#I’m but a teenage girl who is simply going through it

[the-broken-pen]

I suffered a mental break after writing like eighteen college essays and wrote the newest one about a bagel and I just call it college essay bagel and it haunts me but like objectively it’s funny because it’s about a bagel you know? And my English teacher is gonna throw a book at my head when she finally reads it

[bbydoll18xx]

She’s Such a Good Girl (Part 2)

Paige continues her assault on your innocence, leading you to spiral.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Themes: angst in the beginning, Paige being hot and flirty the rest of it woohoo, mentions of being horny oops

Part 1 - You move in across the hall from Paige Bueckers. It doesn’t take long before she tries to shatter your innocent persona. And you just let her.

Masterlist

A/N: I’m so, so grateful for all the love on the first part of this little mini series. Let me know if you are up for a third part:)) I have soo many ideas it's ridiculous

~

You wake up feeling anything but well rested. Your sleep was muddled with dreams of Paige, her smile infiltrating your unconsciousness until you woke up with an uncomfortable stickiness in between your thighs. You groan into your pillow, the general overwhelmingness of last night draining you even more.

Grabbing your phone from your bedside table, you see a text from Paige, and the butterflies erupt inside of you once more. 

‘We’re all planning on going out tonight. You’re coming with us.’

Her bluntness momentarily stuns you, but you were grateful to be included. It seemed she was hell bent on getting you out of your shell, for whatever reason, and you were simply just going to concede. You needed this.

You respond, your heart beating out of your chest, and the anxiety begins to set in. 

It was getting harder and harder to deny the gay feelings you had. And although it had been years since your “oh shit, I’m gay,” moment had dawned on you, this was reaching new heights of awareness. But you had refused to truly accept it thus far.

You had a complicated relationship with your sexuality. Most of the time you had shied away from even acknowledging it; it was too painful. In high school, you were surrounded by other gay people, and it felt like you almost belonged, slowly coming to terms with your sapphism. But as you moved away to college, you were the only one in your friend group who was even a little remotely queer, and you felt isolated by your glaring differences. 

Your religious upbringing did not help the situation either. You quickly learned how to hide your emotions. Slurs were regularly thrown around the dinner table, the nasty words cutting into your being, and your fists would be tightening in your lap, fighting to keep a neutral expression on your face.

You could not give yourself away.

As soon as you could, you’d seek solace in your room, hot, shameful tears sliding down your cheeks, forcing yourself to quiet the sobs erupting through your chest. The words of contempt echoed through your mind, until eventually you had nearly come to believe them yourself. 

Each evening you clasped your hands together desperately in prayer, vehemently struggling with everything you had been raised to know and everything you wanted and needed to feel. It was an eternal battle that raged on inside, slowly withering you into a ghost, haunted by the darkness that had flourished in the absence of support and acceptance.

You wondered what the people who had claimed to love and know you the most, would do if they found out about your dirty, little secret. The anxieties about being outed manifested in cruel dreams, awakening you suddenly, a thin layer of sweat glistening on your body as your chest rose and fell in quick staccato breaths. 

That was something you still wondered today. And you would certainly wonder for the rest of your life. You had vowed that you would never come out to your family unless you truly fell in love with a girl. So you had kept everyone at arm's length to protect yourself. But Paige Bueckers was slowly breaking your walls down, brick by brick. 

A wave of nausea washes over you as you realize that getting closer to Paige meant toying the line of the false heteronormative persona you’ve been carefully crafting since you were a young teenager. The temptation of feeling normal in a group of girls quickly shuts down any immediate worries. That was a problem for another time. 

You hear your roommates in the living room, bustling around without having any idea of your internal battle. With a sigh, you drag yourself out of bed to go out to meet them, already preparing for the deafening noises that would inevitably come with telling them of last night's events. 

You open your door, nearly shuffling your feet against the carpet as you walk out to greet Taylor and Sarah. Their heads turn from the focus on the television, faces set in smiles as they see you emerge from your room.

“Guess what I did last night?” You prompt them, and their faces morph into ones of natural curiosity. 

“Did you read your class syllabuses to get a head start?” Sarah asks sarcastically, and you stick your tongue out at her in false derision. 

“No,” you scoff, although her guess was not completely off base. “I went over and hung out with Paige and the rest of the team.”

Taylor and Sarah were uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. They glanced at each other, momentarily stunned before erupting in hollers, jumping to their feet in excitement. 

“How the fuck did that happen?” Taylor all but yells, still jumping up and down. It was a good thing you did not have downstairs neighbors.

“Well they were being so loud, and I wanted to go to bed, so I knocked on the door to politely ask them to shut up,” you explain, trying to hide the giddiness you felt as you recalled the events of last night.

“And Paige answered and invited me in. And now I’m going out with her and the team tonight,” you finish, carefully watching the reactions of your two best friends. 

Their faces were morphed into ones of sheer delight and astonishment.

“My innocent, little angel is growing up,” Taylor exclaims, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye, and you swat at her, giggling at the sheer hilarity of the situation.

“What am I supposed to wear to a bar?” You ask, and the girls shriek in laughter, clapping their hands and promising to help you get dressed later.

You feel better about everything, the support from your roommates briefly quelling the fears and uncertainties that had plagued your mind for years. And your excitement was a testimony to the effect a certain blonde had on you.

~

“You’ve got great tits. Might as well show them off,” Sarah says exasperatedly, shoving one of her low cut tops at you.

Your face heats up, and you hold up the tiny tank top. “Don’t you think it’s a little, I don’t know, slutty?” Your voice trails to a whisper as you think about purposely showing off your body. 

“That’s the point, girl! It’s finally your time to show everyone what you’re fucking made of. Go be a sexy, bad bitch!” Taylor urges, slapping you on the butt as she does.

You take a deep breath, nodding in agreement, finally pushing yourself further away from the perfect, good girl act that had been placed upon you since you were a child. 

You don the skimpy black tank, admiring the way it shows off your slim waist, and you pair it with tight jeans that accentuate the curve of your ass perfectly. You fluff your hair and add a layer of lip gloss, before taking one last long glance in the mirror.

You could do this.

With a few encouraging words from your roommates and a few slaps to your ass, you nervously make your way across the hall to knock once more on Paige’s door. The door is thrown open, loud cheers erupting as you appear, and KK launches herself at you excitedly, throwing her arms around you and pulling you into her. 

Giggling, you hug her back, your nerves melting away at her friendly disposition. She pulls away, eyeing you up and down with an approving nod. “Someone cooked here,” she smirks, and your face blooms an embarrassing shade of deep red.

“My roommates kind of helped me get dressed,” you admit, hands tugging down your impossibly small shirt. 

“Girl, you look fineee,” she says, rubbing her hands together, causing several of the other girls to cackle at her not so subtle attempt to rizz you up.

“Who looks fine?” you hear a familiar voice, and your head whips in the direction of the question. You see Paige sauntering towards you, and your heart immediately begins to pound as your eyes rake over her tall figure. 

Her hair was down in blonde waves, making you want to reach out and run your hand through the soft-looking locks. Her toned stomach was exposed from her crop top, her abs flashing in a way that had your stomach rolling with an unfamiliar feeling. You couldn’t necessarily put your finger on it, but it shot down in an intense display of unbridled want. And she had the smuggest look on her face, accentuating the plumpness of her bottom lip. Your tongue subconsciously darts out to lick a slow line against your own lip as you watch her approach you.

KK points at you, waggling her eyebrows. “The pretty princess over here.” 

You blush again. Shit, you really had to get that under control. 

Paige hums, looking you up and down once more. “She’s not wrong,” she mutters huskily in your ear as she pulls you in for a hug. Your knees weaken at her touch, and you aren't sure if you’d be able to survive the night. It had just begun, and she had you completely and irrevocably fucked. 

30 minutes later, you, Paige, and the other members of UCONN’s women’s basketball team were shuffling into several ubers to head to a nearby bar. Unsure of which car to get into, you awkwardly stand off to the side, the anxiety pumping through your veins once more, but you soon feel a muscular arm wrap around your waist.

Looking up, you are met with Paige’s blue eyes and that smug smirk, and with a wink, she guides you to the nearest car, helping you into the backseat. As you sit, you adjust your top, overly aware of how much of your chest was actually out. Paige sits next to you, settling in with a low grunt, and she immediately places a hand on your thigh. Your eyes focus on the veins and the length of her fingers, and that feeling in your belly ignites again. 

As you arrive at the bar, Paige helps you out of the car with a chivalrous hand. And it does not leave yours as you enter the doors. She laces her fingers through yours, and you don’t miss the way it feels so damn right. She guides you through the crowds of people, and your breath hitches, feeling slightly overwhelmed from the volume and the hoards of drunk people pushing into your frame. 

Paige notices immediately, and she pulls you closer, tucking you into her side protectively. You preen at the attention, the feeling so foreign but addictive. You needed more, and the idea of it ripped away from you sent an unsettling spike of dread shooting through you maliciously. 

Subtly, you shake your head in a futile attempt to clear the thoughts out of your head. Overthinking was sure to be your downfall. Nothing a little alcohol couldn’t fix, though.

Aside from the occasional glass of wine, you had never really drank. And you certainly had never done shots. But when Nika and Aubrey had thrusted a tray of them towards where you and Paige were sitting, you were quick to grab one, eager to dull the bitter voices in your head. 

You bring it to your face, taking a hesitant sniff that causes your nose to wrinkle, eliciting a fond chuckle from the blonde. “Do I just sip it or…?” You trail off shyly, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous you sounded. What kind of college girl didn’t know how to take a shot?

Paige bites her lip. “Lemme help you, baby,” she mutters in your ear, and she takes the shot out of your hand. “Breathe all of the air out and then swallow it all at once before you take another breath, okay?” 

You nod, letting the air leave your mouth, lips pouting. Without her gaze leaving your mouth, Paige holds up the shot glass, pouring the liquid down your throat in a swift motion. 

You swallow quickly, feeling the burn slide down your throat and settle into a warm pool in your belly. You lick your lips, trying to catch a tiny drop that had slid past your mouth and trailed down your chin towards your neck. 

Before you can chase the trickle, Paige leans in, swiping it with her thumb, placing it into her mouth and sucking, her cheeks hollowing in the process. 

Your face morphs into a look of shock, and she gives you a shit-eating grin. The effect she had on you was something out of a book you spent many lonely nights immersing yourself in. And now that you were living in the crystal clear reality, you regretted not getting out of your shell a little sooner. 

“Can I do another?” You ask, already looking at the tray where a few shots still remained. 

Paige laughs. “Maybe wait a few, princess. The alcohol will kick in soon,” she promises. “You can share mine,” she gestures to her drink, and you don’t miss the way the pet name rolls off her tongue effortlessly. 

Paige was not lying when she had told you that the effects would soon hit you. Before you could even start to feel uncomfortable, a delicious easiness fell over you, loosening you up in a way you had never experienced before. You reach for Paige’s straw once more, pretending that her mouth was not just on it, and you relish in the sweet liquid adding to your tipsiness.

Paige had stayed close all night, similarly to the night before, and you were grateful for her constant presence anchoring you. The other girls took turns dancing with you, showering you with compliments and making future plans. Even through the haze of the alcohol, your heart felt as if it could burst; they were all so nice, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you actually belonged. 

The night flies by, and as it does, you and Paige get more and more touchy. Her hands took turns between trailing down your back and resting heavily on your hips. She played with a lock of your hair, twisting it in her fingers as you swayed to the music, and she was constantly gazing at you through heavy lids, pupils blown from the darkness of the bar and pure want.

Emboldened by the drinks that had graced your lips, you don’t shy away, and before you know it, you’re leaning in closer, intoxicated by more than just the liquor. The bustling crowds and excessive noise surrounding you melts away as Paige grips your waist, pulling you closer into her. 

Your heart pounds at her proximity. She reaches up, cradling your jaw and stroking the soft skin of your neck with her thumb. You wonder if she can feel the thumping of your carotid, but you’re too enthralled in her presence to even care. Her eyes flit between your own and your slightly parted lips. Everything felt so fucking delicate, as if one small move would break everything. 

“Been thinkin’ about doin’ this all night,” she whispers, and pulls you into a kiss.

All the air is sucked out of you as her lips touch yours. And while you are momentarily stunned, it does not take long before yours are moving against her in a delicious exchange of passion. All worries of not being a good kisser leave your mind as Paige moans against your mouth, the sound shooting straight down your belly and to your pussy. Her tongue moves against you, and the feel of it does not help the slick now accumulating in your panties. 

The kiss eventually ends, much to your displeasure, and as you pull away, a giggle erupts from your mouth at the insanity of it all.

You had just kissed Paige Bueckers.

“OOH, P is fucking whipped!” KK shouts over the music, enthusiastically high-fiving Ice and Nika. 

Fuck, you were caught. 

But little did KK know, is that you were pretty fucking whipped, too. With one smooth move, Paige had broken down all your walls, and you were surrounded by the bricks of your carefully crafted innocence shattered around you at your feet. And maybe you could blame it on the alcohol, but you were pretty sure that if Paige made you anything less of a good girl, you were certainly okay with that. 

~

Part 3 - You get drunk off Paige, and confessions come out.

Part 4 - Paige makes you feel so good.

Part 5 - Paige shows you her strap.

Part 6 - Your newfound fascination with Paige's abs leads to some fun.

The beginning hits a little too close to home I’m so sorry I blacked out while writing it. It’s been almost 9 years since I realized I had feelings for girls, and I still struggle every day with accepting myself. To all the readers who are going through the same thing, I love you, and here’s to hoping things get better. If you ever want to reach out, my inbox is always open.

xoxo katy

[eternally-racing]

can i have this dance? | lando norris

pairing: lando x wife!reader (and their teenage daughter!)

genre: fluff

wc: 2k

summary: When your daughter goes on her very first date, it's time for you and Lando to accept that your little girl is growing up - especially when a familiar face shows up at your door.

this can be read as a standalone fic or part of the racer girl series!

---

“I’m going to need to have a stern talking with him when he gets here, you know.” Lando stands in the doorway of your daughter’s bedroom as he watches her double check her makeup in the mirror for what feels like the 20th time. 

All Lando can think about is how fast his little girl Piper is growing up as she looks so grown up getting ready for her first date.

 “It’s not even a real date, he just asked me out to prom” is what Piper said as she tried to break the news to you both gently. She knew that you wouldn’t be a problem, that you enjoyed hearing about all the dating drama that had been going on in her class. In fact, she had come to you first for advice on how to tell Lando about it, but you would never admit that to him. The two of you girls had a bit of a master plan to break it to him - it started with cooking Lando’s favorite meal for him, watching your favorite movie with him together as a family, and then finally breaking the news gently over dinner.  

Lando chokes on his food slightly when the topic comes up, trying to chalk it up to the spice you’ve put in the pasta even though you and your daughter can see right through the lie. He simply nods at the dinner table and doesn’t say another word on the topic - instead choosing to shift to discussing some upcoming vacation plans. 

While his blatant lack of reaction was a pleasant surprise to Piper, you knew there was something else under the surface. 

“That’s what I was waiting for” quickly spills out of your mouth once you see Lando start pacing around your bedroom when you’re getting ready for bed.

“Can you believe this? She’s dating now?” Lando exclaims with his hands in the air. The British man is pacing back and forth as he keeps muttering under his breath in disbelief. 

You, on the other hand, are the complete opposite. You’re starfished out on your bed, Kindle in hand as you look like the epitome of being relaxed. It was actually a stark change for you to be the one that’s so calm and collected, and it was usually Lando who had the job of trying to comfort you. 

 “It’s prom - it’s normal that she has a prom date! Hell, you were my prom date.” you exclaim.

“True, but I’m me - and she won’t even tell me who this guy is. What if he’s one of those kids that just been repeating high school over and over again so he’s actually just in his 20s and super creepy.”

“First off, no, he’s a regular high schooler, I promise you that. I actually think you’d like the kid.” 

Lando looks at you with an air of suspicions as his eyes narrow and he stops in his tracks. “Wait, how do you know who it is?” 

The guilty look permeates on your face as Lando keeps pressing you for answers. He’s made it from being across the room to now being chest to chest with you in seconds, prodding you in the side for answers. He’s relentless as usual, as you give into his charms all too easily. 

��Okay, okay. I don’t know anything for sure so I don’t want to give you false information which is why I didn’t say anything. But me and some of the PTA moms were talking and we have our theories.”  

It’s no surprise Lando finds your answer unsatisfactory as he begs for you to tell him more. 

“Nope! My lips are sealed” you say with the gesture. “Prom is literally in just a couple of weeks, Lan. You’ll find out soon enough.” 

- - - – - - - -

Those weeks fly by and before you know it the special day is here. Lando has been on the quieter side all day, but your house stays as noisy as always as Piper’s excitement fills the place. 

The knock on the door is gentle but you can still hear it from upstairs in Piper’s bedroom. You’re helping your daughter with the finishing touches on her hair and are about to walk away to answer when you hear that Lando has beaten you to the chase. Piper’s eyes widen along with yours when you both start to regret your decision to not camp out by the door to soften the blow. 

There’s an audible gasp from your husband as you hear him open the door. 

“Samuel Sainz?” Lando stands in disbelief in the doorway as the words fall out of his mouth.

The younger boy is a spitting image of his father. He’s clutching what looks like a bouquet of handpicked flowers in his shaking hands as he looks up at your husband. He was only a couple months older than your own daughter, having grown up just a few doors down from your family when you all used to live in Monaco. There weren't that many schools to choose from when they were younger, so naturally you had come to see Samuel and his parents quite often throughout the year. It was of course only helped by the fact that both of their dads were best friends. 

“It is good to see you, Mr. Norris. I’m just here to pick up Y/N, if that’s okay?”

 It’s an adorable sight really - even from the top step of the stairs you can tell how nervous the boy is by the way that he uncomfortably shifts his weight between both legs. You wince knowing that him phrasing it as a question is giving Lando the opportunity to launch into his “protective dad” talk, which you had heard more than a couple of times from him in the shower over the last week.

“Why don’t we grab a seat and chat before Piper comes down, Samuel?” Lando sounds extra official as he guides the younger boy to your couch. 

As you watch from the top of the stairs, you can see Lando put on his intense stare as he leans forward to intimidate the younger boy. 

“So, what are your intentions with my little girl, Samuel?” 

Samuel has an equally fiery glint in his eye as he says something along the lines of “my dad warned me this was going to happen”, before launching into his eloquent answer about how he wants to take Piper to prom and make sure she has a great night and that he’ll make sure that she’s safe and home on time. 

It’s not enough for Lando, you’re not sure anyone ever will be, as he continues to dissect every single word that comes out of the younger boy’s mouth.  You can’t bear to watch the scene in front of you any longer as you cut to say that Piper is almost done getting ready so Samuel could wait by the base of the stairs for her.  The younger boy gives you a look that you know means “thank you” as he bolts off the couch at the first opportunity to do so. 

Lando’s poker face facade falls once he sees his daughter at the top of the stairs. That’s his little girl all grown up - and for a moment he forgets about all his worries for the evening. He catches your gaze at the top of the stairs and can instantly spot the similar look of pride on your face. 

