer in the kitchen.” Yuji leans in a bit closer, voice softer now for only you to hear. “You know, he’d be more than happy to teach you a few of his recipes, if you want. He’s shy at first, but he is a really great guy.”

You give him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, he is.” It touches your heart how highly Yuji speaks of his older brother. Under the guise of cooking lessons, he’s implying that he wants the two of you to be together, as friends, cordial neighbors, possibly even potential lovers. Maybe he doesn’t want his brother to be so lonely anymore. 

Choso returns, two zipped plastic bags in his hands. “If you’re baking chocolate chip cookies, you’ll need brown sugar too. So, I packed you both, just in case,” he explains, dropping them into your open palms.

You accept, too shy to meet his gaze, instead focusing on the newly acquired goods. “Thank you, Choso. I really appreciate it.”

He bows, stiff and formal, while Yuji waves. “You sure you don’t want any more of Choso’s sugar? He’s got plenty to give!” he adds, definitely trying to instigate.

Turning on your heel to retreat into your apartment, you squeak, “I’m good, thank you!” without sparing them another glance. In the safety of your home, you lean against the door, burying your face in your hands. so embarrassed at what just transpired, mentally beating yourself up for being so ridiculous. With all this extra sugar so graciously given by Choso, you end up baking cookies, pretending for your own sake that this was part of the plan all along.   

~~~

Choso sits on the couch, hugging his knees, staring blankly at the empty TV in front of him. He’s muttering the word “sugar” over and over to himself, mind racing with all kinds of ridiculous thoughts. Two days after the most amazing night of his life and all you want is sugar. Sugar! And for cookies? Cookies for who?! He’s completely aware that you’ve been busy with work, but he can’t stop his insecurities from rattling him. The two of you didn’t really discuss the status of your relationship.  For all he knows, you could have hated the entire experience all together. Though, he has a hard time believing that, not with the way you looked at him, so full of warmth and adoration, even with his cock throbbing inside your mouth…

He physically shakes his head to rid the impure thoughts, the same ones that he’s touched himself to since that night. His vast collection of toys are no match to the real thing, to you. And he may never get to feel that ever again. Because you’re disgusted by him. You hate him. It’s all over between you two before it even began.

Whelp, back to freaking out.

“Choso?” Yuji’s voice finally snaps him out of his trance. His younger brother approaches him carefully, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he answers, unconvincingly.

Yuji raises his brow. “You sure? You’ve been sitting here, mumbling ‘sugar’ for the past fifteen minutes.”

Fuck! He heard that? Choso blushes, embarrassed to have been caught in such a sorry state. He stutters, making a poor attempt at explaining himself. “Well, you see…I’ve been…I have a…I think that – ”

Yuji laughs, taking a seat beside him. “If you want to talk to her, just do it! I already put in a good word for you,” he says with a wink, giving him a playful nudge.

Choso gapes at him. “You…what?”

He beams, pleased with himself. “Yeah, I said you could teach her a few things in the kitchen and I think she’s interested! I mean, she did want your sugar, if you know what I mean.” More nudging and ribbing while Choso buries his face into his hands, horrified. “She’s really nice and super easy to talk to. I’m sure the two of you can become really good friends.”

Friends. Sweet baby Yuji doesn’t even know the half of it. Choso sighs, finally straying from the path of an existential crisis. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself,” he says quietly. 

Yuji puts his arm around him, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “You won’t, I promise you. Just be yourself.”

He meets his gaze, giving him a half-hearted smile, genuinely feeling a bit better after that little pep talk. They watch a movie together, temporarily taking Choso’s mind off the whole ordeal. He tries not to think about you or the cookies you’re currently baking, or that he’s totally jealous of this new imaginary love rival of his that will be the recipient of said cookies.

Yuji leaves at eleven to catch one of the last busses back to his university. Choso decides that he’s sick of sulking around and tormenting himself with outrageous theories. He puts on his best sweats and fixes his hair so that slightly less strands are sticking out from his poofy buns. Back straight, chest puffed out, and all the confidence he can muster, he marches next door, determined to tell you exactly how he’s feeling.

~~~

You’re sitting at the kitchen table in a bathrobe, having just finished eating one of your  freshly baked cookies. You decided during your shower to finally give one of your newer gadgets a try, a sleekly designed vibrating dildo made from the softest silicone material you can imagine. The toy and a bottle of lube are set up on the nightstand beside your bed, ready to use along with the memory of riding Choso’s gorgeous face. While you wish you were actually with him instead, your efforts from earlier didn’t go the way you were hoping. This will have to do for now, at least until you gather the guts to approach him again.

Just as you’re about to retire into the bedroom, there’s a knock on your door. To your surprise, Choso stands before you, stiff and very obviously nervous. “Hi,” he says, giving you an awkward wave that you find absolutely adorable.

You smile, opening the door wider for him to enter. “Hi. Come in.”

He shuffles through, pausing at the kitchen table to observe the plate of cookies you made with the sugar he gave you. “So…cookies,” he mutters.

You bite your lip anxiously. “Yeah, cookies.”

There’s a heavy pause, the both of you trying to find the right words to say to one another. You decide to be honest with him, but it comes out the same time he asks you the question that’s been gnawing on his mind all night.

“I want be with you.”

“Who are they for?”

You stare at each other, confused. Taking a step towards him, you explain, “I came over to see if you wanted to hang out, but I chickened out when I saw your brother. I made up some dumb excuse, hence the request for sugar. I ended up baking cookies anyways to make myself feel better.”

His expression softens, sighing in relief. “I freaked out not being able to see you all weekend. And when you came over asking for sugar, I got jealous that you were baking for somebody else.” He rubs the back of his neck timidly, a small grin on his face. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

Another step and you’re close enough to touch him, but you don’t. “Not at all. I’m the one who came up with the lamest lie ever. Your brother probably thinks I’m a weirdo.”

He chuckles. “He definitely doesn’t.”

You’re only an inch apart now, enough to feel his body heat. “I meant what I said. I want to be with you.”

His eyes wander to your chest, your robe loose and barely clinging to you. He swallows hard and you can tell that he’s losing his composure too. “You do?”

“I do.” You peer up at him with a smile, wanting so badly to hug him, to kiss him.

His voice is quiet, but the surest you’ve ever heard it. “I want to be with you too.”

Your chest swells with happiness, ready to burst and shoot out confetti all over his pretty face. He’s staring at your lips now, licking his own when he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You grin at him, tugging at the collar of his sweater to pull him towards you, pressing your mouth to his. He holds you in a warm embrace, kissing you gently, one hand on your lower back, the other spread across the nape of your neck. “You taste so good,” he whispers, sucking on your bottom lip.

“That’s because I just ate a cookie,” you giggle, nuzzling your nose to his.

