#I’ve never felt hotter or more confident

[jakesguitarsolo]

Last one of my Jake fit for scwt Chicago 🙈 I even had the busted chelsea boots 

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x shy fem!reader [4.7K] no one's ever gone down on you before and you're feeling a little shy about it. luckily, boyfriend steve is happy to show you what it's like. 18+

“I’ve never—” you swallowed, unsure of your words, hardly able to make sense of them when Steve Harrington was on his knees in front of you. “I mean, no one’s ever done this to me before.”

Steve Harrington. The Steve Harrington - as if he hadn’t officially been your boyfriend for almost two months now. Sometimes it was difficult to remind yourself of that, that the prettiest boy in town was all yours. 

He’d changed since high school, was a little softer around the edges now, if you had the patience to look for the signs. Less cocky, still confident, but he’d dropped the title of ‘King’ like it stung him, taking on a gentlemanly demeanour that was much more princely. His hair wasn’t as styled, he didn’t care whatever other people said - not as much, anyway. 

It suited him, this smaller crown. Less showy but still just as golden. 

“Oh,” Steve replied, eyes wide with surprise but not judgement. “Shit, honey— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… assume.”

Steve took his hands from your bare knees like he’d been burned, his cheeks heated and his gaze apologetic. You couldn’t say anything in response fast enough before the boy was pushing himself up from the footwell of the BMW and back onto the seat with you. He looked panicked, like he’d done something wrong, like he’d done something terrible. 

“Steve—”

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked, I didn’t even think— well, I just thought—”

“It’s not like I’ve not done anything,” you were rambling. Panicked. “I’m not a virgin, I would’ve told you— it’s just, I haven’t— no guy has ever wanted to do that and—“

“No, no, it’s okay!” Steve still looked wide eyed, like you were going to hate him, like you were going to break up with him. “I mean, that part isn’t okay— the guys you’ve been with should’ve definitely wanted to do that for you— but it’s, it’s… just should’ve asked before—”

He hadn’t done anything wrong, you needed him to know that. It had been a typical end to your night, first dates leading to second dates and more - fancy dinners and planned nights to the cinema and turning into comfier and more casual outings as you grew closer. So he’d picked you up after his shift and you clambered into the front seat of his car in a pair of comfy sweats and a t-shirt that was far too old. Steve had driven you both to a burger joint, shared fries and a strawberry milkshake in the front seats of the BMW as the sun went down and before it was time to go home, he parked up somewhere quiet enough for talking to turn into kissing. 

He was always sweet about it, letting you call the shots and set the pace and you’d grown bolder, learned what he’d liked — learned what you’d liked. 

But it had stayed relatively tame, a few hickeys and Steve’s hair a mess but nothing too below the waistline, not yet. 

It was why he’d been so surprised when you’d pushed him back into the seat, his head falling back in shock onto the headrest, the back windows already steaming up from the heat of it all. Steve’s lips had parted when you’d swung a leg over his lap, dropping yourself on top of him with a held breath, your chest tight enough to burn. And without any other preamble, you’d launched yourself forward again, sweet and teasing kisses turning into something hotter, more desperate, now that you could feel the hard length of him pressed against the cotton of your underwear. 

His hands had flown to your bare thighs, gripping you there as you licked over his tongue and when you let out a quiet moan, Steve felt like he was going to lose it. His hands wandered higher, skimming along bare skin and underneath your skirt until his palms found purchase on your ass, squeezing at the fat there, helping your hips move against him until you were panting into his mouth and he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. 

Everything he’d done wrong in his life, everything he’d tried to right, everything he’d tried to fix - you were his reward, he just knew it. 

He got ahead of himself then, panicked at the feeling of you rutting along his cock, the length of it pressed under his jeans and you. He could feel how warm you were, the beginnings of a wet spot on the front of your underwear and you were holding his face in your hands as you kissed him like you were scared he’d stop. 

It was enough to make his dick jump, twitching and leaking at every pretty sound you made, every graze of your teeth over his bottom lip as you kissed him more and more feverishly. 

He was going to come, he could feel it. He knew it. The warm, tightening sensation at the base of his spine was blooming, his cheeks turning pink, his hips bucking into yours helplessly. He wasn’t going to come in his pants, not in the backseat of his car, not like this, not with you. You deserved more than that. 

That’s when he nudged you back onto the bench and dropped to his knees between the seats, crammed down into the footwell but your legs were spread and he could see that little damp spot on the crotch of your underwear. 

He wanted to lick over the cotton, tease himself as much as you before peeling the underwear down your legs and pocketing the material.

And then you’d stopped him. 

“I want to,” you told him earnestly, your voice a nervous whisper. He watched you lick your bottom lips, eyes wide and trained on his. “I do. I wanna do everything with you,” you admitted shyly. 

You paused and Steve waited, kneeling up between your legs so his attention wasn’t as trained on the space between your thighs anymore. He leaned in, hands pushing at your cheeks, your jaw, fingers skimming soothingly over the skin there.

“It’s okay,” Steve assured you, his voice just as soft. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, nose bumping yours as he dropped another to the opposite side. “It’s okay to wait. I don’t mind-- at all, actually. You’re in charge here, okay?”

You leaned into him in lieu of an answer, lips searching for his and brows knitted together because he was just too fucking sweet to handle. Embarrassment still bloomed in your chest at the situation, at your own admission and you wanted to hide your face against Steve’s but the boy wasn’t having any of it. 

He pulled away, chin tilting up to where you couldn’t quite reach him and he frowned at your saddened expression. 

“Hey,” Steve tsked softly. “C’mon, you’re in charge, yeah?” He waited, looking at you with earnest, expectant eyes. 

You nodded and cleared your throat, nerves and embarrassment swallowed with it because this was Steve. Your Steve. And he was looking at you like he’d give you the sun. 

“Yeah,” you agreed and Steve smiled so you did too. “I’m in charge.”

It was only then that the boy leaned back into you, letting you press your lips to his for a kiss. He made it soft and sweet, languid and still tasting like the cherry you’d gifted him from the top of your strawberry shake. 

——————

It took a few weeks to end back up in the same situation, this time in Steve’s bed. 

There’d been a movie, you think, something that was supposed to be new and funny but you barely made it past the opening scene before you kicked away the remote control and moved into the boy. On your knees, weight pressed into the mattress and your mouth pushed to Steve’s because ever since that night in the back of his car, the sight of him on his knees for you hadn’t left your mind. 

If Steve had been surprised at your sudden attack, he didn’t say. In fact, he welcomed it greedily, just as starved for you as you were for him and he pulled you down to meet him without much fanfare. 

It was easier now, you were less shy, more willing to show your boyfriend how much you wanted him too. You showed him with greedy kisses, feverish and desperate, your hands sinking into his hair as Steve coaxed you onto his waiting lap, his hands skimming over your waist and your hips and the swell of your ass. You pushed him into his pillows without much thought, Steve’s hands taking you with him, lips never parting as he groaned into your open mouth and your tongue traced over his. 

He was already hard, you’d noticed, the feeling of him in his sweats pressed between your thighs sparking the similar feeling in your tummy, the one you always seemed to get the minute the boy got his hands on you. Steve never seemed embarrassed either, always eager to show you exactly what you did to him and apart from a few fumbles in the dark, Steve’s hands slipping under your shirt to flirt with your pebbled nipples over your bra, there hadn’t been much else but kissing. 

Tonight felt different. 

You wanted tonight to be different. 

So you did as you’d done on the car the week before, rolling your hips over Steve’s as you kissed him harder, nose pressed to his cheek as you pulled at his hair and hoped he’d fall apart for you. He did, or almost did, groaning louder than before and gripping your waist almost too tightly as he tried not to jerk up into you. 

He lost it a little, hands slipping to your ass to palm at the bare skin peeking out from beneath your shorts, blunt nails scratching nicely over your upper thighs. Steve heaved out a breath, pulling back just enough to look up at you. He was all pink, flushed cheeks and messy hair pushed to his pillows, lips shiny from your kisses as he tried to slow his breathing. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, trying to sound authoritative but his fingers were trailing inside the legs of your shorts to play with the elastic edge of your underwear and he couldn’t take his eyes off of your heaving chest. “I swear, you’re actually trying to kill me.”

You grinned, still shy, still a little embarrassed at the effect Steve had on you, the effect you seemed to have on him. But despite your boyfriend’s suggestive touch, he didn’t stray any further. You remembered what he’d told you that night, eyes locked on yours, filled with sincerity. 

‘You’re in charge.’

You swallowed, throat tight, trying your best to conjure up some bravery from the pit of your stomach. “Hey, Steve?”

Steve was busying himself at your neck, lips pressing kisses to the sensitive skin underneath your jaw and chin. He hummed, a silent question, a barely there answer and you almost forgot what you wanted to say when he nipped at your neck. 

“Yeah, honey?”

“Remember— remember the other night? When you said… that I was in charge?” You asked quietly, head ripping back to let Steve do what he wanted, his lips still on your throat. “When you were gonna— uh, gonna go down on me?”

Steve paused but only for a second, seemingly deciding that reacting too strongly to your words would be a bad move. So he placed one last kiss underneath your jaw and then pulled back to meet your gaze. He was soft and warm, his eyes searching yours to make sure you were comfortable and when he found what he was looking for, he nodded. 

“Yeah, yeah I remember.” He pushed you from his lap and back onto the bed, gentle and soft with it, easing you back into the pillows so he could lean over you and place a reassuring hand on your waist. “You been thinkin’ about that?”

You were grateful to be off of him, too pent up with being on top and feeling how hard you’d made Steve, finding it easier now to look up at him, your hands playing with the hem of his t-shirt. “A little,” you murmured. And then you corrected yourself. “A lot.”

Steve grinned, unable to help it and you were adorably shy even when talking about him putting his mouth on you but it just made him all the more wild at the thought. He moved his hand to your tummy, fingers moving over the soft pudge of it, his thumb stroking close to the waistband of your shorts. 

“Yeah?” He asked again, sounding eager now, sounding hopeful. “What about it, babe? Steve watched you stall, lips moving without words coming out and he smiled, making it easier for you when he said, “you wanna try it?”

You could feel yourself burning, a little in embarrassment but mostly at the idea of it. You’d spent many nights since it was first brought up lying in bed and picturing your boyfriend between your legs. You’d thought about his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart so he could lean in and press his lips to you. You wondered what his tongue would feel like there, if he’d be soft, if you’d like it hard, slow, gentle, teasing. Would he use his fingers? Would he look up at you while he did it? Would he make the same noises he did when you kissed him? When you rocked your hips over his lap and grinded against him?

You nodded, the breath sucked from your lungs. Suddenly, the room was too warm and it only got hotter when Steve grinned and moved to kiss you, peppering little touches of his lips over your cheeks, your nose and jaw. 

“You gotta tell me then, honey, yeah?” Steve murmured softly. “Just so I know you’re okay with it. I don’t want to make you feel like it’s something you have to do—”

“I know,” you interrupted. You sat up a little, back to Steve’s headboard as you made sure to keep eye contact with him. He needed to know how okay with it you were. “You’re not making me do anything, I promise. I want to. I really want to.” You smiled then, nervous and excited and with your skin rippling with anticipation. 

“Okay,” Steve smiled back. “You’ll tell me if you don’t like it? We can stop whenever you want, alright?”

You nodded again and before Steve needed to prompt you once more, you promised him, “I will, I swear.” Your cheeks warmed again at the memory of your nightly scenarios. “I think I’ll like it though.”

Steve laughed then, not at all meanly. “Yeah? Well, that’s a good start.” He caught your wrist with his hand, pressed a kiss to your palm like a promise. “I’ll try my best, yeah? We can find out what you like together.”

And didn’t that sound really fucking nice? 

His hand moved to your waistband again, fingers skimming over the denim before finding the button and zip. Steve tapped it, eyes on yours. He raised his brows and asked, “can I?”

You answered by lifting your hips, falling back into his pillows once more as you sucked in a breath, buzzing with anticipation. Steve fumbled with the metal once, twice, before it popped open and he took his time tugging the denim from your hips. You panicked a little as you tried to remember what underwear you were wearing but you didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought before your shorts were at your ankles and then on Steve’s bedroom floor. 

He smiled at your cotton boy shorts, plain and white. Nothing sexy but certainly nothing embarrassing either. But then he was moving, just like you’d imagined, up onto his knees before laying down between your own on his stomach. 

“You okay for me to be like this?” Steve asked you quietly, a reassuring hand squeezing at the outside of one thigh. 

 Your brows rose at that and you suddenly felt horribly naive. “There’s other ways to do it?”

Steve laughed again, soothing away the sting of his amusement by kissing your knee. “Well, yeah, babe. Loads of ways.” His voice lowered a little, his hands trailing upupup until they were close to the elastic edge of your underwear. “I could have you on your hands and knees for me. Could bend you over, y’know?”

Your body lit up, flames licking at the inside of  your stomach until they were crawling past your ribs. The idea of it made you squirm, hips twitching under Steve’s touch and he looked delighted at your reaction. 

“Or I could get you to sit on my face,” another kiss, this time on the inside of your thigh as he moved closer, your legs over his shoulders. The tip of his nose pushed at the edge of your underwear and your toes curled into the sheets. “Really let you take charge. Would you like that? Wanna ride my face, honey?”

“I—” you didn’t know what to say to that and Steve buried his smile in the side of your thigh. 

“S’okay,” he whispered. “We’ll work up to that, yeah? How ‘bout for now, I just—” Steve pressed a kiss just under your belly button, lips flirting lower until you felt his mouth just above your folds. Something in your stomach flipped. “—find out what you like best, hm?”

And he did. 

You were surprised when he didn’t immediately pull off your underwear and the noise that came from your mouth when he put his lips on you was unintelligible. Steve pressed a kiss to the front of your underwear, nose nudging at your folds under the cotton. You let out a gasp, breathy and high, hips twitching up until you were pushing yourself to Steve’s mouth and you could feel his smile. 

“Hey, hey, s’alright, honey,” Steve assured you. “Gonna take my time with you.”

Another kiss, and then another, tiny touches pressed over the front of your underwear before you felt the heat from this mouth opening, his tongue tracing the line of your folds. The cotton grew even more damp as Steve licked at you, pushing his tongue into your pussy, the material moving under his touch, moulding to your skin.  

You were gripping the sheets now, knees falling open on each side of Steve’s face and you didn’t dare look down, not yet. Your eyes shut on their own accord, stars and colours blinking behind your lids and everything felt warm, everything felt fuzzy, like you had cotton balls stuffed in your ears and you were being pulled underwater. 

Except there was a live wire in the pool with you, zaps racing through the current to make your entire body buzz, little electrical shocks every time Steve licked at you. His tongue moved deliberately slow, his eyes watching your face, your body, your chest, your mouth for every reaction you gave him. 

You liked this teasing, this slow build, this lazy burn that was getting hotter and hotter. So Steve kept at it, pressing his mouth to your cunt, open and with his tongue pushed to you, doing his best to find your clit through your underwear and when he finally pulled back, he groaned at the sight. The white fabric had turned a little see through, translucent in the low bedroom light and Steve could see every part of you with your legs spread so obscenely. 

It was a dirty, dirty sight. Something right out of his porno magazines he kept hidden under his bed. The material was stuck to you, showing off your parted folds, the bump of your clit, your little hole, wetter than any other part of you. 

“Oh, honey,” Steve moaned, his voice a broken rasp. You looked down at him then, messy haired and pink cheeked and framed by your thighs. He was staring at your cunt, heavy lidded and with red, pouty lips that were already shining from his hard work. “Wish you could see yourself, you’re so fucking hot.”

You whined, embarrassed but not daring to hide your face from him - to hide Steve from you. He looked up at you then, smiling - no, smirking - looking too pleased with himself and he took his pointer finger and stroked it through your folds. You jumped, an immediate response that Steve cooed at and he didn’t stop until his finger was resting on your clit. It was already throbbing, a hot pulse under his touch and he circled it carefully, slow and gentle and giving it pretty, little nudges. 

Steve watched it move under his finger, watched it become more obvious through the fabric and his lips parted as he looked at you. He couldn’t stay away for too long, moving his face back to you to press a kiss to it. 

“Good?” He asked you, checking in with a kiss to your thigh as well. “You doin’ okay?”

You groaned your answer, your ‘yes’ coming out high and needy. But that’s all Steve needed to hear before he let his tongue drag across you again, the flat of it pushing against your clit, his fingers pulling at the waistband of your underwear so the fabric was pulled even tighter against your pussy. He moaned into you when you whined, nose buried in your folds as he pursed his lips around your clit and sucked a little. 

Again, he moved away, leaving you panting, gasping, his hands tugging at your underwear again, his eyes lighting up at the way the fabric stretched over you. He swore, voice low and dirty. “Fuck, baby, I can see you clenching down for me. That feels good, huh? Getting those cute, little panties soaked for me.”

You weren’t sure where your sweet, soft boyfriend had gone, but you certainly didn’t mind this replacement. Steve looked wild, drunk on the sight of you and you were more than happy to lay back and let him toy with you, his fingers and tongue winding you tight like screw top, ready to be sent spinning. 

Your hands went from the sheets to Steve’s hair, grabbing at the beats strands, in desperate need to anchor yourself to him. You almost wanted  to pull him up your body, having him crawl back up to you so you could claim him for a kiss. The need to have him closer was burning. But then Steve took pity, fingers curling into the sides of your now soaked underwear and you didn’t hesitate to lift your hips for him. 

They were pulled down quickly and they soon joined your shorts on the floor and before the boy could ask, your legs fell open once more, shyness gone in the heady need for the pleasure the boy was giving you. Steve beamed, lying back between your thighs and his eyes greedy, taking in all your slick, bare skin. 

“Oh, there’s a good girl,” he hummed, his hand smoothing up each side of your waist, taking your shirt with it. “Play with your tits, honey, lemme see them, yeah?”

You did as you were told, face burning as you pushed up your t-shirt and wrestled the cups of your bra out of the way, tits spilling out of them. Your hands shook a little as you pressed them together, hard nipples peeking through your fingertips and it was all filth, a lewd, pornographic scene that you wanted to give Steve. 

“Ohh,” the boy moaned in appreciation, the sound rumbling in his chest and he rutted down into the mattress, seeking relief on his hard cock that was straining between his waistband and his stomach. “Look at you, Christ. You’re so damn pretty, you know that? Gonna let me make you feel good, baby?”

You nodded, whining until your words were just noise but they all sounded very much agreeable. So Steve ducked his head back down and used one of his hands to pull your leg out further, spreading you wide as he kissed a line from your entrance to your clit. And just when you thought he’d suck the little bundle past his lip, he let it go in favour of licking over your folds, left and the right - and the right up the centre of you with a wide, flat tongue. 

“Steve, Jesus fucking Christ,” you moaned loudly, jaw unhinged and head hanging back on his pillow even when your back arched for him. “That’s— fuck! Don’t stop.”

Steve soothed you with gentle hands on your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into the fat there and he hushed you. “M’not gonna stop, honey, don’t worry,” he spoke into you, lips pushing against your pussy with every word and you wanted to cry, you wanted to beg. “You wanna come already?”

It should’ve been a mocking thing to ask, the ‘already,’ holding so much amusement but you didn’t care. You couldn’t. Not when the boy was letting the soft tip of his tongue circle lazily around your clit, dragging it down to your neglected hole until he groaned when it clenched around him, his own hips bucking once more. 

“She’s so needy,” he whispered, in awe. “And so damn wet, Christ baby, you feel good?”

You nodded, head bobbing exuberantly as you propped yourself on your elbows to get a better look. Steve grinned up at you and he nuzzled closer before bringing his hands to your cunt, thumbs spreading you open as he ordered, “keep your legs open, yeah? Good girl.”

And then he was closing his mouth around you, his tongue flattened against you as he sucked gently, the pressure of your clit being pulled into his mouth too much to handle. You keened, a high gasp that left your jaw hanging, eyes clenched shut in euphoria. The colours behind your eyelids turned to explosions, glitter in the air as Steve licked and sucked at you, the same pattern over and over again until you were pressing your heels into the bed and pushing back up to meet his tongue. 

“I’m— Steve? Steve, I’m gonna come—”

His answering groan was almost as loud as you, his hands leaving your folds so they could grab at your ass instead, fingers pressing almost bruisingly into each cheek so he could hold your squirming hips against him. He didn’t let up as you chanted his name, knees locking around his head like a vice and when you let out a high pitched wail, pushing at his forehead, he pulled back with a disbelieving laugh, a half gasp. 

“Holy shit,” he groaned, eyes roaming over how soaked you were, the way your chest heaved, how your heavy lidded eyes were set only on him. “That was so fucking hot, honey, like Jesus Christ—”

He didn’t get to finish as you grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt, hauling him up until he was frantically crawling over your body, his hands braced on the mattress as you pushed yourself up to meet him. You were both breathing heavily but you stole a kiss anyway, his lips slick and shiny and tasting like you. 

You found you didn’t mind at all, your body burning at the reminder of what he’d just done, the taste of yourself on his tongue and yours, the thrumming pulse of your orgasm still simmering through you. 

“Good?” Steve was grinning into the kiss, grunting and gasping when your teeth nipped at him, your tongue tracing the line of his cupid's bow, chasing your taste. “Fuck, baby—”

You nodded, nose bumping against his and you wanted to sob at how good he’d made you feel. Words didn’t seem enough to be able to express it. “Yeah, yeah, oh my god-- yeah, it was good.”

Steve was still beaming, more happy than smug, because you were elated, glowing from the high of it all and he’d done that for you. But before he could soothe you back down to earth with more kisses and soft hands, you were pushing him off of you and down onto the mattress. His cock was still throbbing and the taste of you still coated his tongue as you straddled him, your shirt falling back down to cover your pretty tits but he could see the shiny slick from your pussy peek out from under the hem of it as you sat on his lap.

He didn’t get a chance to question you. 

“I wanna return the favour,” you said quietly. Soft but determined. “Show me how.”

[adverbally]

You Tattered Me, You Tethered Me to You

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Lake” | wc: 1,728 | rated: E | cw: sexual content, use of the f-slur | tags: first time, experienced eddie, internalized homophobia, steve’s sexuality crisis, hints of what could be considered subspace and sub drop, set probably in late spring 1985 | title and inspiration from “Lake Song” by The Decemberists

Come to me now, and on this station wagon window / Set the ghost of your two footprints / That they might haunt me when you’re gone / And when the light broke dawn, you were forever gone / But I remember you: you were full / You were full and sweet as honeydew

———

It’s not the first time Steve has fooled around like this, but it kinda feels like it as Eddie grinds their hips together and bites him.

They’re in the back of Eddie’s van, parked next to a shed overlooking Lover’s Lake, and Eddie’s weight is pushing him down into the pile of blankets as he sucks a hickey into Steve’s collarbone. It’s quiet outside but loud in the van between their heavy breathing and the wet noises of Eddie’s mouth on his skin.

It’s never felt like this before.

Not with Nancy or Tommy or any of those faceless hookups. They never made his blood boil in his veins, bubbling through his body like the carbonation in a glass of Coke. He didn’t have to hold onto their hair for dear life as they trailed bite marks across his chest and shoulders. They hadn’t left his dick a leaky mess inside his underwear just from kissing him.

Then Eddie’s thigh is pressing up against Steve’s cock through his pants, swallowing the moan that comes out of Steve’s mouth as he kisses him gracelessly.

It has to be something about Eddie that’s specially designed to drive Steve crazy. He just wants more.

With clumsy hands, he pulls at the hem of Eddie’s shirt, tugging it upward until Eddie gets the message and sits back on his heels to pull it off completely. The sheer confidence in his movements, the way he looks down at Steve like he knows exactly how good he looks, is almost hotter than the pale expanse of his bare torso. The sight makes Steve’s mouth go dry.

“Wow,” he says.

Eddie smiles, not the seductive smirk of a moment ago but a genuinely amused quirk of his kiss-swollen lips. “I don’t think I’ve made anyone speechless before. It’s doing wonders for my ego.”

“Yeah, well, you’re gorgeous.” Steve sits up too and rests his hands on Eddie’s hips, just above the waistband of his jeans.