“Dad, don’t get too emotional on me now.” Piper jokes as she gives her dad a hug once she makes her way down to the main floor.. 

Now that she’s getting older, special moments like this are more and more treasured by both of them.  

Lando knows that it’s just for the rest of the evening, but Lando feels his heart starting to squeeze in his chest as he watches Samuel and Piper talk to each other. You’re right by his side as you rub comforting circles onto his back. 

“Not a minute later than curfew, young man, remember that.” Lando sticks to his stern demeanor as you roll your eyes. He really is the grumpy to your sunshine in this moment as you drape an arm around his shoulders.

“What he means to say is have fun, you two.” you smile as you take one last picture of the two of them before sending them on their way. 

Piper mouths a “thank you” to you as your grip on Lando’s wrist stops him from following the two kids out to the car. 

—-

Less than 15 minutes later, luckily once the shock has started to wear off of Lando, there’s another knock on the door. 

“Well if it isn’t the devil himself.” Lando mutters as he comes face to face with his old teammate and his wife. 

“Before you give me that look, just know that I only found out about this today. Turns out our wives are the true masterminds scheming in the background with our kids now.” Carlos mutters.

You and Rebecca are trying to hide your smiles as you lazily hide behind the excuse that you both needed something to talk to each other about while the men were away at their 6am tee times. 

Carlos holds up a larger than life bottle of wine from his collection for the four of you to share. 

“Figured you could use some of this tonight too, yknow, to cope with the fact that our kids are probably at second base with each other by now.” 

“They’re having sex?!” Lando looks like he’s actually going to pass out as he grabs your hand in fear. You and Rebecca will laugh over this on your own time later, but for now you comfortingly rub Lando on the back while Carlos also tries to calm Lando down from his spiral by pouring a heavy helping of wine into a glass for him. 

The night from then on actually stays pretty uneventful. There’s a couple of rounds of board games played while you order some takeout for you all from your favorite Italian place. 

“I think I see some gray hairs in there, mate, you’re getting old.” Carlos tugs at Lando’s curls to try and find one to pull out. For a minute the two of them argue like little kids, almost finding themselves in a full cat fight while you lean back and watch it all happen. 

“It’s a Friday night and we’re playing Catan and drinking fancy wine while we wait for our kids to get back from a school dance, Carlos - safe to say we’re not in the days of closing down the club and buying everyone free tequila shots.”  Lando muses 

“AND some of these hairs are brand new thanks to your son, mate, don’t forget that.”  Lando rolls his eyes as he quips back at the Spanish man.

The Sainz make sure to leave before their son can come back, as you all had come to the conclusion to stay out of your kid’s romance as much as possible. With the promise to hang out again under less surprising circumstances, Carlos and Rebecca give you both one last hug before they’re out the door. 

In less than the time it takes for you to finish clearing away your takeout boxes, you hear Samuel’s car pull up in the driveway one minute before curfew. You know that of course, because Lando is waiting by the front door with a timer on his phone. 

There’s a ghost of Piper’s lipstick on Samuel’s cheek when he walks her back to the front door,  but you opt to say nothing to Lando.   

He’s instead focused on how happy his daughter looks - he can feel the giddy feeling radiating off of Piper as she has a little pep in her step going up the stairs. 

“Oh my god she’s in love.” Lando says in awe as he stares at the now empty staircase. 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Lan. It was just prom.” you chuckle as you go back to clearing away empty dishes from your dining table. 

“No, I’m sure.” 

“That sure?”. Lando’s certainty makes you feel extra puzzled as you pause at the dining table. 

“Seriously, I’m sure Y/N.”

You walk towards him and interlace your fingers with his as you rest your head into his chest. 

“What makes you so sure Lando?” 

Lando gives you a sweet smile before kissing you on the forehead. 

“Because that’s exactly how I looked when I came home from my first date with you.” 

------

author's note: it has been far too long since i've posted something, so i hope you all liked this piece! Until next time! - Em 🩷

[on-leatheredwings]

Sleepover

Yandere! Damian Wayne x (Fem!) Reader

romantic > summary: During a sleepover, Damian makes his first foray into infatuation. > word count: 1605 > [ a/n: i just love writing from the yandere’s point of view! Damian is 19 or college-age here. honestly not much plot, just musings~ i will try to write from the Darling’s POV next time hehe.]

This must be love.

“Wow, Damian… I’ve never noticed but your nails are so pretty,” you compliment, satisfied with the boy’s upkeep. Damian feels his heart thrumming against his ribcage. You are holding his hand. 

Not for the first time either, but the thrill never fades. 

If this had occurred a year ago, before Damian learned of how casual (generous, even!) you were physical affection, he might have dumbly stated, “You’re holding my hand.” Instead, he simply thinks it, on loop, in one long string. 

You’re holding my hand. You’re holding my hand. You’re holding my hand.

Unbeknownst to all this, you simply paint his forefinger with a stripe of green so dark it looks black. 

“If we’re going to do this, it’ll be by my rules,” he had said. 

In reality, if you needled him any harder, he would’ve accepted pink nails with glitter on them. Who cares? There wasn’t anyone who dared to make fun of him at school. Not to mention, it’d be obvious to everyone that you painted them. You'd be marking him as yours, essentially. And at night… well, Robin wears gloves.

“Hn. How so?” Damian asks with feigned coolness. Mainly because he wants to hear you praise him. In your hushed, awed voice. When he dreams, you often sound like that. (And he quickly pushes that thought away.)

You look at him pointedly, grinning. Oh, he’s not so slick. You acquiesce to his whims anyway.

“Your cuticles are impeccable and your nails are finely trimmed… I’m impressed. Don’t you do martial arts, too? Crazy they aren’t more dinged up.”

Martial arts. That was supposed to explain his abnormal strength and fighting capability, the one time you saw him nearly break a man’s wrist for trying to pickpocket you. 

You accepted the excuse with only a little suspicion.

“It’s simple grooming.”

A catlike grin forms on your face. “Hm~ I don’t knowwww… Seems like you may be trying to catch the eye of a girl – you know, girls look at stuff like that.”

Damian frowns. 

He’s infatuated but not delusional. He’s aware this ‘sleepover’ is pretty platonic on your end. After nails, it’ll be skin care. Maybe you’ll even do your makeup and take goofy pictures with him. You’ll laugh and platonically huddle against him during a movie. You may doze off on his shoulder while he’ll be committing your every dewy, moisturized pore to memory. 

Because of Damian’s (self-admitted) social awkwardness with your peers, you think that gives you some sort of elder sibling-esque edge on him. You are the social butterfly, leading a naive, but well-meaning social pariah through the perils of young adult life. You don’t know you are so much more naive than he is, and he adores that.

Rather than addressing the question, he snorts. “When are you going to turn on the movie?”

You hum, completing his nail’s first coat. “Oh yeah, that’s right!” You grab the remote and press play. You continue painting, gingerly admiring his long, golden brown digits. Damian preens at the attention. 

As the movie plays, you pause often to look up and gape at the screen. It’s a horror flick, and boasts an abundance of cartoonish gore. While a bit more sensational than something he’d put on, he likes your dark taste. An annoying teenager gets their head hacked off with a chainsaw. You laugh and Damian feels his heart sing. 

There’s a chime that rings through Wayne Manor, and he has to bite back a groan.

“Pizza’s here!” you cheer. You begin to get up when Damian whips out his card in an instant. 

“I’ll pay.” To his delight, you gape in surprise, cheeks warming. 

“Oh… Thanks, Damian!” You never quite get used to him paying for things, but you at least know by now not to argue. You grab his credit card and – thank God – your fingers brush against each other. It sends the most pleasant trill down his spine. “Since you’re paying, I’ll go bring it! I won’t be long.”

A corner of his lips quirk. “I’ll be pleasantly surprised if it gets back to this room at all.” You stick out your tongue on the way out.

As soon as he hears your footsteps disappear down the hall – such clumsy, loud steps – Damian’s attention falls to the messenger bag you threw to the ground of his bedroom. He knows your diary is in there. (In his mind, he can hear you protest, It’s a journal!)

He’ll be quick. He flips open to a random page, and he already is laughing at your writing style. There’s little care for capitalizing letters and full of what you explained are “emoticons”, despite being handwritten. He flips to today’s entry, half-finished.

February 01. 

there’s a guy in class who’s pretty cute… one may even say HOT xP

Damian’s jaw tightens. He knows exactly who you’re talking about, and he won’t allow that neanderthal anywhere near you. At least, not again. Yesterday, you told him that your crush had smiled at you. Brushed fingers with you when passing papers. In the only class you have without Damian.

(Also, “your crush,” he scoffs. What a juvenile concept. You and Damian share something much deeper. His feelings for you are not so trivial.)

The semester is still young. Damian can pull any string to land himself in your anthropology class.

The rest of your entry for today (and the past days prior) isn’t anything notable except for when he’s mentioned. 

stressful day, but at least i have tonight with damian to cheer me up. he’s seriously the best …. i should tell him more often !!! (but it’d give him an even bigger head)

He doesn’t even attempt to stop the smile splitting his face. 

Damian’s keen hearing catches you striking up a conversation with Alfred in the kitchen. Despite your promise, he knows you will, indeed, take long. You love talking to everyone, even in passing. It’s an admirable quality, and one he envies.

He unlocks your phone and rifles through some messages of yours. He uses his own phone for documentation purposes. What else is there to do… He spies your jacket on his bed.

There is a shameful thought and Damian’s heart skips a beat. It is… frankly, it’s humiliating as a concept. Yet he’s enticed. It’s your jacket, after all. He brings it to his face delicately and inhales, almost shyly. Once he catches the familiar scent of your body wash, however, he allows himself to breathe it in. After being lost in it for a few seconds, he rips it away. 

Only to see his father standing in his doorframe. 

He knows what this looks like. Damian knows what this looks like. After years of working with the man, Damian can hear his thoughts as if they were his own, as they happen. 

Damian just smelled your clothes. Even if it was investigative in nature, he could’ve retrieved a sample some other way. Someone’s personal journal is open on the floor. A phone that he knows is not Damian’s is unlocked and displaying text messages. All these things are splayed out in a circle around him. It’s uncharacteristically messy of him, as well. Damian’s own phone is actively on his camera. Was he taking pictures? And most notable is the absence of you.

In summary? Damian must have some interest in you. And by this sloppy job, it’s quite emotionally charged. And at his age, it’s likely romantic.

Damian’s skin rises to what feels like a boiling heat. What is Father going to say? He can’t stop him – he can’t. Damian doesn’t even want to talk about it, let alone be reprimanded. A feral need to escape bubbles underneath his skin. Despite the panic, he channels years of League training and hardens himself. 

Bruce watches his son’s expression morph from dazed, to fearful, to steel, in real time. From Damian’s seat on the floor he offers his father only silent defiance. Bruce knows his son, his darker needs that stem from his cruel childhood. And perhaps he should’ve expected this to happen someday. Bruce exhales, eyes closing. When they reopen, his slate-grey eyes are firm and hard. 

“No one gets hurt.”

And by that, Bruce means no one dies. Because Bruce and Damian are Batman and Robin – they’re all in the business of hurting people. People who deserve it, yes, but it’s still hurt. Pain.

Damian feels immense relief. He wouldn’t have killed his father – he’s not that boy anymore. But a life without you seems similarly unbearable. Damian feels… shaken. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done. He also feels grateful, that it didn’t turn out any other way. 

His eyes drop to the jacket he holds in a fist.

“... Yes. Thank you, Father.” Bruce’s gaze lingers, but he leaves wordlessly.

This encounter reminds Damian of who he is. He is a detective, vigilante, assassin, and creature of stealth. He can’t be this careless, even if he knows you won’t notice. 

Damian returns your belongings to their place, exactly how you left it. Diary back in your bag, jacket to where you were lounging, your phone underneath a pillow, because you carelessly tossed it aside. You’ll inevitably begin to look for it and he’ll grin once he places it in your hand.

You finally return to his room, two pizza boxes of deluxe cheese (for him) and pepperoni (for you) in your arms. You laugh sheepishly. 

“Sorry for the wait, Dami.” His heart skitters at the nickname.

“It’s fine.” Your eyes glitter with excitement and optimism and purity. He finds it hard to look away, you raining down a gaze like that upon him.

“I was waiting for you.”

[sunsetchicane]

i love you, i'm sorry [QH43]

quinn hughes x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: two years after breaking things off with Quinn, you find yourself going to Game 1 of Round 2 of the Playoffs, completely unprepared to see the man you still harbour feelings for.

based off of: this is loosely based off of I Love You, I'm Sorry by Gracie Abrams

warnings: aggressive amounts of pining (like, probably annoying), two swear words, a few kisses, mentions of a breakup (so like, kinda angst? idk man), copious amounts of cheesiness, probably extremely inaccurate descriptions of the game, not great writing lol. let me know if i missed anything!

author's note: okay, i haven't written anything on here yet due to a horrendous case of writer's block and many hours of working. so, this is definitely not my best work, but it was a fun way to try move past my writing slump. i really do hope that anyone who reads this does enjoy! love, addi <3

Vancouver’s streets preserve memories well. You found that out when, even two years after things had fallen to pieces, you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing the two of you holding hands, sharing quiet laughs, and stealing kisses. You’d thought that after two years you would’ve been able to shake those memories off when they plagued your mind; but it was hard when he was plastered across banners and fans sported his jersey for half the year. 

He was making his name known throughout the NHL, and you couldn’t ignore the buzz around Quinn Hughes when the Canucks made it to the Stanley Cup Playoffs. 

After you and Quinn had broken things off, you had to find separate friend groups to belong in. The two of you had shared too many mutual friends. The group of ladies you did manage to find yourself among knew nothing about your past relationship with the captain of the Canucks. When the city was gearing up for the first round of the playoffs, even your friends couldn’t stop talking about the sport. 

You were standing outside, leaning against the railing on a BC ferry, returning from visiting family on the Island, when you received a call from your friend Lydia. You picked up without hesitation. 

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked. 

She immediately giggled, which honestly had you a little scared. “I have a surprise,” she said excitedly, the last word dragged out. 

You snorted. “Am I allowed to ask what it is?” 

“It’s a really big surprise, and you have to promise not to scream when I tell you,” she laughed, acting like a teenage girl again. It was one of the things you really did love about her – her ability to bring childlike joy with her wherever she went. 

“I promise not to scream, Lyd,” you assured her, hoping she was satisfied. 

She paused for dramatic effect, and you let her. You knew she was having fun with it. 

“We’re going to the first game of round 2 of the playoffs!” she squealed. 

Your phone nearly slipped through your fingers, almost lost to the sea. You stepped away from the railing, suddenly very glad there was no one on the deck with you. Your heart clenched in your chest. The last time you had been to a game was when you and Quinn had still been together. He wouldn’t even know you were in the crowd, but you would be painfully aware of him in the centre of the arena. 

“Okay, you’re even quieter than I thought you’d be,” Lydia commented, reminding you that there was someone on the other end of the line. 

You debated for a moment what to say. Would it best to just blurt out that you had dated Quinn Hughes and you were not exactly ready to go watch him play again? Definitely not. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m just surprised!” That wasn’t a lie. “How’d you get the tickets?” 

“My dad,” she said simply. “When I told him I wanted to go see the Canucks, he was suddenly the proudest parent in the world. You know how he is – once he gets an idea in his head, whether it’s planted there by me or not, he has to do it.” 

“Wow, that’s–that’s crazy!” you said stiffly, still unsure of how to act. 

“Yeah, and it gets better! We’re sitting right behind the Canucks’ bench!” 

You nearly choked on nothing. “What?” 

“I know, right? I don’t know how my dad managed it, but he did,” she told you, completely unaware of your stuttering heart. “Who knows, maybe we’ll catch some players’ eyes,” she joked, and you tried to force a laugh out with her. 

“Yeah, maybe.” What you didn’t add out loud was your brain screaming please no. 

After a few more minutes of chatting and you pretending to be completely sound of mind, Lydia said goodbye, telling you she would send the details soon. 

You pocketed your phone and leaned against the railing once more. You watched as the sun brushed the horizon, casting a beautiful pink against the clouds. Vancouver was getting close, and for obvious reasons, you were suddenly dreading it. You wanted to sit on the ferry until it returned to Vancouver Island. 

You sighed and rested your chin on your folded arms. You heard a faint buzzing sound above you, and lifted your eyes to the sky. A plane was coming to land at the Vancouver Airport. As it approached, you let yourself imagine it was Quinn flying back from Nashville, and you felt your heart tighten in your chest once more, because you were terrified to see him again, but also because you still missed him. Maybe you were scared to see him because you missed him. 

You dropped your forehead to your arms once more and groaned loudly, the ocean and the brightening city lights your only listening companions. 

When the morning of May 8th arrived, you found yourself unable to shake the anxiety that had made a home in your chest over the last few days. There was a tenseness in your shoulders that never left, and a squeezing at your heart that seemed relentless. 

The group chat you shared with your friends had been buzzing incessantly, the girls incredibly excited. Every now and then you made your fingers put a message out there that hopefully hid your anxieties from them. 

After much procrastination, you eventually made your way to your closet. After tugging on a simple pair of blue jeans, you reached towards the back of your closet. Your fingers closed around the unmistakable, thick material of the jersey. Taking a deep breath, you pulled it out. Your only Canucks jersey of course, had to be Quinn’s home jersey from two seasons ago. No one would know it was the jersey that he had pulled over his head before every home game. However, you knew. There was no C on the left side of the chest, and your mind was pulled back to the relationship you had shared.  

You often questioned why you and Quinn had even ended things. You missed him so much still, and you were plagued by the way you knew it had been the wrong choice. You had been growing apart as he was dealing with growing attention and expectations within his career, and a promotion at your own job had stolen your energy and attention. You had both been tired and short with one another, and eventually the tension built and had blown up in a terrible way. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force both the guilt and continued yearning out of your busy mind. 

When Lydia texted that she and the girls were on the way to your apartment, you reluctantly pulled the jersey over your head. The sleeves covered most of your hands, and the fabric fell past your hips and part way down your thighs. You pulled on a pair of shoes and left the safe space that was your apartment, locking the door behind you. 

Rogers Arena was packed and the energy in the building made you feel like you could start vibrating. You and your friends held hands so as not to get separated. You were glad when your friends made no comment on how tightly you squeezed their hands, or how sweaty your palms might have been. 

You were made significantly more nervous when you realised that Lydia had not been exaggerating about your seats. You were sitting right behind the bench. 

The arena was filling up steadily, and you sat there in between your friends, not speaking a single word. It had been a couple years since you had been here, and while you were very nervous, the familiarity came rushing back to you and it helped to slow your fast beating heart. 

If you closed your eyes, you could imagine Quinn smiling at you from the other side of the glass, and laughing when you blew him a kiss. 

You wrapped your arms gently around yourself, the once very stiff material of the jersey now very easily shifted and manipulated. You knew it didn’t smell like him anymore, but when you let yourself get lost in the feeling of his old jersey, it was like he was right there. You were wrapped in him still, and you doubted it would ever go away. 