“Nah,” he smirks, licking into your mouth. “You taste good everywhere.”

You let out a moan, leading him straight into your bedroom where you untie the knot of your robe, revealing your bare body. He slides the rest off, watching you lie on the bed, legs spread wide, pussy on display for him. His kisses start at your ankles, then slowly up your legs, where he sucks on the plush skin of your inner thighs. You let him ravish you, toes curling in pleasure with his tongue flat on your clit, lapping you up hungrily. “Choso,” you whine his name, gripping onto his hair, bucking against his face to feel him even deeper.

He hums into your skin, his lips puckered tight around you, tongue flicking your sensitive bud. He looks up at you, enjoying your fucked-out expression. Something beside you captures his attention for a moment, distracting him. “What is that?”

You’re too caught up in the pleasure that you don’t register what he’s asking you until he pulls off to investigate, laser focused on the object on your nightstand. You quickly grab it from him, horrified when you realize what he’s so fixated on: the dildo. “It’s just one of my toys. I thought we wouldn’t hang out tonight, so I…” your voice trails off, noticing the intensity in his gaze. Hot, flustered, and not keen on elaborating any further, you comment, “Anyways, I’ll just put this away now – ”

He stops you. “No. Don’t. Don’t put it away.”

“Don’t…?”

A little too Intrigued, he scooches closer to you, studying the device in your hand. “Can you show me how you use it?”

You’ve already demonstrated the vibrator for him. For some reason, you’re shy to show him this. Maybe it’s because of how intimate it feels to have something inside you, to be probed, penetrated, filled. But as he looks at you so sweetly, eyes filled with genuine curiosity, you find yourself giving in. “Okay,” you oblige hesitantly, reaching for the lube bottle, your entire body tingling. You pump a small drop of it on the tip, using your fingers to coat the rest on.

He watches you, mouth hanging open, drool leaking from one side of his lips, mesmerized by the way you rub it up and down your cunt, teasing yourself with it. “What do you think about when you use it?”

You giggle, pressing the toy to your clit. “Do you really have to ask?”

“You think about me?” The surprise in his voice is endearing; he has no clue the effect he has on you, how badly you want him, how incredibly fucking hot he is.

“Of course I do,” you answer, gaining some of your confidence back. You pull him towards you, kissing him fervently, sliding the tip to your entrance, slick with arousal. “Look at what you do to me.”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, growing erection bulging in his sweatpants, eyes glazed over as he ogles your wet cunt. “Fuck.”

“Like what you see?” you goad him, readjusting your grip on the base so that your thumb is set on the button.

He nods, kissing you along your neck, then up to your ear, his voice a sultry whisper. “I want you to squirt all over it. Want to lick it up and make you come again and again and again on my tongue.”

“Oh fuck, Choso. So nasty,” you moan, easing it inside you, pussy gradually adjusting to the size. You bite your lip at the tight fit; it’s been a while since you’ve used this, and even longer since you've been penetrated by anything, or anyone. “So tight.”

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” His genuine concern is too cute. He’s too cute.

You give him a reassuring smile, shaking your head. “No, it’s just been a while since I…y’know.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He grazes your forehead with his lips, giving you a soft peck. “I don’t want you to be in any pain.”

You grin wider, finding him so adorably sincere and sweet. “I’m sure, Choso.” With the dildo nestled comfortably inside you, you reach for his hand, resting it on the base. “Can you fuck me with it? Please?”

This spurs him on, a guttural groan escaping him, eyes wide and pupils dilated, completely captivated by you. You cup his cheek, tracing his upper lip with your thumb. He opens his mouth, chasing any taste of you on his tongue. “You’ll really let me?”

You gaze down at his lap, a small spot of precum leaking through his grey sweats. “Only if you stroke yourself while you do it.”

Choso is feverishly turned on right now, face flushed, his entire body scorching hot, cock throbbing in his pants. Your fingers brush his navel on your way to his waistband and he nearly combusts just thinking about your fist wrapped around his shaft, stroking him. He shimmies out of his bottoms, shrugging them off from his ankles until he’s naked from the waist down, rock hard erection flopping against his abdomen.

“Big boy,” you tease him, nipping at his ear lobe, drooling at the sight of him. “You’d fill me up so good.”

“God, I want to so bad,” he grunts, stroking himself with his left hand as his right fucks you with the dildo. Even without the vibration on, it feels amazing, the way he flicks his wrist, pumping the toy in and out of you. He times his thrusts to match the pace in which he strokes himself, wishing he was inside you instead. But he resists the temptation, knowing there’s all the time in the world to explore each other. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the two of you, enjoying one another at whatever pace feels right. 

Wanting to check out all of the features this toy offers, he pushes the button, causing it to vibrate inside you. You gasp at the sudden sensation, squirming as he ramps it up two more levels, sliding it even deeper to stimulate your g-spot. It doesn’t take much longer for you to come like this, buzzing inside and out with ecstasy, the toy absolutely soaked down the base with lube and your slick. He pulls it out of you, tossing the dildo aside to marvel at the mess you made. Before he can make his next move, you roll over on top of him, straddling his lap to rub your wet pussy along his shaft. You rock yourself on him, sleek folds gliding up and down his cock so smoothly, just one move and he’d been in heaven.

He’s a stuttering nervous wreck when he asks, “Should we…should we try it, baby?” He knows the two of you shouldn’t; despite all that’s happened in just the past two days, this is a big and monumental step, especially for him, a borderline shut-in with intimacy issues that shouldn’t be resolved from a rash decision. But if you want it, he’s more than willing to give it to you. That’s just the kind of guy Choso is, putting others before himself.

Luckily for him, you see that. You see him. “Not yet,” you say, caressing his face. “We’ll wait until we’re both ready, okay? There’s no need to rush.”

He smiles, releasing the breath he didn’t realize he was holding waiting for your response. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him softly. “I really like you, Choso. I don’t want to mess this up by going too fast.”

“Me too,” he kisses you back, nearly in tears at how perfectly this is going. “I really like you, too.”

He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing you passionately while you grind yourself on him until the both of you come, out-of-breath, sweaty, and in total bliss. His cum pools on his abdomen, some of it dripping down the side of his stomach onto the sheets below you. You relax on top of him, spent and satiated, but your little rest doesn’t last for long as he lifts you up by the hips, wiggling down the bed so that his face is pressed to your cunt, mouth eagerly lapping at your clit. “Just a little more, sweetie. Just a little more for me,” he urges you, unrelenting and determined to fulfill his promise from earlier. Want to lick it up and make you come again and again and again on my tongue.