“You’re not so bad yourself.�� Eddie’s grip is firm but gentle as he wraps a hand around the back of Steve’s neck. When he pulls him in for another kiss, it feels possessive, like he’s claiming Steve as his.

It leaves Steve lightheaded, swaying back into Eddie’s orbit when he pulls away. “Fuck,” he breathes.

“Ask me nicely and I might.” There he goes with that damn mouth again, latching onto Steve’s neck, licking a wet stripe over the two moles just below his jawline.

“Please?” Steve’s fingers drift toward the button fly of Eddie’s jeans, scratching through his happy trail to hear his sharp inhale.

Eddie doesn’t respond. Instead, he pushes Steve’s hands aside and unfastens the buttons himself before yanking the pants down his legs along with his underwear. It should be awkward considering he can’t stand upright in the van, but he’s clearly done this before.

Steve tries not to burn with jealousy at the thought of someone else touching Eddie. Of Eddie touching them back.

“Hey.” Eddie lightly smacks the side of Steve’s thigh with an open palm to get his attention. “You gonna take yours off, too?”

“Yeah, right, sorry.” Steve leans back to unzip and unbutton and shimmy the fabric past his hips. Eddie pulls him free when his boxers get twisted around his ankles.

They get distracted by kissing again. Well, Steve does and he suspects Eddie is just following his lead. But Eddie feels so fucking good pressed up against him, skin to skin, lazily rolling his hips in Steve’s lap as he licks into Steve’s mouth.

Steve can’t keep his hands still. They roam over the smooth skin of Eddie’s back, the coarse hair covering his thighs, the scars and tattoos that dot his body almost at random. He’s sweaty, too. It’s too hot in the van as it retains the warmth of the spring sun, but it just adds to the dreamlike quality of the situation.

“Have you ever done this with a guy before?” Eddie murmurs.

He’s not sure he can speak right now so Steve just shakes his head. No, clumsy handjobs with Tommy Hagan could never prepare him for this.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Steve must look like an idiot, staring up at Eddie with his mouth open. He wants, of course he does, but he isn’t sure what. It’s like when you’re hungry but you don’t know what you want to eat.

Eddie must take his hesitation as a refusal. “Or I could fuck you,” he offers.

Oh, that’s…

His desire must show on his face because Eddie smiles. “You’re full of surprises, Harrington.” He leans over and fishes a small tube of lube out from under a pillow.

The use of his last name shouldn’t sting so much. “Call me Steve,” he tells him, hoping it doesn’t sound too much like a plea.

“Sure thing, Steve,” he agrees. Eddie climbs out of his lap and sits with his back against the wall of the van. He doesn’t need to say anything to beckon Steve over; he’s already moving, straddling Eddie’s thighs in a reversal of their previous position.

Things get a little blurry after that.

“Relax for me, Steve,” Eddie croons, rubbing slick circles around his hole so he can start opening him up.

“That’s it, Steve,” he praises when Steve starts rocking back on the fingers inside him.

“Patience, Steve,” he scolds gently as Steve whines for more.

“Okay, Steve, nice and slow,” he instructs, one hand guiding his cock and the other gripping Steve’s hip as he sinks down with a gasp.

“Fuck, baby.”

“So fucking tight.”

“Such a good boy.”

“Ah, sweetheart, ‘m not gonna last—”

Steve doesn’t want it to end. He’s warm and full and Eddie’s arms are strong around him and nobody has ever wanted him this much before and he doesn’t know if anyone ever will again. He thinks he comes, sensation arcing electric beneath his skin, and Eddie’s hips stutter, too, but Steve doesn’t stop moving, desperate to drag this out as long as he can, and then Eddie is saying—

“Jesus Christ, Steve, wait, too much,” he moans, nails digging into Steve’s thighs in an attempt to force him into stillness.

It works, but the sharp pain has the unfortunate side effect of restarting Steve’s brain. He’s not sure when it had shut off, exactly, and the sudden awareness when his senses come back online is overwhelming.

He smells the musk of sweat and sex. He hears his own gasping breaths. He feels the tackiness of come and lube between their bellies, dripping out of him when Eddie pulls out. He tastes the salt of Eddie’s sweat, the weird nothingness of spit, a little bit of blood where he must have bitten his lip. He sees the foggy window over Eddie’s head, covered in his own handprints from bracing himself on the glass, and Eddie’s concerned face in the twilight.

“Are you okay?” Eddie is frowning at him, one hand rubbing up and down Steve’s flank, almost like he’s petting him. It’s probably supposed to be comforting but it just makes Steve feel like a dog. Like some pathetic little creature, something to be pitied.

“I, um.” Fuck, Steve really doesn’t want to cry in front of Eddie, but his eyes are welling up. Where is this coming from? He had felt so good just a minute ago. Now he’s sticky and empty and cold, and he wants Eddie to fix it. To take care of him. “I think– I have to go.”

His thighs are sore when he moves and he hates that he’ll have no choice but to be reminded of this tomorrow. Steve shoves the blankets around to dig his clothes out of the mess of fabric. The sooner he’s dressed, the sooner he can get home and shower and try to forget this ever happened.

“Steve?” Eddie hasn’t moved, clearly trying to give Steve some space, but he actually sounds worried. “Did I do something wrong?”

No, Steve wants to scream, it’s me, I’m the wrong one. His stomach churns as he yanks his shirt back on, shoves his legs into his pants, stuffs his feet into his sneakers.

He startles when Eddie lays a hand on his arm. “Hey, you’re freaking me out.” His eyes are big and brown and shiny in the dim light. They feel even deeper than Lover’s Lake. Steve kind of wants to drown in them.

“I’m really sorry.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “You didn’t– I shouldn’t have done this.”

Any warmth in Eddie’s face immediately evaporates. “Seriously? This was your idea, man.”

“I know. It’s not you,” he tries to explain, even as his throat feels like it’s closing up.

“You know, being a fag isn’t contagious,” Eddie spits. “I didn’t, like, cast a spell on you to make you beg for my dick.”

Steve raises his voice. “I know!” Jesus, how is he supposed to make Eddie understand something he can’t even understand himself?

“Get out. You’re not gonna sit here and yell at me in my own van.” Eddie looks deadly serious. When Steve doesn’t move, he growls, “Get. Out.”

The unspoken threat sends Steve scrambling for the rear doors. He stumbles out into the not-quite darkness, the last hints of the setting sun providing enough light for him to see Eddie’s face twisted in fury.

“Get your drugs somewhere else. Have a nice life,” are his parting words.

Steve slams the door shut. The sound echoes across the lake, almost like it's mocking him, and silence after is even worse. He stomps down to the edge of the water, stares into the muddy shallows until his tears create ripples across the lake’s surface. Listens to Eddie’s van start up and drive away.

It’s better like this. Right? What kind of loser is he, panting after the first guy to fuck him, like a virgin in a romance novel? Like he could have any kind of future with Eddie Munson. No, this way Steve gets to keep what remains of his dignity. Eddie is the only one who’ll know how pathetic he is, and he won’t tell anyone else.

Steve stays there at the shoreline for a long time, watching the moon rise over the water and trying to forget about how right it felt when Eddie touched him.

[bloatedandalone04]

➪the one where you're friends and hook up at a party.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, dry humping, no actual penetration (trying something new), friends to lovers, making out, party hookup, mutual pining, honestly a really cute and desperate hookup between two friends, gif is a scene that was focused on chad but ethan looked cute in the background of it so here it is

Word Count: 2.8k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine <3

You were convinced that you and Ethan created the word tension. More specifically, sexual tension. 

That was the only logical reasoning for the overwhelming feeling of want that took over your every sense whenever you were in the same room as him. 

It was obvious that you had the same effect on him as well if the rushed excuses to leave the room were anything to go by. His face would heat up whenever you locked eyes and he’d stutter like he used to do when he was in middle school and had a crush. 

Then he started getting a bit confident. 

He would touch you, something that looked innocent to everyone else, but you knew what his intentions were. The way his fingers would brush against your arm, the way he would hold your hand when he was walking with you - the way he would press a kiss to the base of your neck when you embraced to say goodbye.

It was only fair that you tease him, too.

Whenever you saw him, you made sure you were wearing either a skirt or dress - or something that showed more skin than normal - and were left smirking when you would catch him staring. In class you would shift so your thighs were showing behind the desk, only for his eyes to see as it was a given you two would sit beside each other during the classes you shared. 

In other words; you both wanted to sleep together. 

But you were friends. What would come of it? Would it make things awkward? Would it completely ruin the three year long friendship between the two of you? Would you even care?

The answer to that last one was simple.

No. No, you couldn’t care less. 

It took one shared glance at the Halloween party. One look and that was it. 

Everything passed in a blur. 

Ethan’s hand was tight on your wrist. Mindy gave you a wave as you passed by her. Chad gave Ethan’s shoulder a light slap as he pushed past him. The crowded stairs made your heated body even hotter. The empty bedroom felt so inviting.

Your halo was discarded somewhere downstairs, as was the majority of Ethan’s costume, and your dress was inching higher up on your hips. 

With your arms wrapped around his shoulders, Ethan pulls your body so it’s pressed completely against his. Your knees dig into the soft comforter as his hands grip your waist and needily pull you down further. Your clothed core grinds against him, making you both moan into the kiss as it deepens. 

Ethan’s hands helped guide your hips against his, allowing you to break the kiss and push against his chest. He falls back against the bed, his hold on you never faltering. You reached up and let your fingers tug on the thin straps of the white dress you bought for the sole purpose of the costume party. His wide eyes watched your every move, his pupils blown out and nearly covering the brown of his irises. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, watching as the straps slid down your arms, the top of your dress falling down and exposing the equally as white bra underneath. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long.”

The dress falls completely and bunches around your waist, making you looked fucked out already, depsite only partaking in a heated makeout session. Your lips were kiss swollen, a small amount of saliva - both Ethan’s and your own - coated the area around them. The kiss was messy and desperate and long overdue, so it was expected to leave you both already spent.

Ethan’s hands slide up the length of your thighs and disappear under the fabric of your dress, his eyes raking up and down your body. “You’re so hot,” he muttered under his breath, dropping his head back against the bed. “Been waiting to see you like this. So pretty.”

Your face heats up at his words, your own hands slipping under the material of his dark henley to press against his defined abdomen. “Then why didn’t you do anything about it?” You ask and tilt your head to the side, gently scratching your nails against his skin. “I gave you all the opportunities in the world.”

He let out a breath of air he didn’t even know he was holding in before answering, “We had something good going, didn’t want to ruin our friendship,”

You grinned down at him as one of the straps of your bra fell from your shoulder. With a simple shrug, you ask, “And now?”

Ethan’s eyes grew impossibly wider. “Fuck friendship,”

With a grin, you agree with him. “Fuck friendship,” then you were leaning down and pressing a heated kiss to his lips. 

His hands moved to your back seconds later, his fingers awkwardly fumbling with the clasp of your bra, clearly giving away his little experience he had with getting intimate with someone. 

Your lips turn up in a grin as you reach one of your own hands back to help him and easily unclasp the article of clothing. “You’ll get better at that,” you reassure him when you catch sight of the embarrassed look that flashed across his face. “Maybe.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, his head involuntarily tilting to the side when you began placing kisses down his jaw. “You sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself,”

You laugh quietly, grabbing his hand in yours and lacing your fingers together. It was a gentle gesture in a moment full of rushed movements and desperate kisses, and maybe that was why it had your heart racing. 

He gave you a boyish grin as you pinned your joined hands against the mattress beside his head, his chin tilting upwards to connect your lips once again. 

As your lips pressed against one anothers, Ethan’s mind began wandering. He had dreamed about doing this with you and seeing you in the most intimate way possible for years, and he finally got his chance. He finally crossed that line with you and your friendship will never be the same after this, not that he considered you just a friend, even before this. 

And yet, he couldn’t help but want his first time with you to be a bit more special than a hookup in a random bedroom at a party. 

He felt as though he was a hypocrite. 

He had you all to himself, yet he didn’t want to go all the way with you….yet. There was a very real possibility of you being interrupted or someone could easily start banging on the door at any given second. 

And maybe Ethan was selfish, but he wanted to be alone with you for your first time together.

So, with a fair amount of hesitation and reluctance, Ethan pulled away from your mouth. “Wait,”

Your brows furrowed when you pulled back to make eye contact with him, your heart thumping loudly at the oncoming feeling of embarrassment filling your body. “Sorry,” you say quickly, slipping your hand from his. “Did I do something wrong?”

Ethan laughed quietly and shook his head, his hands sliding down the smooth skin of your sides before stopping on your hips. “No, nothing,” he answered, leaning his head up to brush his nose against yours. The gesture made you smile, still unsure as to why he stopped you. You didn’t get the chance to ask as he continued after pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “I just expected our first time to be somewhere a bit more private.”

You gave him a look he couldn’t quite read and he watched as a small grin formed on your lips. He began to feel embarrassed but kept his cool as you bit down on your bottom lip. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?” You tease but not in a mocking way. 

It had his heart racing in the best way possible as he simply answered, “I want you,”

You fight back the smile that was beginning to form and bring your hand up to brush away his hair that rested on his forehead. “I never took you as the romantic type,” you murmur, leaning down to rest your chin on his shoulder. 

Ethan ran his hands down your back, his touch creating chills that you did your best to hide. “‘M sorry,”

You shake your head and shrug, moving to ghost your lips over his. “It’s okay,” you hum, your hand tracing circles on his still shirt covered chest. You understood where he was coming from, and if you were being honest, party hookups were never something that interested you. 

But at the same time, you were beyond turned on, and not just at the sight of him. His words, his vulnerability and his touch had your skin burning and your core aching for something, anything. 

Then an idea formed in your head, and it wasn’t something that was necessarily new to you. Lifting yourself up and leaning your chin against the palm of your hand, your index finger of your free hand trails down his chest. “You know,” you trail off and watch your finger descent down his body. Ethan gave you a curious look, his own hands never leaving their place on your waist. “If you don’t want to actually sleep together right now, there are other ways to get each other off.”

Ethan’s ears burned as he processed your words. “You want to go down on each other?”

You shake your head with a small smirk. “I was thinking more on top of the clothes,” 

He hummed in agreement, a smirk forming on his own lips. “Oh,”

Shrugging, you bring your hand back up and let your thumb tug on his lower lip. “I mean, only if you want,” you add. “You call the shots.”

Ethan’s eyes darkened even more as he shifted his hips upwards, his jean covered front pressing to yours. “You know I want you,” he mumbled, his hands inching towards your chest. 

You pulled back before he could make contact. Pressing your hands against his shoulders, you sit up and reach behind you to clasp your bra once again. “We’ll save the nudity for the real thing,” you say and watch as his face falls. You kept your dress bunched at your waist and shrugged. “You set the rules.”

Ethan squinted but failed to stop the small whine that left his lips when you rolled your hips down against his. His face heats up at the noise you emitted from him while yours fell. 

It was a quiet, barely audible sound that escaped him but you heard it as clear as day, even over the loud music that was coming from downstairs. It sent a heatwave directly to your core and had your face heating up. 

You weren’t sure why the quiet moan had this big of an effect on you, maybe it was because you had never heard him being so open and vulnerable with you, or maybe it was because the sounds men make in bed do something to you, who knows. All you did know was that it had your hips grinding down once more just so you could hear it again.

Ethan’s hands moved back down to your thighs, where they held a tight grip as his head fell back against the sheets. “Fuck,” he muttered and the quiet groan that followed had your hands gripping the stretchy fabric of his shirt. 

Twisting it between your fingers, you allow yourself to release a noise of your own. A ghost of a moan leaves your lips as you press down harder, your clothed core desperate for any type of friction at this point. 

More whines escape him and it only drives you further away from sanity and closer to the point of no return. As you grinded against him, countless questions filled your head but you didn’t dare voice any of them.

Is he aware of just how attractive he is?

Was he purposely making those sounds because he knows it drives you wild?

Does he always sound like this in bed?

Has he always been this hot?

You may never know.

Ethan, however, seemed to have begun to pick up on the way you would press harder against him or speed up the pace of your hips whenever he moaned or whined under his breath. It took him only a few seconds to figure out that his sounds were what fueled your need to please him as well as help to get yourself off. 

He smirked at the effect a simple sound from him had on you and reached one of his hands up to grab hold of the back of your neck. He brought your chest back down to rest against his as your lips connected, his other hand helping guide the movement of your hips as the new angle made it a bit awkward for you to continue to move on your own.

The indentation of the zipper of his jeans rubs damn near perfectly against your clothed clit and the lack of actual touch somehow made it feel just as good as it would if you were both completely bare. 

Maybe it was because it was Ethan, your long time friend who you had been crushing on for years, or maybe it was because you never thought you’d ever get the chance to see him this way - not to mention the fact you got to feel him this way.

You lean down to sloppily kiss him as your hips continue to grind against him, your teeth and tongues clashing against one another. He whimpered against your mouth and the sound had your hips stilling for a brief second in an attempt to hold off for just a bit longer. 

God, he was going to be the death of you. 

The way your core desperately clenched around absolutely nothing, and the way his hips bucked up every few seconds had you both feeling the way you felt the very first time you did this. It wasn’t with each other, obviously, but there were very few guys who you had been intimate with before Ethan, so your experience was limited. 

Unbeknownst to you, though you’ve had your suspicions, Ethan had also only been with a couple girls before he was given the chance to sleep with you - something he was mentally kicking himself for putting on pause seeing as you felt this good by just grinding on him. 

It was almost embarrassing how quickly you felt your high approaching, but you knew Ethan was close as well, something that eased your racing mind. 

Your lips disconnect from his and you hide your head in the space between his shoulder and neck as moans freely flee from your mouth. Ethan presses kiss after kiss to your collarbone as you stop the relentless movement of your hips, your eyes squeezing shut when you feel the surge of heat flood through you. 

Ethan couldn’t complain at the lack of friction as he was there, too. Throaty groans leave his mouth and only add fuel to your high as you breath heavily against him, your lips ghosting over the skin of his neck.

Fuck it.

Wrapping your swollen mouth around the base of his neck, you sucked lightly and felt the bubble of a groan in his chest that was still pressed against yours. Your teeth tug at the skin for just a second before you pull away and sit up, your legs still straddling his waist. 

You grin down at the mark you left on him and try to ignore the way he was looking at you. His eyes were full of want and lust, his mouth tinted pink from your lipstick. 

You could only imagine what you looked like. 

Before you could get off him, Ethan’s hands grabbed your waist and pulled you down beside him. You were on your back while he was on his side, his hand running up and down the exposed skin of your torso. He looked you over before murmuring, “I don’t know what to say,”

Is saying ‘that was fucking amazing’ too much? Really, Ethan had never felt more excited and at peace, the fact that he finally had you all to himself was all he had ever wanted. 

You reach a hand up and brush away the hair that fell against his forehead. “You don’t have to say anything,” you say back, your hand falling to his shoulder. “Just lay with me.” 

He smiled down at you, kissing you one more time before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest, his mind already fast-forwarding to when he’d be able to fully take you in the privacy of your own apartment.

[sydnikov]

Fleeting || A. Svechnikov

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov / fem!Reader

Word Count: 17.5k

Summary: Every moment with Andrei is fleeting.

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f and m receiving), cheating(?), toxic relationship, alcoholic consumption, angst, cursing, no happy ending, Andrei-is-a-dick™

A/N: For those of you who have already been following me, you might remember this post—that’s what this is based on :) This is also the longest fic I’ve ever written so that’s insane, but sorry not sorry. Get ready, this one’s gonna hurt 🤭

*Minors, you are responsible for your own media consumption. That being said, I will not block you for interacting with this fic or my blog, but always be aware of the content you choose to consume and the consequences it can have.

Andrei doesn’t love you.

It becomes clear for you months after you start fucking him on the side. His likeness for you is merely an obsession, something to have all to himself.

You’re his, or were his, and that’s how he saw you. Nothing more than that, or at least that’s the conclusion you’ve come to after months apart lets you reflect on your relationship with him.

Spending a lot of time in your head, you think. About him, his actions, why he couldn’t love you the way you love him.

He always held you close to him, one muscular arm curled around your waist while the other likely held a drink in his hand. He paraded you around like a prize, happy to show off the hot piece of meat he likely thought of you as at his side.

It was hard to reach him, literally and metaphorically. You had to stand up on your toes to reach his ear, and the power imbalance just by your height difference alone only made the whole thing hotter, merely one aspect of your relationship you never really could get over.

Every time you spoke it had him grinning in a way that made you think he knew something you didn’t. You’re already so shy, too, and it’s what made up your whole demeanor, what drew him to you in the first place.

He likes sweetness. Innocence, quiet—that way you couldn’t rebel. And he loved it when you doted on him. You did your best to be everything he wanted in a girl, too. Bold makeup, skimpy clothing, speaking only to him and him alone. Best of all, you didn’t question him. His actions, his decisions, why he’d sometimes go days without speaking to you but once he called you again, you would come running without hesitation.

It took you too long to realize that he only liked you because you were someone he could fall back on when the freedom of his escapades got too boring and he needed stability. The thing is that Andrei loved you being his, but he didn’t want to ever be yours.

And you know this now, you do. The moment you went no contact and left his apartment in tears, you were calling your best friend for support and to reinforce the fact that he is the asshole, not you.

Sometimes, though, you dream. Of his hands on you, his mouth on your neck, his thick cock pounding into you from behind. The toxicity of it all that, despite everything, felt so good because your emotions were always on overdrive when with him.

Mostly, you liked feeling desired. Nobody had ever pursued you the way he did, even if your body is all he really wanted from you to begin with.

It’s been months since you confessed your feelings for him and he told you to leave; months of you wallowing, going to work, meeting with friends for drinks as a shell of yourself because without Andrei, life suddenly seemed colorless.

You miss him. The excitement, the tension, the way he made you feel. And you pride yourself on being confident, but all self respect flies out the window the moment his name is brought up. It’s wrong, too, you swear you know this, and you imagine countless times telling him off, if you ever run into him again.

For treating you like a body to warm his dick, a soulless individual with no feeling… You’re reminded of the last conversation you had with him yet again, the one that ended everything. You’d been seeing each other for months when it occurred. Months full of Andrei and the rollercoaster of emotions he had you on.

To get to the end, though, you have to go back to the beginning.

It’s January of twenty twenty-three, and you’re freshly twenty-one and experiencing the world in a way you never could before. Riding the high of getting your first serious job in college, it took no convincing at all for you to let your best friend, Maria, convince you to go out on a Friday night to celebrate your blossoming lives.

“Who are we meeting there, again?” You ask, painting your lips a bright red in front of Maria’s full-body mirror. You’ve already started pregaming, and your head is starting to buzz in just the way you like it.

Your blonde friend is quickly curling her hair, despite the fact that she’s had hours to get ready and still procrastinated until you arrived at her apartment. “Some friends from work. You probably won’t know them,” She says offhandedly, finishing her hair in record timing before snatching up the two dresses she had previously laid out on her bed. “Should I wear this in black or red?”

Raising a brow, you question her wording. “Considering I don’t work with you, I doubt I would.” Laughing, you turn your head away from the mirror to examine the two dresses she’s holding up to her body. “Do the red one, it makes your eyes pop.”

Anything would look good on Maria, though. She has this timeless sort of beauty, a blonde, blue-eyed bombshell that has eyes turning her way wherever she goes. You’d be jealous if you didn’t mind her taking all the attention off of you, considering you’re nowhere near as bold as her.

It will especially come in handy tonight, too, since these co-workers of hers are ones you’ve never met before and you don’t exactly plan on getting too close to them.

“This is why I get ready with you,” Maria sighs happily, unceremoniously throwing the black dress back onto her bed. “Oh! I almost forgot, I have heels for you!” She’s then running back into her closet, ruffling through a box before emerging with a pair of bright red stilettos.

“What’s with the red theme tonight?” You giggle as she tosses the heels to you. They look expensive, a brand you don’t recognize written in cursive on the inside of the leather soles. Maria insisted you incorporate red into your outfit tonight, whether it be subtle or bold.

She eyes you from her position on the bed, somehow managing to zip up her dress one-handed. “You don’t watch sports by any chance, do you?”

Throwing back the last of a vodka shot, you wince before responding. “My dad made me watch baseball with him sometimes?”