You were shocked out of your own thoughts when your friends, along with the rest of the fans around you, started cheering. The Canucks and the Oilers were on the ice, starting to warm up. Your eyes searched the ice quickly, and gliding easily across the ice on the opposite side of rink, was the captain, the number 43 embroidered on his jersey, just like the one you adorned. 

Your own cheeks heated up when it really hit you that you were wearing his old jersey. You weren’t together anymore; what were you thinking? He could see you– what would he think when he saw you right behind his bench, wearing the jersey he had gifted you?

You suddenly wanted to throw up more than ever. He exchanged a few words with Elias, and laughed at something his buddy had said. Your heart ached in longing once more. You had missed his laugh so much. 

Quinn now had facial hair, something he hadn’t had when he was with you. His hair was longer, peeking out from beneath his helmet. He already seemed much more grown up. He looked like a captain, something who had become used to leading his team. Quinn had always been somewhat confident in his abilities as a hockey player, but it was easy to tell that he had really gotten used to his role on the team and had come into his own over the past two years. 

The girls grabbed your hands and walked into the aisle, just to get right up to the glass. Your face burned and you tried to hide behind some of your friends. You kept your heads down and your arms folded. 

Your friends held up hats and other paraphernalia that they desperately wanted signed by players. 

“Y/N!” One of your friends practically shouted. You suddenly noticed that they had all stopped cheering. You looked up to see them parted in front of you. 

Quinn was on the other side of the glass, looking right at you. 

Your friends shoved you up the glass, giggling and squealing. You nearly ran into the glass from the force of their shoves. Quinn laughed at you, his smile exactly how you remembered it. 

He pointed at the white Canucks towel in your hands and shouted, “toss it over!” The arena was so loud you were glad he had mouthed it clearly. You hesitated but threw the towel over. With one glove off and in the other hand, he caught it. He gestured to one of your friends to throw over the Sharpie she was holding. She did gladly, happy to be included. He caught it easily and started to write quickly on the white fabric. Your heart did flips while watching him, and your hands shook with nothing to hold onto. 

He finally capped the pen and threw both the towel and marker over the glass. You struggled to catch it, but thankfully, you managed to hold onto it. You held it flat before you. 

Meet me by my car after. Usual spot. Your breath stopped slightly when you saw a rushed heart drawn next to the words. You looked back up to see him putting his glove back on. He gave you a warm smile that set you on a fire from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You took a deep breath and nodded to him. His smile widened slightly. Before he turned to skate away, you saw him mouth the words, “nice jersey.” You stuttered for a second, and he simply winked and turned. 

Your friends all screamed and crowded you, looking at the towel. 

“Usual spot? What the fuck is going on?” Lydia yelled over the noise, cackling. 

You just blushed and shook your head, returning to your seat with the towel gripped tightly in your hands. 

As the teams continued to warm up, you explained as quickly as you could that you and Quinn had once been together. Your friends, of course, were shocked but also very excited for you at the prospect of reuniting with him. You simply waved your hands in protest. 

“I don’t even know if he wants to get back together with me! He might just want to catch up or something… we’re cool now and I don’t want to mess anything up.” 

“Girl, please!” one of your friends shouted. “He drew a motherfucking heart and winked at you! Of course he wants you back.”

You all laughed and you embraced the next blush that warmed your cheeks. 

The players left the ice, and minutes later, the lights went dark. The deafening sound of nearly 19,000 people screaming almost broke your eardrums. Blue light filled the room, and you looked up to see what was playing on the large screens above you. 

You watched the intro video and let a nostalgic, giddy feeling overtake you. You couldn’t help but smile. 

The arena fell back into nearly full darkness. You heard the beginning of a familiar sound of twinkly guitar that dragged you right back to 2011. Goosebumps rose up along your skin all over your body. That was the last time the Canucks had made it to the Playoff finals, and you hoped dearly that they could get there again. The playing of Where The Streets Have No Name from their intro from 2011 made hope take hold of you.

You couldn’t help but raise your particularly special white rally towel in the air to wave alongside all of the other Canucks fans in the building. 

It had been surprisingly easy to get into the players’ parking garage. Despite it being two years since you had been in the building, you were recognized by several people, who let you walk wherever you wanted. 

Your friends had practically shoved you to go after the game, screaming after you to call them later. You had laughed and walked away, your steps lighter than they had been in a long while. 

You later found yourself standing by Quinn’s car. It was the same one he’d had when you had been together. Your hand brushed the shining hood of the car, and you could see yourself in the passenger seat, laughing at something he’d said as the two of you drove around downtown Vancouver. 

“Thank God you actually showed up.” 

You whipped around, seeing a freshly showered Quinn in sweatpants and a hoodie making his way towards you. 

You tugged on the hem of the jersey, your heart beating quicker and quicker with every step he took. 

He stopped in front of you, and when you looked up, you both spoke. 

“I love you.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. “You-what?” 

He bit his bottom lip before repeating himself. “I love you. I know it’s been two years, but-” 

“I love you, too,” you said quickly, blood roaring in your ears. “And I am so, so sorry. I never should’ve-” 

It was his turn to cut you off. “Don’t apologise, please. It’s not your fault.”

“Can you… can you please accept my apology, at least?” 

He smiled softly. “I forgive you. I’m sorry, too.” 

“I forgive you, too,” you whispered softly, your heart swelling with affection as you looked at him. You felt an intense relief flood your body. Your shoulders finally relaxed for the first time in what felt like years. He reached out and wrapped you in a warm hug. You melted into it, returning the gesture. 

“I missed you. So much,” you mumbled into his hoodie. 

One of hands gently scratched the back of your neck like he used to do. “I missed you, too.” He pulled away just enough to lean down and kiss your lips softly. Nothing had ever felt so natural. His playoff beard scratched your face and you laughed at the sensation, pulling away. 

“Not used to the beard,” you admitted, smiling widely. 

He smiled, too. “Yeah, what do you think? Should I keep it around?” 

You shrugged, leaning back into him. “Well, you’re very handsome either way.” 

“You think?” 

“Mhm. Your hair also looks very good. I like it longer like this,” you told him, ruffling his brown hair. He swatted your hand away and kissed your cheek. 

“Noted.” He looked down at me again. “Should probably get you a new jersey.” 

“Hm, you think I need the big ole C on here, Captain?” 

He shook his head, blushing. “Don’t call me that.” 

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him, bringing his head down for you to kiss. “Couldn’t help myself.” You grabbed his hands. “Congratulations on the big win, by the way.” 

“I can’t believe you came. I thought I was hallucinating or something when I saw you,” he told you honestly. 

“Well, I’m glad I came,” you admitted, running a hand through his hair. 

“You have no idea how happy I am right now,” he said, smiling wider than you had seen all night. 

You laughed, feeling pure joy in your heart. “I think I might have an idea.” 

[sinsirellaxx]

Slytherin Boys – They Hurt Your Feelings

Warning: Toxic!boys, not proofread, cheating, etc.

Enjoy!

Mattheo …

… watches you with disinterest as your eyes grow wet with unshed tears. He’d just told you that he simply forgot about your birthday and had spent the whole day with some random female students.

… shrugs his shoulders when you ask him whether he is being serious. “It’s not that big of a deal – I simply forgot.”

… groans when you start pointing out all the times he stood you up and neglected you for the sake of being with other people. “Please – not this again.”

… plays the “If I’m really such a bad boyfriend then leave”-card.

… will smirk if you decide not to leave.

… will quickly get up from his bed if you actually turn around and slam the door behind you as you rush out of his stinky teenage dorm.

Theodore …

… sits on the edge of his bed, completely unfazed when you confront him about the girl you saw him kissing. “You’re overreacting. It didn’t mean anything.”

… doesn’t try to explain himself, running a hand through his hair as if the conversation is exhausting him. “Merlin, can’t you just drop it already?”

… scoffs when your voice cracks, and tears spill down your cheeks. He is obviously annoyed by your display of emotions, “Honestly, this is pathetic. Do you have to cry about everything?”

… rolls his eyes when you demand answers. “You weren’t exactly keeping me entertained. What did you think was going to happen?”

… doesn’t even try to stop you as you storm out of his dorm, muttering under his breath about how dramatic you are.

Lorenzo …

… lets out a mocking laugh when you trip over your words in front of his friends, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Did you seriously just say that?” he sneers.

… dismisses your protests when you pull him aside after the incident. “Oh, come on, it was just a joke. Don’t be so sensitive.”

… refuses to acknowledge the hurt in your eyes as you try to explain how humiliated you felt. “If you can’t take a little teasing, that’s on you.”

… crosses his arms when you demand an apology, shaking his head. “No one else would’ve made such a big deal about this. Maybe grow a thicker skin.”

… rolls his eyes when you walk away, but for a fleeting second, guilt flickers in his eyes before he brushes it off.

Draco …

… sneers at you in front of a crowd after you tried to share your opinion during a heated debate. “Why don’t you leave the thinking to people who actually know what they’re talking about?”

… watches your face fall as you try to defend yourself, a cruel smirk playing on his face. “You’re embarrassing yourself, you half-blood.”

… doesn’t care about the tears in your eyes, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “Oh, don’t start crying now. You’re acting like a child.”

… shrugs his shoulders when you call him an ass before storming off.

… feels the slightest pang of regret later, but he buries it deep down, convincing himself you were overreacting.

Blaise …

… snaps during an argument, his voice icy and sharp. “You’re so goddamn needy all the time. Do you ever stop to think about anyone but yourself?”

… watches as your eyes widen, but instead of softening, he doubles down. “Oh, now you’re crying? Of course, you are. That’s your solution for everything, isn’t it?”

… crosses his arms and leans back, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to defend yourself. “You always have to play the victim, don’t you?”

… rolls his eyes when you try to leave the room, grabbing your wrist. “Don’t walk away from me. We’re not done here.”

… later sits alone, the weight of his words sinking in, but his pride won’t let him admit he went too far.

Tom …

… grips your wrist too tightly during an argument, his voice low and venomous. “You will not walk away from me while I’m talking.” You had been fighting due to his treatment towards your muggle-born friends.

… shoves you backward when you try to push past him, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Don’t test me, darling. You won’t like the consequences.”

… watches you stumble, your eyes wide with shock and fear in annoyance – you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to be his girlfriend. You knew who he was.

… sneers when you try to regain your composure, his tone dripping with condescension. “Wipe that pathetic look off your face. It doesn’t suit you.”

… takes a step closer, his shadow looming over you as his voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “Do you think they’d risk anything for you? Those mudbloods you’re so desperate to protect?”

… brushes past you with deliberate force when you don’t respond, his shoulders rigid, muttering, “You’re lucky I don’t make an example of them for your insolence.”

[igotanidea]

A moment of weakness: Damian Wayne x reader

part 1 : Family rules

***

Everything that happened after seemed like a blur.

Her hand in his when they were sneaking out the ballroom.

Escaping watchful gazes of both their fathers.

The rustle of her dress on the carpeted floor that muffled the sound of their feet.

And then.

His lips on hers.

One of his hand on her cheek, and the other on her waist as he was pulling her closer to him. Stubbornly yet lacking the proficiency his older brothers may possess. Which was perfectly understandable since she was the first girl to capture Damian Wayne’s attention. The first that put so much charm on him that beyond all that hateful, snarky attitude something much more delicate and caring started to bloom.

“I still hate you…” she whispered pulling back, feeling the need to make it very clear that this kiss was stemming only from that emotion and nothing beyond. Even if her ragged breath and dilated pupils were enough of an evidence of her lying.

“Naturally” he responded. His rapidly beating heart and the sensation of her body in his arms causing this young boy to almost tremble. At this moment, when they were finally alone for the first time in years since they have known each other he was torn in two directions. Not making a fool of himself in front of her and proving that he wasn’t a foolish boy who could be easily charmed but a strong, capable and dominant man. Regardless of the fact they were both seventeen.

“I hate you too. And if you think there’s something more just because of the fact I’m kissing you right now you’re gravely mistaken.” Damian whispered brushing his lips over hers again, already intoxicated and losing his cool head.

“Kissing?” she mocked melting into him and snuggling closer to his embrace “Didn’t notice…”

“Mhm…”

“We shouldn’t…”

‘You’re absolutely right…”

“No one should know about it…”

“No one will. You won’t tell anyone out of fear of daddy dearest, right?” he looked at her with eyes shining with the familiar mischief and mockery.

“And you will keep the steam out of your mouth due to embarrassment, won’t you?” she retorted, matching his level of sarcasm.

And then they kissed again.

Her hands in his hair, running through soft dark strands.

His arms wrapping around her securely as if never wanting to let her go.

Just a little moment of weakness they both would deny if asked.

But for now, with no one around they decided to indulge in the lack of rationality, with both intensity and shyness of two teenagers confused by their own emotions.

So good. So right. So messed up.

Lost in the best meaning of the word, as if the world stopped turning and even existing just because they wanted to cherish the moment.

Foolish little kids.

Torn from the fantasy by the sound of cameras and flashes of light shooting straight into their eyes.

“Damian! Damian, look here!”

“Damian, who’s your mystery girl!?”

“Come on, pretty one, smile for the picture!”

“What is your name girl?!”

Too many questions and sounds for the person who was not used to having any attention at all. And being attacked by paparazzi and reporters who were skilled in intimidating was simply too much for poor Y/N whose head started spinning immediately.

‘Hey, I know that girl!” one of the scribblers yelled “she’s the daughter of Wayne’s competitor on the market!”

Shit.

Now that was a problem.

While her first instinct was to run away and hide in whatever hole would appear first, Damian stood proudly without an ounce of emotion on his face, preventing her from doing anything stupid or reckless.

And that cold, strong façade, making him look just like his father, finally got the reporters to stop yelling and taking photos.

“leave.” He said coldly spurring on another wave of shouting. ‘LEAVE. You were not invited here nor asked to interrupt the private life of the habitants. Your sole purpose on this gala was to focus on the official part. Therefore, you are trespassing beyond your scope of passage. And that will not be tolerated. I will not repeat myself. LEAVE NOW unless you want to deal with the consequences.”

Under any other circumstances this would probably be grotesque, but no one wanted any trouble from the son of the Bruce Wayne aka Bruce Wayne himself, so the intruders finally retreated.

“Damian—”

“I’ll take care of it.” He retorted coldly moving away from her turning back to his cold self, hiding in the shell.

“But what if-?” she could only fear what were to happen if the photos of them together leaked into the press – or worse – internet.

“I said I’ll take care of it, haven’t you heard?!” he snapped.

“Oh I heard loud enough! You’re just not very capable in taking care of things, forgive my audacity. So are you really that surprised I’m skeptical about it?!”

“Don’t you dare—” he took step forward reaching for her arm but she wriggled out swiftly

“You stay the hell away from me Wayne.”

“No. you stay the hell away from me Y/L/N.”

“With pleasure!”

“Great!”

“fine!” she cried out crossing arms over her chest

“fine!” he barely held back from sticking tongue out at her

And with that they got back to the gala, using two different ways to not be seen together and pretended like nothing had happened.

***

The next day, Sunday passed without anything extraordinary happening.

Not a word from either of them.

Even if she was reaching for her phone countless times ready to shot him a quick message and check up if he was doing fine.

Even if he was one foot out the door every time a thought of her crossed his mind.

“Idiot” she was thinking throwing her phone away for a hundredth time scrolling through her contact list.

“Harridan.” he was smacking his forehead trying to get some sense in his brain throwing the coat away and retrieving into his room.

***

And then there was Monday.

One of those grey-clouds, rainy, windy Monday when getting out of bed and focusing on duties seemed impossible.

But from the moment she walked through the school door something felt odd. Just like in those stupid teenage movies she was met with whispers and furtive glances followed by malicious giggles and finger pointing.

The hell?

Y/N barely got to her locker when one of the most popular and obviously, the meanest girl in school crossed her way slamming the locker door into her face.

“Lisa.” Y/N almost rolled her eyes.

“Y/N.” the self-appointed queen B grinned like a predator “did anything fun this weekend?”

“Are you trying to make yourself feel better now or something?”

“Don’t you dare talk back at me, you little slut!”

“I’m sorry, what did you just call me?!”

“oh, it’s not just my opinion.” Lisa smiled mockingly “the whole internet keeps talking about the entertainment you got yourself on Saturday.”

“What--?”

Lisa clicked on something in her phone and put the screen into her face.

So it was officially settled.

Damian fucking Wayne was completely helpless when it came to dealing with things.

And the fact that she was looking at the picture of them both, taken at the gala, showing each details of them kissing and holding each other was enough of a prove.

All the problems stemming from the leak put aside as she focused on one thing and one thing only.

She was going to kill him.

***

Meanwhile Damian was greeted in school with charming smiles and encouraging shouts.

It’s always easier for the boys.

“Was she good?” one of the boys smirked at him.

“What-?”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Was she good?”

“Huh?” none of that were making any sense to Damian who frowned in confusion.

And then he saw the same photo and the blood drained from his face.

Someone was going to pay for this.

That is- if he could actually convince Y/N that he had nothing to do with the publishing of it. That it was his intention to actually protect her himself from scandal.

However, judging by the way she was walking his way, with the rage of a buffalo, it was going to be rather complicated.  

part 3: Despite everything

@gabriiiiiiii @6000-fandoms @jinviktor

[pit-and-the-pen]

Unrequited Love

A/N: I had to get to the airport to return a rental car like 5 hours early so I’m so sorry for the pure amount that I’ve been posting today but as a socially awkward girly, if I’m on my own phone then for sure no one is going to talk to me.

Anywho here is some angsty angst about day court!reader and Azriel.

Part 2: Here Alt Ending: Here Part 3: Here

Forgive any typos I wrote this on my phone.

Warnings: none

WC-1.4K

————————————————————————

My blood was boiling beneath my skin. Azriel has been complaining for the better part of an hour about Rhys gag order regarding Elain. I was trying not to roll my eyes as I had reached my wits end with his lamenting.

“I just don’t understand why he needs to meddle in this. I get she’s Feyre's sister but he doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair. “I just can’t help but think that sometimes the cauldron gets it wrong.”

His words were spoken so plainly. Anger wanes for a second as I swear I could feel my heart break inside my chest. The words seemed to echo in my head Maybe the cauldron gets it wrong. I almost would have rather had him carve out my heart with truth teller.

“What do you think?” He asks me and I sit reeling over his words. I can’t think of anything to say to him. The comforting words I would normally have for him can’t get past the anger starting to cloud my vision. So I simply shrug, avoiding the question. Desperately trying to change the subject.

“So this new book I’m reading…”

“Oh c’mon.” He interrupts me. “I know you have something to say. And I trust your advice more than anyone else. There isn’t anyone else I would rather talk to about this.” His eyes softened as he looked towards me. Instead of melting under his gaze like I normally do, red bites at the edge of my vision.

“I think you should leave her the hel alone.” My tone is not gentle. He freezes.

“What?”

“She has a mate already. And regardless of if you think the cauldron got it right. Lucien is the one mated to Elain,” I tried to keep my voice neutral. “And Lucien is a wonderful male who has been through a lot of shit. He deserves someone as sweet as Elain, if she ever comes around. You should stop meddling.”