So you let him, moaning his name wantonly with his lips puckered around you, drinking every drop of you up until he’s had his fill, which is three more orgasms later. He starts stroking himself on the last one, a big smile on his shiny swollen lips as he kisses your clit. You whimper his name for the umpteenth time tonight, hips stiff from constantly grinding against him. Still, you think you could go longer, you want to, despite how exhausted you are. And while you know there’s more to look forward to with Choso, you don’t want this to end. You pull of him, readjusting yourself so that you’re facing the other way, in the perfect position to suck his cock. He growls beneath you, sloppily eating you out while you deep-throat him, hungry for his cum.

~~~

The two of you finally settle down for the night, cuddled in new blankets and bedsheets to replace the ones soaked with the aftermath of tonight’s lovemaking. Choso spoons you from behind, his face nuzzled to the nape of your neck, inhaling your comforting scent. He rubs your belly soothingly, voice a soft whisper on your skin. “Are you feeling okay?”

You smile, turning around to face him, snuggling into his chest. “I told you, I feel amazing. You don’t have to keep worrying.”

He kisses your forehead. “I just want to make sure you’re not sick of me yet.”

This time, you can’t help but laugh. “That’s impossible.” You listen to his heartbeat carefully, trying to memorize the steady rhythm of it. “I can’t get enough of you.”

[enwoso]

I MISS YOU, I’M SORRY — alessia russo

based loosely off the song by gracie abram’s. i rewrote this three times and i’ve got it to where i’m happy with it. wouldn’t say it’s my best but hey ho. if there’s part that don’t make sense i do apologise i wrote some of this while being half asleep🙃

ANYWAYS hope you all enjoy! it’s a long one<33

masterlist

"i miss you" her raspy voice echoed down your phone, as she slurred over and over how she missed you. the sound of the music blaring in the background told you that she was out in a club.

whilst you were sat on your couch at home, in some old joggers and a hoodie which most definitely had toothpaste stains on it. love island playing as you were catching up on the last few episodes you'd missed, which was playing just as white noise at the moment.

"alessia, you need to go and find the rest of the girls." you said bluntly, the blonde having told you moments before her i miss you rant that she was out with the arsenal girls, which you probably could have guessed anyways after there win in the league early in the day.

but you also wanted to get back to your series, wishing you weren't having this conversation with your ex but you also couldn't find it in yourself to just hang up on her as you didn't want her to be in any harm — especially while she was drunk.

why did you still care?

"i miss you, y/n" she slurred out again, you could imagine the stupid dopey smile on her face as she said the words, her drunken ramble continuing, "i wish you were here, i miss your cute smile and, and those lips. i miss everything about you."

"alessia can you please just go and find the girls" you begged not wanting to carry on hearing her pleads but you also couldn't bring yourself to press the red button which your finger had loomed over for the past ten minutes.

"i'm sorry for everything y/n, i know you hate me but i still love you, i promise" the blonde slowly slurred out again as you could hear the pout in her voice as she spoke.

you didn't hate her, well maybe you didn’t, you hadn't quite figured that out yet where the blonde stood in your mind.

more just trying to space yourself away from everything that happened with alessia however that proved pretty difficult when you both played football, maybe not for the same team anymore but you'd still see her at england camp.

"alessia, please can you just tell me who i can call to make sure your gonna be safe?" you hated that you still cared, that you had stayed on the phone listening to her ramble drunkenly on about you for the past twenty minutes.

knowing that by the morning she wouldn't even remember it or anything she had said so why were you sat listening?

"can you stop callin' me alessia. i'm baby, less, darling, pretty girl, gorgeous—" she began to rattle out all the names you used to call her, opening up another wound you had spent months healing as with each words she spoke you could feel her opening more and more.

"alessia! will you just answer the damn question!" you yelled down the phone, cutting her off as the frustration growing in your voice was obvious, your patience was wearing thin. you didn't want to hear her voice anymore.

hearing the blonde mumble something about your bluntness, as she hummed on probably trying to figure out herself who would be the best option.

"lotte."

after the drunken call you'd gotten from your ex, you hadn't heard anything from her. not that you expected her too. she wasn't yours to be worried about, but it had left you confused especially over her words. they lingered in the back of your mind. what if she meant it. drunk words are sober thoughts as they say after all.

you knew now though you were just strangers who show up but don't matter enough to each other to be friends. however deep down you knew you had too much history to be just strangers.

weeks had gone since that night and you were arriving at england camp for the set of friendlies which were happening in sunny spain, arriving with the rest of the manchester united girls, you knew she was here. you'd seen it on instagram.

so once you arrived you could feel the tension rising in your shoulders and your chest. grabbing your key for your room and heading straight up there wanting to avoid any chance of running into her.

you hadn't seen her since december, in the home game against arsenal. you both didn't say a word to each other, you wouldn't even look in her direction. so the thought of seeing her again was sending you into hard drive, you weren't sure how you'd react, if you'd react at all.

getting yourself changed and flopping onto the bed you'd call your own for the next ten days. your body realxing into the soft sheets, as you began to flick through the channels on the tv hoping that something would take your interest.

however, you only got two clicks in when there was knocks echoeing through your room. a loud groan coming from you as you pulled yourself up from the comfort of your bed, dragging your socked feet towards the door and opening it.

"mary-"

"come on, everyone's waiting for you to come down" mary interrupted you as you looked on with a confused look, "what for?"

"cause we're watching a film as a team and if your not there then we aren't a team!" mary stated as if it was obvious reaching out to grab your arm as you nodded.

"wait! let me get my keycard!" you said quickly, stopping the door from closing as you heard a tusk of the teeth from the goalkeeper as she mumbled out her complaints. grabbing your keycard off the side table and slipping the card into your pocket, praying you wouldn't forget where you'd put it.

walking down the corridors of the hotel complex the FA had situated the team in, side by side with mary it felt a little eerie. something felt off but you couldn't quite put a finger to it.

coming out the elevator as mary continued to chat your ears off, about anything and everything. from telling you what she did last weekend to what she had for breakfast this morning. but you didn't mind, you would class mary as one of your closest friends in football.

she'd been there for you from the very first day you started at united, helping you settle in to helping you navigate your feelings after she happened.

although you didn't say it very often, you were very thankful for her and you honestly dreaded to think where you'd be without mary, even more so in the past few months.

which is why- you were brought out your thoughts as you felt yourself walk into something or rather someone.

"i wasn't looking- sorry" the blonde mumbled stumbling over her words a little as she looked up from her phone, a slight look of shock on her face when she realised who she'd actually walked into.

"s'fine" you said simply, taking in the blonde’s appearance a little. her hair scraped back in a low bun,