Maria’s face lights up like she suddenly knows something you don’t. All she does is hum in response, biting her lip like she’s holding back from telling you something.

Or, you’re just drunk. You’ve always been a lightweight. “What?” You ask anyway, finally standing up as you adjust yourself.

The blonde walks over to you, fixes the creases in your little black dress and affixes you with an approving stare. “Don’t worry about it,” Suddenly, she’s whirling around to go back for her phone, which is laid faced down on the nightstand. “Ooh, I knew those heels were a good choice. You look so good!”

As she saunters back over, wraps an arm around your waist, pulls you into her side and poses for a picture, you forget all about the abrupt topic change and the fact that her red theme with questions of sports does mean something, after all.

Truthfully, you still can’t remember exactly how you got from her apartment and into a high-end bar you’ve only ever seen advertised online. Bits and pieces of an Uber ride along with downing more shots come to mind, but it’s all hazy.

You don’t really care to remember though, either, as Maria leads you through the crowded bar, arm linked through yours, with a purpose. The music is loud, so loud you think you can see the walls moving, but that’s also probably just your swimming vision.

“Here they are!” Maria is shouting over the noise, and you follow her gaze to a group of tall, imposing men surrounding two booths right by the bar.

“Those are you coworkers?” You ask, a little incredulous. Scratch that—very incredulous.

She sends you a mischievous grin. “I said friends, girl. Meet my friends!” That’s what gathers their attention, and you’re suddenly reminded that she’s just as tipsy as you right now, if not more.

Ah, fuck, you think as one of the men come over and pull Maria into a hug. He looks at you questioningly after they pull apart, and you send him a small, nervous smile.

Damn it, Maria.

“You must be the friend she mentioned,” He says, again looking to the blonde beside you for confirmation. “From college, yeah?”

That seems to snap Maria out of whatever stunned stupor she’d been in, and she tunes back into your conversation by, again, pulling you into her. “My best friend,” She swoons, and yeah. She’s definitely drunk now.

“Nice to meet you,” He’s chuckling, and seems to be familiar with her antics. “I’m Martin.”

You introduce yourself and shake his offered hand. “Any leftover shots, by any chance?” While taking the lead in conversation with people you’ve never met before might seem odd, you don’t think you can rely on Maria to socialize for you considering she’s already falling into your side.

“I can check, if you want to follow me—ah, shit,” Martin curses, suddenly, then quickly apologizes to the two of you before rushing over to a man with a mustache attempting to climb on top of a table.

“Interesting friends, Maria,” You say into her ear as you reluctantly follow him, keeping her close. “Who’s the one with the mustache?”

She seems to gain a little bit of her wits back to give you a description of all the guys within your eyesight. “The mustache is Seth, super friendly but also, uh… Super drunk. He’s Canadian.”

You’re not sure why you need to know his nationality, but she continues before you can ask.

“And you just met Martin, right? Yeah, he’s really nice. His girlfriend, Nykki, is gorgeous, they’re both from Czechia. Then there’s the really tall one, behind Seth? No, other side. Yeah, that’s Jesperi. A bit of a flirt even though we’re all pretty sure he has a girlfriend, but he still won’t admit it. He’s Finnish.”

Maria continues to describe a few of the others, but truthfully, you tune out after Jesperi because a man about the same height as the Finn is suddenly approaching the group, and looks to be the only one Seth listens to because that’s who gets him to crawl down from the table.

You don’t know why he catches your attention so suddenly, but something about him… He turns, and you’re able to catch a glimpse of his side profile.

Immediately, you come to find there’s no accurate word to describe him. His beauty simply transcends any compliment you could give; instead, you interrupt your friend from her spiel.

“Hey Mare, Mare—who’s that?” Slapping her arm, you point towards the now-laughing stranger. He’s looking around as he does so, which is when he makes contact with your starstruck eyes. He looks amused, then seems to recognize the blonde beside you, and then he’s cutting through the crowd to meet you.

Maria gives you a look before also spotting the approaching stranger, and a large smile lights up her face. It’s a smile you’re very familiar with, one that enraptures every man who catches a glimpse of her pearly whites.

You quickly come to the conclusion that this is why she was so eager to go out. She’s likely had her eye on him for a while, and you struggle to keep the disappointment from your face as she purrs his name.

“Hey, Andrei,” She says, a little giggly. “Great game today, you all played awesome.”

Andrei… You test the name silently, liking the way it feels on your tongue. He’s even taller up close, and you can see the muscle definition straining through the fabric of his shirt. He’s huge, and you feel incredibly small standing next to him.

“Thank you,” He replies, his voice deep. A little husky, definitely accented, but you’re not sure from where. “Who’s your friend?” He changes topic quickly, and those dark eyes are back on you once again.

Maria, as ditzy as she can be, does notice the subtle change in him. Andrei has never been overly flirty with her like she has with him, and she’d be an idiot not to notice the way his eyes were drawn to you the moment he spotted you.

She’s used to having all sorts of attention from the opposite sex, and the Russian hockey player is all sorts her type. It’s amusing though, watching how you melt under his gaze, thinks ‘me too’, and then decides to help you out.

“This is my friend from college,” She introduces you, says your name and watches as he takes it in like it’s very important information. Grabbing your hand from where it rests at your side, she holds it out to Andrei for you, snickers as you send her a glare. “And this is Andrei. He plays for the Carolina Hurricanes.”

This is why she asked you if you watch sports, you suddenly connect the dots. And why she was telling you where all these people are from. Her friends from work are actually sports players, and you understand why she didn’t say it outright.

These guys, they’re famous, right? Your stomach twists, and you suck in a breath as Andrei takes your hand. His palm envelops yours, and he brings it to his lips to press a heated kiss to your skin.

The greeting is outdated, but for whatever reason it suits him. You think the kiss is a promise, too, as his thumb swipes over the back of your hand.

“That’s hockey, right?” You intend to ask Maria, but you’re unable to take your eyes off of Andrei as he slowly lets go of you, like the contact is riveting for him, too. “In the NHL?”

“Yes,” He answers. “You don’t watch?” You’re not a fan like he’d expect. Strangely enough, he likes that you don’t follow them. It makes you all the more interesting, someone new to pick apart for his pleasure.

You flush, turning red under his unrelenting gaze. Suddenly, you feel out of place with your lackluster hockey knowledge. “Not a huge sports girl, unfortunately.” You say slowly, but he catches your quiet words anyway.

He’s already tuned into you—has made you into a new game to win, in his mind.

“I can fix that.” Andrei grins, and it’s almost predatory as he smoothly slides his left arm around your waist. “Do you mind if I steal her?” He directs his question to Maria, but doesn’t really give her a chance to answer before pulling you  away.

Turning your head, you find her sending you a grin as she mouths something encouraging, holding up two thumbs-ups. She’s already decided that if she can’t have this sexy Russian, she wants you to instead.

“I like your heels,” His deep voice is in your ear, suddenly, and you take your eyes off of Maria to look up at Andrei, instead. “They’re the color of our jerseys.”

“Thank you,” You breathe, letting the warmth from his compliment wash over you. “Maria made me wear them.”

He clicks his tongue, like this information doesn’t surprise him. “She has good taste. Red is definitely your color.”

You flush again, finding that his eyes are already on you when you tilt your head up. Nobody has ever told you that before… Maria is always the one getting praise, not you.

The fast beating of your heart, shaky limbs and nervous breath, and you already know you’re falling for it. His charm, his looks, his confidence; it’s addicting, and you can’t force yourself to stop as you ever so slightly lean into him, letting his body envelop you.

Before you know it, you’ve arrived at the bar, and Andrei orders a drink over the loud bass that reverberates in your ears. It appears moments later - not fair - and then he’s sliding it towards you. You meet his eyes again as he smiles, raising a brow at your silence before he gestures to take it.

“For you,” He says. “Vodka cranberry. I have a feeling you like the fruity drinks, no?”

He’s right, as much as you hate to admit it. You’re not one for sipping hard, bitter liquor, even if it gets the job done. You’re not sure how you feel about him being able to read you so well, but you do like not having to carry the conversation.

“Am I that transparent?” You grin, though it’s laced with insecurity as you take a sip. It’s good, and helps calm your nerves.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, malyshka. It’s not a bad thing.”

You wouldn’t know it then, but he already began patronizing you the moment you met him. The Russian language is full of double-meanings, and malyshka, little one, is rather mocking. For him to know you so well already was a good thing for him, but for you? Not so much.

Andrei sees right through you, and he has from the very beginning.

“You’re not American, are you?” You change topic, suddenly, using the unfamiliar term he used as an excuse. “Your accent, it’s foreign.”

“Net—no, I’m not. Most of my teammates are out of country.” He replies. “I’m from Russia. Just here to play hockey.”

“Do you like it? Here in Raleigh?” You ask, a pitiful form of small talk to keep this sudden tension at bay.

“I do.” He replies. “I like it a whole lot more now that I’ve met you, though.” And then he’s smiling again, a grin rather feral as he looks at you like you’re his prey waiting to be devoured. He’s incredibly smooth as he puts his hands back on you, one sliding around the circumference of your waist while the other brings your hand holding the drink to his lips, taking a sip from the glass.

Your eyes go half-lidded at the motion, and Andrei knows he has you—hook, line, and sinker. He loves this game, but he thinks he likes you a little bit more than that, too.

Not that he’ll ever admit it.

“You just met me,” You blurt, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze.

Andrei, to his credit, takes your nervousness in stride. He finds it cute that he has that effect on you. “And I like you,” He counters, flashing a dazzling smile. “You’re cute. Small, like kisa.”

“Kisa?” You try out the unfamiliar word, your attempt at a Russian accent definitely not as sexy as his.

“Kitten,” He translates. “Will you purr for me?” It’s so disgustingly cheesy you can’t help but grimace, and Andrei laughs at the look on your face.

He steps closer, even more than he was before, and the way he looks down on you only makes the difference in height that much more noticeable. He’s so big… Normally you’d feel caged, but with him it feels safe, and that’s probably a red flag you won’t discover until much later.

You struggle finding something to say, but he beats you to it. “I’d like your number, if you’re willing to give it.” And he’s so smooth, so conniving with the way he asks it because he’s not demanding at all, letting you think you have all the power.

“Okay,” You breathe, eyes widening in awe as you don’t even have the chance to pull out your phone before he’s sliding his own into your hands. “You can add your contact.” He instructs, watching you type in your information.

It looks informal, your first and last name in his phone like you’re merely a coworker. You’ll blame it on you being tipsy later, but you add a smiley face at the end of your name, hoping it makes you stand out. You don’t know how many girls he has in his contacts but you’re not naive enough to think you’re the only one.

You lick your lips almost subconsciously as you hand Andrei his phone back, and he zeroes in on the motion. Suddenly, he has the urge to kiss you, and so he does just that. It catches you by surprise, but soon enough you’re melting into him as one large hand cradles your jaw, keeping you tilted up to him.

Andrei tastes like sin, like temptation and all things bad you were told to never get involved in as a kid. A forbidden fruit, perhaps, and there’s even hints of cranberry left on his tongue to cement that fact.

“Andrei…” You hum in surprise as he deepens the kiss, his lips soft and heavenly. It takes everything in you to pull back, to separate yourself from the addicting taste of him. “Wait, I don’t, um—”

You pause. Andrei looks confused, perhaps a little alarmed as his eyes flit over your face. “You don’t… Kiss anyone?”

“No! No,” You lower your voice, not wanting to attract any attention. “Of course I do. I just, I don’t hook up. For fun. Ever.”

He frowns, like he can’t fathom the idea that you don’t enjoy sex with no strings attached.

“Really,” he says, not quite a question. “You’re beautiful, though.” The charm comes back full force as his hand comes to brush away some of your hair that had fallen into your face. “Surely you have suitors, no?”

Your throat tightens, and suddenly your eyes are glassy as he looks at you with so much reassurance and affection. “Maria usually gets the ‘suitors’, not me.”

“I don’t believe that.” He responds immediately, and he looks so sure of himself as his head lowers, his eyes looking back and forth from yours to your lips, and you’re helpless to stop him as the hand moving your hair comes to rest on your cheek.

It’s all very convincing, the sudden care and adoration… You’ve never had a man treat you so delicate, like a prized possession, and you fall for it all too quickly.

“Let me take you out?” He soon asks, and there’s nothing you can really respond with other than yes.

Everything happens so quickly from here. Andrei becomes a centerpiece in your life, and you’re helpless to stop it as you fall for everything about him. You don’t truly become his ‘girlfriend’, but you are something more. Secret dates and midnight drives where no one can see you confirm that.

That’s why you think he’s finally turning serious about you when he shows up to your apartment at the beginning of March a few weeks before his playoffs start. He holds a large bouquet of roses, except your favorite flowers are gardenias because they remind you of your mom so your smile wobbles a little bit, but you let it slide for the romanticism of it all.

Andrei grins, the whites of his teeth blinding and he pulls you in and kisses the top of your head. He asks you if you’ll come to his playoff games, wear a WAG jacket and act as if what you are is official. You think you truly mean something to him after this, even though he never actually confirms it.

Suddenly you’re Andrei’s girl (but not really) and it becomes your entire identity. You essentially live with him as the playoffs come around, taking care of his apartment while he’s on the road. He talks of getting a dog over the summer, and you’re enthusiastic in your encouragement because you’ll have a friend to keep you company while he’s on the road.

His injury happens, though, and he’s out for good, at least for the rest of the season. You don’t know how to comfort him because your ‘relationship’ is so new, and it’s hard for you to understand why the anger at himself cuts so deep.

Ultimately, you fix the rough patch with sex. Lots and lots of sex. He works through his frustrations by taking you long, hard, and deep, mostly with him on top holding your throat while you take it like the good girl he tells you you are.

“‘Drei, your leg,” You remember saying to him one time as he slams you onto his bed, rolling directly on top of you. He doesn’t seem to hear you at first, too busy laying kisses to your neck.

“I don’t care.” He eventually responds, looking at you so darkly it leaves you shivering. He eats you out afterwards, and, well—you don’t have any more protests after that.

They win the first series against the New York Islanders in six games, and the moment the final goal is scored in overtime you’re jumping out of your seat along with the other WAG’s at one of their houses.

It’s exhilarating, rooting for something with every ounce of your being. You do it for Andrei - who still isn’t playing, but he was there watching - but mostly for yourself because you love the feeling of belonging to a community so close.

The second series ends sooner than the first, a five game victory over the New Jersey Devils, and this time you are at that final game. You sit with Andrei in a private booth at the top of PNC Arena, gripping his arm that also holds onto your thigh with the same amount of intensity.

The moment the final goal is scored - also in overtime - you’re hunching over your seat releasing a long breath. Andrei attempts to rise, then likely remembers his leg which forces him to grip the arms of his chair in strained acceptance.

“They did it,” You hear him whisper, like he can’t believe they actually came out of this series alive. “They did it.” He repeats himself, louder and more confident. You’re still folded over yourself, letting the anxiety drain out of you when he grabs your hand and tangles your fingers together.

“My kisa,” He says, waiting for you to turn your head so he can smile brilliantly at you. “We did it.”

“Not we,” And you grin back, because there’s nothing else for you to do but match his ecstasy. “You did it.”

“I didn’t even play,” Andrei is laughing, soaking in your praise like a sponge. “But I was here, wasn’t I?”

“You mean more to them than you’ll ever know.” More to me than you’ll ever know, you want to say, but hold back on that particular vulnerability.

After he finishes the team meeting in the locker room, you take him back to his house. He still hasn’t been given the all clear to drive, so you’ve taken up caretaker duties along with his mother.

You don’t think she likes you very much, either, but Andrei just says it takes a while for her to warm up to new people. Thankfully, she’s never around when you are though, because as you close the front door to his house he gives you a look equating to a meal he wants to devour.

Andrei seems to forget all about his knee, again, when he moves into you, pushing you back against the front door. “You drive me crazy.” He mumbles into your lips, and you don’t think you’re meant to respond as he moves to your neck.

You wore his jersey tonight, hoping it would bring the team good luck. You also happen to like how possessive he gets when he sees you in his clothes, especially wearing his name. It’s a little ridiculous, but you can’t lie and say you don’t love the attention.

Biting into your jugular, he tastes your rapidly beating heart before moving on, addicted to the sound of the moan that chokes its way out of your throat.

“I’m going to fuck you,” He breathes, massaging his hands into your waist as he pulls you away from the door. “And you’re going to love it, aren’t you? Because you’re such a good girl. My good girl.” His raspy voice leaves you holding back a whimper, and it’s hard to speak as he begins to sneak his hands under your jersey.

When you don’t respond because you’re too distracted by his hands, his damn hands, trailing up your ribs, he digs his fingers harshly into your skin. Your eyes snap open to find him almost glaring.

“Yes,” You think he wants to hear you say. “I’m yours.” You babble as his fingers let up, moving to cup your breasts over your bra as he pinches your nipples into hard points.

“That’s right,” He hums almost mockingly, hands now back to your waist as he pulls you after him to the path of his room. “No one else can make you feel like I do, yeah?”

This time he doesn’t expect a response as he pushes his door open, turning you around as you fall into his bed. Your head spins as the jersey you’re wearing rides up and Andrei quickly does the rest, slipping it off you with ease.

“Fuck,” You think he says, but you could care less as his bare hands are back on you, kneading the soft skin of your stomach and trailing back up the length of your torso. “No shirt underneath?”

“It was too hot outside,” You reply, breathless as you attempt to tug his suit and tie off, but that quickly proves to be more difficult. He tsks, thankfully deciding to aid you as he rids himself of his jacket. “You’re lucky that jersey is so thick.” He says, moreso to himself as he begins unbuttoning his slacks.

All that’s left is his undershirt and boxers, meanwhile you’re still left in your bra, jeans, and panties. Andrei must realize this too as he kicks his slacks off somewhere behind him. “Strip,” He commands, but you don’t need the reminder as you’re already one step ahead of him.

Your jeans and panties come off quickly, but it’s harder to remove your bra lying down. You eye the delicious specimen of a man above you, reaching out your hand for his own. “Help me?” You ask, biting your bottom lip before rolling onto your stomach.

Andrei mutters something behind you, but it’s clearly appraisal as the first thing his hands land on is your bare ass. He spends a few moments appreciating the view before his fingers trail up your back, unclipping your bra much quicker than you ever could have.

“You, kisa, are dangerous,” He teases, lowering himself to where his solid chest is pressing down on your back. He loves taking you from behind, tangling his hands in your hair while you’re left to his mercy.

He noses his way past your hair to reach your neck, lightly nipping the skin as you sigh, your head melting to the side so he can continue his ministrations.

“Andrei, please,” You hiss, the wetness between your thighs now too prominent to ignore. You wiggle your hips tantalizingly, hoping to catch his attention.

He grins into your neck, doesn’t respond as he presses a final kiss to your pulse point before pulling back, his right hand sweeping the rest of your hair to the side.

“You need me to touch you?” He asks, smoothing his left hand over your hip before slipping it to the inside of your thighs. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it ever so lightly to feel you flinch with sensitivity underneath him.

You tremble underneath him as he continues stroking you, and your hips jerk upward when two of his fingers slip past your walls and curl. He’s laughing as your ears ring, and already you’re so close to coming when his thumb rubs circles on your clit in time with the thrust of his hand.

Just like everything else about you, though, he knows; he knows and he pulls back before you even have the chance to swear because then the last layer of clothing between you is gone. His boxers are thrown somewhere behind him along with his undershirt, and now he wastes no time pulling your hips up, leaving your chest pressed into the bed.

So used to this familiar position, you look behind you in anticipation to find him stroking his cock, staring at your glistening pussy with barely contained arousal. You’re not sure what he’s waiting for, but then he’s sliding his free hand through your soaked lips to gather the wetness there, using it as lubricant.

“Shit,” He says, swearing more to himself before climbing atop you. It’s routine the way he grabs your hair, tangles it in his fingers while the other guides his swollen cock to your entrance. The bulbous head pushes into you with ease, finding no resistance as he sinks into you.

Andrei hisses, mutters something in Russian, then is lowering his head to press his lips to your ear. “Fuck, you’re tight. You just feel so good all the time, you know that, kisa?”

The only sound capable of coming out your mouth is a whimper as you bury your face into the sheets as his hips begin thrusting, hitting your sweet spot with bullseye accuracy each time.

The girth of him stretches you out deliciously, and it leaves your walls clenching and unclenching rhythmically in time with his movements. You mold to him like your body was made for him, like there’s no other way to exist without him taking you in such primal fashion.

Andrei’s head rests in the crook of your neck, murmuring indiscernible phrases while his hands trail up and down your body. His hips rut against your clit each time he thrusts forward, and if anything you get wetter at the thought of him fucking you so callously.

You feel like his most precious belonging sometimes, like an object. It can be disorienting when he talks to you like you’re a child, but when he fucks you it’s like that preciousness he views you with is amplified.

You flinch upward when his cock curves into you just right, and the way he coos into your ear to bring you back down only verifies that thought. He wants to take care of you, always—even if it demeans you.

Andrei suddenly rolls over onto his back, bringing you with him to where you’re the one on top with your back laying against his chest. He sits up, and now you’re in his lap, thighs spread to the side as he once again begins fucking into you.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream as your head rolls back onto his shoulder, the new angle forcing his cock into deeper lengths inside you, and it hurts but it hurts so good and why were you ever questioning how he treats you, again?

How has only one man ever been able to make you feel this good?

Euphoria floods your veins as his hands find purchase on your body, one taking your left tit and rolling your nipple between his fingers while the other sneaks down to the junction of your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing over it mercilessly.

When your stomach starts clenching and your lower spine tingles, Andrei is right back at your ear whispering encouragement. “That’s it, angel,” He praises. “That’s it. You want to come, yeah? Do it. I’ve got you.”

His name leaves your mouth as a breathless whine, and you struggle not to flinch away from his touch when it becomes too much but also not enough, and somehow he knows this and just holds you tighter.

When his cock hits you so deliciously good while his thumb swipes over your clit, you fall. You fall hard, the walls of your cunt seizing around him as ecstasy takes over your body. Sparks fly across your skin, stars filling the empty blackness behind your closed eyes and you think you’re sobbing Andrei’s name but you can’t be sure. The only thing you can be sure of is him; his cock inside you, his hands on your body, his voice in your ear, his teeth on your neck as he approaches his high.

Yours lasts for longer than normal because he doesn’t stop moving—if anything, he goes faster, because the sight and feeling of sending you into a spiral only triggers his own release.

By now you’re motionless, unable to even lift your head as it remains lying against his shoulder. Andrei’s thrusts are frenzied, more sloppy and less precise, until he’s throwing his own back with a long, pleasure-filled groan.

Eventually, he stills. His chest is rising and falling behind you rapidly, attempting to collect himself now that his mind is back in the present. You sigh, quietly yet happy, as his cock softens inside you but doesn’t move, his release slowly trickling down your conjoined bodies.

You suddenly remember that he didn’t lose a condom, but then you remind yourself that you’d stopped using condoms weeks before. You were already on birth control, and he assured you this was exclusive.

You were a fool to believe him.

Andrei soon moves, his hands taking to your hips as he gently lifts you off of him. “I know,” He says when you hiss with sensitivity. “I’ve got you, good girl…” He lays you on your back, and you don’t move from your position even as he leaves the room.

Your eyes soon flutter shut, and you curl to the side as the minutes go by with no sign of return. It’s not regret that fills your mind, no, but another emotion, something stronger than just satisfaction at getting such a pleasurable release.

You don’t dare to think of the world ‘love’, but maybe something similar to that is what you’re feeling?

It doesn’t help that just as you’re on the verge of falling asleep, Andrei comes back to your naked form while he’s now adorned in sweatpants. You merely hum as he sits on the edge of his bed next to you, one of his hands reaching out to trail up your arm. When he reaches your face he brushes away the hair stuck to your cheeks and forehead from cooling sweat, letting your skin breathe.

He says something, so quiet it’s impossible to hear over the sound of your thundering heart, and you don’t have the energy to ask as you finally succumb to exhaustion.

Andrei cleans you up after, dries the inside of your legs and slides one of his t-shirts over you. He tucks you under his sheets and pulls you into his arms, letting your hair tickle his cheeks.