His mouth opens, when no words come out, he closes it again. You see the muscles in his jaw tick as he clenches his teeth.

“What has gotten into you? When did you become Lucien’s spokesperson?” He spits at me. His face starts to get closer to mine as he leans over the table, slowly starting to rise to his feet.

The sane part of me is telling me to stand down. That one of the most powerful warriors in all of Prythian was starting to get angry at me. My mate was starting to get mad at me. But I would not cave under his intimidation.

“I became his spokesperson when you showed no respect for him. Or for Elain.” I noticed I was starting to get to my feet. “What about what she wants? She doesn’t owe you anything more than she owes Lucien. Rhys told you to stay away from a girl you feel entitled to and now you want to mope like a petulant teenager. Grow up Azriel.” He flinches before something stoney sets in his eyes.

“At least I’ve actually told her how I felt. What about you?” My stomach drops into my knees. “Sitting and pining over the same person for a century.”

“You knew?” My voice was nothing more than a whisper. This was not happening. I should have left when I had the chance.

“It’s not like you tried to hide it. I thought at some point you would get the hint that it wasn’t going to happen but yet there you always were trailing behind me like a sad little puppy.”

My hands on the table started to glow faintly. My anger was finally breaking through the surface.

“You asshole. You stupid Illyrian bastard.” The smirk that graced his face fell instantly. “After everything that I’ve done for you, you want to use my feelings for you as some fucking weapon against me.”

Even I was surprised at the venom in my words but I was on a roll. “I sat by for five hundred years. I sat by as you pined over Mor, someone I consider my sister. I felt that bond go unreturned.” He completely froze at my words. Words I have never spoken out loud to anyone.

“Wait-“

“No. You get to hear this shadowslinger.” I pressed my finger to his chest and he stepped back like I had hit him. A small part of me wishes I had. But this. This right here is why Rhys kept me around. I didn’t need to throw a punch to put someone on their knees.

“I followed you around like a lost puppy and you loved it. Every second of it. I was stupid enough at some point to believe that it was because you felt it too. And I couldn’t get away from those feelings,could get away from you. Every time I tried I would damn near drive myself crazy and then you would smile or say some funny joke and I was right back to where I started.” I willed the slight shake in my voice to disappear. “You just wanted to feel important because the one you truly loved wouldn’t have even entertained the thought. Took other males into her bed, but not you right? So why not go for the next available thing. Me. Who cares if I got hurt? Who cares that I still fucking loved you through all of it? Not you clearly. You played me like a fucking fiddle and I played my part well.”

When I finally looked back up at his face I saw nothing but a shell of the male that stood in front of me. Even his shadows had retreated from his side. Looking down I realized they were sitting at my feet. I pushed down the glimmer of something I didn’t have time to think about at the sight.

“Please. Just stop.” He pleaded.

“Why? Because it hurts to hear? Fuck you. “And you think that didn’t hurt me too?” I watched him pale. “You didn’t think it killed me to feel that empty weight in my chest every time I looked at you. Everyday that I waited and wished that you would feel that stupid bond I’ve had to live with for the last two centuries.”

He gasped at my words cutting me off

“You never told me about that. I just thought it was… I don’t know… I thought it was a crush like how I felt with Mor”

A muscle in my jaw ticked. “I shouldn’t have had to! The whole point is that you feel it too. Bonds aren’t supposed to be one sided but for some gods unknown reason, you didn’t,” I felt the anger really starting to boil over.

“Every time I heard you rambling on and on about how perfect Mor was, about the females you took into your bed. I sat by all of it, for what? Three sisters for three brothers?!” I was screaming now, my hands shaking by my side

“What happens when she’s all fixed up too Azriel? When she feels this same thing I feel when she looks at Lucien. Onto the next one for me to hear about I guess . Always on the sidelines. Always the sweet face to come back to at the end of the day but never the one you want to be with.” I took a deep breath for the words about to come out of my mouth, steeling my nerves.

“I’m done. With this. With you. Fuck this entire gods damned city. I will not sit by and play second to whoever you deem worthy enough for the rest of my life.”

He held up his hand like he was going to reach up for me but the light that was glowing off my skin was warning enough.

“Where will you go?” Was all he had the nerve to say.

I let out a cold, twisted laugh. “Anywhere but here. Hel I could finally go home. Helion has

been asking me to come back for years now. All I know it will be somewhere where you can’t come and ruin another half a century of my life. Because that’s what you did. I wasted all this time on someone I knew wouldn’t love me. But I can agree with you on something, Azriel.” I paused long enough to see the hope in his eyes as he whispered “what?”

“That sometimes the cauldron does get it wrong.”

I walked out of that room with my head held high

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 3

[Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2] | [AO3]

18+ Only | 10k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 1. Voice kink (very mild mention). Awkward first dates. Awkward dialogue. Messy timeline. Established Relationship. Love confession. Emotional sex. Unhealthy Relationship.

Summary: Your life turns upside down, again, when Homelander reaches out to you asking you out on a date.

Author’s Note: This is set between the events of Part 1 & Part 2. It really is just a self-indulgent excuse to explore some relationship building and dynamics. Lot of awkward dialogue so be warned.

The next time Homelander contacts you it catches you just as off guard as the first time. Maybe even more so. You never expected him to turn up in the first place, let alone be interested in seconds.

Your phone is ringing on the bed and ever since the development from a week ago you’ve been on edge anytime your phone rang. You drop the towel you’re folding back on the pile of unsorted laundry and you nearly dive onto the bed, reaching for your phone. In the panic you drop it about three times, your shaky hands inadvertently playing hot potato.

“Hello?!” You yell into the phone, panicked. You don’t actually end up checking who’s calling, too worried about not accidentally hanging up. Plus it’s not like you could have saved Homelander’s number from a week ago anyway. It showed up as blocked on your phone’s call logs so you had no way to recognise his number.

“Hello there! Nice of you to pick up.” You squeaked in surprise and the voice on the phone turned from chipper to confused. “You okay? You sound a little—” And oh my god, it’s him! You’re talking to Homelander, again. Okay, okay, now it’s time to try and keep calm.

His voice is still gloriously rich and sweet in your ear and here you are about to most likely embarrass yourself again because for the life of you you’re incapable of coming across as calm and collected.

“I’m fine!” You immediately cut him off, your voice shrill and strained. He does not need to know the ins-and-outs of your internal struggle. But either way you’re already doing terribly. Who are you to cut Homelander off mid-sentence? Where are your manners? 

“Why are you—um—I mean, is there anything you need?” You clumsily make your way through your response. Definitely not how you wanted to present yourself but it’s a lot better than barely being able to say a word like last time!

“I’m taking you out on a date. Get ready for 7 today.” You heard it. You’re pretty damn sure you heard that right, yet not a single part of you believes what he said.

“Sorry? W-w-what do you mean?” You sputter in confusion, your brain simply not capable of computing this news. 

“I mean that I’m taking you out for dinner. What’s hard to understand?” He sounds irritated and your heart is pounding. From so many things at once. How are you meant to process that Homelander contacted you again, is asking you out for a date and now you’ve managed to irk him?!

Before you manage to apologize, following your typical spiel, Homelander continues. “Maybe you don’t know this but it’s kind of what men do when they want to get to know someone. You following yet?” 

You ignore the condescending remark and instead you focus on what he’s actually saying.

There may as well be steam coming out of your ears, you genuinely feel like a blushing teenage girl talking to her crush. You’re hot bright red in the face and you feel the literal heat coming off your face.

“Yeah but you’re not—well of course you are—but also you’re not! Y’know, just an average Joe.” How do you go about explaining that you don’t feel worthy of that kind of attention?

“Doesn’t matter, you’re missing the point. Is that a no?” You’d think he would be pissed saying that, who in their right mind would refuse going on a date with Homelander, but he sounds amused more than anything. 

Again with the reading you like a book. Because you barely manage to let out a barrage of “No! No no no no— that’s not!” before Homelander starts laughing.

“Alright, I’ll pick you up then.”

“No, wait! I can’t—I can’t do the public thing. You’re you! And as soon as I show up in public with you I won’t be left alone. I know that’s normal for you, but my life isn’t like that. I’m just… me.” You’re just a nobody. You don’t have a social media presence. You don’t bring attention to yourself. And you like to keep it that way. Going on a public date with America’s golden boy himself? You would be ripped apart by the online vultures. 

You all but freak out on the phone and for a second you think he disconnected because you can’t hear a thing over the line but he suddenly speaks up.

“Oh well. We can’t have that, can we? You better have dinner ready at your place instead.” You don’t need to see him to imagine him with the biggest satisfied grin on his face. “I’ll be there at 7. Catch you later!”

Homelander hangs up on you and you hear the disconnected tone ringing in your ear as you stand there like a fish out of water. Mouth gaping open, letting out disbelieving stutters. 

You pull the phone away from your ear, looking down at it as if it offended you. It’s then you notice the time. Shit shit shit. You have less than four hours to make your place and yourself presentable, go on a grocery run and start cooking for Homelander?! What just happened!

“Oh no no no no. This is not happening.” You rub your hands over your face as if to wipe the shock off your face. You’re so overwhelmed with the rollercoaster of emotions that you don’t know whether to have a panic attack, laugh nervously or downright cry.

Okay, first of all the pile of laundry is gonna have to wait. You don’t have the time to meticulously fold your t-shirts and panties. You gather up the clean and dry laundry into your hands, haphazardly shoving it into the closet before closing the door on what will be an avalanche of laundry for your future self to deal with.

With pure panic-induced energy that you haven’t felt in a long while you manage to just about make your place presentable within an hour. Finally managing to gather and clean up the mugs and glasses that have been cluttering up your surfaces, making your bed all neat and tidy—just in case—and shoving all unnecessary clutter into cupboards. It’s not like Homelander would use his x-ray vision to judge the inside of your cabinets, would he?

Speeding your way out of your apartment you make your way over to the closest shop. Standing in the fresh produce aisle you suddenly realize you don’t actually have a plan. What the fuck are you meant to cook for Homelander?! Even after all the content you’ve consumed you’re pretty sure there’s not a single mention of his favorites. At least ones he’s not been sponsored to promote. Sure, he’s on many products, ranging from frozen peas to whole milk but that doesn’t mean it’s something he genuinely endorses. After all you want to get to know the man behind the costume, a date is not meant to be just another PR interview for him!

You’re starting to look strange. People are passing you while you’re internally panicking over what to buy. What if he’s allergic to something? What if he goes into anaphylactic shock and fucking dies! Even if you had an EpiPen or he carried it on him you wouldn’t be able to stab it into him anyway. And suddenly you’ve killed the world’s most beloved superhero and you’re spending the rest of your life in jail with Vought most certainly making sure you pay your dues. Even if all of that was true you had no way of knowing. It’s not like Vought would ever leak that kind of information. Not very good for their brand to tweet that their best superhero is allergic to fucking nuts!  

You shake your head a little, snapping yourself out of your dazed state. If Homelander’s brand is anything it’s that red-blooded American male perfect standard. Surely he wouldn’t complain about some steak dinner right? Men love steaks! You just make sure to avoid most common allergens. You pick up some potatoes and other vegetables to roast along with a good pricey cut of steak that was easily out of your budget.

You get home just as fast and with each passing second you’re more and more on edge. You don’t know whether it’s the anxiety coiling in your guts or the so called ‘butterflies’ but you’ve never been this nervous before. With the clock ticking and the food cooking you’re suddenly more and more paranoid over everything. From your insane Homelander merch collection to even just the furniture you’ve got! Not that that’s anything you can change in the next hour but your mind is running at a hundred miles an hour and you’re trying to account for everything. 

Just before it gets to the agreed time you change into something nice but casual, straight after shoving the laundry avalanche back into its place. You even leave the balcony door open, doubting he’s gonna knock on your door like a normal person. 

And while you’re there focusing on platting up your best attempt at steak and roasted vegetables, you hear the familiar sound of Homelander’s landing. You whip your head towards the wall clock with such urgency it’s shocking you don’t give yourself whiplash. 

Shit. It was literally 7pm. You wanted to set the table all pretty and prep it perfectly but you got so preoccupied with the place looking as good as it can that you lost track of time. You’re sure he’s used to luxury and perfection. You want to do your best to replicate that!

“Homelander!” Comes out of you with a little gasp. You tilt your head to look at him. And what you see makes your heart skip a beat. 

There he is, in his suited-out glory per usual, except this time he’s holding a bouquet of roses with a dashing smile on his face that quickly turns into a self-satisfied grin as he immediately notices your panic at his presence. Even after he thoroughly reduced you to a puddle of goo just last week you were still such a skittish uncertain thing around him. 

“Wow, smells delicious in here.” He looks around taking it in while inhaling the mouth-watering smell of sizzling steak.

Homelander steps closer with calculated steps, checking you out without an ounce of shame. You don’t know if it’s just the pure intensity in his eyes that has you feeling on edge or if he really is undressing you with his gaze. “These,” he frees your hand, prying your palm open with his gloved hand, “are for you.” He places the bouquet of roses into your palm, squeezing it shut around the wrapped stems.

In a way you’re paralyzed. The reality of the situation finally hits you and you realize you’re really here about to have a dinner date with Homelander. Who just brought you expensive, gorgeous flowers, because that’s something that totally happens to people like you.

You’re standing there, staring at the deep rich red of the roses that actually ends up matching the cardigan you put on for this. Your little attempt at complimenting the suit you knew he'd show up in. 

Your mind is going a million miles a second and your other hand squeezes a petal in between your fingertips. There’s droplets of water on the velvety surface. You didn’t realize it was raining at the time. You look past him through a window as if you could make out the weather through the darkness of the evening.

Looking at the roses now, they look beautiful, pristine. He flew here right? How did he manage to keep them in one shape with the speeds he flies at.

“H-how did you fly with—” You don’t even finish the question before he’s answering.

“I don’t have to fly at super speeds all the time. You’d think my most loyal fan would know that.”

“You can read minds too?” Falls out of your mouth before you even think about what you're saying.

“No. You’re just very easy to read.” He places his hands on his hips, naturally defaulting to his superhero pose. 

And sure, maybe the way your eyes move in between the window, him and the flowers is a dead giveaway but you still don’t think it’s that easy to figure out exactly how your thought process works. 

He seems unhappy with your lack of enthusiastic response. He probably expected you to jump at him, wrapping your arms around him in pure glee that he’d do such a romantic thing. 

He nodded towards the bouquet, raising his eyebrows.

“Anyway, your flowers. You might want to put them in some water. Unless you plan on fondling each petal all night.” You don’t know whether he said it that way on purpose or if your absurd attraction to his voice is reaching new heights but the imagery that conjures is not one that would belong at a dinner table. There’s a different kind of petal-fondling you have in mind for later.

“Sorry! I’m sorry. And thank you. Really, this is very kind of you. They’re beautiful.” Finally, he’s satisfied with that response, his shoulders relax a bit, his chest puffing out as he sees you hold the flowers closer to you.

You’re all over the place and your movements are in no way elegant or thought out as you awkwardly stumble around, pulling out the biggest glass you could find. This ends up being a large glass measuring jug which you admit looks rather strange, and you don't miss the way he raises his eyebrow at the display. 

Well, it was a lot better than if you used the bucket you keep under the sink for cleaning. It’s not like you have a perfect pretty vase ready for this occasion. Until now you didn’t have anyone bringing you flowers and you never really bought any for yourself.

He doesn’t comment on the miserable display. Instead he focuses on how wound up you are.

“Jeez, you’re even stiffer than last time. You know I usually fuck my dates after dinner, but if you need me to loosen you up…” His crude attempt at humor and breaking the ice just has your brain screeching and halting all actions. 

“What?! No, nonono. That won’t—That’s not. I’m sorry. I’m just surprised. That you’re here.”

“I did tell you I’d come. And I’m pretty sure you’re not plating up two plates for yourself there silly.” He shakes his head while clicking his tongue, as if disapproving of your doubt. 

“I mean, I’m surprised that you want to do this. With me.” 

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m here aren’t I? Last time I checked I asked you out, not the other way around. And trust me sweetheart, I don’t do shit out of pity.” He walks closer to you, his hand patting the side of your arm, settling his hand there and sliding it up until he reaches your jaw. The leather of his glove is cold, some raindrops still stuck in the crevices.

Although your heart rate picks up, you smile genuinely. Getting the straightforward confirmation that he wants to be here with you warms your heart. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have everything ready. I lost track of time. Do you mind just sitting down, I’ll finish up in a second.”

“Yup, can do.” He sits down at the small table slapping his palms on his thighs as he does so. Already peeling his gloves off, discarding the gloves at the edge of the table. 

You finish up the plating, trying to make it as neat as possible. You bring the plates over, one in front of him the other right opposite. “Um, do you drink beer? I got some in case you do. I know you do endorse some but I’m sure that doesn’t mean you have to consume it in your free time.”

“No thanks, never got the taste for it. Have you got milk?” 

You blank a little at the request. It’s not the typical pairing by any means but who are you to tell him what to like. Instead you comply, tucking away the little preference into the corner of your mind where you keep all your knowledge about him.

“Um, yeah. I do. Again, I got one you’ve done marketing for, just in case you did like it. I wasn’t really sure. Believe it or not there’s a lot I don’t know about you.” You admit. It’s not like everything that his Marketing team puts out is all real. You're sure they leave out any of his actual preferences so future advertisers don't clash with any competition.

“With this logic I’m surprised you didn’t buy the entire store.” 

“I was close to it.” You take the carton out of the fridge, shutting the door with your hip. “Do you want it warm or cold?” 

“Cold is fine.” You nod, pouring some into a glass placing it in front of him.

As a last touch you take two roses from the huge bouquet, popping them into a narrow tall glass filled with water and you place the romantic decoration to the side of the table before sitting down.

He strangely smiles at the gesture, something about it feeling awfully domestic. It may not be perfectly manicured but it's real and it does the job just as well. It's not a perfect setting made for a photoshoot. You're just trying to impress him with what you've got. All for his enjoyment only. And that alone makes it a lot more special. 

Suddenly being right across him really set the reality of the situation. You feel a little awkward about the setting. But there is really only so much you could have done with your small apartment. And it’s not like he hasn’t been here before. He knows what you're working with.

You watch as he cuts into the steak, stabbing it with his fork and bringing a piece to his mouth.

“Wait! You’re not allergic to anything right?!” You suddenly panic, feeling cold sweat pour over you at the thought of your irrational thoughts from earlier coming true. 

He looks thoroughly amused but he doesn’t answer and instead just takes the bite. 

“Are you always this worried on dates? Or do you get them to fill out a questionnaire beforehand?” He seems to enjoy throwing all these little jabs highlighting how much of a nervous mess you are in his presence. 

“I don’t usually cook for my dates on the first date. There’s usually nothing to worry about.”

“I did ask you out for dinner. This is your own doing missy.” He waved his fork at you, pointing at you being the one to blame.

“You think I’m—oh. I’m not complaining about this, oh my god! I just didn’t really know what you like! Surprisingly not a lot about that online. They really know how to keep you a mystery. And even superheroes have allergies! How was I to know whether you’ve got one or not? But even if you did, it’s not like Vought would release that information.” You ramble on, trying to explain yourself but you’re really just digging yourself a deeper hole. Not that Homelander looks particularly put off. If anything, the amused grin spreads to both corners of his mouth.