the shorter strands sticking out of the bun. she'd cut her hair again, you could tell. dressed in a grey hoodie and some blue england shorts, her legs bare as her socks covered her feet.

her blue eyes which you'd spent many of your nights getting lost staring into— why were you still stood there?

forcing your body to move, not before catching her disappointed look on her face at the few words you'd spoke to her. the blonde looking as if she was going to say something but her lips pressed back together as she carried on walking the way she was going originally.

"well.. that was a tiny bit awkward!" mary murmured as an awkward laugh came from her, you totally forgetting that mary was stood next to you as you tried to steady your breathing to go back to normal.

"well you could have warned me!"

after the awkward interaction with the blonde in the hallway, you’d noticed her small looks towards you before she would quickly look away. probably in fear of you catching her staring at you.

it was now down time and you were sat on one of the sun lounges, hoping to catch a few of the sun rays. with your book in hand and a fresh bottle of ice cold water you had your afternoon sorted.

glancing every few minutes or whenever a loud cheer came from the girls who were playing a game in the pool. your eyes immediately looking for the blonde before you would switch your eyes to someone else.

"why don't you just talk to her?" mary had noticed you looking towards the blonde, especially in the past few days. the goalkeeper being sat on the lounger just next to you.

she'd known since the day you joined united and no matter how many times you would say you were over the blonde or that you didn't care. mary knew that couldn't be further from the truth, she could tell. she's didn't need you to admit it out loud to know.

but mary had been put in a little bit of a hard position when the break up happened. as she was close with both you and alessia. hearing both sides of the story and giving you both advice which from the older girl you both valued deeply. however mary always claimed herself to be switzerland when asked who side to take.

the only side mary was taking was the side where both her close friends were happy whether that was the two of you happy together again, or if that was you happy with someone else. although deep down she was hoping for the first option!

"talk to who?" you tried the oblivious act, as you turned the page of your book. your eyes trying to follow the words on the page.

pretending you didn't know who she was talking about in hopes you would avoid the topic all together as well as hoping the conversation would change. but you also knew how stubborn mary could be.

"y/n don't play thick with me, you know who i mean" mary gave you the pointed look that told you she wasn't going to give up until you gave her an answer.

"maz i- i can't." you stutters over your words as you saw the sympathetic nod and smile that the goalkeeper sent your way. mary understood why, but she was also close with a certain blonde and knew exactly how she felt.

"but what's stopping you? i know that brain of yours has been whizzing with questions since you know, it ended on a sour note" mary began as you placed your book on your chest, turning over to face mary listening to her as she spoke.

"you don't have to magically become best friends or even be friends for that matter, just what have you got to loose by talking to her?" mary shrugged, as you hummed looking up from the ground. you knew mary was right you didn't have anything else to loose.

"mhm i'll think about it"

you were in london, not by personal choice. united had been playing chelsea in the fa cup. after a full 90' minutes on the pitch you had been longing for your bed since the final whistle blew.

but you'd gone out and had a few drinks with the girls to celebrate before returning to the hotel as the some of the other girls where going off into the next club along the street.

you'd just gotten changed and was about to begin brushing your teeth when there was a quiet knock ringing around your hotel room. at first you thought you'd imagined it but the knocks continued this time a little louder and more continuous.

huffing and placing your toothbrush on the side of the sink, "mary! i haven't got-" you opened the door thinking it would be mary asking if you had a spare key card for her room except it wasn't.

"oh" you whispered as you stared at the last person you thought would be standing at your door just past midnight.

"alessia what are you doing here?" you asked dismissively, wondering how she even knew where you were staying.

"um i was hoping to talk.. to you" you could tell she was nervous, her quiet tone which had replaced her usual confident tone not only gave it away but the fact she was swaying slightly from side to side. a thing she did when she was overthinking something.

"at quarter past twelve in the morning?" you pointed out tiredly looking at her as she timidly nodded before opening her mouth again.

"it's just- i've been wanting to talk to you for ages but it never seemed like the right time- and mary she said where you were saying-" she explained as you still held the same confused look still not quite grasping the fact she was stood at your hotel door at stupid o'clock in the morning but maybe that was also the alcohol in your system slowing your thought process down.

the blonde noticed the hesitated look on your face. "i'm sorry, this is stupid- i'll go. forget i was ever here. i'm sorry" alessia spoke fast, beginning to spin on her heel, not giving you a chance to respond.

but you quickly before she got to far away grabbed her arm pulling her back towards you. why? you didn't know yourself but something inside you was telling you to hear her out.

"no, i'm just a little shocked, you can come in" you said shallowly, moving out the way as the blonde wondered into your hotel room. taking a deep breath in as you shut the door behind you reminding yourself mental to have a chat with mary tomorrow.

"so?" you asked, hoping she would get to why she was actually here watching from behind as the blonde took a seat on your bed, you sitting on the one opposite her.

"i just wanted to see where we stand with each other-" the blonde started as you scoffed a small smile appearing on your face it dropped just a quick as you realised she was serious, "really?"

"yes y/n, look i know you hate me and you have every right to but i just want us to be civil or friends or something. i don't know" the blonde huffed as you nodded slightly with what she was saying.

a silence filling up the room, and an awkward silence at that.

"i miss you and i'm sorry for the way things ended" alessia admitted as your head snapped up. memories of the words she said to you when she was drunk flooding back within a second.

you paused, your head spinning giving you a slight headache, but that could also be from the shots you had taken mere hours ago. “i don’t hate you..” you whispered. this time the blonde looking at you her head tilted slightly sensing the fact you weren’t finished with what you needed to say.

“you don’t?” alessia asked, a slight bit of relief coming over her as you shook your head.

“i don’t but you really fucking hurt me alessia, i know you moved to arsenal for your career. and i’m not trying to take anything away from you for that cause i’ll admit your shining there. but i was your girlfriend. i thought you loved me and you just threw me to the side as if i meant nothing as if our relationship meant nothing!” you paused, taking a deep breathe as you continued.

“i had to ask your fucking teammates how you were doing just to know if you were okay cause you couldn’t seem to find the time answer my messages or calls..” you trailed off, your eyes starting to fill with tears.

“do you know what that felt like, to feel so unimportant to someone that i cared and loved so much and someone who was supposed to love me.” you breathed out rubbing over your eyes to stop the tears from falling down your cheeks.

alessia looked at you were pure sorrow in her eyes, a sad smile on her face as she looked down at her hands playing with the gold ring that sat on her middle finger on her left hand.

“i didn’t know..” alessia whispered, still sliding her ring on and off her hand unable to look at you as guilt filled her body from your confession.