The Eastern Conference Final arrives far quicker than any of you are prepared for, and games one and two against the Florida Panthers are full of anxious nail-biting and frustrated cursing when the puck hits the goal post.

Both games end in overtime losses, and the team has to play games three and four in enemy territory, down by two.

Andrei, understandably, isn’t taking it well. It's hard for the players on the ice, of course, but even harder when he has to sit at the sidelines, hidden in a booth at the top of the arena with you doing your best to comfort him.

“Why can’t they just fucking score?” You remember him hissing before the end of regulation in game two, not angry at his teammates but at the situation instead.

And himself, too, because he is the injured one. He is the one who tore his ACL making it so that he couldn’t play. It isn’t his fault, but it is at the same time and that’s what’s truly getting to him.

As the timer hit zero, he’d leaned back in his chair and grabbed your hand without thought, squeezing your fingers to the point of strangulation.

You let him, though, because at that point you’d let him do anything.

“I’m sorry.” You said, your eyes on him the entire time. It pained you to see him so miserable, and there was nothing you could do to make it better. “This isn’t your fault. It’s… Blame Bobrovsky, okay? He’s just too—”

You interrupted yourself, not wanting to say ‘good’ even if that’s true because you didn’t want to upset him with the implication that his teammates couldn’t be better.

Andrei, to give him credit, didn’t take offense. His eyes were on you the moment you started your ramble, and as you finally paused to gauge the look on his face you found amusement and unbridled affection in his gaze.

“Too good?” He finished your sentence, waiting for your meek nod of confirmation. Merely sighing, he only brought your intertwined fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss to the top of your hand. “You’re right, kisa. He is too good.”

You stay back in Raleigh while the team, including Andrei, takes flight to Sunrise, Florida. Most of the WAG’s stay back too, the majority already anticipating the result of this series.

Hours after the team’s flight, Maria calls you late on the eve of game three.

“Hey, Mare!” You answer, lowering the volume of whatever show is on the television to better hear her. “What’s up?”

“Hey, girl!” She chirps, and you can hear voices in the background so you assume she’s somewhere busy. “Just landed in Florida!”

“You flew to Florida?” You ask, choking slightly. “Since when?”

“Don’t you remember? I told you! The team needed extra people since we’re staying here for longer than a night.”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Is all you say because you don’t, in fact, remember, and suddenly feel really guilty about it. You haven’t actually spoken to Maria face-to-face in weeks, having been caught up in everything Andrei-related.

You haven’t talked to lots of people you were close to before Andrei came into the picture, now that you think about it. It’s a problem you’re sure to reflect on when you’re done talking to your friend.

“...bunch of us are going out tonight since the game isn’t until later tomorrow night, including a lot of the team.”

Maria’s voice tunes back in, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts to catch-up. “Really?” You inquire, now suddenly interested. “Is Andrei going with them?”

You could ask him yourself, sure, but you don’t really talk about that stuff, what he does or what you do in your free time. It always felt invasive to ask because you weren’t quite sure if you even had the right to, considering the nature of your relationship.

You doubt he thinks about what you do when you’re not with him, anyway, so you always just assume you can live in the moment with him and have that be good enough.

“Dunno,” She replies. “Can’t you ask him yourself? You’re seeing the man, after all.” You can hear the smirk in her voice at the last sentence.

“Um,” You stall, because no, you can’t just ask. “He just got off the plane, I don’t want to bother him.”

“Mhm,” Maria hums, and you can’t tell if she’s suspicious or not by her tone alone. “True. I’ll just text you if anything interesting happens, okay? Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” You can’t help but laugh at her sudden hastiness, and soon enough she’s hanging up the phone with the claim that the team bus is there to take her to the hotel.

As your call with Maria is in the early afternoon, you have a while to wait before all night life in Florida begins, so any updates will take time to roll in. You know this, and yet you can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

Distracting yourself by shopping helps, as does meeting up with a few of the WAG’s for a late lunch. You’re able to put your anxiety in the back of your mind for the rest of the day, and as the sun sets you pull back up to Andrei’s house and let yourself in with the spare key given to you, mind at peace as you float around his living space in preparation for bed.

You almost considered his place your home now, rather than your actual apartment. You’ve been spending so much time here, with him and also alone as everything with him seems to be going so good… When you settle into his bed, wearing one of Andrei’s large t-shirts and boxers, you check your phone one last time for any updates.

There’s a few Instagram notifications, one or two emails from your university, only one message in the groupchat with the WAG’s, and a text from Andrei which is what you zero in on first.

Settled in the hotel now. Leg is hurting, so I’m going to bed early tonight. Text you tomorrow, okay?

There’s no silly emojis, no indication of any emotion in his text, and yet you read the message with a smile, insecurities officially gone. His teammates are going out tonight, not him, and you don’t have to worry about Maria texting you later because there would be nothing to update you on.

How could you have ever doubted him?

You fall asleep peacefully, unbeknownst to the fact that long after midnight, your phone begins blowing up with silent notifications from Maria. She does, in fact, send you updates of her night out, but not updates you’ll smile at when you wake up the next day.

Sunlight filtered through closed eyes is what has you slowly awakening to the world of consciousness, and you stretch your arms with a yawn before reaching for your phone first thing. It’s hot to the touch, and at first you attribute that to it being stuck under your pillow the entire night, but upon unlocking the screen you discover that that is not the case.

WTF did you and Andrei break up?????

He’s here with the rest of the guys and he’s highkey flirting with some randos???

I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were done w/ him!

You’re prettier than them btw. I snuck a few pics

Several more messages from Maria have taken over your inbox, those are just the first you see. It takes your brain a minute to catch-up, but when it finally does you’re sitting up with bated breath as you tap on one of the images she sent.

It’s definitely Andrei—you’d know his face anywhere. He is, in fact, surrounded by girls in the picture, his arm wrapped around the waist of a gorgeous blonde with a drink in his other hand, and it’s so reminiscent of the way he holds you at clubs that you know, you know immediately that this is what you meant to him all along.

The affectionate name-calling, gentle hand-holding and constant touching… You thought he looked back at you like you hung the moon, but now you’re realizing that maybe you were just projecting the reflection of your own starstruck eyes instead.

You sit up in bed, hand pressed to your forehead as a sudden headache rips through your brain. What the fuck are you supposed to do now? Remembering that you’re actually in this man’s house, in his clothes, too, has you jumping up like you’ve been burned, and you quickly exit the bedroom to collapse on the couch instead.

“Oh my god,” You whisper to yourself, in disbelief as you click through more of the images sent to you from last night. There’s no denying to yourself that he was with these women, all while supposedly having a significant other waiting for him at home.

There’s no one to witness the slow breakdown of your sanity, and you can’t even cry because you’re so in shock about what you’re seeing

Is this real? Are you real? Is this really happening?

It’s almost like a switch in your brain goes off, and very quickly you drop your phone. You take a deep breath, you bury your raging emotions, and you stand up from the couch to start your day.

You refuse to allow yourself to break down now. Not when you still haven’t spoken to him. At the very least you’ll wait until you have an explanation…

To confront him on your very strong feelings you’ve been doing your best to ignore until now, because they’re too real in the wake of this discovery to just vanish away like you’ve done before.

You need to know where you stand with him. Truly, because these pictures you can’t stop thinking about? It’s too much. You can’t pretend it doesn’t feel like thousands of little knives stabbing your heart repeatedly even if it all means nothing to him.

Everything goes back to normal. Everything is fine. You never saw those pictures, ignored Maria's continuing calls and acted as if your world wasn’t suddenly tilted on its axis.

Andrei doesn’t text you at all throughout the day, which can probably be attributed to preparation of game three, but all you can think about are the girls he might be texting.

Because he certainly isn’t texting you.

Game three results in a loss, a bad one, and it would pain you to see the reactions on their faces filtered through the television if you weren’t so numb.

He still doesn’t text you. Doesn’t call, either, and Maria eventually gives up on trying to reach you as game four approaches.

The impending doom of Andrei bares down on you like a vice, slowly strangling you in the screaming silence of his house you still remain in. Maybe this is something you should have seen coming because it isn’t the first time he’s gone radio silent, you just assumed he was busy—because that’s what he told you.

You’re starting to think that maybe you shouldn’t have listened.

You love him though, right? That’s why you believed him? That’s what you’re feeling right now, why it’s like you can barely breathe when you think of his smile or the way he’s betrayed you so?

The Panthers sweep the Hurricanes, a complete four-game victory that sends Andrei and the rest of the team licking their wounds all the way back to North Carolina. You don’t watch the fourth game with anyone but yourself and a bottle of wine while catching up on homework for one of your classes.

Becoming so close to Andrei meant you became close to the rest of his teammates too, to the point where you’d consider some of them your good friends, so seeing their faces broadcasted live after the final goal is devastating to see.

Not as devastating as the text you receive, though, in the midst of trying to figure out what to say to him the moment he steps foot inside his house.

I won’t be home tonight, heading straight out with some of the younger guys. I will see you tomorrow

Well. You can’t say you’re surprised. You’re willing to bet money he’s out sleeping with some random girl whose name he won’t remember the next day. Instead of letting the anxiety take over, anger takes its place instead.

And boy do you run with it because anger is so much better than feeling powerless. It simmers in your blood, a wildfire settling low in your stomach until you’re practically shaking while waiting for Andrei to walk through the front door the next day.

When he finally does, you’re so mad you’re numb. Your anger has turned you into a ghost, an attempt at protecting your fragile heart from more heartbreak likely to fall upon you the moment he tries to charm you back into his good graces.

Once he spots you sitting on the couch, he smiles in greeting. It’s soft, and you’d like to say affectionate, but you no longer can tell how deep his feelings run for you.

Clearly, not deep enough.

“Kisa,” He says. “How are you? I’m sorry I was out late.”

“It’s fine,” You respond tightly. Andrei doesn’t seem to notice, merely nods before walking past you to the kitchen. You follow him silently, trying to figure out how to phrase your next words.

You end up settling on a subtle approach. “I’m sorry about the games… I know it must’ve sucked having to watch.”

He scoffs immediately, mutters something you don’t catch but still doesn’t turn around to face you as he rummages through his fridge. “It definitely was not fun to sit there, no.” He replies.

“Is that why you didn’t come back last night? You were coping with the loss?” You’re hoping your strong reference to his late-night escapades will spark something in him, but alas you still seem to be wrong and all he does is cast you a furtive glance before going back to his business.

God, you were just going to have to wring this out of him, weren’t you?

“Andrei,” You start, taking a deep breath. He still doesn’t stir. “Andrei, I know.”

Finally, he stops. Pauses mid-motion of whatever he’s doing, and his shoulders seem to tense in preparation of your foreboding words.

“There’s other girls, right? It’s not just me?” Your voice is already wobbling, and you’re glad he’s still refusing to face you because your eyes are slowly filling with tears, the agony of these last few days catching up to you.

This is when Andrei finally turns around. He meets your eyes last after scanning up and down your body; the clothes you’re wearing that aren’t his, your nails digging into your hands, and finally the bright flush of your face as you struggle not to explode.

“What do you mean?” Is what he says, looking at you calculatingly.

“Don’t play dumb with me, ‘Drei,” You whisper, invisible wires constricting around your throat as you force yourself to continue speaking. “Maria told me. She saw you. And you lied to me.”

Andrei doesn’t speak. He just stares, fingers clenching and unclenching like he can’t decide if he should approach you or not. After what seems like hours of silent battle, he replies, starting out by saying your name like a warning. “She… Maria had no right to tell you that.”

“Because I’m not actually your girlfriend, right?” Your response is immediate, and it hurts him if the flinch on his face is anything to go by. “You don’t owe me anything. Not a title, responsibility. You never promised me any of that so sleeping with other girls is perfectly okay.”

Everything you’re saying is true but it’s all wrong the way you’re looking at each other. Tears are now openly streaming down your cheeks and Andrei hasn’t moved since the moment you opened your mouth.

“Nothing to say?” It’s defeated, your entire demeanor as your shoulders sag and you fight the urge to collapse. “Yeah. I—I wouldn’t know what to say either.”

“I’m sorry,” Andrei whispers, and he doesn’t fight you which makes it all the more devastating. Everything you’re saying is true and it’s still all so wrong but he isn’t fighting you and wow, you’re really about to lose him, aren’t you?

“I think the worst part of this for me is that I actually let myself fall in love with you.” It’s your last-ditch effort of getting something out of him, anything that proves this isn’t completely one-sided on your end.

Andrei looks gutted at that. But he steels his resolve, his eyes go cold and he clenches his jaw as you try, one last time, to reach him.

“Do you love me?”

He’s staring at the wall behind you. No words fall from the lips you’ve kissed a thousand times until they finally do, and this is when you come to the realization that you’re ruined. You won’t ever look at another man the same because Andrei will forever haunt you in everything that you are and what you do.

“No. I don’t.”

You don’t put up much of a fight after that. You wave your white flag and slip past him to grab the small bag you’d packed earlier in preparation.

Andrei doesn’t move from his spot in the kitchen once. His face is tight, eyes dark and anguished as you drop his spare key on the counter. You look at him one last time, will him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t.

He never does—so you leave and you don’t look back.

It hurts worse because there really wasn’t a fight. There was no screaming, breaking glass, hurling insults at each other; it was a quiet acceptance of the end of a relationship that had no chance of lasting.

That’s what gets you. Not just because it’s over, but because he doesn’t love you like you love him.

You can’t believe you let yourself fall for it.

When you finally make it back to your apartment it feels like walking into an alternate reality, especially after an agonizing drive back full of nothing but silence and your thoughts.

You’ve practically lived with Andrei the last few months so much that you’ve forgotten you had a life before him. Maria comes to your mind immediately at that thought, and you can’t think of anything else you need more right now than your best friend.

Her phone only rings twice before she picks up. She says your name warily, likely because she hasn’t heard a word from you in two days.

“Hey,” You whimper, and you hate that you can tell how broken you sound. “Um, you were right. About Andrei. I… Talked to him about it. We’re done.”

There’s silence on the other end for several moments. Then:

“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry. I’m coming over, and I’m bringing the fattest bottle of wine known to man, okay?”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears.

“Don’t respond, you can’t say no. I’ll see you in a few!”

And, well, you do nothing but let her hang up as you stare at your blank lock screen for a minute. Something possesses you to try and freshen up even though it’s just Maria, so you make your way to your bathroom.

Opening the door, your eyes land on your reflection in the mirror, your tear-stained eyes the same color red as the lipstick you wore the first time you met him. The same red of your heart, too, as you feel the shattering of it now more than ever.

It all goes back to him. Everything about you, your identity as ‘his girl’ reducing you to someone who doesn’t exist without him.

Fuck you, Andrei, you want to yell. Fuck you and fuck everything you put me through.

As you furiously rub your eyes, you realize you don’t know who you are anymore. You let yourself be molded into an unfamiliar version of yourself, into someone just for Andrei to want to keep around.

The tears start again, and you’re left sniffling in the suffocating silence of your bathroom. The only person who knew you, the you now, is gone.

And suddenly, you find yourself alone.

Well… Not totally alone. “Fuck him!” Maria shouts after she breaks into your apartment (she has your spare key) after you’d collapsed onto your couch and refused to open the door. “Seriously, fuck him. You’re way too good for him.”

“Weren’t you the one who convinced me to sleep with him in the first place?” Is your weak rebuttal, muffled and almost imperceptible as your head is burrowed in a pillow.

Your friend tsks, likely waving her arms around in that expressive way she does. “Yes, well. I never claimed to see the future. But now we know him for the piece of shit he is!”

Maria is your closest friend, yes, but you also know her to be someone who tells you what you want to hear. Right now, you’re feeling vengeful and angry, so she’s feeding into those emotions to make you feel better.

You know, in two months time or however long it takes you to process this, when you start missing him and tiptoe around the idea of calling him, she’ll support you then, too.

Which probably isn’t what you need, but, whatever. You’re just grateful you have someone on your side.

“I need…” You start, not quite sure how to phrase what you’re wanting. “I need to forget.”

“A one nightstand type of forget or get so drunk you pass out type of forget?”

You wrinkle your nose at the thought of sleeping with someone so soon. As much as you hate it, you don’t think you’ll ever stop craving Andrei’s body.

No man ever could make you feel that good…

“Get drunk,” You say, quirking a small smile at the whoop she lets out. “I can’t fuck someone right now. At least not yet.”

“Yeah,” The blonde agrees, sighing almost wistfully. “I’d feel the same if I knew what his dick felt like.”

“Maria!” You shriek, throwing a spare pillow as hard as you can her way. It misses, but does the job of lightening the mood and keeps you giggling the rest of the night.

She does her job in making you forget, though. Makes you put on one of your shortest dresses and gets you drink after drink until you’re hunched over a toilet in the back of some bar gagging your stomach out.

You wake up the next day with the worst hangover ever, but Maria is fairing the same and somehow you consider it worth it. Maybe you can live your life again without him.

You’ve done it before, right?

And really, it’s ridiculous when you let yourself think about how you’d only been seeing the man for five months and he completely managed to send your world careening in that timespan. So, you don’t let yourself think about it. Instead, you live.

For yourself, for your friends, for your heart that won’t ever be full but feels a little bit better every time you wake up each day without Andrei next to you.

You graduate university with your bachelor’s and get a job that’s even better than your last, and you make a really good group of friends at said-job without Maria’s help (though she’ll always be your best). The summer passes by with melancholy laughter and gentle healing, and while your first love always remains in the back of your mind, you think about him less.

So much less that you lose track of time, not even realizing that October of twenty twenty-three is here and the NHL season is starting back up. You haven’t spoken to any of the WAG’s since you broke it off with Andrei, assuming you would no longer be welcome in the ‘clique’ and preferring to separate yourself from a group associated with someone who brought you so much pain, so there haven’t been any reminders about the new season from them.

The memories of him are fleeting. They’ll come to you at random times, and now that you’ve lived in the past yet again, you can forget about the end where Andrei is a distant thought but every time his name is brought up it squeezes your heart so much you can’t breathe.

You’re doing better. Truly, you are. You’d stopped crying over him long ago, and you might have gone to class with swollen eyes and showed up to work despondent, but you’re working through it in your own way. Healing isn’t linear but you’re making progress slowly but surely.

One day, you wake up with a sudden determination to officially ‘get back out there’, per Maria’s words. There’s nothing spectacular about this day; it’s only mid-November, the weather in that awkward stage of autumn morphing into winter.

Maybe it’s because the night before you’d succumbed to the urge to search up the Hurricanes’ schedule, curious to when they’d be home and not.

It’s only a coincidence that they have a home game when you call your friends from work, asking if they’d like to go out after everyone gets off. It’s also a coincidence when you meet someone at said-bar you attend, and it’s absolutely insane how if you squint he kind of looks like Andrei.

Oh, but he’s so, so sweet… His name is Jack and he buys you and your friends drinks, keeps a respectful distance yet never strays far when you’re wrapped into another conversation. He asks for your number at the end of the night and you give it to him without hesitation, taking note of the way he creates your contact in his phone himself.

“You like cats?” He asks as he’s still typing away, and your breath catches in your throat because it’s a question that makes you think of the first night you met him. When you don’t respond, he gestures towards your keychain attached to the strap of your handbag.

“You have little kittens on your keychain. I think that’s what I’ll add to your name, yeah?” Jack laughs a little shyly, and it’s cute but you keep replaying kisa in your mind over and over in a Russian accent you never could quite imitate.

“Yeah, I do like cats,” You say, flushing at the sudden amusement in his eyes. “I like them a lot.”

Jack doesn’t waste any time texting you the next day, and the normalcy of it freaks you out a little. Where’s the anxiety? The stomach-dropping nerves that come with talking to someone new? The constant wondering if they like you or not?

It’s so safe and secure that it hurts, because it was never like that before.

Everyone in your life is so supportive, though, but that only makes it worse because they can see how good this man is for you, but why can’t you? You feel like pulling your hair out when he texts you good morning and goodnight and sick to your stomach when he shows up during your lunch break with flowers.

However, there’s no one is more enthusiastic about Jack's new presence in your life than Maria.

“He’s a dream guy, honestly,” She swoons, kicking her feet back on her ottoman. “You’re so lucky. I would kill for a guy I met at a bar to be so smitten with me he shows up to my job with flowers.”

You hum in agreement, unable to come up with something to say. “He… Yeah, it’s nice, I guess.”

The blonde eyes you from where you’re curled up on her couch, deliberately avoiding her stare as you mindlessly watch whatever is on the TV. “You guess? He’s perfect!”

“On paper,” You retort, huffing slightly in frustration at yourself because why can’t you see what everyone else sees? “I don’t really know him.”

“Yet. You don’t really know him yet.” She helpfully points out. “Why don’t you want to give him a chance?”

“I… I do. I am giving him a chance. Maybe I’m just not feeling it.”

“He’s not Andrei, babe.”

You fight the powerful urge to scoff. I know, you want to scream. I know. That’s the problem.

Jack is too perfect for you. You want the ups and downs, the electrifying chemistry, the undeniable connection you’ve felt with no one else before. You crave the feeling of those past five months, of being with someone who lit you up to your very core.

It’s been almost eight months and you still can’t get him out of your head.

You give Jack a rightful chance, though, like everyone in your life is begging you to. You can’t bring yourself to end it because there really is nothing wrong, it’s a perfect getting-to-know-you stage which checks off all the boxes. It’s just that you don’t want normal because normal is boring.

You want chaos. And Andrei is chaos personified.

Unbeknownst to you, Maria is still very good friends with a lot of the WAG’s and talks about you when they ask. They miss you, it turns out, but your friend never tells you this in fear of sending you into a depressive spiral that tends to happen when they’re brought up. They’re ecstatic to hear that your life seems to be going so well after the breakup, especially after seeing Andrei’s reaction to it all.

This is something Maria doesn’t tell you, either. She’s such a good friend, protecting your heart like that. Andrei did not come out of his house after you ended it the same person; he was a little darker, a little angrier, frustrated in a way that suggested nothing could be done to fix it.

It doesn’t help that he couldn’t take it out by playing hockey, because he wasn’t cleared to play until the end of October, a month into the regular season.

He never admits his sour mood is partly to blame you for. Not that it’s your fault—he’s the one who fucked up, not you.

Never you.

Maria knows all of this and still gives him the cold shoulder for his treatment of you. None of the girls were very happy after finding out while his teammates just gave him awkward pats on the back. It doesn’t stop him from finding out about you, though, and what you’re up to.

The WAG’s talk. They’re gossip machines, and while normally he hates them for it because he always has to watch what he says around them, this time he’s thankful because they tell their husbands and boyfriends everything.

He’s at Martin and his girlfriend, Nykki’s, apartment watching their cavapoo, Gigi, when he finds out you’re seeing someone new. They’re heatedly talking about something when they walk in and don’t see him on the floor cuddling Gigi, so he doesn’t interrupt.

“I mean, I’m not surprised, but wow. It certainly took her a while to move on, didn’t it?”

He hears a smack, assumes Nykki has hit him on the arm like she typically does when he pisses her off. “She loved him, of course it took time!”

“Ow!” He hisses, though it’s clearly in jest. “Well, yeah, but like… It’s been months. And it’s not like she’s in contact with any of us anymore to remind her of him.” Andrei notes the sourness in his teammate’s voice, feels his heart drop because he thinks he knows who they’re talking about, now.

“Still,” Nykki replies. “I was so sad after my first heartbreak. They take a while to heal from, especially when it’s not a clean ending. It’s no secret how Andrei treated her.” She’s frowning when she continues. “I wish I could give her a hug, but I get it. I wouldn’t want to see any of us, either.”

Martin sighs. “I get it, too. I sure do miss the wine she’d bring though. She had the best fucking taste, ever.”

“Of course you only miss her for her alcohol.”

Andrei decides to clear his throat at this moment. When he does so, Martin and Nykki whip their heads towards him on the floor, surprise and guilt decorating their faces when they see him holding Gigi rather dejectedly.

He starts by saying your name, even surprises himself when it comes out biting and, dare he say it… Jealous? “She’s seeing someone?”