“You know I’m not here for the food right? Though this is not too bad. Didn’t think you had it in you.” He raises his eyebrows in appreciation. 

“I live on my own. I don’t know why you’re surprised to learn that I can cook for myself.” You said feigning offense but inside you were squealing at the compliment.

“When’s the last time you’ve had a date?” He changes the topic, with each passing moment he’s less interested in the food and a lot more honed in on you and what little secrets you can let him in on. Though he’s still happily nursing the glass of milk. 

“It’s been a while, I guess.” You’re overcome with this anxious feeling in your gut. Is it meant to be a dig at the date you’ve prepared? Is he saying that you’re not desirable enough to be dated?

He catches you off guard with his smug little smile. “Thought so. Guess you’re too busy being my biggest fan, huh?”

You nearly choke on your food, surprised and flustered by his words. The tell-tale sign of heat creeps up your neck and to the tip of your ears in embarrassment. He’s hard to read and you can’t tell whether he’s trying to humiliate you or if he genuinely enjoys the reminder of having someone fawn over him right there and then.

You put your cutlery down, softly clinking it against the plate. “Look, I’m really sorry about all that. I’m a fan but I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were.” The corners of his mouth comically pull down feigning innocence with a shrug.

You playfully roll your eyes. “You insinuated. I’m just saying I wouldn’t have all this stuff out if I knew you’d ever see it!” You wave your arm in the general direction of the rest of your humble apartment. Still littered with Homelander merch. If you had more time to prepare for the date you would have maybe even taken some of it down. Replace some posters with photos of friends or family, making you appear a lot more put together. But alas, your guilty pleasure is still blatantly obvious and out for anyone to see. It's all the worse that in this case it’s being seen by the featured star of your guilty pleasure himself.

“There’s no shame in being a fan.” 

“No, but it’s different to collect memorabilia and merchandise of a beloved superhero that you don’t ever expect to witness the madness and to actually have him see it all and feel objectified. As if all there was to him is just the plastic he can sell with his face on it.”

You don’t know why you’re getting into the heavy-duty topic of someone’s worth and value but maybe part of you just wants to present yourself as someone who cares. Someone who looks beyond the obvious. 

Homelander is similarly perturbed by your words. Clearly not used to fans taking such direction with him. Thinking about it you doubt he hears more from them beyond a predictable can I have a selfie?

He furrows his eyebrows for a second tilting his head. As if he’s trying to look into your brain to read your mind. And sure he can literally see inside your skull but it doesn’t help him understand your thoughts. So instead he digs deeper. Putting the glass of milk down he looks you straight in the eyes. 

“You don’t think that’s it?” 

His resolute question makes you pause, feeling as if you overstepped. And even if, there’s no way to backtrack anymore so you continue. “O-of course not. I know you’re more than what Vought puts out there.”

You’ve spent countless hours following the content Vought markets out to the public. All of it manicured to match his perfect brand and profile. They’re slick enough to control even the content fans put out. From conventions to random street encounters. You remember following a thread of an anonymous fan sharing their experience of getting barraged by Vought’s lawyers after they shared a post about a poor experience they had meeting one of their superheroes. You haven’t heard an update from that story in a while, god knows what happened to the fan. Maybe Vought’s lawyers managed to get their anonymous account too. 

“How would you know?” Irritation seeps into his tone, shoulders tensing, feeling exposed right before he slides back into his normal casual tone and body language as if remembering that he’s meant to be talking to a date and not some nosy interviewer trying to get the next scoop.

“I mean who hasn’t put up a face to show the world their perfect self? Whether it’s on dates or in front of friends. I just imagine that doing that in front of the whole world means there’s a lot you feel like you have to hide.” With each word you feel like you’re digging yourself a hole, ruining any chance of another date. But you’ve started saying your piece and when else are you gonna get the chance to tell the man exactly how you feel?

So you continue.

“I just think it has to be exhausting. Your entire job, your life is existing in the public eye and you can’t ever slip up? Not super-abled celebrities deal with that already but for you there’s the added burden of being seen as the superhero right? ‘Here to save us all’. I just mean, do you ever get to be yourself?”

You mean to be sympathetic, not that you could ever imagine what it’s like to be in his shoes. Being as obsessed as you are, you've watched all the footage with him. You notice how often the same lines repeat, how well he’s perfected the mask of a perfect hero. The fake humble you’re the real heroes being repeated in every video and appearance. If it was you, you know you’d have enough a while ago now. The daily grind of a job is exhausting enough but to do that all under the public’s scrutiny? You couldn’t even imagine. 

You were so lost in your little monologue, spilling all the little thoughts you had about him and his persona that you miss how his casual demeanor has once again shifted into something else. He’s less irritated but he’s tense. Even more so than before. He wears an expression you’re pretty sure you’ve not seen on him before. His jaw may not be dropped but his surprise and confusion is evident without it. 

He’s speechless. Thinking about it now, has anyone ever spoken to him in such manner before?

You watch his body language and the way he’s squeezing the fork so hard you’re sure he’s bent the metal. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. It’s just once I get going I can’t stop!” 

He lets out a breathless little laugh. His shoulders release in tension. He stops gripping the cutlery and sure enough it has a bend that definitely wasn’t there before but you don’t care. He’s not pissed. He raises his free hand waving you off and stopping you from apologizing any further. Something you’ve managed to do about a hundred times since his arrival. 

“No. No, it’s fine. You didn’t.” He shakes his head a little, looking at you with a different look in his eyes. No longer just looking for a little bit of excitement, now he’s truly locked in. What else can he get you to say? “Well maybe you did a little, but color me intrigued anyway.” 

He looks at you in a way that makes you feel small. You feel like you’re on your knees praying for your god to hear out your prayers knowing it’s unlikely for him to even notice you.  

“Can't say I've heard any of that before.” He concludes, slumping back into the chair now that he's relaxed again, having lost all interest in the food you've served up.

You’re embarrassed by the call out. It’s like all your efforts to not appear like another crazy fan have been pointless. He might not seem angry but that doesn’t mean he’s about to jump at the thought of another date. You may have ruined your chances at this being anything more than mild entertainment to him so you try to save yourself. “I just mean. I have always wanted to get to know you. The you without the cameras.”

“You already have. I don’t go on dates with many fans, believe it or not. And I gotta say you’re a lot more interesting than I gave you credit for.” 

And maybe it wasn’t such a lost cause yet. Have there been many people that Homelander has ever found genuinely interesting? You wouldn’t know but at least you’re one of them.

“Oh…ah-hah thank you.” You fluster under his heavy gaze. His words make your heart skip a beat. There’s very little that can match the euphoria of your hero, the hero really, saying he finds you interesting. It’s hard to calm the pounding of your heart at the thought of a man of his caliber seeking your company out.

After all you’ve managed to blurt out you feel more at ease. It’s not awkward like you expected it to be. In a way you’ve broken the ice you didn’t know was even there.

With you both losing interest or having had enough of your meals you move to the small but comfortable couch. And like any good dinner and movie date you put on the first title that gets advertised to you on the main page of the Vought+ streaming platform.

In reality the movie doesn’t get watched. Either you let it play in the background or you pause on sections just so you can continue the conversation between the two of you. And somehow it’s still mainly you literally just rambling on about him. It’s not that he doesn’t talk or doesn’t ask questions about you but you see the way he preens at all the enamored praise you send his way. 

The only parts that do get watched is the small cameo Homelander ended up having in the title and the conversation steers back to him. He gives you all the details you ask for, more than happy to talk about how great of an actor he is. 

With each minute of sitting close to him you feel your body respond to him. You feel hot. Too warm for the cardigan you’re wearing but you don’t want to seem too forward by taking it off. Especially after knowing what kind of trouble he could get up to in between your legs it makes it very hard to accidentally brush against his thigh and not spontaneously combust.

Homelander turns around to look back into the room while you’re dealing with your internal turmoil. Would it be too unseemly for you to initiate?

Your thoughts are interrupted when his bare hand cradles your jaw, bringing you in for a kiss. The whimper you let out is embarrassing but you quickly lose track of anything that’s not his hot lips melting you into a puddle. Just as things are about to get good, just when you’re about to pry his lips open with your needy tongue he pulls away. He doesn’t go too far. You can still feel his hot breath while he rests his forehead against yours. 

“I’ll have to set off. I need to get back to Vought tower.” He hums so close to you that you get goosebumps from the way his voice turns all low and hushed. Even though the words he’s saying are anything but good news, the attractive sound still soothes you.

“Oh-kay.” You nod. A little sad but understanding that he’s got things to get to. Every part of you is holding back from pulling him in for more but as much as your fingers twitch for him you restrain yourself.

“Come on now. Don’t sound so upset.” He gives your cheek a soft little pat before placing another peck on your lips with a chuckle from behind his closed lips.

The taste of your lips pulls him in anyway and he holds you close for a few more indulgent kisses. Upon separating you’re warm and flustered. His touch always seems to have that effect on you. 

“It's just… I had a lot of fun today.” And you don't want it to be over or for it to be the last time you see him. But how do you ask him out? 

While your limbs still feel like jelly, having melted into the couch, he stands up, walking over to the little dining table where he left his discarded gloves, pulling them back on.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’ll be back.” He clearly reads your expression and watches as you stumble while getting up, clearly wanting to see him out before he flies off.

His words alone are good enough to lift your spirits and you let yourself show that joy outwardly.

“Thanks for today.” When’s the last time you’ve ever felt this in the moment? Even if he never came back this moment would easily be a highlight you look back on.

“Well, aren’t you sweet?” As if he couldn’t restrain himself his eyes snapped in between your eyes and lips, his eyelashes fluttering, lips parting as he took in the sight of you. So eager to please and be there for him. He wets his lips and your stomach flips at the display. The pink of his tongue disappearing as quickly as it appears.

His eyes soften, lips stretching into a lazy lopsided smile.

“Do I get a goodbye kiss?” 

And just like that with one last kiss he’s off again, returning to his duties.

This isn’t where things end with you two. If anything, your life takes a massive turn. It’s not been the same ever since you’ve won that silly competition. And it strangely makes you want to send a gift basket to whoever organized it, no matter how much you dislike Vought itself. 

At first he comes back to you seeking comfort.

He strolls in through your balcony door which you’ve gotten into the habit of leaving unlocked—just in case. It’s not like there’s anyone else eager to fly into your home. You awake at the disruption, eyes bleary and straining in the harsh light of the nightstand lamp you’ve turned on to see what’s going on.

He doesn’t explain himself as much as he just vents to you about how he’s not being respected and taken seriously. It’s the first time he’s been back since your date and you’re surprised to see him so emotive. So unlike the perfect persona or even the carefully charming guy he presented himself as during  your date.

He’s already pacing back and forth, the thud of his boots bound to disturb your neighbors below. Not that either of you care. He’s too preoccupied with being angry. And you’re too frazzled by the thought of something upsetting your hero to this degree.

You see the angry tremor in his hands and the sharpness of his teeth, highlighted by the yellow night light. You snap out of the sleepy daze and you catch his gloved hand when he paces in front of you. 

You pull him down next to you, cooing supportive words and showing your own anger at seeing him be so disrespected by Vought. You believe they don’t know how lucky they are to have someone like him. They should revere him, yet the things he lets slip in his anger make your chest tight, fueling the rage simmering inside you. 

It’s like seeing you riled up at the way he’s being mistreated is enough to calm him down. The more you seethe the more he cools down, the energy exchange working in between you perfectly. He’s pleased to have someone in his corner. Preening at how much you parrot the words he’s saying without needing to nudge you in that direction.

Swoop-in visits like these happen more regularly. Either he comes in irritated wanting to get some frustration and anger out, fucking you throughout the night until all he can think of are your moans and cries telling him it’s too much.

Or he comes in happy, excited to share the news that his numbers are up or that the public and the on-scene reporters couldn’t stop praising him after his latest save. Those days he comes in for affection and a cuddle, wanting to hear over and over again just how well he’s done since you’ve last seen him. Treating you less like a stress ball and more like a teddy bear he’s hugged against his chest in comfort. 

You start thinking how lonely he must feel. The thought that there aren’t any people around him showering him with genuine love and friendship hurts you and suddenly you want nothing more than to keep him here with you, making sure he knows just how special he is.

As much as you’ve always been devoted to this god-like being and the idea that he represented, you never got to love the person. Until now. Now the ideology alone has seeped into your never ending love, fueling the suffocating adoration you hold for him. So strong it’s eating away at you anytime you don’t get the chance to scream how much you love him.

You used to see these late night visits as something he does for his own benefit. With you always being the easiest and most effective balm to his troubled soul. You didn’t think he was serious with you. After all, this is the Homelander you’re spending every other evening with. 

So when he sends you flowers out of nowhere, effectively courting you, you start thinking that this might be turning into something real.

It starts with the first delivery at your door. A gorgeous bouquet bursting at the seams, tagged with a note saying it’s from Homelander. Since then he’s made sure to supply you with the most beautiful bouquets as if to keep a reminder of him on a daily basis. You finally invest in a pretty vase, knowing it’s going to be thoroughly used and displayed.

Your home always had touches of Homelander throughout it—some might even say too many. However, as your relationship grows you come to a realization that those really only represent Vought. It’s these new touches that really represent Homelander’s presence in your life. Like how he times the flower deliveries just right so your place is never empty. Always there to remind you to keep him at the forefront of your mind. Never wavering. 

You two haven’t officially said that you’re dating throughout these nighttime visits but it’s at the tip of your tongue each time he comes. You want to voice the love you carry for him like a burden. Overflowing from your arms with nowhere to go. And it feels like each second you don’t say it, it’s being uselessly spilled on the floor like sand falling from in-between your fingers.

Homelander has his own way of showing affection. Seeing as so much of his life has been in front of some sort of camera you wonder if thinking in advertising scripts and photoshoot visuals comes to him more naturally than casual and real gestures. As ever since he started with the flower deliveries he’s been showering you with gifts upon each visit. As if everyday had to be Valentine’s day and he had to bring something to symbolize the reason for his visit.

You call him out on that one day. 

“You know you don’t have to bring anything right? You don’t need to bribe me.” You chuckle at the gift box he brought with him. You’ve got dozens of similar gift boxes and bags that you feel reluctant to get rid of mainly for the sentimental value but the retail price associated with the gift they hold certainly doesn’t help. 

He clasps the gifted necklace around your neck. The dainty chain lays cold against your skin and your fingers gently caress the pendant with care. Your statement still rings true but you can’t help but feel giddy every time he brings you something he thought would look great on you. 

“Do you not like the things I bring you?” With a perplexed expression you see him trying to do mental math, trying to figure out why you could possibly not kneel or bow in gratitude. He watches you play with your new pretty jewelry with a squint. 

“No! It’s all beautiful—this one especially—just. I don’t want you to feel like that’s an obligatory part of you being here.” You laugh it off a little, still dreamily thinking about what it really means to get pampered to this degree. 

He breaks your thoughts with a simple sentence.

“Maybe I want to treat my girl.” 

Your eyes widen, and you let out a shocked stuttered breath.

“Your girl?”

“Yeah, duh.” He scoffs as if what he said is as obvious as the sky being blue and water wet.

“Because you’re mine, right?” You don’t see the way his eyes reflect his own complicated and simmering feelings. The tension in his jaw betrays how he needs you to acknowledge his words and speak them into an existence. But you don’t notice any of that because it’s like the dam you’ve been doing your best to hold together with safety pins finally bursts.

You’re nodding feverishly. No longer able to hold back you’re possessed to blurt out the words that have been threatening to fall off the precipice of your tongue for weeks. 

“I love you.” 

Homelander’s eyes widen. Surprised by your admission just as much as you are. Your heart is racing, suddenly feeling insane for thinking this was anything more than simple fun to him. The knee-jerk response to apologize spills easily from your lips.

“I’m sorry—,” but instead he interrupts you by cradling your jaw in his bare hands, stepping closer.

“Don’t be sorry.” He says in a low rumble, sending shivers down your spine. He leans in to give you a tender kiss. Just barely slotting in between your parted lips, pressing them against his. Before you get the chance to continue he pulls away with enough distance to speak up.

He breathes out, eyes squeezed shut in longing which to an untrained eye would just look like pure pain and frustration. But not to you. You’ve learned to read him better. 

He nuzzles his face against yours, dragging his lips across your cheek until he reaches your ear, growling a weak, “say it again.”

You’ve partially gotten used to the timbre of his voice in your ear. Capable of having a conversation without getting worked up by every word he says but the way he’s now needily begging in your ear has your body erupt in goosebumps. He doesn’t need to say please for you to hear it anyway.

“I-I love you.” You whimper out. The emotion alone feels thick in your throat, as if it was clogging up your airways anytime you come up for air. Your heart is pounding, you’re strung up, the butterflies in your stomach make you antsy. 

His hold on your jaw tightens. With a sharp intake of breath he smashes your lips together. No longer composed and tender. Your teeth nearly clash as he’s pressed you close to him. He’s prying your lips open with his, his whimpers easily falling into the press of your lips.

“Again.” 

“I love you.”

You don’t want to cry but you’re so overwhelmed with emotion the burn that turns your eyes glassy spills over and you’re dripping tears down your cheeks in pure emotional instability.

“Again.” 

And each time he asks he sounds more wrecked. 

“I love you.”

Homelander catches the tears with his tongue right before kissing the salty taste into your mouth. Not letting any of your love get wasted. You grab onto him, grasping where you can. Your hands tangle in between his as you wrap them around his neck. One hand grips as much of the fabric of his suit it can while the other tangles in his hair, pulling on it for support more than anything. 

You feel like you’re drowning. The intensity of the moment makes you gasp for air but it’s like Homelander kisses it back into your lungs like a lifeline. Hearing his shattered whimpers soothes you, his own need fueling yours, filling the void your tears are leaving behind.

He lifts you up and with practiced ease you automatically wrap your legs around him.

He leads you both to the bedroom while he’s continuously prompting you to continue declaring your love to him. Each again, again, again you reward with the three words that make him feverish and mad. The more you say it the less your heart feels like it’s about to explode from the burden it’s been carrying for too long.

Homelander quite literally rips your clothes off, not caring that he’s leaving his own recent purchases in tatters. He doesn’t want to separate his lips from your neck where he’s kissing trails across each inch of your skin.

You don’t have the luxury to treat his suit with the same carelessness. Even if you wanted to, the tough molded material would make it impossible. Instead you do what you can. Unclasping his belt, pulling at the front of his suit, pushing his pants down where you can reach.

He helps you with taking off the rest of it until he’s on top of you, skin to skin. You rarely get the luxury of lying with him fully stripped and each time you’re shocked at how hot he runs. Now his hot body is making you melt under the heat alone.

Neither of you have stopped kissing with the same intense need that has been laying there dormant for months. Anytime you have the chance you repeat the same words over and over again until they’re all you know how to say.