“of course you didn’t! you never made an effort once you moved to london!” you spat back, instantly regretting the out-lash as you pinched the bridge of your nose. before moving from sitting opposite the blonde to sit next to her on your bed.

“all i want is a second chance, just as friends nothing more. i meant it when i said i miss you” alessia confessed as you hummed. “i could say it a thousand times that i’m sorry for what i put you through but that won’t do it justice, i just want for our past to be put behind us.. and i would like to get to know you, the new you. if that’s okay with you.” alessia smiled as you nodded.

“so friends then?” you asked, alessia moving her eye line to meet yours her smile still on her face. “friends!” she moved slightly forward to hug you but stopped half way thinking she misread the situation spluttering an apology out as you shook your head wrapping your arms around the blonde in a friendly hug, pulling away after a few seconds.

“so do you still like ketchup with everything?”

part of you should have known you could never just be friends with the blonde. after the night where you spent with her in your hotel room talking the entire night, getting to know each other. rediscovering old habits and discovering new ones.

you found yourself wanting her attention. needing it.

after getting only a few hours sleep that night, you having a hard time saying goodbye to her after only just gotten her back in your life after so long. you didn’t want to say bye, again.

“i don’t want to go” you whined like a child as you slowly did your hair as a giggle came from alessia who was sprawled out on the bed.

“you have to though! we can see each other soon” alessia promised as you still sat tying a hair tie in your hair a huff coming from you. “but that’s too long!”

“it won’t be, either i’ll come up to you or you can come down to me”

and much to both of your promises only a week later after constant messages and facetimes, you found yourself at the blondes apartment in london. finding your first next free day and getting the first train down.

as you spent the evening watching a film, both cuddled up on her couch eating dinner which she had prepared and made before the night coming to a close and as you were going to the guest bedroom, her hand capturing yours and pulling you into her room.

you weren’t gonna lie it did feel weird to be this close to her after so long trying to distance yourself from her, but everything you knew lead you back to her.

you were lying on her bed face to face, as her hand gently came up to move the strand of hair from your face.

a small sigh coming from you, you felt at peace again. as alessia looked at you with nothing but love in those blue eyes of her, looking at you as if you were the only person in the world.

her hand dropping from your face, but before it could drop to its original place you grabbed it. lacing your hand between her, you noticing how your hands fitted perfectly together. together like a puzzle piece.

"i love you so much." she said quietly, a slight smile appearing on your face. but just as quickly as your hand laced with hers, she kissed you.

you responded with such enthusiasm that alessia was a little taken aback at first, but regained her thoughts and reminded herself of what was happening.

alessia was really kissing you.

you were really kissing her.

a feeling you'd been craving for just under a year, since the last time she set foot in your apartment in manchester. when she kissed you goodbye on the cheek, as you stood there shoulders sunken in and lifeless.

nothing could have meant more than her, nothing could have have more beauty than this moment. the way her hands pressed into your chest, the way her blue eyes fluttered closed. you fit into her like a glove, her kiss was like the beating of a butterfly's wings. so soft and wholesome until it became addictive.

and in those few moments you were reminded of why you fell for alessia in the first place. her scent was what you craved. you wanted to have her close to you, unsure where she ended and you began. you’d rather walk through hell again and again then lose her again.

her entrancing eyes, her captivating smile against your lips, her laugh when you did something silly, her hair which now hung just at her shoulder height as she looked at you, her raspy morning voice, her love was everything to you.

but your stupid, stupid lungs had to find air again, as you pulled away from her still lingering in close proximity to her. somehow alessia had moved position as she was now hovering over you, as she straddled you.

she was looking down at you with such an inviting warmth that you wanted to kiss her again, the silence still lingered as she pulled away you adjusting yourself to sit a little upright. a heat rising to your face.

"sorry, i-i shouldn't have..." you trailed of quietly looking at your fingers playing with the rings that you wore.

"what do you mean?" she said softly, watching the your worry struck face. "that wa- it's okay love"

"o-okay?" your voice was hoarse. you cleared your throat, laughing a little before she made the move to kiss you again.

"we'll take it slow, i promise. but i know what i want and that for you to be in my future and if i have to wait then that's what i'll do." alessia spoke with such reassurance and pureness, that made your heart beat just that little faster as you nodded.

a small smile coming onto the blondes face as she leaned forwards to place a gentle kiss onto your cheek.

"i love you, so much."

[xxchumanixx]

Could you make a part two for doomed🙏 like imagine Tim knocking on her door a week into her being a rookie and she says "what are you doing here" "im here for round two" or somthing like that😭 idk I'm not a writer but you get it.

Pretty please with a cherry on top

Doomed pt. 2

Tim Bradford x rookie!reader

Warnings/Tags: smut, 18+ mdni!, p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), fluff, angst (but only if you squint) Word count: 1.407 Authors note: Hello love, here is part 2! I know its a little short, but maybe I'll do a part 3. Also, I made a month out of the week, just for the purpose of the story.

Read part one here

Enjoy!

It had been a month, and it already felt like years.

Having had the best sex of your life with Tim, then finding out you're his rookie, didn't go too well. You couldn't deny the attraction you felt towards him, but it made matters only worse.

More than once, you had the urge to just hide in a bathroom and rub it out. Of course, you didn't. You didn't want to risk your job or someones life, so you sat it out until your shift was over.

You were horny, and if you didn't find someone comparable to Tim - pardon, officer Bradford - anytime soon, you would explode.

But, would it be that easy to find a comparison? Especially when you saw his face everyday, reminding you of the blissful night you had spent together.

His mere presence was torture, his voice and his scent messing with your head. You had trouble concentrating, something he noticed. He had asked what was up with you, but you lied - You couldn't tell him that you wanted to have sex with him after all, right?

It would have been highly appropriate, not to mention strictly forbidden by the LAPD.

But you weren't the only one feeling this way, as you'd soon enough realized.

At the end of your first month, someone knocked on your door, just when you were about to go to sleep. Sighing, you walked towards the door, as it knocked again.

"I'm coming!" you grumbled, opening it, ready to yell at whoever dared to knock at this time of night. You were already late to bed, still hoping to get a little sleep, before you would have to face him yet again.

But, when you saw who it was, you halted.

"Officer Bradford?" you asked in confusion, as you noticed his labored breathing, not giving you any time, before he pushed you backwards, closing the door behind him in one fluid motion.

"Wha-" you wanted to say, but he cut you off, as he pulled you towards him, his lips meeting yours.

Overwhelmed, you needed a moment to respond, before your hands wrapped around his neck, tugging him even closer.

This had to be a dream.

The kiss was demanding and hot, there was nothing sweet about it. It was impatient, tongue and teeth.

His hands wandered up your body, brushing over the curves of your breasts, before they grabbed your face, tilting your head backwards to deepen the kiss.