Martin and Nykki share a glance. Gigi chooses this as the time to leap up from his lap and run towards her parents where Martin happily picks her up. “I’m going to go take her out. Thanks for watching, ‘Drei!” He quickly flees the apartment, and Nykki says something under her breath as she glares after him.

They both know Andrei isn’t letting this go.

“Do you remember Maria, her friend? Works in the Hurricanes’ marketing department?” She eventually says, joining him on the floor.

“The blonde one? Yes,” He replies, and even though there are many blondes working for the team he knows exactly who she’s talking about. She’s your best friend, after all, and he knows everything about you.

Like how he knows you will never get over him. Conceited? Yes, but he had (has) you wrapped around his finger.

“Well, she talks to a lot of us still, despite everything that happened. And she tells us things.” Nykki pauses, almost like she’s scared to go on.

“Things like?” Andrei inquires. “How she is doing? Who she is doing?”

She glares at him then, eyes narrowing into slits. “Not that you really have a right to know, but yes.”

His fingers dig into his palms and his jaw cramps with how much he’s trying to keep from exploding.

“So, she’s seeing some guy now?” He scoffs like the very idea is incredulous. As if whatever pathetic excuse of a man you’re talking to could ever compare to him.

“She has a right to move on, Andrei. You should too. You ruined her.”

That fact remains true, but he still has no desire to ever let you go as he deliberately ignores her advice, well-meaning as it is.

How ruined could you really be if you’re already with somebody else?

Unfortunately, it’s impossible to run into you because you avoid him like the plague. You know everywhere he and his teammates frequent so you stopped showing up long ago, and he’s pretty sure you keep a several hundred-foot radius between you and PNC Arena at all times. He doesn’t blame you, but it pisses him off to know he can’t easily find you.

Christmas passes, you spend it with Jack and Andrei spends it with his Russian teammates. The New Year arrives just as quickly, and as he locks lips with some random girl at the party he’s at he thinks of you. Wonders who you’re with, if you’re kissing that guy Nykki told him about.

You actually flew back home to spend it with your parents, giving Jack some weak excuse about how you weren’t able to see them over the holidays.

North Carolina winter is in full force as February of twenty twenty-four rolls around, and your life remains inexplicably boring while Andrei’s picks up. The Hurricanes are finally having a redemption arc after their awful first-half of the season, and thus are heading out to celebrate far more often than normal.

They’re more daring in where they choose to go, too, wanting to branch out of their norms, because why not?

This is really unfortunate for you. Horrifying, actually, because you’re out with your friends, Jack, and his friends too when the team comes strolling in. Eyes instantly shoot their way, aweing at the miniature celebrities in their own right for finally bringing a good professional sports team to NC.

The moment Andrei steps foot in the establishment you know. Your skin catches fire, your ears ring, and your heart thunders inside your chest because only man can set off your senses so powerfully.

You look away from Jack - who thankfully doesn’t notice, he’s sucked into a conversation with one of his friends - and find Andrei approaching the bar with Martin and Seth. He hasn’t noticed you yet and you try to keep that from happening as you sink down into your seat, flashing your friends an exaggerated smile when they eye you curiously.

You’re unable to hide for long, though, when a song bursts from the speakers and sends everyone into an excited frenzy, your group included as they crowd the dance.

Luckily you’re able to escape that particular rally and wave Jack off when he asks you if you’re okay. “I’m fine,” You shout over the bass rattling your eardrums. “Just letting my drink settle a bit.”

He doesn’t question you, merely nods and smiles before disappearing somewhere with his friends. Now, you’re alone, and you can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing because now you have a perfect view of Andrei and his teammates leaning against the bar, looking far too good as they do so.

You can’t keep your eyes off him. You never could, especially can’t now as you soak up every little change your eyes can see. He has a scruff now, a sexy five o’clock shadow that you know firsthand how it feels between your thighs. His hair is a little longer, too—you wonder if it’s still as soft as you remember.

Jack suddenly appears from a break in the crowd and oh, yeah, fuck you can’t be thinking about your ex like this, can you? No, you aren’t officially with Jack, but it’s still wrong. He likes you so much, you know this, and you… Don’t hate him?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you bemoan to yourself, torn between the angel on your left and the devil on your right that don’t give you the chance to decide because you feel eyes baring into your skull, begging you to notice them. Your entire being freezes, stuck in between some weird limbo as you lock eyes with Andrei for the first time in months.

There’s no one else but you and him as neither one of you refuses to break first, and you only lose eye contact when a group of people walks between you. When they’re gone and you’re able to freely look again, you realize he’s gone from his spot at the bar. All his teammates are still there, and they’ve now spotted you too.

Would it be wrong to call an uber and just tell Jack you felt sick?

Your name is suddenly being whispered into your ear, and you would have flinched if the sound of his voice didn’t have you relaxing back into your seat. You refuse to look up at first, because if you look at him so close to you again you’ll fold.

“Andrei,” You greet, quietly. “How are you?” You still aren’t looking at him, choosing to swirl around the drink in your hand instead.

“I’m good,” He replies, so close you can feel the heat of his body seeping into your skin. You lean into it almost subconsciously until he’s sliding into the booth next to you, pressing the two of you together. “How are you, my kisa?”

“You don’t get to call me that anymore.” You retort, finally meeting his eyes to cast him a withering glare.

“No?” Andrei reaches a hand up to brush some stray hairs from your face. So delicate his touch, he trails his hand down your cheek, your neck, and down your waist until landing on your thigh. You don’t stop him, either.

“That’s funny. I could have sworn that you’re mine.”

“I’m not,” You squirm under his touch, unable to push him away. “I haven’t been in months. Wasn’t ever ‘yours’ to begin with. You made sure of that.”

Andrei doesn’t appreciate the call out. The way his face twists is mean and you know whatever he’s going to say will hurt. “Right,” He scoffs, is snide with the way he tones it. “But you’re his?”

He gestures towards Jack, who thankfully is enraptured in a tense game of pool on the other side of the room. You don’t question how he already knows that’s who you’re with.

“I’m not anyone’s, Andrei.”

“Yes you are. You might have thought that because we haven’t seen each other we are just over?” He leans into you, doesn’t let you break eye contact as he gets so close your noses touch. “No. I bet me being so close to you right now has you soaked, and you want to know how I know that?”

Your throat is tight as you swallow. You can’t look away as you move to shake your head, but strange, because it comes out as a nod instead.

“You’re not ‘over me’, malyshka. You’ll never be over me. You love me.”

His grin is feral, his words biting as they cut through you at such a vulnerable level it has you flinching back from his touch immediately.

“Oh, fuck you, Andrei,” You hiss, an angry sheen of tears starting to gloss over your eyes. “Fuck you. I don’t love you anymore—especially not now.”

You move to slip around him but his arm shoots out and stops you in your tracks, leaving you frozen as he stands to tower over you.

“Careful,” He murmurs. “Your boy over there might think something’s wrong. Maybe I should introduce myself, make sure he knows I would never dare hurt you.”

“You don’t have to touch me to hurt me. You did that plenty without having to lift a finger.” You retort. “Now, get out of my way. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“But what if I want to talk to you?” You really hate the height difference between the two of you right now because it takes no effort at all for him to slide a muscular arm around your waist and keep you glued to his side. “Maybe I have missed you.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” You mutter, but he ignores you as he begins to lead you away from the booth you were in before. “My friends will wonder where I am if I’m not at the booth when they get back.”

“Not worried about your boy?” He mocks, noting the way you don’t mention Jack at all. “They won’t have enough time to notice.”

You narrow your eyes at his insinuating words as he stops at the bar, waving down the bartender who comes immediately. “His name is Jack.” You mutter, thinking he can’t hear you. He continues talking, ignoring you, and you’re unable to hear him over the noise so you don’t bother trying to understand what he’s asking for.

Soon enough there’s a drink sliding across the bar counter and Andrei pushes it in front of you. You eye the glass, making note of the fact that the liquid is red. “Vodka cranberry,” He confirms what you’re already thinking.

You flash back to the night you first met and suddenly you want nothing to do with the drink in front of you. “No thanks, I don’t want it.” You say, trying to step away.

You don’t get far, though, because he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you rather harshly back to him. “Drink it,” He demands, watches your eyes and the way they dart from his face and back to the glass nervously. He sighs, then, like he’s realized something and lets go of your wrist only to land back on your hip. “It’s… Nothing is wrong with it. I didn’t touch it.”

He thinks you’re worried about being drugged? You almost laugh but manage to hold it back, because of course he doesn’t remember that this is the first drink he ever got you.

Your heart beats a little faster as you concede, finally picking up the drink and taking a tiny sip. He waits for your reaction like he’s the one who made it. “It’s good,” You finally say, licking the sweetness from your lips.

Andrei watches you, your eyes, your lips, everything about as time seems to stop and it’s just you and him, like it’s supposed to be.

You haven’t changed all that much, and you can tell he likes that. Your hair is a little shorter, you’re perhaps a little thinner now that you’re not on a college student diet, but you’re still you.

Andrei hasn’t changed either. You’re the same yet so different, and it’s incredibly difficult resisting the temptation to fall back into old habits.

“I’ve missed you,” He admits quietly, and you think it’s sincere this time. You wouldn’t have heard if you weren’t standing so close together.

Your heart thunders in your chest. You might be sweating out of nerves, or maybe it’s just the club. Your hands itch to touch him, and with more alcohol in you thanks to the cranberry you don’t stop Andrei as he succumbs to his urges first and uses one, large hand to cup your cheek.

You shudder as he caresses the skin, his thumb landing on your bottom lip and stroking it lightly. “Andrei,” You breathe, pupils blown wide. “You can’t—we can’t…”

He tilts his head, reminiscent of a dog. “Why not? You are not single?” He has you. He knows you know he does. You aren’t nearly as committed to Jack as much as you’d like yourself to be.

“I can’t do that to him,” You try weakly, already feeling your will bending to the persuasiveness of his touch.

His head lowers, hand remaining on your cheek as he brushes your lips together. You crave it, you realize, and move to fully push your mouths together but he’s pulling back before you get the chance.

“Go to the bathroom.” He says. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Will you?” You ask, the double-meaning clear as you stare at each other, neither willing to break.

Andrei’s face is unreadable. You can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing as his hands land on your hips and he turns you around in the direction of the restrooms. “Go,” He taps your ass, nudging you forward. “I’ll be there.”

You give in this time. You’re aware of the astronomically bad decision you’re making as you cut the line, faking a sick stomach and whispering ‘sorry’ over and over again in your head as the nice ladies let you through.

When you close the door you immediately make your way to the mirror. Your reflection stares back at you, and with mussed hair and smudged lipstick you should be feeling ashamed.

All you feel is anticipation, though. For Andrei’s hands on your body, for his mouth to kiss all the spots he’s missed.

Several minutes go by and the knocks on the bathroom door become more frequent. You think he’s bailed on you - it certainly wouldn’t be the first time - but then you hear his voice outside.

“Da, yes, she’s in there,” A pause. “She’s my girlfriend, she needs me.”

Your breath catches in your throat, turning to face the door as he knocks and can hear his voice more clearly.

Yes, you do need him.

“Kisa,” He says, slightly muffled but you feel the effect he has on you is all the same. “I’m here. Let me in?” He’s almost begging, and you quickly unlock the door as he pushes through.

His smile is mischievous as he closes the door behind him. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” He purposefully raises his voice, shows faux concern and plays it up in case anyone is listening outside.

“You’re so dramatic,” You say, pulling him down to you by the collar of his shirt. Now that you’re alone you don’t bother pretending you don’t want him as much as you do. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes ma’am,” Andrei relents immediately, closing the distance between the two of you. Both his hands come up to the sides of your head to keep you in place, tilting you in whatever way he likes. His lips are just as soft as you remember, and your bodies move together like they were never apart.

He’s demanding as he begins pushing you back, crowding you against the tiny bathroom wall. His words from outside come back to you suddenly, and you break the kiss to catch a breath as his lips begin a trail across your cheeks. “Girlfriend?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I had to get them to let me through somehow.” It’s not what you want to hear but you lose the urge to fight him on it as he reaches your neck and begins sucking little hickeys onto the sensitive skin. Your head falls back with a sigh, uncaring of your hair catching whatever germs might lie on the wall.

You let Andrei do what he wants to your neck for a few moments, then when the urge to taste his lips comes again you grab the back of his hair and pull him up to you. He goes willingly, and you moan into his mouth as he continues to push back against you so hard you can feel his dick through his jeans.

He pulls back much too soon for your taste, and you try to follow but suddenly one of the hands holding your head comes down to wrap around your throat, restricting your breath as he pushes you back. You go to speak, but his other hand is leaving your face to unbutton his jeans one-handed.

You watch, eyes heavy-lidded. “‘Drei?” The weight on your neck is comfortable, so you don’t bother moving as he shoves the rest of his jeans along with his boxers down his thick thighs.

“You want to talk to other guys?” He starts with a bite. “Then you can remember the taste of my cock in your mouth while you do it.”

Your blood pressure skyrockets as the hand on your throat leaves to pull your hair back out of your face, grasps it like a rope, and pushes you down to your knees.

You’re at eye-level with his cock as it bobs in front of you, angry and swollen with beads of pre-cum leaking from the tip. He stares down at you expectantly, has to hold back a groan at your wide-eyed gaze looking so innocent.

As your lips wrap around his tip he’s reminded of the fact that no, you are not innocent. He made you that way. Fucked you like no man ever could. Ruined you for everyone but him. His feelings for you are complicated, but he does understand one thing…

Andrei doesn’t want you, not really. But he hates to think about you with somebody else.

Your tongue is masterful in its work as it swirls around his head, and once you get comfortable you begin going down. His head falls back and this time he doesn’t hold back his noises as your warm, wet mouth envelopes him.

“Missed this mouth,” He grunts as you suck. “Like it much better when you can’t speak.”

It’s insulting and degrading, yet it doesn’t fail to turn you on as you squirm and rub your thighs together in hopes it’ll give you the friction you need.

His hand in your hair soon starts pulling, sliding your mouth forward and back in increasing motions as he gets closer. He’s unabashedly groaning now, and you can see his abs clench when you suck a certain way.

Suddenly, you have the urge to have him fall apart before you. Maybe it’s revenge, wanting to see him lose control for you like you’ve done for him so many times; you tilt your head, using your tongue to stroke the sensitive underside of his cock and that has him jerking into you.

“Fuck,” He hisses. “Good girl. Just like that.” The praise goes directly to your clit, and you whimper as it throbs with no relief.

Despite being apart for almost a year, you still know what every twitch of his body means. You know he’s close because the hand in your hair is gripping you tighter, you can feel the steadily increasing tempo of his heartbeat through his pulsing cock, and his thighs are ever so slightly trembling underneath your hands.

You want him to come in your mouth. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more; your efforts increase and you dig your nails into his skin to hear him hiss and as his thrusts pick up he starts hitting the back of your throat.

Internally thanking your lacking gag reflex, you don’t flinch as he picks up speed, now blatantly using your mouth for his own pleasure with little regard for your comfort. “Shit, baby,” He blurts, desperate. “I’m gonna cum.” You hum in response, the vibrations of the sound finally throwing him over the edge.

Andrei throws his head back for a final time, one long groan emulating from his unfairly sculpted chest as his cum hits the back of your throat. You’ve always loved the taste of him and this time is no different as you suck him deeper, not wanting to waste a drop.

He takes a few moments to collect himself and in that timeframe your ears slowly stop ringing and you come back to reality, finding that your knees ache from being pressed into the floor and there are loud voices coming from outside the bathroom door.

As you move to stand, he too seems to remember where you’re at and uses both arms to pull you the rest of the way until you’re back to standing. You swipe your hair out of your face as his thumb comes to your lip, wiping away a stray drop of his release.

Despite the post-orgasmic clarity, he looks at you with softness and something else swimming in his dark eyes. “You’re still good at that,” He states. “Been sucking anyone else off?” His words are quiet but every bit threatening as you note the possessiveness in his tone.

“No,” You gasp as his thumb pushes its way into your mouth. “Just you. Only you,”

“That’s right,” He says. “Just me. Only me.” Then he’s spinning you around, fingers remaining pressed into your mouth while the other trails up your spine until he’s gripping the back of your neck. “Hear them outside?” He asks.

The ‘them’ he’s referring to, you realize, are the voices outside the bathroom. They’re much louder now, a few knocks mixed in, and you wonder with slight panic how a manager hasn’t come to unlock the door yet.

“They sound very angry, don’t they?” That same hand on the back of your neck strokes your skin, slowly working its way down to your waistband. “So we better make it quick. Hands on the wall, kisa,”

You know the moment he pulls down your pants he’ll find you to be unabashedly soaking. Despite claiming to be in a hurry, he takes his time working open the button of your jeans, grazing the skin above your panties before ever so slowly sliding them down your legs.

“Andrei,” You hiss, impatient. “Hurry up!” As the hand in your mouth retreats, you realize you’re both needy and nervous, an overwhelming combination.

He only laughs. “Someone is needy,” He mocks, holding your hips in place when you try wiggling against him. “Patience.” Leaning into your ear he murmurs this, staying this way as he fully slides your jeans past your knees.

Andrei sneaks his hand in between your thighs, something resembling a growl rumbling from his chest when his fingers find your dripping folds, feeling how you throb for him. “Missed this pussy even more,” He breathes, lubricating his fingers with your slick before slowly circling your clit. Your arms shake from where they hold you up and it’s a battle to keep yourself from collapsing.

“You are just made for me, aren’t you?”

You’re so wet you practically suck him in as he guides his dick to your entrance, and he wastes no preamble as he pushes in. If he thought your mouth was heaven after so much time apart, the feeling of your pussy squeezing him in so deep doesn’t even compare. His hands are digging into your hips as he ruts into you fully with one thrust, panting as your warmth contracts around him.

“Still so fucking tight,” He marvels like he can’t believe it, like it’s a dream you feel even better than when he replays the memories of you on repeat. “You been waiting for me?” He’s not expecting a response as his rhythm picks up, finding a familiar pace for the both of you that has him swearing under his breath and you struggling not to shout your pleasure to the rooftops.

“God,” You cry out when the head of his cock directly hits your g-spot, your hips jerking up so hard you would have fallen if it weren’t for Andrei holding you up. “Fuck, Andrei, fuck, I’m gonna—”

Andrei laughs, a sound that would have been more menacing if he also wasn’t gasping for air. “Already?” He mocks. “I barely touched you, baby,”

You don’t have to touch me, it’s on the tip of your tongue waiting to be blurted out. You don’t have to touch me for me to be on my knees for you. The words are ready, but instead all that comes out is a moan and maybe that’s for the best because he probably wouldn’t respond as well as he does in your dreams.

He’s unaware of your internal dilemma as he leans over you, pressing his clothed chest to your back. “Gotta be fast,” He reminds you, as if you’d forgotten. “You ready?”

“No, I—I can’t,” Because you don’t want this to be over. You don’t want to cum because he’ll follow you right after and then when clarity hits he’ll leave you again and you’ll be back to square one.

“Yes, you can” He croons. “I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen to you, I’m right here.” You want to sob as one of his hands leaves your hip and finds the junction of your bodies, gentle fingers prodding your pussy spread-wide around him until he finds your clit and rubs.

Your body is trembling and you can’t tell if you’re trying to move towards him or away, but it doesn’t matter anyways because he has you trapped between the wall and his body and the unrelenting pace of his hips slamming into you.

You have a sudden urge to look him in the eyes before you come undone by his cock and his fingers, so you crane your head to the side and watch him watch you. His hair is damp from sweat at the corners of his hairline, his lips slightly open as he pants and you think you spot him lick his lips when he catches you staring. You go to say something but he swoops down, catching your mouth with his own and promptly shuts you up.

Andrei doesn’t relent in his motions despite the uncomfortable position, not letting you break from his lips by removing his hand at your hip and gripping your face to keep you right here. He owns you, at this point, mind, body, and soul as your lungs beg for breath while your clit throbs beneath his fingers and oh, oh, there it is and you’re gone—

You feel the rough pads of his fingers bullying your clit but you don’t really focus on it until now, how the calloused ridges carelessly sweep over you with no semblance of relief and only when you body abruptly freezes does he part from you, but only slightly, leaving a hair’s width of space between your lips. “Beautiful,” He says, under his breath so quietly you don’t hear him as your bones catch fire and your brain short-circuits.

Heat sears you from the inside-out and you do nothing but endure as Andrei rocks you through it. There’s tears of ecstasy streaming down your face, you’re sure of it now, and you think he’s wiping them from your cheeks but you can’t open your eyes enough to check.

It takes a few minutes, but once your heart stops racing you can hear your favorite voice swearing behind you and only then do you comprehend him still moving inside you, but before you can whine at the sensitivity he’s stilling with a long, drawn-out groan.

You don’t dare speak first, nor are you the first to move. The air around you is stagnant with tension as you rest your head on your arms, breathing deeply to catch your breath. What does this mean? You’re spiraling already and it’s only been minutes since your desperate fuck in this bathroom.

Eventually, Andrei moves first. He slides his softened dick from you with a hiss and you feel his cum trickling out without him there to keep it plugged in. Wrinkling your nose at the feeling of having to walk around with wet inner thighs now, you slowly stand up as his hands fall from your body. You slide your panties and jeans back up the rest of your legs, ignoring the uncomfortable sensitivity of being covered once again.

Neither of you speaks a word. You want to cry suddenly, and this time not from pleasure. “What did we just do?” You manage to choke out, your voice so hoarse you have to clear it. He’s clearly planning on just leaving without a word but you’re not going to let him.

You stare at him expectantly. He’s turned around so all you have in your view is his slide profile, clearly struggling with what to say as his jaw clenches tightly.

“Nothing,” He finally says, and he might as well just fucking stab you in the back. “We did nothing. You’re going to go back out there and pretend nothing happened because it didn’t.”

Oh, he makes you so angry. You can’t believe you’d forgotten that. “You’re serious?” You know he is but you don’t want to believe it.

Andrei meets your glassy eyes and you wish you could read him like he so easily can read you. He looks as conflicted as the day you walked out of his house for the last time, like he has so many words to say but refuses to let them fall from his lips. Just like then, you know this rendezvous means more to him than just a meaningless hookup.

If only he’d admit it…

He exhales a shaky breath as another loud knock disturbs you. “We need to go.” He dodges your question just like he dodges every issue in his life, especially in regards to you. “Come on, kisa.”

“You can’t just call me that, after—after this,” You hiss as he grabs your arm and pulls you towards the door. You panic on the inside as he unlocks it because once you leave this dirty sanctuary you know your problems will only get worse.

Strange, how Andrei manages to make everything worse despite making you feel so good.

As if your emotions don’t matter to him (they really don’t), he flashes you a grin as he drags you behind him, past the angry horde of people who, now that you think about it, definitely know you were fucking. “I know you like it.” Spoken so simply, so plain, you hate that he’s right.

You’ll always like it. Always love him. For as long as you’re hung up over him it will always come back to bite you in the ass and he knows this too.

It’s why, without shame, his arm is curled possessively around your waist as he leads you through the crowd of people. Your friends, Jack, don’t even cross your mind as he does so.

“Go find your friends,” He soon leans down to whisper in your ear. “Then find Jack. Tell him you felt sick and had to use the bathroom.”

“What if I don’t want to?” You snap, purposefully antagonizing him.

Andrei merely raises a brow at you. “You can always stay with me, with my cum dripping down your legs, and explain to everyone how you missed me so much you couldn’t stay away.”

You want to hit him. You almost do, but he continues before you actually go through with it.

“I wonder what Jack would say?” Of course he was listening to you earlier. He ignored you then, of course, but he listened.

And yeah, okay, you get it. Not a good idea to let everyone you know see you with him. He doesn’t want his friends to see him with you, either.

“Trying to get rid of me?” You ask, intending to sound sarcastic but it comes off as more insecure than you wanted it to.

You know he is, but you can’t help but ask for confirmation. Maybe it would help you move on to hear how little he actually cares for you.

“I don’t think I could get rid of you if I tried,” He replies. You can’t tell if he’s serious or not. “You’ll never get rid of me though.”

He’s right, again. You hate so much that he is because you both know you’ll be crawling back the moment he calls.

You want to cry again as his arm leaves your waist, the absence of his heat leaving you shivering.