It’s the first time sex has felt anything more than a physical relief he comes to you for. You’re barely keeping it together as he nudges your legs a little open, sliding his hand down your body, his palm blazing hot as the anticipation makes you clench your core.

It’s by no means either one of your first times, nor it is the first time you’ve been together yet you’ve never felt more nervous. The first touch he descends onto your clit feels like a lightning bolt crackling down your spine, spreading the tingles out to your toes and fingertips.

“Ahh hah—fuck. Want it so bad, don’t you?” He looks as broken as he sounds when he hisses at the feeling of your soaked pussy. It makes his fingers glide too easily, making it harder to give your clit the precise rhythm he’s learned to make you see stars with. 

His attempt at his normal dirty talk is disrupted by his keen moans and broken whimpers. Part of you wonders whether his super senses include being able to feel other people’s sensations with the way he’s acting as if it was him getting his body set on fire.  

You hum and ahh in response, your tongue feeling incapable of saying anything but the words you’ve been finally allowed to repeat over and over again. 

His fingers easily slip inside the sloppy mess you’ve made for him and he moans right into the kiss he leans in to steal from your lips. And it feels good. The friction is perfect, his fingers are hitting the right spot inside you and the loud squelch is embarrassing and intoxicating in equal parts. Yet it’s not what you want.

It takes all your strength to reach down and pull his hand out of you, as instinctively you’re already clenching around the all too familiar emptiness you whine at every other time when he’s done with you. 

“I want you. Please. Just you.” You manage to breathe out, your hand reaching over for his hard cock. You give him a few shaky strokes, smearing his leaking precum across the entire length.

“Alright. Uh huh, okay. I’ll give it to you.” And he’s just as out of it as you as his normal cocky one-liners just break into a lot of grunts and stutters.

He wedges himself in between your thighs, spreading them wide open. His lips part with a wistful sigh while his eyes haze over with lust at the sight of your pussy spread ope, generously glistening with slick all made for him. 

He aligns his cock with your entrance, not even bothering to tease you. He’s just as strung out as you are. He splits you open with a single thrust, your slick pulling him in with an easy glide.

“I love you.” For the first time the confession spills from Homelander’s lips. A relief just as palpable falls upon him. It’s a different story for you. The words cause more tears to spill, a wet hiccup leaving your throat as you clench around him.

“Shh, shh.” He hushes you sweetly, already reaching back for you. 

He lays his body flush on top of yours and kisses your tears away, the heat and weight of his body on top yours grounds you. He repeats the words over and over again in between wet, messy kisses. He ruts into you in shallow thrusts as if he doesn’t want to part from you any second longer.

Nothing in the world exists but you two and neither one of you can believe how perfect you really are for each other. You’ve always felt like the way you love was overwhelming. It left the other person choking on the overwhelming viscosity of it all. Homelander isn’t like that. To him your love is a breath of fresh air. 

As long as you love him with the same unyielding intensity he’s yours. At this point, he wouldn’t know how to live without it.

He kisses you in a way that says just that. Needy and broken yet utterly completed by you. 

You’re both so worked up with the overflowing emotions it doesn’t take much more than his frenzied grinding to make you both reach the release that’s as emotional as it physical. Maybe even more so.

Because the reward isn’t just a good orgasm. It’s the love that fills the air, spilling into every empty crevice you didn’t manage to fill with your bodies.

Homelander’s whimpers resemble cries as he finishes inside you right as you flutter around him with the toe-curling orgasm wracking your nerves. 

It takes you a little while to regain your mental faculties after such an emotionally draining affair. You feel boneless, your limbs feel like jelly and you just lie there dazed. Focusing on the way your heart beats loud even to your ears. 

Homelander is doing the same thing. Listening to your heartbeat with his head on your chest.

After a long while you both pull yourself together. Still in bed but now you’ve managed to strike up a normal conversation again. Talking about everything and nothing.

You lie like this for what feels like hours. Having changed positions you rest your head against his chest, ear pressed to his pecs to listen in on the steady beat of his heart.

After this reveal your brain recognizes your relationship as the utmost priority. Because of that your eyes lock onto the Kuddle Buddy plush resting just a foot away from Homelander’s head. As if you were locking onto an enemy. You pluck it from the pillow, squeezing it in your hand.

You’re staring at it, still clutching it too hard. 

“What got you thinking so hard? You’re making my head hurt from how tense you are.” Homelander interrupts you from your thoughts. 

“Just you. This. I can’t look at this stuff these days without—I don’t know—rage? To know how much Vought has wronged you.” You furrow your eyebrows, assessing the innocent plush toy while it’s staring back at you with its stitched grimace.

“That’s what the toy reminds you of, really? It should remind you of me.”

“It doesn’t anymore.” Your furrowed expression slowly melts into one of content as your hand presses against your new necklace. “Things like these do.” 

“And these.” Your fingers continue to travel up your neck where they tap at the darkened patches you feel he has left behind. With soft nipping and sucking he left your neck coloured in all shades.

He plucks the plush toy from your hands, throwing it somewhere across the room with thankfully not enough strength to knock anything else over. You’re pretty damn comfortable and you’d rather not get up to assess any damage. 

“Maybe I should give you more reminders then.” 

You squeal as he easily pulls you up so his lips can meet yours, kissing your worries out of your mind.

Homelander lands on your balcony with a soft thud. It’s late in the afternoon, earlier than he normally arrives, and he doesn’t want to attract unwanted attention. Already predicting the shit Madelyn would put him through if he got caught regularly perusing outside some random person’s apartment.

His person’s apartment really. You’re not just a random boring nobody.

He makes his way in quietly, closing the door and stepping in. Each time coming back to your apartment has felt more like coming home than he’s ever felt at Vought. You’ve arranged your life around him. He’s noticed you cancel plans, call off events just so you could stay in in the evening, waiting for him to make his return.

You even make space for him in your small apartment. The state of which he’d normally scoff at but it’s hard to mock your financial situation when you manage to make the place feel warm.

His presence left its mark in the gifts you happily displayed or the flowers you always took good care of.

And of course, the insane collection of merchandise you’ve spent years accumulating.

Wait.

Where is everything?

Homelander looks around, breaking out of his routine and instead he scans the surroundings as if it’s the first time he’s ever been here. Only now does he realize that all the usual merchandise carrying his likeness is gone. No posters on the walls. No action figures on the shelves. No funko pops. No collectibles. Nothing.

Homelander feels his blood pressure rise. There’s no way you’d want to get rid of him. Not you too. You love him. You wouldn’t do that.

He finally notices the black trash bags pushed into the kitchen, still open and overflowing with all the things missing from your walls. 

His stomach flips. 

No. Nonono. This can’t be happening.

You can’t get rid of him like this. He can’t lose you. 

Not after he’s finally tasted what real love in cooking tastes like. Or what it’s like to wake up next to someone who instead isn’t pushing you away straight after sex. Someone who makes an effort for him. Not out of fear but out of love. 

He mentally compares everything you’ve changed his perception on. 

Like when you give him a gift or help him out it’s different. Vought employees being at his beck and call could never compare. 

He’s the most powerful man in the world, with means that don’t feel like they have an end yet he could never buy the love you give freely. For once, love doesn’t feel like pulling teeth. It feels like a warm embrace on a cold winter night. 

You make it easy. You don’t fake it. And most importantly you do it unconditionally. Love him through thick and thin, the devotion to him a part of your very core. Your love is overwhelming, oozing and sticky like he’s never gonna be able to get rid of it. Just like you could never get rid of him.

You’re the only one who hasn’t left him.

Exactly. It can’t be. You wouldn’t.

This has to be some kind of a mistake.

The shuffle of your slippers against the floor breaks him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looks up sharply. Seeking some sort of explanation.

“Hey baby. You’re early today—what’s wrong?” The smile drops from your face as quickly as he sees it and it’s only then he realizes his hand is shaking. He squeezes it into a fist, the leather creaking with the pressure as he takes in a labored breath with a jittery shake to his head.

“W-uh-what is… What are you doing?” He blinks rapidly, shaking his head pretending that his voice doesn’t quiver and waver the way it does. 

“Bit of spring cleaning. After we talked the other night I just can’t look at this stuff and not think how much Vought has used you. I don’t want those reminders. It’s not what I thought it was and now that you opened my eyes to it, I can’t forget. So. Out with it.” You say so casually, not picking up on the panic he’s been going through in his head.

“Oh—okay.” He lets out a visible breath of relief, his posture relaxing. “I thought—” His jaw tightens and he looks away. Thought so heartbreaking, he doesn't want to give it voice.

“You thought I was getting rid of you?” You stop what you are doing. Putting the box on the couch and instead you walk up to him, hand on his jaw you turn him back to look at you.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” You kiss him, and Homelander melts right into it. He lets himself melt into the loving embrace of your pliant lips.

“Good. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” When you pull away he puts his hands on your jaw, tilting your head as if he was inspecting you. Seeing if what you’re saying is true. And he can’t see a single speck of a lie with the steady beats of your heart and the taste of love on your lips.

“So what are you doing with all of it?”

“Selling it, donating or trashing some I guess.”

“Why not sell it all?”

“You can buy a Homelander poster or card at any shop for a few bucks. I'm not gonna bother with those.”

“What if I sign them?”

“Oh please don’t waste your time. You’re not here to be a show pony.”

“Nonsense, come on. Bring it out.”

Homelander ends up taking the stack of posters with his or the Seven’s likeness from the top of the trash bag, placing them on the coffee table in front of the couch. He sits down, hooking his cape out of the way. He picks up a pen off the table already signing the first poster. 

Part of him is still upset that you feel like throwing a part of him away. Is this part of him not good enough for you anymore? It’s how he found you, how he got to know you and now it feels like you’re throwing it away. 

As if you could read his thoughts you sit down next to him, placing your hand on top of his as he’s halfway through his signature.

His head snaps up towards you, expression clearly guarded while he looks you over with his piercing blue gaze.

He carries his upset so visibly it would be hard even for someone as unaware as you to miss it. His smile is tight, not even attempting to reach his eyes.

You pull the pen out of his grip, instead wrapping your hand around his. The other one goes to his hair, scratching your nails down his scalp until you reach his undercut where you play with the shortly buzzed hair.

“I’m not getting rid of you. Not now. Not ever.”

At that he leans into you, nearly purring at the pleasure your scalp massage brings him. The way you touch him with no hesitation will never cease to amaze him. There’s enough love pouring off you to almost fill the black hole in his heart. 

It was exhilarating to have someone so eager to keep him in their life. Everyone else has just pushed him away, entertained him until they got what they wanted. Not you. You give and give and give. Sometimes he’s scared you’ll run out of love to shower him with. However, one look at you tells him that the love you carry feels just as much of a burden as his need for it does to him. You free each other by sharing the love. You feed his insatiable beast of a heart and he lets you burst the dam free without feeling like you’re not allowed to.  

The posters are forgotten about. Any hurt brushed away with a press of his lips to yours. Needy and hungry, wanting to see if you can prove your words with actions. Again and again.

And you do. Like you’ve done a hundred times before and just like you will do thousands of times over.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged when I post a new Homelander fic)

@morishitoshi @ker0senebunny @itsvaleriesucka @thychuvaluswife

@nervoussystemss @littlegaaby @natliecole @thatvintagefanboy

@infinetlyforgotten @rafecamsgirlll @hom3landr @mrsdesade

@nommingonfood

[rogueabs]

Guilty as Sin

My bedsheets are ablazeI've screamed her nameBuilding up like wavesCrashing over my graveWithout ever touching her skinHow can I be guilty as sin? “- Guilty as Sin, Taylor Swift

You had built an image of yourself to your family, one your friends wanted you to break free from. They didn’t understand what it was to see the people that gave you life, seeing your identity and who you love as a sin. Meeting Abby for a one night stand painted brightly what you couldn't see before, her touch, how your bodies fit, that’s what heaven was.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut!

Word count: 2450

photo from @thelosstvalkyrie

“Ellie stop”, you recall telling your best friend you didn’t need a set-up.

“Look (Y/N), there's nothing wrong with you liking women, why are you so afraid?” you couldn't take it anymore and the last time you recall is slapping Ellie and running away from her apartment.

H-how could she do this to you, she knows exactly why you’re afraid. All of your one night stands with women she knows so well about, you had to “please your sins” as your mother once described when she found you kissing Claire in middle school.

 “There’s nothing wrong with what you did darling, but it is a sin, do you want to not meet grandma in heaven? One day you’ll meet a nice young man to grow old with.”

And that’s what you did, as a way to let them believe they raised the perfect heterosexual daughter.

You decided to do what you knew better, a tinder hook-up.

You swiped and swiped left until you saw her… Abby. She had pictures of herself flexing at the gym, a picture of her on a bar and all you could focus your gaze on was how beautiful her strong hands looked wrapped around the beer bottle. Without thinking twice you swiped right and you saw the stunning “it’s a match pop-up”.

In her bio she stated that she was in med school and you decided to be corny and text her “If I knew a doctor could look this good I would be sick more often to pay you a visit.”

“Now would you?” the blonde texted back.

For the next 2 hours you both texted back and forth, sharing each other's phone number. You had never been so hooked on a woman through a phone, you needed her. 

“Want to go out for a drink tonight?”

Unfortunately you didn’t the reply you desired, “I have a final exam tomorrow, but we could meet afterwards, my treat;)” 

You replied agreeing to the delayed date and a few minutes later you received a text with a photo attached. 

“I’m taking a break right now, want to call?” you were practically drooling looking at the photo Abby sent you, her in a black tank top with boxers on, her brawny hand holding her shirt up showing her sculpted abs, the angle showed how well built and muscular and big thighs were.

You weren’t a stranger at the game of sexting until someone drove to someone's house to please the ache and pool forming in between your legs, but the arousal of not being able to get what you craved made it so much more exciting. You were wearing a baggy band shirt you stole from a hook up a few years ago, underneath it nothing besides a lacy thong. Knowing your angles made it so much more fun, preparing to send her a small video showcasing the clothes on your body you wanted her to tear apart.

“All yours if you desire.”

It took seconds until the sent, turned into a seen. She texted to give her five minutes and you ran all giddy to your bed in anticipation. Your phone rang and you picked up so quickly it made you feel like a teenager waiting for your crush to reply.

“Hi Baby”, she began the call, “You looked so good in that video, what do you get from being such a tease…”

Smirking at her response you simply said “I know how to please to get what i want.”

“Oh you do, don’t you?, I might have to rip that smirk off your face, my pretty girl.”

“So, what's the purpose of this call baby?” you questioned knowing the answer.

“Don’t play dumb baby, you know damn hell I want to take that lacy thong off with my teeth and tease you until you deserve it, what I would give to hear you beg for my fingers.”

All you gave her was a laugh and that made her fume, you could hear it in her tone “You’ll do what I tell you, and all I want to hear from you from now on is Yes darling.”

You caved in, you couldn't hold in any longer, the way her voice sounded made you wetter, the few clothes you had to cover you from nudity were so tight and annoying on your body “Yes darling.”

“Good girl… Tell me, how do you like it? Slow, rough… Oh baby if I were there I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of you.Touch yourself baby, picture my fingers crawling down your neck.”

“A-abby”, you softly whimper her name while your fingers make their way down to relieve the ache you felt tying on your core.

“My name sounds so beautiful coming out of your mouth baby…” you heard her swallow a moan down.

The call lasted for one hour, it was filled with lewd noises, curses, pet names and how you were wrapped around her fingers, her velvety voice, her delicious whimpers of your name, you wanted to please her in any way you could.

You had to take a shower after that call, trying to clean yourself away from the sin of desiring that gorgeous woman to bend you, to hold you and crave you on your knees.

Before going to sleep you texted her sweet dreams texts, you couldn't get her out of your mind. She updated you on her day and at what time she had her exam, what both of you had for lunch. You picked a maroon dress to wear for tonight, it framed your body and accentuated your ass, if you could you would eat you out too. 

Sending her a photo of the outfit to know her opinion she replied with what you least expected:

“Baby we’re staying in, I need you.”

You couldn’t help but tease her every minute until she arrived at your doorstep. Preparing your favourite red wine, you left the chinese take out menu from downstairs in case she wanted to eat due to being stressed all day with her exam. Why did you care about a woman you had phone sex with last night, shaking the thought off when you heard your doorbell ring.

Opening the door you greeted her with a kiss on the cheek “Hi baby.” Eyeing her up and down you had to admire how strong and divinely her arms were built, she was wearing loose cargo pants and a white button down rolled at the sleeves.

Smirking, she greeted you back, placing a hand behind your back waiting for your guidance inside.

You saw her mentally undressing you, the way she licked her lips looking you up and down drove you insane, you quickly offered her the glass of wine you served.

“Thank you darling, for treating me so well.” The way she talked was smoother than the wine you were swallowing, it was driving you insane.

Putting the glass down you got closer to Abby, fingers drawing up and down her arms, “So… Where are we going baby?”

Confidently she smirked, placing a hand on your face, caressing it with her calloused fingers, she placed on your lips “I thought I said we weren’t going anywhere”, she turned to you, spreading her legs open with her free hand going up and down her thigh “I want to thank you, for looking so absolutely stunning, the wine…”, Abby got up placing the hand that was on your face to your neck, and now brushing your hair behind your ear, she got closer, you could feel her warm breath sending shivers down your body “I want to hear you scream my name tonight.” she whispered in your ear, this made you wetter than you could have possibly have ever been before, no woman has ever driven you this crazy, the arousal was built to an extent you couldn’t bear anymore it was embarrasing.

“Is that what you want?” She asks you, her hand still steady on your neck.

You frantically nod yes, “Can I kiss you darling?” with that question you latched your lips to hers hungrily. There was hair tugging, your tongues battling for dominance, lip biting and you couldn't even dare to come up for air, drunk on this intimacy and excitement.

Abby threw you on your couch, trapping you underneath her strong frame, nibbling on your ears, biting and sucking down your neck, you were so sure those bruises looked ethereal and marked on you for days, and you weren’t mad. You tugged on her braid, making her produce an hungry growl for you touch, both eager for more Abby jumped up and took her buttoned shirt off fast, leaving her in sports bra that cupped her perky breasts perfectly, focused on the show she was giving you felt the wet spot on your underwear growing. “C’mon pretty girl, stand up.” Abby ordered you, “Turn around for me, I need this fucking dress gone.” 

You allowed her to unzip it, letting it run off your body, leaving you only in your panties, a bra didn’t really match the dress, nor did it look good with it, giving Abby a reason to snicker at you “All of this for me, damn… you really are a whore.” She grabbed your tits from behind, admiring them, feeling them, afraid to let them go and to lose such a sight for bare eyes, when she let go, she turned you around, spread her legs and demanded you to sit on her lap.

Sitting down she looked at you up and down, murmuring a soft fuck, “Darling if you don’t want this tell me okay?” you place your hand behind her head, playing with the loose strands of her hair “I want you, I crave you baby.” you replied tugging at her hair, grinding on her crotch.

Abby kissed you, passionately, it was a needy kiss, a hunger only you could ease. Her hands travelled to your back, to your thighs, her lips explored and kissed your nipples, earning some moans of your pleasure made her more aroused.