You whimpered, hands brushing under his shirt and over his defined abs. His skin trembled under your touch, as he slowly inched you backwards, until your back hit the wall.

Letting go to fill your lungs with much needed air, his eyes found yours. Pupils blown wide, he licked his lip, before his gaze averted.

"What are you doing here?" you wanted to know, still breathless. Maybe you should have asked earlier, if you'd have had the chance to do so.

He took a shuddering breath, looking back up. "You said I could come over." he started, swallowing. "For a round two." Huffing over his own words, he took a step back, eyes falling to the floor.

"But now I'm not sure anymore."

Your brows furrowed, having trouble to follow him. Sighing, you closed the distance again, trying to make him look at you. "Tim." you spoke softly, his eyes finding their way back to yours.

"What made you change your mind?"

"You're my rookie, Y/N." he quietly spoke, desperately fighting the urge to press his lips to your own, sealing your fate with a searing kiss.

You were mere inches apart, a boundary you had already crossed moments ago.

"I know." you murmured, and you swore his eyes fluttered closed for a split second. "But can you really deny what you feel?"

He swallowed again, inhaling shakily.

"No."

With that, his lips met yours again, as his body pressed to yours, holding you close with his hands on your back and waist.

Sighing, you returned the kiss, pulling him impossibly closer.

It didn't take you long to make your way to your bed, both in your underwear by the time you reached it. He climbed on top of you, fingers dancing over your heated skin.

His lips trailed down your throat, making you dizzy, as his fingers slipped between your thighs. Gasping, your back arched off the mattress, as one of his fingers pressed against your still covered clit.

"Fuck." you moaned, as it rubbed hard against the sensitive spot. His lips found their way back to yours, as his hand slipped inside your panties.

You squirmed under him, his fingers teasing your cunt, before two of them slipped inside. You moaned, dragging your nails over his back, making him hiss in return, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

When he was pounding into you only minutes later, he made you see stars, all the while moaning and panting, as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

It didn't take him long to push you over it, having changed position only moments before, so you were sitting on top of him, bodies firmly pressed together, as he pounded into you.

Screaming out his name, you came, pulling him with you as you clenched down around him, making him hiss, before he came as well.

Panting, your movements stilled, trying to calm your racing hearts and trembling bodies.

But with the calmness, came realization.

"Fuck." you breathed out, as you realized what you just did. He fell backwards against your pillows, letting go of the breath he must've held in.

"Yeah, fuck."

Climbing off him, you started to frantically collect your clothes, putting them back on. He listened to you moving, his chest heaving up and down.

Throwing his shirt at him, you rubbed your temples, trying to make sense of the situation.

He sat up, looking at you with his shirt in his hands.

"What now?" he wanted to know, eyes following you, as you started to pace, but stopped at his words. "What now?" you repeated, huffing. "You tell me! You're my supervisor!"

What seemed to be all you wished for minutes ago, seemed like the biggest mistake of your life now.

He was your TO, your supervisor and trainer - you shouldn't even think about having sex with him, yet you just had a round two of the best sex of your life.

He sighed, fumbling with the hem of his shirt.

"Let's face it." he halfheartedly suggested, shoulders shrugging. "I don't think that we will be able to just suppress it. It took us a month of torturing ourselves until we broke the rules. I don't think this won't happen again."

"It's forbidden." you reminded him, biting on your thumbnail. You knew that he was right, though. You wouldn't be able to withstand him, and neither would he.

He sent you a pointed look. "It's not like we didn't just break the rules." he sassed, eyes widening as he shook his head to emphasize his words.

Rolling your eyes, you licked your lip, before biting down on the soft cushion.

"I know." you mumbled, swallowing, as you looked away. "But I'm scared."

He sat up, the bed sheets ruffling, before he walked towards you, bringing your gaze back to his with a finger on your chin.

"I know that you're scared." he spoke softly, eyes locked onto yours. "And I'm not saying, that we have to do this - I would never pressure you or anything. But I know, that I won't be able to let this - you - go. If you don't feel comfortable with it, then I will ask for you to get another TO. Or you tell me to go and forget about it, then I'll do that."

You tried to swallow down the lump in your throat, taking a second to think about his words.

You couldn't deny that you wanted him, not when he was so palpable, right in front of you - offering himself for you to take.

"Okay." you agreed, nodding with a half smile on your face. He cocked a brow in question, and you sighed, somewhat relieved.

"I want this as well, Tim. But I don't want another TO - only if you want to be replaced, or if it's too risky for you."

He huffed in amusement, a smile splitting his lips.

"Risky is my second name, baby."

<- Part one Part three ->

[meazalykov]

the critic

lena oberdorf x commentator!reader

summary: when lena gets tagged in a video clip, she approaches you

before the cameras, before the viral clips, before the edits, before your voice became synonymous with women’s soccer commentary, there was your games itself.

you used to play, back in the day. soccer was your life—practices in the morning, matches on weekends, hours spent refining your craft, the feel of the ball at your feet something almost sacred. 

you had dreams, big ones, of playing at the highest level, maybe even for the national team. but that all came crashing down when a spinal injury took you out of the game. 

one bad fall, a rough tackle by three players at once in a crucial match, and suddenly, everything you had worked for was gone. 

the doctors said you were lucky to be walking and running again, but for a long time, it didn’t feel like luck. 

it felt like a curse, like soccer was ripped away from you when you were just starting to get your footing in the world of professional sports. 

lyon was close to signing you from your childhood club. however, that changed. the deal had to fail and so did your dream.

so you had to shift gears. you couldn’t play anymore, but you could talk about the game, share your insights, your passion, your love for it with the world. 

and, as it turned out, people loved listening to you. your analysis was sharp, your delivery honest, your humor was sweet, and soon enough, you became a well-known voice in women’s soccer commentary. 

you poured everything you couldn’t put on the pitch into your work, and it paid off.

now, here you are—2023, world cup, germany vs colombia. the stadium is electric, fans buzzing with anticipation. 

it’s your job to capture all of it, to bring the game to life for those watching at home. 

alongside you in the commentator’s booth is tyrell, your close friend and co-host for one of the biggest sports streaming sites in the world. 

you adjust your headset, eyes scanning the field as the camera pans over the players. 

"alright, tyrell, we’ve got quite the matchup today," you say, your voice carrying across the broadcast. 

"germany is looking to bounce back after their last game, and colombia has been on fire in their latest matches with caicedo. it’s anyone’s game today."

"no doubt," tyrell agrees. 

“but you know i’ve got my eye on germany’s midfield. lena oberdorf, she’s got a lot of weight on her shoulders in this one. one of the best defensive midfielders in the world is on the pitch tonight." he finishes. 

you nod, your gaze locking onto oberdorf as she moves across the pitch. 

she’s been a standout for years—strong, composed, a true force in the midfield. 

you’ve always admired the way she plays, the way she commands respect on the field as she will roughly stop any opponent attack. 