Andrei looks at you for a long time, just appraising. He tilts his head like he doesn’t know what to think, but then he spots something behind you and starts backing up.

“I will see you again someday, kisa.” He winks at you, and then he’s gone.

Someone behind you taps your shoulder while speaking into your ear, a voice you recognize as one of the girls you came with. You should probably focus, banish Andrei from your mind, but you don’t.

You strain your neck, watching for him through the crowd. He’s back at the bar with his friends, his teammates you once knew.

He’s laughing at something one of them said. Like he wasn’t just with you, fucking you against the bathroom walls.

“Are you okay?” Your friend behind you asks, the one thing from her you do catch.

“Yeah,” You say, swallowing despite the dryness in your throat. Andrei is talking to more people now, girls that have approached him, you notice. “I’m fine.”

He looks gorgeous under the lights. You catch his brilliant smile, the glimmer of his eyes, and those lips you can never get enough of. You soon lose sight of him amidst the throng of people, but his fleeting allure forever lingers...

Like a steadfast reminder, a haunting echo of what can never be.

A/N: Well, that was fun. I hurt my own feelings writing this but it was worth it. I hope you guys enjoyed! Please remember to reblog & comment!!

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[blooming-violets]

Fucking her while she’s doing the dishes 🙃🙃🙃

You got it!

TASM Peter Parker x Fem!Reader smut || The Dishes

TW: I use the term "daddy" in a sexual manner in this, if that's not your jam, skip it.

The suds of the dish soap coated her hands as she idly scrubbed the same glass she had been working on for the past few minutes. Her mind was elsewhere. Work, family matters, friendship troubles. Anywhere but here. It wasn’t until she felt an arm snake around her waist did she pull herself back from her wandering. 

“I think that glass is clean enough,” a gravelly voice murmured against her ear. 

The sound of his tone made her shiver. She knew it all too well. It didn’t matter what he was saying, the moment his voice shifted into that low, scruffy sound, she knew. He wanted her. Now. 

“Mm,” she gave a content sigh, rinsing the glass under the stream of steaming water. “I’m a bit distracted tonight, I think.” She could practically hear his smirk as his fingers splayed out over her stomach. He toyed with the white fabric of her sundress. Despite being late into the evening, they were going through a heat wave in the city. She couldn’t handle the thought of anything heavier than a light dress weighing her down. 

“I can bring you back down to earth,” his breath was hot against her neck. She could feel the sweat start to bead up down her spine the closer he pushed himself into her. 

Her head felt like she was spinning. He had that effect on her. Always had. 

“No, Peter. I’m trying to finish the dishes,” she tried to hold firm. “If they don’t get done now, they never will. I know us. There will be a mountain of unwashed dishes in one week if I don’t do them.” She felt his hand slide over her hips and under the hem of her dress. Her soapy hand slapped down over his wrist, “No!” 

His grip only tightened, nails digging into the fleshy bits of her thigh, “No?” He sounded amused. “Are you sure about that?” 

“I-” her face felt heated. “I’m busy…” The lack of confidence in her voice was evident. 

Peter’s hand only paused momentarily before continuing his descent, “Busy? Washing the same glass for the past ten minutes? You’re so, so busy, aren’t you? You poor thing. I’m working you to the bone over here. You sound like you need some motivation to get the job done.”

She sighed, a deep and satisfied sigh, as her head lulled to the side. It was an invitation for him to attack her sweaty neck with hot kisses. She held her breath as his hand approached her sex. It was only a matter of seconds before he realized she wasn’t wearing underwear. Then it would be over. Any attempt to finish her evening chores would fly out of the open window. Peter wouldn’t be able to resist himself and she had no desire to actually stop him. 

Despite her best efforts to squeeze her thighs together, he prevailed. His palm found its destination and he let out a soft inhale. 

“You naughty girl,” he rumbled in her ear. “Do you really think I wouldn’t notice you had nothing on under here? I knew it the second I walked into this apartment. What do you think I’ve been staring at all night?” 

She could feel herself growing hotter and wetter with each word that fell from his lips. His tone was nothing but pure raw lust. 

“Peter,” she whispered, stuttering over her own tongue. “I have to…to…the dishes…” 

“I never said you had to stop. Please, continue.” 

His hand slipped out from under her dress to instead tug the thin straps from her shoulders. He jerked the material down her arms to expose her breasts until the dress hung loosely around her hips. With a more leisurely caress, he ran his fingers lightly over the swell of her breast. 

“Well,” he ordered. “Keep working. I wouldn’t want to force you to stop.” 

Her pulse quickened. She loved it when he got like this. The more dominating and controlled he became, the more she craved him. She wanted him to puppet her to his will. She wanted him to take what was his without asking. 

“Yes, Peter.” 

She grabbed the wine glass she drank out of for dinner tonight but it slipped from her soapy grasp. The glass landed perfectly over a steak knife and shattered into pieces at the bottom of the sink. Before she even had time to react, Peter’s hand was tangled in her hair and yanked her head back.

“I didn’t say to break the dishes. I said to clean them,” he growled, the amused smirk evident despite her not being able to see his entire face. “Does someone need to be taught a lesson?” 

Heat flooded her core at the thought and she gave a dry swallow, “Yes, daddy.” The pet name fell out with ease. She knew exactly how to make him lose control. 

He responded with a low, dark chuckle. Her head was still snapped back, forced to stare up at the ceiling. She couldn’t see where his other hand was hiding until she felt a sharp pinch of her nipple. Hard. He twisted and tugged at it until she couldn’t hold back the whimper of pain. He wanted to hear her cry out but she held strong. He grabbed at the other one, giving it the same torture as her sister. She bit her lip to hold in any noise. 

“What’s the matter? You don’t want to scream for daddy tonight?” He tutted his tongue. “Are you trying to be a brave girl?” The growl in the back of his throat only turned her on more. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you screaming for mercy by the end. I always do.” 

Peter released both her sore nipple and her hair at the same time causing her to fall forward. She gripped the side of the counter for support. He took that as an opportunity to flip up the back of her dress to expose her bare, pantieless bottom. A palm press against her upper back, urging to bend over and arch her spine for him. Once she was in the position he deemed acceptable, his open hand came down with a deafening crack over her plump, expecting ass cheek. 

She yelped with the shock that followed the slap and couldn’t hold back the loud moan that tumbled out after the yell. She loved the sharp sting. It awakened every cell in her body. It made her feel alive. Again and again his palm ricocheted off her bottom, leaving a searing, delicious pain in its wake. 

When he paused to take in the state of her, bent over the counter, dress bunched around her waist, breasts swaying under her with each heaving breath, soap suds drying on her delicate skin, it was almost too much to handle. His fingers slid between her thighs to tease her sex. She was soaking wet. Her slick glistened on his coated fingers under the dull lights of their kitchen. A beautiful sight. One that would never get old. He probed deeper into the swollen, aching flesh, feeling her body crying out for him. 

She felt humiliated as she listened to pornographic sounds her sopping pussy made with each thrust of his hand. He pumped three fingers in and out of her without any resistance. The harder he abused her needy cunt, the more she cried out. She could feel flicks of wetness splattering down her thighs. It trickled down her legs. Her mouth hung open in a silent cry as that familiar warmth started to grow in the pit of her stomach. He was a master with his hands. A man who perfected his craft. He could bring her to a screaming orgasm with nothing but a finger if he desired. 

But, tonight, he chose a different method. 

Just before she could catch that high, Peter yanked his drenched fingers out of her. She whimpered in protest. Her head turned to beg for more but she saw that his cock was already clutched in his hand. He wasted no time guiding it into its new home. Her eyes slipped closed at the sensation of him filling her. The orgasm he had been building her towards with his hands reignited exactly where it left off as his cock plunged deeper. It was as if a strike of lightning shot straight up her spine only to explode somewhere in the depths of her skull. 

Her eyes shot open with a shocked yelp as Peter landed another hot slap against her quivering ass. She could feel her cheek jiggle from the force of the blow. That wonderful mix of pain and pleasure set off another explosion, this time down in her mons. She no longer had control over her body. Peter was holding her up. She couldn’t remember when he had moved her from bending over to arched tightly against his chest but he held her up with a strong arm locked around her neck. Her own arms dangled uselessly by her sides as he pounded into her. Her head tilted back to lull against her shoulder like a rag doll. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t make a sound. Only feel. 

The explosions kept going off. As long as Peter kept up his pace, her orgasm never ended. Each thrust of his heavy cock brought on another set of fireworks. It was almost too much for her to bear. There was nothing but the hot, persistent throbbing electrifying her skin. Peter wasn’t stopping. He was there. Pounding into her. Spreading her. Impaling her. Using her like the sex doll he craved. 

His breath was ragged, his grunts were low and deep, filling her ears with the sounds of his pleasure. He was loving this as much as she was. They were melding into one. There was no her without him. No him without her. Their bodies were entwined. Two beings moving together as one. 

She knew he was close. She did her best to fumble out the words he’d want to hear despite her lips not wanting to form anything but mindless screams. 

“F-fill me, daddy.” She mumbled, vaguely coherent. “I wan’ your cum. Fill me up. Make me yours. Take me…have me…cum inside me. I n-need you. All of you. Let me have you, daddy. Give it to me. I need it…please…please…” Tears pricked her eyes, the heightened emotions and feeling of ecstasy too much for her to handle. She wanted him. So badly that it physically hurt. 

And then the burst of warmth rocketed out of him. 

He filled her sweet pussy with the remnants of himself and she gladly accepted it all. 

Her body was being pushed back against the counter as Peter nearly collapsed on top of her with a loud, long groan. He emptied himself into her depths with shivering, jerking movements. The edge of the counter cut into her soft stomach but she didn’t care. She bore Peter’s weight, letting him finish how he needed to, until he managed to stumble back, sliding out of her, and wrapping an arm around her waist. He pulled her onto the nearest kitchen chair, cradling her in his lap. They were both dripping in sweat. Her thighs were slick with a mixture of both of their fluids. She could only give quiet, little moans with her head resting against his shoulder. Every so often another shot of lingering electricity would strike through her and she’d give an erratic shake of delayed pleasure. 

Peter’s chest rose and fell with his labored breaths. He stroked lightly down her spine and trailed patterns over her skin with the calloused pads of his fingers. They stayed like that for some time, breathing each other in, and soaking in the essence of their love. 

It was Peter who eventually spoke first. She would have been perfectly content to sit, cuddled, in silence until the morning. 

His voice was raspy and weak, “I promise I’ll do the dishes in the morning. Let’s clean you up and I’ll bring you to bed.” He placed a gentle kiss on her jaw and nipped at her earlobe.

“It’s too early to sleep,” she managed to squeak out. 

“I never said anything about sleeping. That was just round one.”

[ladyofthenoodle]

finally allowed to share a little of what i've been working on for the @mlbigbang. this fic will be mostly adrinette and ladynoir, but i couldn't resist sneaking in this little bit of ladrien!

She found Adrien again in an alleyway, talking to something in his suit jacket.

Did he have a pocket inside his jacket too? 

Men really did have all the luck.

“WHERE IS ADRIEN AGRESTE,” boomed The Voice again.

Shaking off her sartorial jealousy, Ladybug landed in the alleyway. 

Adrien blinked at her with wide green eyes. “Ladybug? What are you doing here?”

Ladybug was pretty sure the answer to that was obvious. “There’s an akuma after you?”

“Yes, but—I was… hiding?”

He was still holding two cones of gelato. Bless his beautiful, empty head.

“Not very well,” Ladybug told him. “You were pretty easy to spot from the rooftops.”

“You got here pretty fast,” he noticed, with a weirdly smug grin. “Were you already in the area?”

“No!” Deny, deny, deny. “Why would I be here? There’s no reason for me to be here, where you are, and where the akuma is, except of course for the akuma, which is the reason I’m here and no other, and I definitely wasn’t anywhere nearby before this and I’ve never watched opera in my life because as I said, I wasn’t here!”

Adrien grinned wider. 

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” she shouted, face hot.

“You’re Ladybug,” he swooned. “Why wouldn’t I be smiling at you?”

Ladybug’s face grew hotter. “Smiling to see you—see me! I mean, happy to be you! Save you! The measure is pine. Pleasure is mine!”

His answering smile was softer now, more adoring than smug—which did nothing for Ladybug’s composition. He really was unfairly good-looking.

“I’m here to rescue you!” she added, rearranging her body into one of her seven Power Poses™ she’d practiced to increase her confidence and combat imposter syndrome…

… which she’d practiced with Chat Noir.

Ladybug slumped, the air whooshing out of her. He’d been so sweet and encouraging as she’d posed on the rooftops. Whenever she felt particularly silly doing a pose, he’d made up an even sillier one that they’d do together. Eventually, they’d both collapsed into giggles, and she’d finally relaxed enough to feel comfortable doing them.

After that, the Power Poses™ had worked like a charm. But until now, they’d always been fortified with the power of his belief in her.

Without that behind them, she just felt ridiculous.

Utterly ridiculous.

“Ladybug?” Adrien interrupted her train of self-pity. “I’m ready to be rescued now.”

She looked up at him through her lashes. He didn’t look particularly ready to be rescued—the gelato was dripping down his fingertips now.

But he did look like he believed in her. 

Like she could do anything.

Like maybe, just maybe, he could fill the space where Chat Noir used to be.

She puffed out her chest again. “Fasten your seatbelts, ice cream and gentlemen,” she announced as she held out her arm to him. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

[pseudowho]

Hello, Haitch! I was hoping we could discuss the extent of emotion or attachment towards fictional media? If the topic intrigues you as it has significant personal relevance to me 🤔

I just feel so intensely, so much, towards fictional media. Like it’s a tidal wave of emotion. For example, reading “Annihilation” has gotten my pulse skyrocketing and adrenaline rushing. It’s followed with the urge to have an in-depth book discussion with like a literature professor or something. Or when I’m reading your fics, I’m kicking my feet in the air and I have to pause to take deep breaths because, oh my goodness,oh my goodness, the room just got 10 degrees F hotter. Or when I read the lyrics to “Where our blue is” before bed, I legitimately woke up at 4:00 AM for no reason other than the feeling of emptiness. What did I do solve it? Listen and read the lyrics to “Akari” 💀💀 (Two skulls because I died twice that day.)

It’s strange because I do not have these strong reactions in my everyday life outside of reading and TV. I don’t find myself having the same level of intensity. If I were to describe the comparison of emotional reaction between life outside of media and my attachment to media, it’s almost like a parallel circuit. I will even draw a diagram below:

Voltage represents the intensity of emotions. Path A involves multiple resistors which represent the every day events outside of media. Here, each resistor has less voltage (less emotional reaction). Path B has only one resistor which represents fictional media I consume as a whole. There’s only one resistor which means it has LOTS of voltage, meaning that I experience more emotional intensity towards media than the events of day-to-day life. *Sigh.* What a terrible analogy. I do not know why basics physics came to mind.

I think a lot of my friends who I’ve confided in misunderstand me. This does not mean that I value the lives of fictional characters over my own life. (That’s not healthy.) I place equal importance in both aspects, and hence, that’s why I drew a parallel circuit! The same total amount of voltage travels through each path.

I value media because it’s an opportunity for me to immerse myself in something new, to be able to learn something I’ve never thought about before. It’s an opportunity to be able to empathize with certain characters, to change your perspective, to be able to apply what you have learned from media into real life. So while media and life outside of media seem like separate entities, they are— for me, personally— very connected. The lessons I intake from media combined with real-world experiences make up who I am. Two different paths, but it is still part of the same circuit. (I feel so cheesy for saying that 😂)

Before I’ve always limited myself to being just an observer, never actually participating in discussions. I’d keep my thoughts and feelings about whatever I read or watched to myself in a little notebook. (I have managed to use all the pages of that notebook!) Maybe visit forums or watch YouTube analysis videos and see what others have to say, but I never participated. Only recently have I felt this surge of intensity (borderline overwhelming). And because of this, I have the strong urge to express these ideas and feelings to people who get it and are happy to talk about it.

I mentioned this before, how you’re the reason I downloaded Tumblr and started participating in a community. And I sincerely mean it. It’s because of the fluffy and/or smoldering emotions that bombarded me because of your fics. It was too good, how could I not acknowledge how much positive emotions you 🫵 made me feel. Not only because of how indulgent and engaging (😏) your fics are, but because of how you imbue the essence of Nanami Kento himself into it (and you deny being a goat 🐐). And this prompted me to think more critically about why I admire Nanami Kento, which led to very blissful discussions of Nanami and more character analysis!

This is why I feel an enormous amount of gratitude towards the community. Especially you, @mrhaitch, and @rahuratna. For being open to talk to, for having genuine interest in these in-depth conversations, and for taking the time and effort out of their day to be so thoughtful. It’s very, very meaningful to me.

*This ask has undergone two rounds of revision. I hope it’s comprehensible-ish? 🥹

It's absolutely comprehensible, and a delight to read. Thank you. I adore it.

So, I am speaking as someone who's neuromild, but firstly I suspect you're neurospicy. This isn't an issue, but I have seen and heard this reported much more amongst the neurospicy, especially those with a tendency to hyperfixate on media forms, who perhaps find it slightly more difficult to read and relate to others in 'real life' situations. I only raise this as a contextual element to my upcoming Thoughts™️. I, as a neuromild, also experience it though (just to reassure you).

Characters in books, and the storylines attached to them, are 100% designed to be relatable or repulsive, and to provoke a certain reaction in you. It is structural, deliberate, mapped, with signposts showing you the way. There are even side paths mapped out; you can take detours down trails to explore the reactions of others to this character and scenario, the wider societal impact of events, the past or the future related to these characters or events. Characters and situations are very often explored extremely thoroughly, with just the right terrain to lead you by the hand through how you should feel.

Daily life and daily interactions and daily demands are rarely so well mapped, extensive or well signposted. The ground is tarmacked, genuine emotion suppressed behind facades of social expectation. People won't tell you or show you how they feel, or think, and there is no omniscient narrator behind them to fill in the blanks. Side routes have no-entry signs; you must be Level 10 or over to access this information! You don't want to walk this path, but it's the only route available, and as such, you must; and your disappointment at being on this path makes you look at the ground instead of the sky.

We yearn for connection. We yearn for the power to resolve our own problems and to be the masters of our own story, and at every turn we are corseted by societal restraint, daily tedium, and barely 10-20% of the volume of information and stimulation that media forms will give us. And when our brains cannot work out the difference between adoring real life characters and scenarios, and adoring fictional characters and scenarios, it goes for the bigger meal; why have 10-20% when you could have 100%?

Even worse! Your feet ache and your heart aches, and new paths appear, leading you to fandom and other people who are enjoying this journey as much as you. You can't resist, a glutton for more; why have 100% when you can have 120%? And people aren't writing fanfiction about real life. If they do, it's fiction, and while it's juicy it's still not as satisfying as fantasy, which offers so much more.

This holds hands with your voltage theory, I think.

Again, I say this as a neuromild instead of a neurospicy, but I am guilty of this too. I do often feel greater intensity of emotion for fictional scenarios because they are designed to be that way. When you have a vivid imagination, and are intelligent, as clearly you are, that stimulation sends fireworks through you. You are absolutely alight, every nerve stimulated, and the emotion just fizzlepopping through you.

I don't believe you're 'abnormal', but it is always good to self-reflect. Are fictional scenarios and media forms reducing your ability to enjoy/feel things for real people and daily life, or do you enjoy/feel things for real people and daily life as much as you always did? Think carefully now. The relative hugeness of the things you feel for fictional scenarios may, at first, convince you that it's the former, and convince you that you're slowly becoming numb to life. If you work out that it's the latter, and you are not becoming numb to life, then this sounds like a healthy, if extreme, response to media forms. If you're gradually becoming more numb, we need to address the root issues, mental health worries or life/social dissatisfaction or need to escape something pathologically unaddressed, often being the answer.

I often feel different. I often feel like I connect to emotion harder and more viscerally than the people around me. I am a social chameleon, and exceptionally good at being whatever a social situation wants me to be. @mrhaitch understands what lies underneath, and gets to experience me as I am at base. I often spend so much time being another version of myself, that I forget who I am, and have to come back to myself.

I tend to suppress or limit my involvement, because I like taking the overview, allowing my feelings and opinions to develop as new information comes to light. I am self-possessed over my own opinions and their ability to grow and change, and as such, don't feel pressurised to feel a certain way. I don't feel the need to engage in fandom rhetoric, and actually, I strongly dislike engaging with it; this is as close as I'll get. Being a 'creator' suits me well. I almost never discuss my thoughts and feelings about series' etc aloud, in comments or real life. I'd discuss it, if prompted, but I certainly don't seek it out.

There is also the core part of me that needs/wants to maintain a certain image in real life, and as such, most people don't know that I'm even into anime. The barest couple of people, I can count on one hand, know that I even write. I'm fine with this; I am perfectly happy to conceal parts of myself, that belong to me alone, with my long-suffering husband as a privileged/punished bystander.

I think extreme emotional connection to media forms can show good empathy. I would overall be more concerned about someone who does not show deep emotional responses to media forms that are designed to make them feel this way. I believe that progressive societal numbing to emotion is routinely seen in daily life, and begins in childhood; how many of us recall being told that our emotional reactions are abnormal, irregular, over the top or embarrassing? We learn to suppress, early on. This leaks out, and we suppress more and more as we grow, becoming number and number to the struggles of those around us. Progressive degradation of empathy is real, and we can and should resist.

r.e. my writing, and me, though I viscerally hate to discuss my personality like this: I can acknowledge two traits I have; I am eloquent with a broad vocabulary, and I am very good at making other people feel how I want them to feel. This counts for real life and writing. This is good, and bad, and I try very hard not to be the Evil™️ version of myself. I write with an aim, and I like critical hits. I'm a perfectionist and I always have been. I'm sorry to hurt you in this way. I usually use this socially (not consciously, it's just how I am) or at work, where I advocate for women and make sure they feel loved and safe. I'm quite good at it. Channelling this into creating stories for other people to enjoy has been an ability I didn't know I had until very recently.

I agree that @rahuratna is a very rare talent. Arguably, I find her to be an exceptionally uncommon author. She would do very, very well to write a novel, if she ever felt it. Her writing skill is phenomenal. I only wish I had more time to read all of her work; I sadly find myself having to choose how to spend the very limited social time I have, and I often choose writing, as it relaxes me more than reading. But please know, rahuratna, I'm coming for you. Also know, @bunny584 is one of the rare ones, I'm my humble opinion.

Perhaps that's why you like my writing? Just thoughts.

Thanks for the amazing Inbox. I don't often get the time to do massive responses but I absolutely try my hardest.

Good talk!

Love, always,

-- Haitch xxx

[oksana-moods]

Queens of Promise - Smut Part

Summary: Following the trails of her sun kissed skin led you directly to a heaven that you soon learned you had been locked out of.

A/N: Okay, if you don’t read smut, this chapter is not for you, but worry not. Part 9 will be posted around the weekend of shortly after. Now if you do read smut, here’s a treat. Some sort of 8.5 part for the ones who enjoy this kind of reading and yeah I wrote roughly 4.5k words of smut. It was just so easy, it flowed haha. Please, tell me your thoughts.

Warnings: Smut. MINORS DNI! +18 ONLY! Explicit content, bad language.

Previous Parts here

“Between Heaven”

“I- I don’t know how to love.” You reply. You had had many experiences with women in bed or in any place actually, but you had never loved. And Wanda Maximoff, somehow, was so much more and again, you didn’t want to treat her any less than she deserved. “And you deserve more.”

Her brows furrowed at your hesitance, but one look in your eyes and she knew how scared you were. Maybe for completely different reasons but still, just a scared woman in front of another.

“You speak about what I deserve, but what about what I want?” Her words set your whole body on fire and you’re all but aware of how close she was. “And I want you to show me how it is.” Her confidence hit you full force and you couldn’t deny how bad you desired the woman standing in front of you.

You felt her hand caress your cheek then your hair, then back to your cheek. “Wanda, I don’t wanna do anything that you might regret.” You held onto your last shred of consciousness as if your life depended on it. Maybe not your life, but your sanity.