“P-please” you choked out “Baby please fuck me.” you said looking her in the eyes.

Abby complied and her hands travelled down your clothed pussy, fingers drawing circles on your clit, slow and hard. “I don’t want you to hold back, pretty girl,” She said, picking up the pace, “I want everyone in this building to know whose pussy this is.” 

You were a screaming mess, breaking underneath her hands, you were grinding into her digits, she slid them in, two, curling them in fast in all the right places. Suddenly she stopped and told you to get them off, and you quickly did so, tossing them near the dress. “Come here pretty girl”, Abby said, nudging the fingers that were inside you seconds ago, she licked clean, “You’re going get on your knees, and unzip my pants okay?” You nodded and did as told, unzipping them you noticed she had a strap on, you could smell the arousal through the arness, your mouth watering at the sight of her and of what you were about to do.

Kicking her pants off, Abby grabbed your hair into a ponytail, cocked your head back “Open up.” she said in a raspy voice. Spitting your mouth, you swallowed and opened your mouth for her to see. “You’re going to suck my cock okay baby? Get it all wet and ready for your tight pussy.” She pushed your head in her crotch and you did as you were told, moaning into her cock you could see her eyes closing in pleasure, the pretty girl you were sucking off was too busy swearing under her breath and it turned you on even more.

Abby pulled you up, picking your body up and placing it on the couch, she opened your legs and played with her plastic cock in your entrance, sliding it up and down, up and down in your slick “Do you want it?” she asked. 

“Yes, Yes I do” you replied looking in her eyes.

“Tell me you want it darling.” she said behind grinding teeth harshly, “Fuck me please,Abby, I fucking need you to ruin me.” you replied in a whine, desperate for your release that has been building up, as much as you enjoy edging this wasn’t fun, you need to let her taste you, hear you, to devour you.

After your excited consent Abby chuckled and slid her cock in, fast, and so hard you felt yourself have no time to clench around her “You’re going to be good and take it okay?” You screamed a yes so loudly your neighbour probably got scared shitless. She pounded into you with the purpose of hearing your delicious moans feeling up the room, she started going slower, softer and then hard, she was playing with you, and you couldn't take it, your hands started going down to your clit, searching to get you off, Abby caught you and trapped your wrist above your head, “You could have just asked nicely you whore,” she got off from top of you. Pulling you up carefully, she sat down, and just like you were before, Abby spread her legs “Ride my cock baby.”

You got on top of her, slowly sinking in her cock, she placed your hands behind your back, trapping your arms with one of her strong hands while the other was busy playing with your clit.

“C’mon baby, you were so eager to cum” Abby said, making you grind faster, making yourself riding her harder, reaching deeper, you could feel your release growing, the not on your stomach was going to burst soon “Fu-Fuck baby, I’m so fucking close.” you threw your head back.

“Cum on my cock baby, I want to feel you clench so tightly around me you’ll feel me for weeks.” She was also panting and moaning like crazy, the hunger in the room was palpable, the room smelled of sex, sweat and passion.

In minutes you were both reaching your highs, filling the apartment with wet and loud moans and praises for each other.

Abby helped you get up, she was caring, which wasn’t really what you were used to, maybe this wasn’t a one night stand. Sitting you down on the couch, trying to catch your breath, Abby was getting her harness off, placing it on your coffee table, she sat down next to you, caressing your hair and tracing her fingers softly on your face.

“Do you by any chance want to stay over?” you boldly asked the beautiful woman in front of you.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” 

[castiwls]

enchanted .ᐟ

Paring; sam x reader

Prompt; 'I'll spend forever wondering if you knew. I was enchanted to meet you'

Requested; @4catsinacult

Notes; the adhd is bad rn but I'm trying to get back into writing (its a slow process sadly)

also requests are open again!

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

The last time you’d seen Sam Winchester you were 15. You’d been knee-deep in your own self-proclaimed ‘awkward phase’ that you’d spent the whole two weeks hiding from both him and his brother. 

However, you’d quickly found out that the younger Winchester was more than determined to befriend you before your time together was up. You’d been nothing short of a blushing, stuttering mess the first time he’d cornered you outside your dad’s motel room. He’d been quick to invite you to a diner with him and his brother claiming that he needed ‘company from someone who didn’t hit on anything that breathes’

Safe to say you’d been smitten almost immediately. Even at 15, you’d known that Sam Winchester was very possibly the guy of your dreams. He’d been…different to all the other boys your age, he’d rather talk about whatever book had been in your bag when you’d met at the diner over thinking of how long it would take to convince you to make out - a situation you were annoyingly more than used to. 

You’d spent those few weeks in your own little bubble almost. You’d finally found someone who had taken a genuine interest in you yet all that wonder had been over shadowed by the fact that these feelings were teenage feelings. 

You’d simply put your feelings down to heightened teenage emotions and you’d pushed down the hurt upon leaving the two once the hunt had been over.

8 Years later Sam Winchester was but a distant memory. You’d briefly heard through contacts that both were still alive and in the businesses (something which filled you with more relief than you'd ever admit) yet physically they were nothing but two ghosts of your past.

You’d never imagined the next time you’d come face to face with him would be over a dead body. The morge was only small - barely big enough for the two of you alongside the long table meaning that you had no choice but to stand uncomfortably close.

Sam, it seemed had only grown into his looks over the last ten years and you could only pray that the warmth that pooled in your stomach had not also become visible on your cheeks. 

“So…” You mused watching him inspect the body. “It’s been a while?”

Sam hummed looking up, a small smile pulling at his lips. His own heart had almost beat out of his chest when you’d appeared in the doorway and the sound of your voice after all this time only elevated it more. “Yeah.” He nodded mentally cursing himself as you both fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence. 

‘Yeah?’ You were finally in the same room as him after almost a decade and the only thing he could say was ‘yeah’. Talking to girls had never really been an issue yet suddenly coming face to face with you made him feel like an awkward 15-year-old again who could barely get out two words to a girl before turning bright red.

“I’m sorry about your dad.” You broke the silence, tapping your pen against the pad in your hand. Sam looked back up, placing his hands on the table. “Thanks.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, letting out a quiet breath. 

You both lapsed into quiet as he continued to look over the body while you noted anything of importance. “How did you find out about…” He gestured to the body as he binned his gloves. “Oh…your brother actually.” A frown tugs at your lips as you recall the phone call you’d received earlier in the day. “Said he was sick and didn’t want the case to go undelt with.” 

Sam’s eyebrows drew together for a moment as he thought. “Dean called you?” A frown pulled at his lips. Why would the dean have called you to help? He could well and truly handle this on his own….oh. 

A quiet groan left him as he pressed a hand to his head. Dean barely listened to him most of the time and the one time he does it's about a girl he had a crush on ten years ago. 

“You okay?” Concern flashed in your eyes as you followed him to the door. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine just…Dean being Dean.” He shook his head sending you a smile as he held the door.

“I’m guessing he’s not changed much, judging by that groan.” You teased lightly as you both passed the reception desk. Sam laughed. “No. No, he’s not changed at all, just about as mature as a 19-year-old still.”

A laugh left your own lips as you reached your car, leaning against it you turned to Sam. A quiet noise left you as you realised just now how close he suddenly was. You held up your notebook. “I…i can send you all the notes.” You mumbled, praying your cheeks weren’t currently burning up.

Sam nodded looking over your shoulder for a moment. “Yeah…yeah, that would be great.” You were so close, if he just shifted ever so slightly his chest would press against yours. 

He’d dreamt of being this close to you when you were both teenagers, but no dream could replace how it actually felt to have you less than an arm's reach away. Yet he still had absolutely no idea how you felt.

Throughout those two weeks you’d never once openly showed any sort of attraction - something which had given him more than one sleepless night. 

Even now, ten years later those feelings seemed to return, leaving him light-headed and struggling not to trip over his own words. 

Yet you seemed completely unbothered.

“We…we could go over them together?” You suggested after a moment. “If Dean’s sick i doubt you're gonna get any peace.” You took a breath waiting almost anxiously as he seemed to think it over.

Time seemed to stretch and you were just about to make an excuse to leave when he nodded. “Sure. I’d like that”

—

Three hours later you found yourself spread out over the covers of the motel's bed. A notebook was placed beside you as you slowly scrolled through an article on your laptop. 

Sam had taken residence on the small table, his own papers were strewn out across the surface. “You know it's funny, the last time I saw you, you were doing the same thing.” You smiled leaning your chin on your fist. 

‘It’s cute’ You thought to yourself as he chewed on a pen for a moment. He suddenly looked up, his eyes wide. “Did-” He pulled the pen from his mouth. “Did you say something?” His cheeks flushed slightly as he placed the pen down. You’d been quiet for so long he’d honestly forgotten that you were in the room. 

“I was just saying how it's funny the last time I saw you, you were doing the exact same thing.” You gestured to the table with your free hand. Sam hummed. “Well, when I was 15 I was doing school work, now I'm…” He looked down at the paper, raising an eyebrow. “Trying to find out if vampires are currently hunting.” He laughed slightly - the situation still being slightly insane even if you were both more than used to it.

You nodded, a comfortable silence covering the room as you both simply stared for a moment. Biting down on your lip you cleared your throat. “It's sweet.” The words leave your lips before you can process it and almost immediately you feel your cheeks heat. “It’s… it's sweet that you still enjoy it.” You stumbled over your words praying to whatever was above that the floor would just open up then and there.

Sam watched, his heart seeming to grow as you buried your face into your hands, your feet falling flat on the bed behind you. “I don’t know why I said that.” Your voice was muffled as you spoke.

Sam felt a smile grow as he closed his laptop - the sight of you flustered slightly too endearing. “No. No, it's fine.” He stood moving to sit beside you on the bed. You peaked up from your arms. 

You stifled slightly as his palm landed on your back, rubbing small circles. “I don’t think i’ve actually ever had anyone call me sweet so thats a new one.” He mused, his tone light. 

You laughed quietly, almost melting into the bed as his hand continued to move. “It’s late. You wanna go get food?” Sam asked after a moment, his own heart still beating faster because you were letting him touch you like this. Hell, you’d just openly complimented him he truly felt as if he was on cloud nine.

“Yea. Yea, food is good.” You nodded shifting to sit up. You stood, still feeling the flush from your earlier blip. You moved - intending to go check just how red you’d become in the bathroom when a hand wrapped around your wrist.

His hand circled your wrist, the skin heating as he gently pulled you to stand between his legs. Sam’s smile had only grown softer as he looked you over for a minute. “If it makes you feel any better, I have definitely said worse in front of girls.” He reassured, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. 

He really had not changed, if you squinted you could almost see the same boy you’d met 10 years ago. 

“You were always so hard to read.” His voice was quiet as he spoke, his eyes dancing over your face. “Even when we were kids I…I could never figure out if you felt anything but…” His eyes lingered on your lips for a moment.

“You thought I was hard to read?” You cut him off. You thought that you’d been pretty open (much to your disdain) about your huge crush on him when you’d been a teen. You’d spent those two weeks doing everything in your power to appear normal yet you'd still lay in bed kicking yourself after each day.

“Sam, I thought you were hard to read.” 

He chuckled shaking his head. “Truthfully, those two weeks were torture. I wanted you to like me so bad.” He admitted quietly looking away. He wanted you to be more than just like him. He always had and the way you’d acted after calling him ‘sweet’ almost gave him hope.

“Of course I liked you.” Your hand guided his gaze back to your own. “I’ve always liked you, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t” Your finger traced his cheek for a moment.

His eyes finally met yours and the room seemed to melt away until it was just you both left. His hand never left your wrist as he tugged you slightly closer, your knees hitting the bed. 

“Can I kiss you?” He mumbled, lips parting as his free hand pushed your hair back. 

“Please.”

[perfectsunlight]

[24] NOW

warnings: mentions of underaged drinking, slight angst

ivory had only been to two “real” parties in her entire life. the first one was a celebration with the girls she had first debuted with. newjeans was just a project group, and everyone knew they would only last for two years, but they wanted to celebrate their accomplishments. the group had risen quickly in the industry, and this small, intimate gathering marked the close of an era for the girls. they laughed, danced, cried, and shared bittersweet moments of reflection over everything they'd achieved in such a short time.

jieun had been aware of the party. in fact, she was the one who picked jane up afterward, offering her a warm smile and a quiet ride home. there had been no interrogation, no disapproving looks—just an air of trust between them. jieun simply said, “i trust you to make smart decisions,” and that was the end of it. 

the second time was different. 

jane had just turned 17, and she was beginning to really feel the pull of rebellion that came with adolescence and her mother’s absence. the industry had forced her to grow up fast, but there were moments when she longed to be just a regular teenager. when her friends invited her to a low-key gathering, it didn’t seem like a big deal. they weren’t throwing some wild, out-of-control party; it was just a small group having fun.

she slipped out of her grandmother’s house that evening, heart pounding in excitement and guilt. it wasn’t that she was trying to hide anything from jieun; it was just that she didn’t want the lecture that would inevitably come if her grandmother found out she was going to a party where alcohol would be present.

the night had been a blur of laughter, music, and one too many drinks. ivory wasn’t used to alcohol, and it hit her harder than she’d expected. she didn’t have a lot, but enough to make her feel lightheaded. she hadn’t planned on drinking, but the peer pressure from her friends had been harder to resist than she thought. 

one sip turned into two, and before she knew it, the glass was empty. by the time she realized how much she’d had, it was too late. she had no idea how long she’d stayed, only that it was well past curfew when she stumbled back home, trying her best to be silent.

but jieun had been waiting.

as soon as jane walked through the door, there was no hiding her disheveled state. her grandmother’s face had been a mixture of disappointment and concern, and the silence in the air was suffocating. without saying a word, jieun helped her to her room, tucked her into bed, and then made the dreaded phone call to jennie.

her mother had been overseas performing, and even halfway across the world, jennie’s response had been swift and disciplined. jane remembered the long-distance scolding she’d received the next morning as she nursed her hangover.

“how much did you drink?” her mother’s sharp tone had cut through the phone, startling ivory even in her groggy state.

"not a lot," ivory had mumbled, wincing as her headache throbbed. “maybe 3 i think?”

“you think?” jennie’s voice was sharp with disapproval. even through the phone, she still felt intimidated by the authority of her mother. “jane ivory kim.”

ivory froze at the sound of her full name. jennie never used it. she only did when she was really, really upset. from what she could remember, that was only the third time in her life that she had heard it. but she now knew there was no escaping this now.

“do you even realize what you’ve done? you’re not even 18 yet!” jennie’s voice was a mixture of anger and concern. “you’re supposed to be focusing on your career, on your future, and here you are—drinking? sneaking around like this? i expected better from you.”

ivory bit her lip, her hands trembling slightly as she held the phone. she knew she had messed up, but hearing jennie’s disappointment stung more than she could have prepared for.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice small. jennie’s sigh was long and heavy, frustration clear, but there was an undercurrent of something softer. 

“you have to understand that this world isn’t kind, especially to someone like you. you can’t afford to make these kinds of mistakes, ivory. one wrong step, and people will tear you apart.”

she knew her mother wasn’t just angry—she was scared. scared of what the public might say, scared of how one misstep could affect her daughter’s future. and jennie knew better than anyone how ruthless the media was.

the older woman had spent years mastering the art of survival in that world, but ivory—ivory was still so young. so vulnerable. and jennie would do anything to protect her from that, even if it meant that right now she was being a strict, overbearing mother.

needless to say, ivory never did anything of that nature ever again.

and now, here she was at her third “real” party—an afterparty in of the most famous clubs in paris. ivory walked through the doors as her sharp eyes took in her surroundings. 

—

jisoo stirred the cocktail in her hand, a thoughtful expression on her face as she glanced around the bustling afterparty. she’d been keeping an eye on jennie, noting the way her friend’s attention seemed to shift between the crowd and her phone. the air was thick with anticipation and excitement, and jisoo couldn’t help but be intrigued by the subtle tension she’d noticed earlier.

casually, she leaned closer to jennie, her tone light but with an undercurrent of curiosity. “oh yeah,” she began, taking a sip of her drink and surveying the scene. “you’ve got a clone running around. there’s this kid who looks like you, i saw her at the show.”

jennie’s head snapped up, her eyes widening slightly before she masked her surprise with a casual smile. 

“ella? you’ve met her before, we had dinner with her once.” 

the older one shook her head, giving a form of half smile. she took a sip of her drink before responding, changing her focus from the bustling bodies to her bandmate.

“i wasn’t talking about ella. there’s this new kid in dior, her name is ivory. she looks just like you.”

jennie quickly grabbed her drink and held it to her lips, pausing to speak before taking a quick swig.  “ivory? i haven’t heard of her. i don’t really pay attention to these new kids.” her tone was light and casual, almost a bit disregarding.

jisoo’s eyes sparkled with something jennie couldn’t quite name. she watched her friend smile at her before speaking once again. “well, it’s quite the resemblance. you should see for yourself. i was planning on introducing you anyway.”

jennie’s heart skipped a beat as she let out a chuckle of surprise. “oh, that’s really not necessary, jisoo.” 

the dior ambassador’s eyes shifted to the entrance of the club, watching as a familiar figure walked in. she placed her hands on the table and rose to her feet, flashing a quick smile to her younger bandmate.

“nonsense. i’ll go get her. stay here.”

there were very few things that made jennie kim feel genuine fear. sure, she got scared easily. but genuine fear?

there were only two things: the father of her daughter and the world finding out about ivory.

“hey!” lisa squealed as she took a seat next to jennie. the idol was snapped out of her thoughts by the noise, as well as the sight of the thai girl with an australian behind her.

“hi rosie, hi lisa.” she chuckled softly, trying to mask her anxiety as the two settled in beside her. “where’s jisoo?” the thai girl asked, her head on a swivel as she scanned the bustling scene. “i thought she was here?” 

“oh i think she went to the bathroom—” as if the universe ignored every plea in jennie’s body, jisoo reappeared, a bright smile on her face as she waved enthusiastically. “i’m back! and look who i brought!” she gestured to ivory, who was standing slightly awkwardly beside her.

“oh hey girls,” jisoo announced, grinning from ear to ear as she gently motioned towards the younger girl beside her. “this is ivory, she’s dior’s newest ambassador. i came to introduce her to jennie. don’t they look alike?”

ivory blinked, caught off guard. however, she remained silent, simply giving a small bow to the veteran idols in front of her. jennie felt a rush of heat to her cheeks, and before she could respond, lisa leaned forward, her expression intrigued as she examined the features on jane’s face. “oh wow, she really does look like you! what the hell?” rosé nodded in agreement, her eyes wide as she pointed a finger between the two. “she looks like you did when you were a trainee, unnie. are you two related?”

jennie let out a forced laugh, feeling a mix of pride and panic at the unexpected attention. “well—uh—”

before she could finish, jisoo jumped in, “of course they’re related! look at their faces!” she elbowed jennie playfully, adding a layer of humor to the situation. “there’s no way you two aren’t even cousins at least,” rosie mentioned, leaning back into the leather bench.

ivory, however, felt a bit overwhelmed by the scrutiny. “i don’t—”  she started, but the words faltered as her gaze drifted across the room. that’s when she spotted yuna in the distance, laughing and chatting with a group nearby. relief washed over her, and without thinking, she seized the opportunity.