but today, something feels off. you’ve been watching her closely during the first half, and you can’t help but feel like she’s holding back.

"honestly," you start, pausing to gather your thoughts, "i expected more from oberdorf during that first half."

there’s a brief silence as tyrell turns to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. 

it’s not often that you call out a player like that, especially someone as highly regarded as oberdorf. 

"really?" he asks, curious. "what do you think’s going on with her?"

you lean forward slightly, watching as the replay of germany’s midfield play rolls across your monitor. 

"she’s not playing with her usual aggression. oberdorf is known for her ability to dominate the midfield, to break up play and transition quickly. but today, she’s been hesitant. this can’t continue if they don’t want someone like caicedo to get in their box. oberdorf needs to press harder, get more involved in the attack. if she steps it up in the second half, she can make the difference that germany needs."

your words hang in the air for a moment before tyrell responds, and the conversation shifts back to the overall match. 

but you can’t shake the feeling that your comment will stir something up. 

sure enough, by the time the game is over—colombia managing to scrape by with a fantastic win—your phone is buzzing nonstop. 

social media is ablaze with the clip of you critiquing oberdorf, the internet having latched onto the rare moment where you offered up something negative about a player you so clearly admired.

fans of both you and lena are eating it up, dissecting your analysis, making memes, and some even suggesting you had ulterior motives. 

it doesn’t help that you’ve been vocal in the past about your respect for oberdorf’s game. 

and maybe, if you’re being totally honest, there’s more to it than just respect. 

you’ve followed her career closely, always a little more interested in her games than others. not that you’d ever admit to having a bit of a crush on her—not publicly, anyway.

across the city, at the team hotel, lena oberdorf is stretched out on her bed, headphones in, trying to decompress after the match. 

her body is exhausted, germany didn’t get the result they needed. her phone buzzes with notifications, but she ignores it for now, lost in her thoughts.

that is, until laura freigang walks in, a mischievous grin on her face and her phone in hand. 

"lena," she says, her voice sings, "it looks like someone’s got their eye on you."

lena sits up, raising an eyebrow. "what are you talking about?"

laura tosses her phone onto the bed, and lena catches it, her eyes narrowing as she watches the video that’s already queued up. 

it’s you, sitting in the commentator’s booth, talking about her. her. 

"honestly, i expected more from oberdorf during that first half."

lena blinks, her mind processing the words. she’s used to hearing praise, especially from someone like you, who’s usually more positive in your analysis. 

but this? it feels different. not harsh, but… honest. like you know she could do better, and that, in a weird way, feels almost flattering.

"see?" laura says, flopping onto the bed next to her. 

"she noticed you. she expects more from you, lena."

lena rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips. 

it’s no secret, at least among her teammates, that she’s always found you attractive. she’s mentioned it once or twice—half-joking, half-serious—how she watches your broadcasts not just for the analysis but because, well, you’re easy on the eyes. 

but she never thought it would go beyond that. you were based in new york city, worlds away from her, and probably didn’t even know she existed outside of your job.

but now? maybe things have changed.

"i don’t want to get your hopes up because it could’ve been a simple analysis but maybe this is your shot," laura adds, nudging lena with her elbow. 

"go for it. what’s the worst that could happen?"

lena hesitates, the idea forming in her mind. it’s bold, sure, but she’s never been one to shy away from taking risks. "yeah… maybe i will."

later that night, you’re sitting in the hotel bar, winding down after a long day of commentary in australia. 

the buzz from the viral clip still lingers in the back of your mind, and you’re half-expecting to get some flak for it. but instead, it seems like people are more entertained by the whole thing than anything else. 

you take a sip of your drink, eyes scanning the room, when you hear a voice behind you.

"hey y/n-- I'm sorry, uh I hope i’m not interrupting."

you turn, and your breath catches in your throat for just a second. it’s lena oberdorf, standing right in front of you, looking a little nervous but still carrying that air of confidence she always has on the pitch.

how did she find you? maybe the german national team stayed nearby? i mean, you were told this was a popular bar in sydney.

however, why would lena go to a bar if she has to prepare for the important match against south korea?

"not at all," you manage, trying to keep your cool despite the sudden rush of nerves.

"what’s up?"

"i, uh, saw the clip," she says, rubbing the back of her neck. "the one where you talked about me."

you chuckle softly, feeling a slight flush in your cheeks. "yeah… i didn’t mean to come off too harsh. just being honest, you know?"

you didn’t know how to react, so you smile. no player has confronted you about your comments before. this is a first.

"no, i get it," she smiles, her eyes locking onto yours. 

"honesty’s good. i just… wanted to ask if you’d like to grab dinner sometime. maybe when you’re in germany next? i’d love to take you out." lena speaks in perfect english. 

you blink, surprised by the offer. of all the things you expected tonight, this wasn’t one of them. but looking at her now, her smile genuine and her eyes soft with hope, you can’t help but smile back.

"yeah," you say, heart racing just a little. "i’d like that."

you were a little older than her, older by two years, but she carried herself in a way that pulled you to her.

the world feels a little smaller, the distance between you and lena shrinking with a single conversation. 

you think that maybe you should critic her more often, kidding— of course.

my masterlist is here if you want to read more fics <3

[tender-rosiey]

aww nanami’s daughter who’s very possessive of her mama is so cute she definitely got it from her dad need more of her

sneaky lovey — nanami kento x f!reader

your daughter was kind of mischievous. you don’t know where did she get it from, but you have a feeling that it’s from her uncle gojo whom she has spent a lot of her weekends with.

it’s cute really, especially when she seems to be driving her dad crazy with her little pranks. after all of that, he still loves her, of course, but he hopes that she would understand that his stress levels don’t need to be any higher.

he also hopes that she learns how to share, especially share your attention and affection.

nanami is a mature man, so he can’t help but let her hog you all to herself whenever she goes, “daddy! I want mommy! that’s enough time for you.”

and who is he to deny her your love?

but in the end, he still is a man who is so very in love you and naturally craves your attention as well.

that leads to you guys to trying to sneak a few kisses here and there along with a bunch of hugs like a couple of teenagers in love.

you find it funny.

the way that your husband awaits any moment that your daughter isn’t there to press a kiss to your lips and have his arms around you.

he looks like a baby that had his toy taken away for way too long and it is so cute. you don’t mind voicing that out and you laugh softly when he sighs about how he just wants time with you.

on the other hand, he doesn’t find it funny.

one moment, he is kissing you and the other you’re being dragged by your daughter to draw with her.

she can not for the life of her let her dad get a second with his beautiful wife.

another example is when one day, you had sent her to her uncle gojo cause she had missed him.

nanami was low-key over the moon and refused to leave your side, leaving kisses on your hand, cheek, and forehead whenever given the chance.

“kento, you’re pretty affectionate today.”

“mm, just missed you, love.”