Wanda was about to link her lips with yours again, but refrained herself at your words, then looked at you and asked you to open your hooded eyes. “I want you to be the first to touch me. I won’t regret this.” Her voice was hotter than lava and melted every nerve in your brain.

Her body burned with the same desire yours did. Then, you let go of that fragment of consciousness and let your own instincts take over your entire being. “Your wish is my command, Your Highness.”

You pulled Wanda into your body and as soon as her body was fully flushed against yours, you pulled her in for a searing kiss, setting your heart ablaze. Your hands roamed her body as if desperate to feel her.

You kissed her cheek, then her earlobe before your lips found her neck. While you let your own desire dictate the rhythm, Wanda’s mind became a puddle of nothingness. She had never been touched like this before and only the gods knew how much she yearned for your touch.

While kissing, biting and sucking on her pulse point, your hand hovered over her breast and gave light squeezes, the best you could with so many clothes standing between your skins.

Realizing she needed more, much more than she was having, Wanda helped you ease the buttons of your tunic. Since you were disguised as a trader, your clothes weren’t so difficult to shed, but hers, it was quite the opposite.

As you walked to her back in order to take off the many laces of her dress, Wanda’s mind started to wander and wonder. You definitely moved expertly, so far, you knew where to kiss or touch as if her body was your own.

“I’ve heard stories about your…” She bit her tongue, trying to find the right words. She was taught that a princess shouldn’t use bad words or talk about profanities. “Sexual adventures.” She decided to find a common ground. Not too much polite nor too much whorish.

She closed her eyes and this time she bit back a low moan that tried to escape her lips when you bit the exposed skin of her back.

“Hm.” You hummed before biting her once again, this time slightly harder and, this time, Wanda couldn’t suppress the sound escaping from her mouth. “People like to talk. Why don’t you tell me what stories and I’ll tell you whether they are true or not?”

Wanda nodded, not fully certain that you’d see, but she couldn’t trust her voice. Your hands touching her over the fabric was maddening enough. She couldn’t even think about when you touched her bare.

Upon feeling that you were working on the laces, she tried to concentrate on said stories. They were vulgar but she’d be lying if she said she never felt a fever on her midsection once or twice.

“C’mon, Princess. I wanna hear it.” Your voice so low on her ear wrecked her nerves, little by little. In addition to that, the way you always pronounced the word princess made her blood boil, for you always spoke as if it weren’t her tittle, but a condescending call. And fuck, her body betrayed her resolves once more when another moan escaped her lips.

A low chuckle was the only thing she heard, but she knew you had seen what you were doing to her. You were experienced and she was just a woman about to be deflowered and, for the first time in her life, she didn’t want you to be respectful about it.

“You made love with a woman before her husband could. Called for prima nocte.” Wanda spoke one of the first stories she had heard about your libertine actions across the world.

“False.” One lace off and you kissed Wanda’s bare skin. The feel of her body against yours and the power you had over her was intoxicating, your heartbeat increased with every sound coming from her mouth.

“You took a whore as company when you went to a war against a rebel Lord.” Wanda found her voice but with all your ministrations was getting hard to focus on her memory.

“False.” You kissed her again. “She was a castle maid from Triskelion, not a whore.” You clarified and Wanda gasped both at your words and at your tongue touching her back.

“And you threatened to make love with said Lord’s wife if he didn’t stop with the rebellion.” Wanda’s voice failed her for the first time as your fingers touched the growing amount of bare skin of her back.

“True, though I remember using the word fuck.” Your voice was back on her ear, your hot breath was electrifying. “I’d fuck his wife and daughter if he didn’t stop the rebellion.”

Wanda gasped both at your words and at your mouth leaving a kiss on her earlobe before returning to your activity. There was something about the way promiscuous words rolled out of your tongue, her body was on fire and, though completely inexperienced, she knew you didn’t even start.

“And I didn’t have to enforce for his daughter came willing for me to fuck her.” You completed though Wanda’s mind was far gone, for she felt that you had reached and opened the last lace. She could feel her gown loose on her frame, yet you haven’t undressed her.

Shivers shot throughout her body as you left a trail of hot open-mouthed kisses over her back, the trail followed the perfect path of her back bones from the nape of her neck until her lower back. She felt your hands roaming her skin as if to touch-imprint the feel on your memory.

It was so chaste and so sensual at the same time, which sent her nerves into tatters and the redhead could feel the heat pooling on her midsection. If she were to be honest, it was embarrassing the effect you had over her body.

With your nose, you trailed her back up until your mouth was once again close to her ear and asked. “Can I?” Your hand gave a light pull on her dress so she could understand what you were asking.

She remained silent and you feared that your confession had scared her away, but it was short lived for her voice broke the silence.

“Please.” Right then and there, you realized, that there was nothing that you wouldn’t do if Wanda asked you with that voice. It was half whispered half raspy and full of crave.

With a light pull of your hand, the gown pooled on the ground at Wanda’s feet and although you were behind her, you saw her trying to raise her arms to cover her body. Only you stopped her by gently grabbing her arms.

“I won’t hurt you.” You whispered into her ear and punctuated with a chaste kiss on her shoulder. “If you’re uncomfortable, I can stop.” You were so turned on that your whole body shook, but you wouldn’t be a jerk and disregard Wanda’s feelings.

“I know. It’s not you.” You opened your eyes as you felt her moving and now her front was completely flushed against your body. “This- I’m feeling a little self-conscious. That’s all.”

Her insecurity hit you in the chest for you did not expect that. If anything, Wanda’s body was just as perfect as a sculpture could be. In fact, Wanda’s body was a shrine begging to be worshiped.

“You are perfect, Wanda.” You kissed her lips once, then trailed until her shoulders and back. “Let me show you just how much.”

This time, she didn’t give you an answer. Not with words, for that matter. She pulled you in for a kiss that could scorch your soul but only made your body crave hers more and more.

Almost impatiently, Wanda pulled your lower tunic and you got rid of your pants and soon you were skin to skin.

After guiding her to the bed, your mouth left hers and trailed down the sweet valley of her breasts. You tasted one, then teased the other before lavishing her nipples with the attention they desperately needed.

Wanda’s back arched once, then twice with every movement of your tongue around her hardened peaks, and it was perceptible that it was becoming hard for her to control the sounds coming out of her mouth.

You travelled southern on her body, never forgetting to kiss or touch every single inch of her silky skin and with every touch another jolt of pleasure coursed through her. And every moan made you wetter.

When you were a little bit lower than the line of her navel, and about to reach her intimacy, you looked up silently asking for permission. Wanda nodded at you through demi-hooded eyelashes, and you swore that you were yet to see sexiest sight.

You continued down and found her midsection already soaked. You had felt it while grinding your leg on it, but this sight, well, now this was the sexiest.

You had to physically refrain yourself from attacking her lips and clit directly, but you remembered that this was her first time. You couldn’t act like a deranged dog. So, out of respect, you planted small kisses on her groin, up and down on both sides until she was used to your actions.

Her breathing, though, became heavier with every touch of lips and tongue.

Then, you gave a feather-like kiss on her sex and chuckled when Wanda’s body jolted out of the bad.

“Sorry.” She apologized, but you assured her with another kiss, not so light this time.

Soon, you stopped with the kisses and started to lick and suck her clit in the rhythm of her moans and sharply intakes of air. As you started to properly eat her out, Wanda’s knuckles were white, grabbing the sheets for dear life and that sight drove your head into nuts.

Incoherent words started to fall from her mouth, but you couldn’t understand, and you knew the reason why she spoke so low. “You can speak out loud. No one’s going to hear you, except for me.” You reassured her with your signature smile.

“But I-.” She tried to form coherent thoughts as she popped on her elbows, but it proved harder than she had imagined. “These words are so unladylike.”

You chuckled and kissed her inner thighs just for good measure, but you liked the effect it had on her, nonetheless. “You can speak whatever you want, Princess. I’m sure I’m going to like.”

Not even sparing her a glance, you dived between her legs again and her moan was loud and clear this time. “Don’t hold back your pleasure.” Your ministrations pulling sweet sounds from her, and it was driving you insane.

After a hard suck on her clit, Wanda jolted again half shouting an ‘oh’. You could feel the pleasure building in her and she wouldn’t take long.

“OH.” She exclaimed and the flow of juices coating your chin and tongue told you that she had come. You locked eyes with her long enough to see her shy smile, making your heart do somersaults in your chest.

When she rested her head again, you lunged on to her intimacy for another round. The moans and jolts were accompanied by grunts and another set of incoherent words, though this time you could almost discern one or another.

Deciding to increase her pleasure, you used one finger to tease her entrance and her perinium “Oh my-.” She cut herself by biting her lips and you smirked, she was closer than you thought and soon, your mouth was rewarded with her juices again.

“Such a good girl.” You murmured as you climbed the bed so you could lay by her side. Wanda only smiles and has her eyes hooded, definitely enjoying the bliss of her orgasm.

“What you were doing down there,” Wanda’s raspy voice broke the silence. “It was so good.” and it was your turn to smile softly. Her body glistened with a thin coat of sweat and by the gods she got more beautiful with every passing second.

She opened her eyes and let her head fall to the side to properly look at you, there was this new emotion dancing in her eyes, and you wished you could categorize every single one of them for later contemplation.

Wanda lifted her hand and traced your features with the back of her index finger, it was slow and kind as if she too was trying to engrave your traces into her skull. “You are so pretty.” She said softly, voice much like an angel. “Your eyes, your lips… you’re driving me insane.”

The back of her finger touched your lips, and you pecked it lightly, earning another smile from her. You leaned down and kissed her once more. It was slow, almost lazy until she pulled back and asked.

“Is this taste…?” You chuckled at the poor woman in front of you. Like a full castle lady, she couldn’t let vulgar words pass through her lips, it doesn’t matter that she spoke one or two barely minutes ago.

“You, Wanda.” You kissed her again, languidly, and pulled back looking directly at her eyes. “This sweet taste is your sweet juice.”

You saw her cheeks tinting with a light shade of red and you laughed. The innocence right after what you just did wouldn’t match anyone else but her. You dropped your head and kissed her cheek once, then traced her cheekbone with your nose until your breath found her ears.

The redhead knew that this action was nothing compared to what you just did, the kisses and the things you made her feel, but she could feel her body reacting again. Her arousal flared through her body like a wave and the feeling was exhilarating.

When you kissed the skin right under her ear, the sokovian let out a strangled breath and you felt her hand coursing through your back. Her nails dug onto your skin right after you bit her neck the harsher until now.

Your lips were back on hers in no time and, for the second time that night, your leg was in between hers, this time the wetness pooled from her center but also from yours. The feel of this perfect woman exploring your body was maddening, especially after she learnt that if she squeezed your ass just right, she’d bring your hips onto hers.

Between sloppy kisses and ragged breaths, Wanda would probably make you cum by only grinding her and it wasn’t fair. Her power over you wasn’t fair.

Wanda moaned and all the pleasure she was feeling was everything and nothing at the same time. Somehow, she wanted more. She wanted you more, but she didn’t know how to ask for. Or even what to ask for.

However, she desperately needed to feel more.

The harshness with you groped Wanda’s ass made her hiss and bite your shoulder, earning her a moan from you. It was plain to see that she’d make you go insane by the dawn if you lasted that long.

You found yourself kissing and playing with her nipples again. If more comfortable with you and your ministrations or if because she was finally setting herself free, was unknown to you, but Wanda moaned loudly. It was music to your ears.

As your tongue swirled around her hard, swollen peaks, your hand traveled further down her body. The woman beneath you hissed and let her head fall back on to the mattress as your finger circled her clit.

The wetness coated your digits, making it easy for you to tease her folds, her entrance and go back to her clit. It was almost a pattern, sometimes slow and sometimes pressing her intimacy a little harder, but never really touching where you wanted. Or she needed.

You wanted to make sure Wanda would feel all the pleasure you could give, you wanted to make sure that her first time being touched would be as perfect and delightful as it can be. All you wanted was to love her properly.

It was obvious by her body movements that Wanda wanted more. Her lust was so high that she’d take your fingers and anything you were willing to give her, but you never quavered your ministrations.

With the tip of your middle finger at her entrance, you locked eyes with her and asked. “Can I?” There was no turning back now. After her answer, her life would change forever. Up until now it was all teasing and play, but now you offered her the real game.

“Yes.” She choked between deep breaths, mouth sexily hanging open and eyes wide with anticipation.  

You held eye contact as you slowly slid your finger passed her cunt and you felt her tight walls pressing your digit. Her face contorted with pain but also with pleasure and her mouth moved without speaking any word.

This woman would be the death of you.

You let her adjust to your length for a moment and when her chest weaved with calmer breaths, you started to move. Nice and slow. In and out in a lazy pace, you could feel her sex clenching around your finger, sending your nerves out of the window.

This new feeling, the feel of you inside her was effervescent, incandescent even. Her soul, much like her body, was about to burst with this new sensation. Her hips moved on their own accord, as if trying to meet your hand and increase the pleasure.

She tried. She tried moving faster but still felt like something was missing. She wanted more and this time she asked.

“More.” She breathed out and she wanted to slap your face after you shot her one of your daring smile. You were playing with her body, taking your time and finding pleasure in make her squirm under your touch like a needy virgin.

Although you were indeed playing the sculpture laying under you, you conceded her wish. You took your finger from her cunt and after a whine escaping Wanda’s lips, you pushed two fingers inside her. Walls once again clenching around your skin, sending goosebumps through your spine.

You could feel she was full, moving desperately to increase the friction because you still kept a steady pace. You wanted to see how far you could take her, for the sight of her writhing and about to beg was heavenly.

Incoherently words flew from her lips, and you knew what she wanted. You didn’t have to be experienced to know that. But you wanted her to give in to you fully. You needed her to.

“Use your words, princess.” Your hot breath on her ear and that tone again made her walls clench involuntarily. The way you used her title as a praise was infuriatingly hot and she had to admit you had her wrapped around your finger. Literally.

The shyness that refused to leave her the whole night, suddenly was thrown out of the window. Much like a shameless whore, she bellowed. “Gods fuck me. Harder.” The urgency of her command was emphasized by her nails piercing your skin, much like her existence punctured yours.

And who were you to deny any demand of this ruler? Who were you if not another servant willing to do as their mistress ask? Who were you if not the most devoted disciple of this goddess?

She asked and you delivered. You fucked her just as she had asked and if before her moans were loud, right now it was like her lungs couldn’t hold back any longer. Your name floated through her lips, and she enchanted it like a prayer.

The rhythm which you fell in with her body was like magic and you had never experienced it before in your life. Up until now, you hadn’t felt the pleasure coursing through your partner’s body like you did now. As she chased her orgasm it was like your own body could feel it too.

You could feel the pressure building within her stomach, so you cooed. “Cum for me, princess.” Again, the praise sent shockwaves through her skin, and it was all too much. She couldn’t hold this amazing sensation any longer, so she came undone.

Wanda’s screams as she reached her climax were certainly engraved in your memory for life and, much like the sight of her, you’d never forget the things she made you feel.

After you helped her ride her high, you took your fingers from inside her and you could see her eyes darkening with lust once you wrapped your lips around your fingers as to clean the juices coating them.

“Gods, the things you make me feel.” Wanda sighed and you snorted amused, wondering if she could read your mind like an open book. Or maybe she was a witch.  

“You’re beautiful, Wanda.” You kissed her lightly before laying down by her side. You could feel your core pulsating with need, but you wouldn’t ask her to touch you. Your adventures were probably too much for her already.

Your thoughts were sliced, though, as she turned her body to face you. Expectancy was evident in her face, but also something else. Again, she was unsure. You just didn’t know of what.

“I- I don’t know what to do.” She stated almost uncertain, and you frowned your brows in confusion and hurt.

One would think that after the night and pleasure you had just shared, Wanda would stop doubting of the undeniable feelings growing between the pair of you. But no.

She’s still feeling the bliss of the sex, yet, here she was, breaking your heart with her fears and will probably go back to her enchants of ‘we’re enemies’ as though you didn’t just pour your heart for her.

“Wanda.” You sighed, your wetness belonged to the past now. “We can figure what to do with this enemies thing in the morning, yeah?” You asked, eyes almost pleading for her to let you in, for once.

“What are you talking about?” Wanda retorted, now her brows were furrowed too.

“Weren’t you just second guessing what we just did?” You asked again, suddenly feeling a bit lost.

And definitely, a lot lost when Wanda laughed. You realized, with a start, that this was the very first time you saw her laughing this freely. Eyes closed, nostrils flaring and mouth wide open. She was like an angel brought to Earth.

Your heart literally fluttered watching her.

After her laugh died down, Wanda looked at your eyes and spoke. “No, you twat. I was saying that I don’t know what to do.” She let her hands roam your body a little as if trying to convey her message, then completed. “To make you feel good too.”

“Oh.” You muttered dumbly and she sneered at you again. You were so used to her withdraws that your brain automatically read her sentence as another one. “Oh.” You muttered again after your mind finally wrapped itself around what she meant.

“You don’t have to.” You assured her, with a small smile gracing your lips. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head lightly and shifted her body so now it was her turn to straddle you. The previous confusion now long forgotten, and your body shivered with anticipation. Your own arousal was back on full force.

“But I want to.” She purred in your ear as she lowered her body. The feeling of her nipples against your own was from another world. This woman had you at her mercy.

“Just do what your body says.” You whispered after you found your voice, for her mouth was already attacking your neck as if there was no tomorrow.

If anyone would’ve told that one single woman, made of flesh, could open the gates of the heavens for you, you’ve laughed. But here you were, knocking the doors of the paradise called Wanda.

Apparently, the redhead was a fast learner for her mouth was sent from heaven while playing with your nipples. But when she reached your sex, it was as if she’d suck the life out of you and by the gods the sight of Wanda eating you out whole mouth was the sexiest sight you had ever had.

Every kiss, every touch was like a thousands of blazing suns scorching your soul until you begged for forgiveness to every and all of your sins. Even the ones you haven’t committed yet. There was something spiritual in the way the auburn woman drove your body to a hidden place of pleasure.

Right then and there, you understood that the feel of Wanda’s love was like waking up into a perfect dream. It is like learning that you’ve been locked out of heaven this whole time and she was the goddess who guarded the key.

Much like the time, inexorably and inevitably, your heart fell for Wanda, for everything you possessed now belonged to her.

Body, mind and soul.

Part 9

taglist: @californianwhiterabbit

[skyalent]

Witches Can Be Good | Supernatural x Scarlet Witch! Reader - Part 3

Warning: Angst

Happy New Year everyone… although kinda late. I’m not gonna lie I totally forgot about this until I finally logged into Quotev and got notifications on people commenting for part 3. I’m so sorry TwT RisaIceCreamPudding and Arabella from Quotev… but also thank you for reminding me <3

Also do you guys want me to make a masterlist? I don't expect this series to be too long, but if you'd like it, I can make it. Or a taglist. Just let me know with a comment!

Part 1 *~* Part 2 *~* Part 3 (You are here) *~* Part 4???

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Part 3: ...Goodbye?

The brothers were acting strange and Y/n knew it. She didn’t know why because she didn’t want to pry into their minds, but she did make subtle attempts to make them open up to her. Nothing was working so far. 

Meanwhile the brothers were full of all kinds of thoughts. After Sam deemed the DVDs safe and normal they watched the movies together while they sent Y/n out on a solo ghost hunt. 

Dean’s mind was blown over and over again. One, Y/n’s real name was Wanda and was part of the avengers!? Which was pretty damn cool especially with how hot she looked back then (and she only got hotter as she got older). But then both him and Sam found out about Y/n lover. Vision, a robot, but he reminded them of Castiel, as both were learning how to act human. 

While watching they felt like they were intruding in that moment. The way the two confided to each other… Dean wasn’t one for chick flick moments but he could tell that these two were utterly in love with each other. 

But then they witnessed the pain Y/n went through, practically losing everything. She lost her brother, her twin- a mute scream emphasizing her pain. Dean and Sam could relate, having lost each other more times than they could count.

She lost Vision to Thanos, the ugly wrinkled grape that both brothers just wanted to beat up in order to never see Y/n look that upset again. 

Then she herself died, her face oddly calm as she dusted away. But Sam understood. At that point, Y/n thought she had lost everything and had nothing left to live for. Her thoughts were probably along the lines of, at least I’ll be with my brother and Vision.

Coming back to life 5 years later, Y/n was understandably angry as she unleashed her anger on Thanos. But after that Y/n was lost. 

Her brother, gone. Her lover, gone. And as she came back to life she learned that her sister figure, Natasha, was gone too. 

Maybe that’s why they could only sympathize and understand as they watched WandaVision that for once in her life Y/n just wanted to be normal and happy. 

It was quite weird to watch Y/n magically give birth to two twin boys, but they couldn’t deny the amount of love Y/n had for her family. 

And then… 

“Dean isn’t that the witch that gave us the DVDs?” 

Agatha Harkness. Now the brothers knew that the witch could not be trusted based on the way she treated Y/n. 

The next time they see her, Dean isn’t going to hesitate in shooting his gun. 

But then onto Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness… 

“LIKE DUDE WHAT THE F*CK!?” 

First off, Y/n was hot. As in, slay b!tch, get it kinda hot. And she was kinda evil. 

“But think about it.” Sam pointed out, “She just lost her children, who she had for like, a couple days, she lost her husband- although I can see that she’s accepted his death by now. At this point Y/n is just desperate for her family, for love, for normality.” 

Sam wasn’t ashamed to say he was balling tears by the end of the movie. Obviously, Y/n wasn’t dead, but she had gone through so much that it left one question in their minds. 

Does Y/n… still want that normality? 

Because even if the Winchester brothers hated the thought of getting rid of Y/n from their lives, Y/n would never get to live a normal life while being friends with them. She would be stuck in a hunter’s life.  

“We should let her go…” Dean said blankly after a few minutes of silence. 

“Dean-”

“No, I’ve thought this through. That life she wanted. Sam, she’ll never be able to get that with us. Didn’t you see how happy she was with her family? I admit it was kinda f*cked up, but now she has another chance at it again. We can give her that chance again.”

Sam contemplated it, though Dean could see his resolve breaking. 

The Winchester brothers were going to let Y/n go.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The brothers had driven Y/n far from the bunker after telling her they were going on a trip. After parking into a driveway, they stepped out, a confused Y/n following after.

“Wait, what’s going on? Why-” 

“Y/n what we do is extremely dangerous, and it’s only going to get more dangerous from here on out.”

“Dean, I know that already. Why do you think I’m here? To protect you guys because-” Y/n attempted to explain but was cut off by Sam. 

“We can’t be associated with witches Y/n. All the hunters know who we are. Once they figure out what you are, even more people will be out to kill us, on top of the supernatural.” 

“Alright I’m calling BS-”

“Sorry, Y/n. But please, this will be so much better for you. We even paid for this house and everything. Don’t worry about it, please.” Dean opened the trunk and took out Y/n’s suitcase, rolling it to the door and passing the house keys to Y/n.

“But guys you’d be even safer if-”

“If you stayed here.” Dean sternly said to Y/n, looking directly into her eyes. She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry. “We don’t need a witch helping us.” 

Frozen, Y/n could only watch as the brothers got back into the Impala and drove away into the distance. Heart broken, tears uncontrollably ran down her face as she wept.

“...but you guys are my family…”

So... Part 4???

< Previous *~* Next >

[forgot-how-catflap-works]

10 Lessons from a transfemme gym rat

I’m the only trans person at my local gym. I sometimes worry that I stick out like, well, the only trans person in a room full of cisfolk. I’m taller than most of the men and broader than all the women; my face often darkened by stubble because I have electrolysis later that week and can't shave; and I have to wear loose fitting shorts rather than tight leggings so that I don't accidently cock slap someone when I’m on the elliptical.

I don’t see any trans fitness content on my feeds either, presumably because the algorithm is as confused about my gender as my parents are. It sort of understands that I am a woman but occasionally forgets, and is utterly dumfounded by the idea that trans people might doing something other than porn and JK Rowling discourse.

Since transition, I can now imagine a future where before there was only a grey expanse. I realised if I wanted to live that future, I needed to start taking better care of myself. So with Lady Ballers still fresh in the cultural consciousness, I stepped foot into a space that felt not only unwelcome, but actively hostile to my presence. Nearly six months on, here’s an incomplete list of what I've learned so far.

1. None actually gives a shit 

What a fucking relief that was! I expected to be immediately clocked and then chased out the building by pitchfork wielding gigachads. But here’s the thing — a little seceret I try to remember while at the gym — literally no one cares or has any interest in me. People do not talk at the gym, they do not make eye contact, they do not smile. They lift weights in the corner or sweat on the treadmills. My presence as a trans person does not factor into their gains, or distract them from scrolling on their phone between sets. Even in my tiny ass local gym, I’m basically invisible. 

2. Take up space

I know it feels hostile out there for trans people at the moment, but for the time being our right to take up space is enshrined by UK law. Cis people take up space all the time. It would never occur to them that they might be unwelcome somewhere, and even if it did that wouldn’t stop them. If you've ever been to a Pride, you know exactly what I mean.

We have the same right to access these facilities as any of those cis dudes full-stacking the chest press. Anti-trans campaigners are trying to exclude us from public life; don't do the work for them by refusing to participate. They will have to physically remove me if they want that, but I’ll be so jacked they won’t be able to. Which brings me to my next point… 

3. Strength is power

If you’re transfeminine, physical strength is power. It is protection. Unless they hit the gym too, most people aren’t as strong as they think they are. Estrogen will prevent you from getting too girthy, but you’ll be surprised how quick you can build muscle with a regular routine. I’m stronger now than I’ve ever been, and I feel confident I could defend myself if necessary just by having that extra raw power on my side. 

I get that plenty of transfemmes want to lean away from physical strength for a number of valid, dysphoria-related reasons. But don’t let it be because society tells you women have to be weak, or that you’re not a real woman because you're strong. That’s some misogynist bullshit. You can be whatever you want. To that end… 

4. Fuck gender

Fuck it right into the bin. The world of physical fitness is incredibly gendered. It relentlessly reinforces the idea that men are supposed to be big and strong, and women are supposed to be thin with a juicy butt. Fuck that. I’m a non-binary transfemme. I want a juicy butt and to be jacked as hell. I want to be able to bodyslam a grown man and look good while doing it. Now more than three years into transition, I’ve left behind certain aspirations of unachievable femininity, but I’ve also never been hotter. I feel like myself in whole new ways. Confident, powerful, beautiful. I am the woman I always too afraid to be, and it fucking rules. 

5. My relationship to my body has changed

I spent the last 33 years disconnected from the sack of meat that contains my unwilling consciousness. Even as transition progressed, I did not want to be a part of my body. But as I exercise, feel my muscles working and my heart pumping, I am connected to it. I am a part of it. There is something beautiful about that. All my life I avoided exercise because I couldn’t stand my physical form. But now I recognise that my body is my home, and I should care for it like I care for the rest of my world. 

6. Exercise is actually good for you 

Every smug prick that tells you that exercise is good for your mental health and general well being was, unfortunately, correct. I want more than nothing else to rot in my own filth, smoking weed and eating doritos until I die. But that leaves me feeling like literal shit, and the improvement I’ve noticed in mood, energy levels, sleep quality and general daily vibe cannot be ignored. I resent this truth, yet here we are. 

Exercise has not “fixed” me or suddenly cured my lifelong depression. I’ve been more depressed in the last few months than I have since I started transition, but exercise was actually the one thing that kept me going. I almost had no choice on whether I went to the gym. It happened at times against my will, but it always improved my mood, even if I did just go right back to a RuneScape-induced fugue afterwards. 

7. Setting the vibe

For whatever reason, gyms love to play Radio 1. I can only assume this is because whoever is in charge of the music was hired by Satan to ruin my day with inane chat and the musical equivalent of liquid diarrhoea. Before you call me a boomer, I was born hating all things popular and despite my best efforts I really can’t find a way to feel any differently about it. 

So if you’re like me, which is to say very cool and refined, you need headphones to blast some raw punk for those weight sessions. I’m talking about Soft Play, Lambrini Girls, Be Your Own Pet, Amyl and the Sniffers. If you’re on the treadmill or elliptical you want an audiobook; something compelling, uncomplicated, and full of action. No mournful dyke lit. I’m sorry fans of Julia Armfield, but Our Wives Under the Sea isn’t going to cut it when you’re only 15 minutes into cardio and already want to die. For my money though, the best cardio option is to hop on a bike, get your Switch out and play Legend of Zelda. “Oh, but what if someone judges me for playing my Switch at the gym?” That person can eat shit. Also, they won't because as highlighted earlier, no one cares! 

8. Leisure centres are your friends

Leisure centres, unlike private gyms, are funded with your taxes. They are the public libraries of getting jacked. Make use of those spaces. They are usually cheaper than the alternative and yes, they might be a bit grottier but they’re still pretty good. Don’t be afraid of the staff, they are there to help you.

Make sure to get an induction too. It should be free and will help familiarise you with the space and how the machines work. Do not wing it unless you wanna show up, cause a scene by hurting yourself and then get taken out on a stretcher. Most leisure centres will also offer to put together a workout plan, and some of the fancier ones will give you a full fitness MOT where you can learn about your bone density and shit. Not my gym, because it’s small and crap. But you probably have better facilities on your doorstep than I do within 20 miles. 

9. The changing room question

You have the legal right to use the changing rooms that align with gender identity. Labour even recently dropped plans to rewrite the equality act, which would have removed that right.  So for now, it's yours — use it. That said, if you’re really nervous about the changing rooms, contact the gym beforehand and ask what their facilities are like. Do they have changing booths? Or gender neutral spaces? 

I rarely if ever change at the gym. I either get ready at home, or even change in my car sometimes like the lil gremlin I am. If that’s not an option, put on your gym clothes under your outfit for the day, and wear something simple like a jumpsuit so you can get changed with minmal fuss. If you absolutely need to change at the gym and aren’t comfortable or don’t feel safe using the changing rooms, use a disabled toilet. That might be controversial, but your safety and comfort matters. If people are going to give you shit, or if you don’t have access to the facilities you need to feel safe, claim space where you can. As long as you are respectful of others who need that space too. 

10. Don’t get in your own way

This is where I will do the most projecting, but as someone who is both trans and autistic, I really thought going to the gym would be too fraught an experience for me to handle. I worried that I was going to get clocked, or ridiculed or harassed or merely perceived against my will. 

But let me remind you: No one else cares. You are allowed to be there. You are entitled to these spaces. If someone gives you shit, whether that staff or users, report them to management. File a formal complaint. Make it clear what actions they take to make it right. Advocate for yourself. If that’s too overwhelming, ask a friend to help. Hell, drop me a line and I’ll put those bitches in their place for you. 

Yes, it’s fucking exhausting having to fight for every inch of space, every moment of safety, but fuck the rest of the world. If they can’t handle our presence, that’s their problem. Soon you’ll be jacked as hell and able to throw them down a well if they give you any trouble. 

[melis-writes]

First of all, YOU ARE A GODDESS WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING. I love your fanfics and was wondering if we can get a short “alternative” for a piece in MTF. When Sonny makes a move on Victoria, what if Victoria gave in? as a Sonny lover, that twist had me so AGHHH, although we know Vic wouldn’t do that to Michael, what if she herself had a deep curiosity to what the oldest Corleone son had in him? I know we have a small snippet but what if it all just went with the flow from that first kiss?!? 🤭

Ahhhh thank you!! 😭❤😭❤ Pls, you're are so sweet. 🥺 Thank you so much. But also AHHHHHH, THIS PROMPT…!! 😳 WE KNOW MISS VICTORIA WOULD NEVER, BUT… The “what ifs” are leading us to so many places. This is probably the most asked “what if”? Because Sonny had opportunity right then and there and kissed Victoria, wondering if she felt the same or if her absence for Michael would spark a desire for him by her side instead… So what if we did go from that flow just as you requested?! 🥵

Stunned in the moment from the change of tone in Sonny’s voice, his sudden affection and honey laced words, you stare at your brother-in-law as he strokes his thumb gently over your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” Sonny speaks to you softly, giving a loose shrug of his shoulders. “You’re a wonderful role model to your children—yeah, you don’t even need me to tell ya. You’re one of the most kind-hearted people I know, Vic. Yeah, I think you’re perfect too.”

“Sonny—” Your face flushes red as Sonny keeps one hand squeezing over your thigh now, pulling you closer to him.

Feeling as if the room has grown ten degrees hotter, spinning around you and slowing time, you gaze into Sonny’s eyes as he tilts your chin up to face him directly.

Only mere inches away from one another’s lips, you both lock eyes with each other having nothing but this moment, this opportunity—the privacy that allows the deep, hidden curiosity inside of you since Sonny came to see you in New York that yearns to wonder: what does the eldest Corleone brother have to offer you?

All this lust and attraction pulling him to you, sprouting thoughts in your mind as to what kind of lover Sonny could be and what he can give you right here and now in the midst of your loneliness and heartache.

“Victoria,” Sonny murmurs, pressing his body against yours and pushing you gently against the couch.

You place your hand over Sonny’s shoulder, but it’s to hold your balance, not to push him away or otherwise.

Sonny’s eyes flicker up from where your hand remains on his shoulder before he sees the green light of your body language giving into him.

Within his confidence and attraction to you, Sonny swiftly leans up in towards you and catches you by surprise as his lips crush over yours in a deep kiss.

Your eyes widen a bit at first but you easily find yourself lost within the passionate, deep kiss and let your lips kiss Sonny’s back just as insistently.

A bit more rough and tender than Michael, Sonny’s kiss is new and exciting to you and just as needy.

In just a spit second, you find your hands running through Sonny’s curls, pulling at them as you’re both chest to chest, feverishly kissing one another—letting forbidden lust and arousal take over, clashing through every emotion you thought you ever knew.

“Sonny,” you breathe out as you both break from the wet kiss.

Sonny breathes heavily, eyeing you up and down underneath him now on the couch. “I’ve… I’ve been wanting to do that for years.”

‘Years?’ Your cheeks sting hot with blush as you glance down to see both of Sonny’s firm, large hands over your thighs. “We… We shouldn’t do this, but—”

“But?” Sonny raises his brow at you, noticing you reaching out your hand and placing it over the buttons on his dress shirt.

“But…” The curiosity and arousal that are heavily built up within you yearning for affection and attention take over completely. “I want to.”

“God…” Sonny grazes his teeth alongside his bottom lip, inhaling softly as he feels your soft touch unbuttoning his dress shirt one by one.

Teasing him, you’re not even aware of the discomfort Sonny feels in his dress trousers at his bulging erection begging to be freed until Sonny’s dress shirt is fully unbuttoned, hanging off of his broad shoulders loosely.

You maintain eye contact with Sonny, placing your hand now over his belt and noticing his erection but not quite at what Sonny has to offer just yet.

“Let me…” Sonny unbuttons his dress trousers, looking at you for a further reaction and confirmation. “I want you, Vic. Just for tonight, let me have you and then…then you can go back to my brother.”

“Oh!” You gasp loudly, seeing Sonny’s fully erect cock spring free—boasting a full ten inches. “Sonny… Wow.”

Sonny smirks, very much so pleased by your reaction as he pumps his cock in his free hand. “That’s right, baby.”

A deep sense of arousal tugs in your gut, begging, yearning, wanting, desiring and it becomes more and more apparent to you by the second as you feel your pussy tingling and wetness growing between your thighs.

“I promise I’ll be gentle, huh?” Sonny purrs in your ear, placing his hands over the waistband over your skirt. “I’ll get you nice and ready for me, baby, don’t worry…”

“Oh my God,” you whimper, seeing the length of Sonny’s cock going past his own belly button. “I want… I want you.”

“Mmm…” Sonny inhales the sweet scent of your perfume off of your body, pulling off your skirt with your panties in one swift movement. “I could tell you did the moment I got you on here alone.”

“Mm… It’s not going to fit,” you bite down on the corner of your lip, finding yourself spreading your legs further and further.

“Oh baby, believe me—” Sonny looks up into your eyes, trailing his hands down to your inner thighs, “it’ll fit.” His eyes greedily take in your soft, supple thighs in his hands and the dewiness of your pussy—causing you to cringe out of embarrassment and look away.

“Mike’s lucky, isn’t he?” Sonny leans his head down, parting your pussy lips and hearing the wetness speak for itself. “Gets you all to himself like this whenever he wants, you beauty. But tonight, you’re mine.”

“Confident, huh?” You blush, turned on by Sonny’s cockiness.

“I know how to make you feel good, baby. Trust me.” Sonny runs his hands up and down your thighs before placing a sloppy kiss over your clit, breathing hotly over it and causing you to whimper quietly. “Won’t take my word for it? Then I’ll show you and Mike won’t know a thing. This’ll all stay between you and me only.”

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

BABE!

Can you do either a Hades!Harry x Persephone!reader or an Eros!Harry x reader smut oneshot?! 🤤🤤🤤

OMG SURE! I might do Hades x Reader as I’ve never written a Hades one before 🤔

@victoria-styles here's a little sneak peak!

“Harry?” She asked and he glanced up from checking the time on his watch. He looked surprised, “Hi.” She said with a smile of disbelief, “I don’t know if you even remember me, but-”

“Y/N. How could anyone forget you?” He asked with a demure smile as he saw her look away bashfully for a moment and he could hear the excited pounding of her heart and her thoughts in a frenzy. He even caught a “he’s so much hotter than I remember” and he struggled to bite back his grin with that one. This was purely coincidental, he hadn’t been looking for her today, he had been for a week already once he settled in, but today he just needed a break and suddenly here she was.

“You’re too sweet.” She mumbled with a humble shake of her head, “I ummm- it’s good to see you.” She said and finally looked back into his eyes. She was about to say she’d been looking everywhere for him, but maybe that wouldn’t be the best way to start this out.

“You as well, I’ve ummm, I’ve thought of you often.” He admitted and she felt a shot of excitement zap through her body.

“Oh, me too!” She said and then shook her head, “Me of you, not me of me. Er- I’ve thought about you too. A lot.” She explained quite badly and his lips quirked up to the left, carving his dimple deep into his cheek, “Not like weirdly “a lot”, like the normal amount of thinking you can do about a person, you know?” She fumbled on her words.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” He assured with an amused smile. His smile widened even more so when a thought about her getting herself to him crossed her mind. He had to look away because he didn’t care who was around, with a snap of his fingers he would open up the ground and take her down to the underworld and do whatever she wanted him to do to her.

“Y-you do?” She asked and he nodded.

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, OK.” She smiled nervously and he chuckled. He forgot what humans were like in this capacity. They were skittish and played coy, despite the preserve and obscene things that went on in their minds. It was adorable.

“Are you doing anything right now?” He asked and she bit her lip as she shook her head, “Would you like to join me for breakfast?” He asked his next question.

“I’d love to, but you look like you’re busy today.” She explained with a shake of her head. He was dressed in a suit so she could only assume that he was off to work or had something important to do. She was nervous, it was coming off of her in tsunami-like waves. 

“That can wait.” He said nonchalantly with a smile. Yeah, he did have something planned, but finding her was more important. It was the reason he had temporarily relocated to this hellish, suburban town.

“I would hate to impose-”

“Didn’t you just say you’ve been thinking of me. A lot? But not weirdly a lot.” He asked with a smirk and she giggled nervously.

“I uh-I believe I did say that.” She admitted.

“Well then?” He asked, “Unless you’re busy.”

“I’m not. I’m just in shock is all. I’ve been looking for you everywhere for the last two months.” She explained, speaking her thoughts without really thinking and then she scrunched her face up in embarrassment as she winced a bit. “Just ignore me. My brain’s all out of whack today.” She tagged on quickly and he grinned. If this was her just nervous to see him he couldn’t wait to see the state of her after he’d had his way with her. Her brain would be mush and she’d only be thinking about sex, cock, and him until the day she died. 

  “S'your brain, huh? I think I make you a little nervous.” He decided to say. There was confidence laced into his words and it made her knees weak.

“I’m not nervous.” She fibbed, but he decided not to challenge her on it.

“Oh, well my mistake. I just assumed because you make me a little nervous.” He confessed and she looked surprised at his candor.

“I make you nervous?” She asked and he shrugged with a smile.

She certainly did. If only she knew that she had an all powerful god frazzled and fumbling and questioning all of his morals and ethics and the sanctity of his marriage after millennia of devotion. At this moment Y/N was the most powerful woman in the universe and she didn’t even know it.

LMK IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED:)

[lonelycelsadpilled]

I get your point that guys attracted to ugly girls is a fetish and nothing more. But the problem is... The chances are very very low that whoever will like us for who we are just the way we are. People have better options and will choose them instead. So is it really so bad if a girl gives in and wants to be liked at least for the fetish?

I guess for me as somebody who hates being sexualised, I know I’d hate it. I’ve been in real life situations where I’m asked for things like that and it feels awful. It made me leave my job and I had dreams about it also, it left an impact on me and I felt even less comfortable with myself, it worsened my self confidence. Getting that online already makes me feel gross and bad about myself. I have people talk to me about music for days, like they’re lulling me in, and I suddenly then have them send me a dick pic. Usually they’re older than me too, by a bit. It reminds me I’ll be seen as a woman before a person, a woman before a friend. Sometimes just knowledge that you’re a girl is all they need. They can picture you as hotter if they want.

I guess me being a-spec, or just questioning it, is partially why I’m like that, but I’ve never enjoyed it and it’s always made me feel awful. I remember being young, maybe fifteen, and being genuinely shocked that people did want to kiss, did want to be in a relationship, did want to have sex, even if it was eventually. I want people to not care about my appearance, I want people to like me for me. To actually care about my personality and interests. To not only like me because I have a hole.

I couldn’t stand the thought of that being all I am in a relationship. I’m okay with settling for nothing. While sometimes the thought does make me sad, I’ve long since accepted that it’s likely I will not find somebody. I have high standards and I will not settle for somebody who only seeks to fetishise women. Porn addicted, sex addicted fetishising men will not care about you, and their fantasies will not be exclusive to you.

Do not punish yourself. Being alone will be better than being mistreated and not seen as a person. Putting yourself in a relationship where you know you won’t be truly loved is practically self harm. I understand if you think you do not deserve more, I understand fully, but logically, without the belittling of self and losing the hatred, you as an average person deserves something normal.

[f1]

Hamilton says W14 was 'at its worst today' as he and Russell reflect on trying day for Mercedes in Budapest

Lewis Hamilton says Mercedes have work to do overnight after a difficult first day of running in Budapest, revealing the W14 was “at its worst" on Friday. However, his team mate, George Russell, was confident that they would perform better over the weekend. After a rain-hampered opening practice session, where Hamilton did not set a time, the eight-time Hungarian GP winner only ran the medium tyre in FP2 on his way to finishing down in 16th. FP2: Leclerc narrowly leads Norris and Gasly during mixed up second practice session in Budapest After the session, Hamilton revealed Mercedes “only had one tyre” to use in FP2, before addressing their struggles on Friday. The Briton drew comparisons to last year’s race as a reason for him and his team to feel optimistic heading into the weekend. “It was not good at all,” said Hamilton, when asked how it felt inside the W14 on Friday. “[It] was feeling like the car at its worst today. But we will work on the set up tonight and hopefully tomorrow. “Last year it felt terrible at the beginning, and we turned it around with some set up changes. So, we will work on that tonight, and hopefully it will feel better.” Hamilton was not happy with the Mercedes' first day of running in Budapest Russell did set a time in FP1, going fastest of any driver in the session. However, he followed that up with 20th in the second hour, although he did not feel that was representative of Mercedes’ true pace. “[It] didn’t feel too bad in all honesty,” said Russell when asked how he felt in the car. “It was obviously on very different programs to everybody else, we only used one set of tyres throughout. READ MORE: Perez owns up to FP1 mistake as he thanks Red Bull for ‘tremendous job’ to repair car “It was a set of used tyres from FP1, so the lap times don’t really give a true representation. I’m sure tomorrow will be better. But you know we're still just focused on trying to improve. “We always know that we tend to get better as the weekend progresses, which is the right way round for it to be. Few interesting things we learned, even in that one session, so let’s see what we can do tonight.” This feature is currently not available because you need to provide consent to functional cookies. Please update your cookie preferences Russell: Tyre run plan means Friday lap times ‘don’t give a true representation’ of Mercedes’ pace Asked where he felt Mercedes were struggling with the car, Russell responded: “We’re struggling just with a bit of overall grip. I don’t think the tyres were in the right window just in the low fuel and high fuel. Just need to understand why that was. “If we need to be taking a faster out lap, slower out lap for the qualifying stint, for the race run. If we need to be pushing harder, managing more. READ MORE: 'Felt like I never really left' – Ricciardo happy to be back after first day of running with AlphaTauri in Budapest "These are things that are a little bit harder when you are in the cockpit, without having to look at the data to understand actually that the tyres are on the cooler side, the hotter side. “And what to do to go faster. As I said, it wasn’t our best day for sure, but it wasn’t the first time I’ve said that on a Friday evening. Saturday, Sunday often is better.” via Formula 1 News https://www.formula1.com

[intergalactic-chameleon]

gender stuff once again

SOOO ive finally come full circle and am now considering hypothetically one day getting top surgery (if not just breast reduction) and maybe also going on T at some point.

literally about a year ago when i was discussing gender with my roommate at the time, she asked me if i would consider getting top surgery after i told her that i was going to get a binder just to “try it out” and see “how it feels.”

i thought abt it, but told her “no, not really” because my boobs had never rly bothered me before and they made me feel “more like an adult” (im really short and tiny and would occasionally get mistaken for being a teenager rather than someone in their twenties, so my boobs were often the one age indicator for people). besides, they also made me feel attractive - i had long, wavy hair and taking topless photos of myself was a hobby of mine because i just looked fucking good. ultimately, my tits, which have always been somewhat disproportionally big (i think im a 34D), helped feel me more feminine and sensual as i grew up. though i definitely had a hard time trying to find cute tops that fit me and give me enough support sans bra, i still built a good wardrobe of interesting feminine clothing that i really enjoyed.

but despite all of this, i still wanted to try out something different. at the time last year, i had only just begun to think about being more transgressive with my gender presentation. i had realized that i wanted a shorter, boyish haircut (specifically to look like steve harrington) and kind of started to wear less feminine clothing overall. i also was discovering how attracted i was to men in an undeniably queer (ie. faggy) way, which further propelled me to explore masculine identity even more.

anyway, i was prolonging ‘the big chop’ until after my sister’s october wedding, so i began to grow my facial hair out in order to grow more comfortable with gender non conformity. and to my surprise, my mustache became very noticeable and at some point i realized that i could genuinely grow a little baby chin beard. ofc, by the time of the wedding, i shaved all that off, but went right back to growing it out.

then, the big day: i got my first ever short cut in january. it was shorter than i was expecting, but i immediately felt something shift. i started to feel a lot more confident and got tons of affirming compliments from loved ones about how well it fit me. i also finally felt comfortable enough to dress more “masculinely” and my facial hair didnt make me feel ratty and unkempt anymore; it just fit.

in the coming months i continued to feel more confident and expressed myself more openly around my peers. additionally, a lot of my trans peers started identifying me as trans (which was honestly very validating because i kinda felt like i couldnt loudly identify as trans unless other ppl saw me that way). thus, ever since i’ve been thinking about myself as a trans person and continuing to develop my identity around that.

however, now that ive been actively presenting more masculine/andro for about 6 months now, ive now run into several things about my appearance that i kinda struggle with, such as my height, my shoulder width, my small little arms, fussing with my hair, and of course, my chest. and so i now have this conundrum where im not necessarily experiencing intense gender dysphoria that leaves me feeling depressed, but i have this voice in my head that’s just like “hm, yknow, it’d be nice to maybe not have my tits” bc i’d really like to show off my chest / torso but my tits are so big that it’s distracting !!! and if im binding then i cant rly show off anyway…

so tl;dr: my tits dont make me hate myself but they’re getting on my nerves bc i feel like i’d be hotter without them but that doesnt feel like a good enough reason to gather all the resources needed to obtain a reduction/removal !!!! i also get sad thinking abt how pretty n feminine i used to look and how getting my tits altered (and/or if i went on a low dose of T) would make it hard for me to “return” to how i used to look … idk. how do i find out what i truly want for myself….