it was utter bliss, especially when you guys got to cuddling and reading a book together.

and don’t get him wrong, he loves his daughter very much, but he also loves you and it was finally his y/n time.

he enjoyed while it lasted which wasn’t enough to him but like nanami you spent at least 9 hours together what.

the little miss stole you for herself the moment she came home.

she also invited you both for tea in her little toy house, but had nanami put on make up, a crown, and a skirt and go drink tea alone in a corner.

when he asked her why, she just went, “you’re supposed to be the pretty maid so wait until you get ‘i am becoming a princess’ arc.”

the arc never came.

another thing is that nanami finds it bizarre that you wonder where the hell did her mischief come from.

there is no way that it isn’t innate and it is obvious when he looks at both of you, particularly right now.

these smirks and puffed out chests of pride and your shared giggles are full-proof. you had just done a harmless prank on your poor husband and he just stared at you both, unable to form a response to this bullying anymore.

“(d/n), i need to talk to mommy about something so that okay?”

“oh okay! good luck, mommy!”

oh that traitor. probably learned it from uncle gojo.

“y/n.”

“yes, my dear and handsome husband?” you say in hopes in flattering him.

he gets up and stands right in front of you. he looks at you, “what was so funny about putting a gojo-patterned tie in my closet?”

you nearly bend over laughing when you recall what you did, but you compose yourself.

your husband isn’t pleased.

“you will have to repay me for that,” he says and you pout.

“how exactly will I do that, my lovely kento?”

he takes a hold of your hand and takes you to the bedroom with a smile, “an uninterrupted night with me.”

you chuckle and ask, “cuddles and kisses?”

“and more if you want; I am all yours.”

in the end, nanami feels and knows that he will never want you guys to stop how you fill his life with colors and laughter.

“haha! dad, I drew on your face!”

or maybe he wishes it would be toned down a bit.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspen @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or i will bite you

[adventuringblind]

Keep me Close

Past Jules Bianchi x reader, platonic Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: angst

Request: yepyep finally got me some angst things to write

Summary: Charles's new girlfriend can't understand why he's so attached to the reader

Warnings: talks of death, name calling, a table gets flipped

Notes: I definitely didn't cry writing this at one point. Also, no hate to Alex!! I know hardly anything about her, but I know her and Charles are currently together, and it fits the Timeline, so please bear with me.

Masterlist

Your love for Jules was something you find in fairy tales. It was beautiful, and both of you felt connected on a level deeper than anything imaginable.

It started when you were both merely kids. You were six, and he was eight. The two of you had met at the wedding of a mutual friend. Dressed in nice clothing, he'd marched right up to you and claimed to be a knight looking for a princess.

You were inseparable after that. It was like you'd found your soulmate.

When you turned eighteen, Jules had immediately proposed. And when you countered by asking if you were both too young, he said, 'Why waste time when I know I'll love you forever?'"

You'd gotten close with Leclerc family. Specifically with Charles since Jules was named godfather. He spent a great deal of time with you and Jules.

Then 2014. Everyone was sure Jules was going to get a seat with Ferrari. It would be a crime if he didn't.

You remember kissing him, good luck. The last feeling of his lips on your before getting in the car.

You remember telling him to be safe with the rain; that you love him dearly. He replied with his signature wink and an 'I love you more and I always am.'

Then everything stopped. The world seemed to no longer spin. Time refused to move forward as you willed it to go back.

It couldn't be real. There was no way it had happened. You still thought that as you sat at his bedside faithfully for months. There wasn't a world you wanted to live in if it didn't have Jules.

Charles was similarly devastated. He'd lost someone dear to him. The boy spent all his free time sitting with you in the hospital. Even bringing around food that Pascale had made to keep you alive. Something you didn't want to be at that moment.

The bond you'd formed with Charles during this time is hard to explain. There is nothing romantic. He's family despite the age gap not being that large.

He was, and is still, family. You'd promised to still take care of him despite the loss of Jules, and he promised to do the same in his stead.

The start of the 2024bseason brings on an interesting turn of events. Charles had split with his girlfriend before the new year and is now with his new girlfriend Alex.

You like her. She's very sweet as far as you've been told. But there is something there that makes you worry. You just blame the fact that you want the best for Charles.

The first time you met her was at a family dinner. Charles brought Alex with him to introduce her to everyone.

You were actually the first person he introduced her to. You felt honored, but there was something behind her eyes that you couldn't quite pinpoint. But you kept it to yourself and made friendly conversation.

The next time you saw her was when she dropped by the Leclerc family home unannounced. The position she caught you in wasn't a bad one, but it probably didn't look good to her.

Charles had a rough race in Monaco, as per usual, and was laying with his head in your lap while you ran fingers through his hair. It's the same thing Jules had done when Charles was a child after a bad Karting race.

Alex definitely didn't look pleased with you. But she managed to put kn a smile and say hello.

It was awkward. Especially after Charles and her went into another room because you could hear them talking in hushed whispers.

Your fingers find the chain with your wedding ring on it. Your lips press against the cold metal as you hold the ring to your mouth. "I hope I'm doing this right, Jules. It's hard without you here."

The last time you saw Alex was at a birthday party. Your birthday party. Something you don't like having after Jules because he was the one who always made the day special.

Charles is a stubborn man though and decided it was necessary. Partly because this is his way of remembering that you are alive and with them, but it also gives him and excuse to drink and dance.

It wasn't anything massive. Or at least - not a massive as it could have been. There were a good number of people crowded into your Monaco home. The food is good, and the music is better. It definitely felt like a party Jules would have dragged you to in your youth.

It's not long until Charles appears at the door with Alex in tow. He comes to you, and you embrace him as usual. The smile on his face makes everything worth it. despite having to deal with a party for a few hours.

Pierre also finds you and starts up conversation. The three of you fail to notice the fourth becoming increasingly agitated.

A loud crashing sound pulls all of their attention. Alex flipped over the table in her agitation and is now sending chills down your spine with the look on her face.

"Why are you so determined to be some kind of homewrecker! Why can't you just stop being a creep to Charles and let us live in peace!" She screams. It hits your mind like a shadow. The world fades away, and your thoughts are filled with the doubts you have daily.

Tears fill your eyes, and your body goes rigid. "I'm Charles' godmother. Y/N Bianchi. I am no homewrecker." You choke.

Charles and Pierre take a protective step in front of you. "Get out!" Charles' voice drips with venom. Alex looks stunned. She doesn't move even as Charles shouts at her. "Nobody gets to speak like that to my family! Get out!"

Then she runs. Avoiding the gazes of disapproval.

Charles spins around and places his hands on your shoulders. His eyes scanning your face to assess the damage.

"I'm so sorry that happened. You're amazing. Always have been. And anyone who says differently is a fucking asshole."

Even through the tears, she smiles. Jules couldn't have left her in better hands.