“uh, i think i need to go say hi to my friend. it was nice meeting you all!” ivory blurted out, her voice rising slightly as she stood up from the table and quickly bowed before almost running over to yuna. the suddenness of her movement startled jennie, who watched wide-eyed as her daughter made a beeline toward her friend.

“wait—ivory!” jennie called out, but her daughter was already weaving through the crowd, determined to escape the spotlight. “see? she’s just like you!” jisoo teased, but jennie’s heart sank as she watched ivory disappear into the throng.

“give her a moment,” rosé reassured, her eyes following ivory’s retreating figure. “it’s a lot to take in.”

lisa nodded, her expression thoughtful. “yeah, she’ll be fine. just needs to catch up with her friends.”

jennie felt a mix of frustration and concern. she wanted to protect ivory, to shield her from the pressures that came with their family name, but she couldn’t help but feel that running away wasn’t the solution.

“maybe i should go after her,” jennie said, her instinct to protect kicking in.

“let her breathe,” jisoo said gently as she slid a new glass towards her friend. “it’s not like you’re her mother.”

jennie forced a laugh, but the comment struck a nerve. she was her mother, whether people recognized it or not. the idol fought the nerve to just tell it all, but she knew better than that. she settled back into her seat, trying to relax as she kept her eyes trained on her baby girl.

from her distance, jennie watched as ivory joined her friends. they were laughing, and for a moment, jennie felt a flicker of pride. she was happy her kiddo was enjoying the night. but then she saw a drink in ivory’s hand. given it was just a small glass of champagne, and jane was 18, it seemed harmless enough for her to let it slide.

jennie aimlessly engaged in conversation with her girls, but her gaze kept drifting back to ivory. the way she laughed with her friends brought a small smile to jennie's face, but there was a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

but then ivory raised her glass for another. jennie's heart raced. she didn’t want to overreact, but two drinks in one night—especially knowing her daughter’s alcohol tolerance was very low—made her uneasy.

“excuse me, i need to use the bathroom,” jennie said, standing up abruptly. she glanced at the other girls, who exchanged a few looks. jisoo in particular watched her bandmate’s figure disappear into the bustling crowd.

as she navigated through the sea of dancing people, jennie felt a surge of protective instinct kick in. her sharp eyes glanced around, making sure no one was too close to ivory. her friend group had gone off somewhere, leaving her daughter alone near one of the side bars with a shot of something that looked a bit too strong being slid her way. 

“ivory!” jennie shouted, her voice firm yet laced with concern. the bass and lights pounded through the air, but her voice cut through it all, sharp with a mother's authority. jane froze, her hand hovering just above the small glass that had been slid toward her. she glanced over her shoulder, wide-eyed, before jennie reached her, her expression tense.

“oh sh—”

“what do you think you’re doing?” jennie’s words were calm but underlined with urgency as she swiftly put a hand on her daughter’s wrist. “i’m just...drinking. it’s a party.” ivory said, her tone defensive and a bit sharp as she crossed her arms. she avoided her mother’s intense gaze, clearly caught off guard.

jennie’s grip on jane’s wrist tightened ever so slightly, but her voice remained steady, though now tinged with a bit of frustration. “you’re not just drinking, jane ivory. you’re eighteen, and that’s a shot,” she said, gesturing to the glass sitting on the bar. “do you even know what’s in it? do you even know who gave it to you?”

ivory rolled her eyes, pulling her wrist free from jennie’s grasp. “look, seriously? i’m not a little kid anymore. it’s just a shot.” she reached for the glass again, her fingers brushing the rim. “it’s not like i’m doing anything crazy.”

her mother’s heart raced, the protective instinct flaring up even stronger. jennie’s voice was stern but laced with genuine concern. “you think everyone here has your best interests at heart just because it’s a party?”

ivory hesitated, her hand still hovering near the glass, clearly torn between rebellion and the nagging voice of reason her mother represented. she glanced up at jennie, her jaw tightening. “you’re being dramatic.”

her fingers wrapped around the shot glass despite her mother’s strict warning. she lifted it halfway to her lips, her eyes daring jennie to say something else.

immediately, jennie’s hand shot out, wrapping around the glass, stopping it just short of ivory’s mouth. their eyes locked, a silent standoff. “you may be old enough to drink,” jennie said firmly, her voice unyielding. “but i am still your mother. and you will not disregard that.” she pried the glass from her daughter’s fingers.

the younger girl’s jaw clenched as jennie took the alcohol away from her grip. the tension between them was palpable, as it usually was. but this was different since they were in public. ivory looked away, clearly trying to rein in her frustration, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “whatever,” she muttered under her breath, her tone simmering with resentment. 

“you don’t have to embarrass me like this.”

jennie, still holding the glass, placed it firmly back on the bar. she met ivory’s gaze with a mix of determination and understanding. “i’m not trying to embarrass you. i’m trying to protect you,” she said softly, though her voice held a steel edge. “you’ll understand one day.”

“just because you made mistakes at my age doesn’t mean that i will, too.” 

ivory whispered harshly, her eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and hurt. jennie’s expression softened, though her frustration remained. the words stung more than she wanted to admit, but she kept her composure. “i’m not saying you will,” jennie replied quietly, her voice gentle yet firm. “i just don’t want you to feel like you have to make the same choices to figure things out.”

ivory rolled her eyes, clearly feeling cornered. “i’m not a kid anymore.” the blackpink member sighed, knowing that pushing further wouldn’t help at the moment. 

“i know,” she replied, softening her tone further. “but just because you’re older doesn’t mean i stop caring.”

her daughter opened her mouth to retort but stopped as something caught jennie’s attention. a figure in the distance stood with their phone held up, the lens clearly aimed in their direction. jennie’s heart sank as she realized what was happening.

jennie’s eyes narrowed, and the familiar, uncomfortable feeling of being watched and judged washed over her. she stepped slightly in front of ivory, instinctively trying to shield her from the attention. 

“valentine, we need to leave,” she said, her voice now laced with urgency. the younger girl furrowed her brow, confused by her mother’s sudden shift in tone. this was her last night in paris, she wanted to have fun. 

“what? why? i don’t want to leave. why do you always ruin—”

“jane ivory kim.” her voice low but sharp, and the use of her full name sending a jolt of warning through the young girl. even jane knew she was stepping on a line she shouldn't cross.

jennie’s eyes held an emotion that even ivory, in her frustration, couldn’t quite place. it wasn’t just anger. there was something deeper, something that made ivory pause for a second longer than she intended.

ivory’s frustration flared again, but now it was tinged with guilt. she knew her words had been harsh, maybe even offensive. but she hated how her mother always seemed to interfere just when she wanted a little freedom. 

however, seeing the way jennie looked at her now, even in the dim lighting and harsh noise, something about it made her chest tighten.

jennie was struggling to hold back her emotions. she understood that ivory was at an age where she wanted to spread her wings, to experience life without constant oversight. but jennie had been through it all—she knew how quickly things could spiral out of control, especially in the public eye.

she knew jane didn’t mean what she said. at least, that’s what she kept telling herself so she wouldn’t have her heart shatter into a million pieces.

“i’m not trying to ruin anything, ivory. i’m trying to protect you,” jennie’s voice softened, though the urgency was still there. she took a deep breath, lowering her voice so only her daughter could hear. 

“there’s someone filming us. we have to leave. now.”

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CLOSED.

[lunarlando]

Hi I just saw ur girl dad lando requests r open and ran over bc I'm obsessed with dad lando too and there's simply not enough fics on it unfortunately.

Anyway my fic/blurb idea is fluffy and slightly angsty? so lando and fem!wife!reader's daughters r in their teens and and they're used to reader (their mum) typically being the "bad cop" and lando being the "fun parent" who will spoil them and can never say no to them when reader does. One day readers tired of her teens hating her for being the mean one so they decide to switch roles and the girls r rlly confused and angry at lando and start being nice to reader who's enjoying watching lando take her place for once. Maybe the girls ask to go out to a party or ask for new phones or smth u can decide. Ignore my request if it doesn't seem interesting 😭 and have a grt day byee xx

thank you for the request! a few other grid kids make an appearance, hope that's okay! and lando is such a fun dad type guy you're so right x

feel free to request more :)

Having teenage girls was not an easy feat.

You were warned of the terrible twos and gotten through them twice with your sanity intact, but nobody had ever warned you about teenagers. You suspect it should’ve been a given, but when you thought about having teenagers you always saw yourself as the type of mum who your daughters would feel close to.

Now that you’re the mum of a sixteen and seventeen year old, you find yourself becoming the opposite. You’ve turned into the bad cop between Lando and yourself. He’s the fun parent, you’re the party pooper. He spoils Estelle and Delilah because he can, because he loves his girls more than life itself, and you’re stuck reining in his gift giving because you don’t want them to become accustomed to always getting what they want when they want no matter the cost.

Even when you put your foot down on some of their more extravagant requests, Lando finds a way around it. 

Part of the reason Lando spoils them so much is because he was still racing in Formula One when both of them were born and while they were growing up, so he’d miss things sometimes. He tried his hardest not to miss bigger events like their birthdays and holidays, but other stuff like their school recitals, sports games—he did the best he could, but a lot of the time it just never aligned with his busy schedule. 

Now that he’d taken a step back from being in the seat of a car for the past three years, he was trying to make up for lost time. 

“I feel like the girls think I’m a hardass,” you sigh as you’re getting ready for bed one night. Lando is brushing his teeth, but he sticks his head out of the bathroom at your words, frowning at you with the brush still in his mouth. “Do you think they hate me?” 

“You’re their mum, they don’t hate you,” he replies through toothpaste bubbles, wrinkling his nose at you. “All you’ve done their whole lives is take care of them. How could they hate you?” 

“Because I’m their mum,” you say pointedly. Lando cocks his head, like he doesn’t understand what you’re saying. “Mums and daughters are different from mums and sons. Trust me.” 

“Okay, fair. But I don’t think you’re a hardass. You’re just…firm with them, is all.” 

You snort unattractively, looking at him pointedly. “Yeah, I have to be, mister take my credit card, buy whatever you want.” Lando hums thoughtfully, disappearing back into the bathroom to finish washing up before reappearing and padding over to his side of the bed. “I love that you want them to have everything they could ever dream of, and I say this with nothing but even more love, but you’re not the best when it comes to saying no to the girls.” 

“I know. I just…I hate it when they look so disappointed and sad.” 

“And you think I do? I don’t want to be the bad cop, but someone has to,” you grumble, setting aside your book. Lando snuggles up close to you, propping his chin on your shoulder. “You should try it.” 

“Ha, that’s funny.” 

“No, I’m serious, Lan. Tomorrow, we switch roles. You’ll be me and I’ll be you, and then you’ll understand,” you propose, smiling at him in that way you know he won’t be able to resist. All these years and you’ve still got your husband wrapped around your finger. 

“That doesn’t sound like a good time.” 

“Oh, it won’t be. Not for you, at least. But we’re a team, aren’t we?” 

“I hate it when you’re right.” 

—

Fortunately for Lando, things at the Norris household don’t get interesting until nighttime the following day. 

“Hey Mum, we’re going out tonight. Just wanted to let you know since we might be out after curfew,” Estelle says absentmindedly, not looking up from her phone. Beside her, Delilah giggles quietly, ever her older sister’s follower. You want to tell them no—their curfew is late enough as it is and they’ve got school tomorrow—but you refrain. It’s Lando’s turn to be the bad cop. 

“Sure, I don’t see why not. Ask your father first though,” you reply instead. From the couch where he’s watching some rerun of an old grand prix, Lando straightens at the mention of his name, twisting around to look at you with wide eyes. You raise a brow, tilting your head at the two girls who’ve turned their attention on their dad. “Go on, he’s listening.” 

They share a confused look with each other, but you can see the gears turning in their quick teenage brains. If mum said yes, dad would definitely say yes. Easy.

Or so they think. 

Delilah bounces over to sit on the couch next to Lando, smiling at him widely. “Hi daddy! Can we go to a party tonight?” 

Now Estelle’s sitting on his other side, bringing out the same patented charming Norris grin. “Well, it’s not really a party. More like a few friends hanging out. Super laid back.” 

“Uh huh. Gonna need some more details, lovebugs,” Lando hums, flashing their same smile right back at them. There’s no use in trying to play the guy who invented the game. “Who’s gonna be there, where it is. You wouldn’t want your mum and I to worry, would you?” 

“Um…” Delilah balks. She probably wasn’t expecting him to ask so many questions. He usually doesn’t, just says yes because he can’t bring himself to say no to them. 

Estelle cuts in before her sister can potentially dig them into an inescapable hole. “Adrien’s going, Clara and Maeve will be there too, and Teo.” 

Adrien and Teo—Charles’ and Carlos’ sons, respectively, and Clara and Maeve—Oscar’s twin daughters. You know that she knows the two of you trust your friends, so name dropping their kids would give them a fighting chance. She’s smart like that. You’d admire it more if her intellect wasn’t aimed at sweet talking her parents. 

Lando sneaks another panicked glance back at you, and you shake your head slightly. That solidifies his resolve, because as much as he doesn’t want to disappoint them, you have an agreement, and a deal’s a deal. “Sorry girls, it’s gonna be a no. We’re all staying in tonight.”

“What?” 

“Let’s do something as a family, yeah? Game night? Or you can do some laps on the sim, I know how much you like that,” Lando offers up, as if enticing them with sim racing would soften the blow of their dad’s first no. 

“Seriously? But dad, it’s not a party! We’re just gonna watch a movie or something!” Estelle exclaims, crossing her arms over her chest.

The girls share another look with each other, this one more irritated than confused. Lando just tries his best to stay firm looking. You, on the other hand, watch the whole thing play out from where you are, fighting to hide a smile, because now he knows how you feel all the damn time. It shouldn’t please you, but as someone who’s been taking the brunt of their teenage-ness for a while now, it brings you just a smidge of joy. 

“That doesn’t change things, unfortunately. You two will be staying here with your dear old parents, and that’s it.” 

“That’s so unfair though!” Estelle huffs, rolling her eyes. 

Lando cocks his head at her, brows raised in challenge. “I’d watch the attitude if I were you, Stell.” 

Delilah switches her tactic to try and salvage things, coming over to where you’re still chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter. Out of the two of them, your youngest knows exactly where her mum’s soft spot lies. “Mum? We just want to hang out with our friends. Please?” 

“You heard your dad, girls,” you say, shrugging. “If he says no, it’s no. Sorry.” 

They disappear down the corridor grumbling to each other rather quickly after that, no doubt already texting their friends about how awful their dad is. It almost makes you laugh, because for once, you’re not the one they’re mad at. Lando trudges over to you, pressing himself against your back in a rather dejected hug. 

“Doesn’t feel great, does it?” 

“Is this what it feels like to be you?” he groans. You can feel him frowning against your neck and you chuckle, running your fingers through his curls affectionately. “We’re setting some more ground rules, effectively immediately.” 

“Like what, don’t be mean to your mum? They’re teenagers, Lan. It’s what they do.” 

“I was never like this.” That draws quite a laugh from you. “What?” 

“So if I call your parents and ask them if you were ever a little shit when you were younger, they’d say no?” 

“...Don’t call them.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You kiss his cheek gratefully still. “We balance each other out well, I’d say. I don’t mind being the bad cop sometimes, but you can’t just be a fun dad all the time.” 

“But it’s so fun being a fun dad,” he whines, but you know he understands. “I don’t have to feel like this.” 

“You’ll get over it, darling. They will too, and we’ll be back to the same old thing tomorrow.” 

“I love you, bad cop.” 

“Love you more, fun dad.”

[middlingmay]

Gale Cleven never learned to flirt

And I have some HCs about that and how it came to bite him in the ass.

Here, have 2K+ words of the Buckies being an absolute mess.

Gale managed to reach his mid-twenties without ever flirting.

He and Marge had been inseparable since they were kids. Being together was second nature, so by the time their teenage years hit, the awkward rituals of their classmates trying to catch some guy or girl’s attention just didn't apply. Gale simply told Marge whatever he thought and felt. If it never strayed into the territory their classmates were so eager to dive into head (or pelvis) first; if it never sounded like the cheesy lines boys used to ease past a skirt, then that’s because he was too much of a gentleman. Everyone knew it. Marge’s dad never batted so much as an eye when she spent time with Gale, because he was such a good boy.

Really, that should have been the biggest clue among many before he signed up.

But then he did sign up, and he met John Clarence “Bucky” Egan, who flirted with everyone and everything.

No, really—everything.

One night after one too many beers, John was leaning against a coat rack, regaling Gale with some story or other. He gave a particularly enthusiastic wave of an arm, and nearly sent it toppling over, and him with it. But John's reflexes were still good even three sheets to the wind. He caught it before it hit the ground, set it up right and said, “Sorry, doll. I’m normally a gentleman. I’ll show you, sometime.”

It was the first time Gale laughed until he cried.

Gale had been flirted with plenty, of course. Others back home had batted eyelashes at him and sidled up to him and placed fleeting, coy touches in innocent places.

John did absolutely none of that.

He drawled and called Gale doll, sweetheart, dilly and beau. He’d look Gale in the eye whilst talking to someone else entirely and say, “My guy, Buck, here…”

He pressed their foreheads together and grabbed Gale's thighs tight and put an arm over the back of Gale's chair.

He’d chuck Gale's chin and press hands firm into the small of Gale's back, around the curve of his hip, into the dips of his waist and that was usually followed by a quick, deliberate clench of his sizeable hands.

John outright called him gorgeous, “a real heartbreaker”, and the others would laugh but that was always one of the few times John didn’t join in.

He watched Gale’s training and his flights like a hawk, bugging others over the radio: “Where’s Buck?” He’d bugged those in the tower so much, that he nearly got himself banned.

John sang love songs - badly - and smirked at Buck the whole time.

Finally, in the after, when they’d left Wyoming and Wisconsin behind for good, John had stepped up behind Gale in the kitchen in the house they shared and reached forward. He placed a whisky glass of apple juice on the counter and came round to Gale’s side. He leaned his forearms on the counter and looked up at Gale through tumbling curls he’d been letting grow a bit and said,

“Lookin’ awful lonely there, doll. What’s a guy gotta do to be your fella?”

And apparently Gale was easy, because he downed the apple juice to wet his parched throat and lips and threw his arms around John’s neck and kissed him with a fire he hadn't felt this side of a plane.

He threw the rest of himself at John, too, who caught him easy and hoisted him up on the counter. He pulled Gale's hips forward by the belt loops and ground his own hips up against him just as his tongue slid home dragged and teased out the gaps and moans Gale couldn’t control—

That afternoon, evening and night had been incredible. But, if Gale thought finally getting what they had been stepping towards for all these years would have taken some of the pressure off, he was dead wrong. He craved more.

Only, he had no idea how to go about getting it.

He wasn’t like John. Never had been. Flirting and being so damn bold didn’t come easy to Gale. Truth be told, he’d never has a reason to flirt before. And for the first time in his life, John was being absolutely no help.

If Gale didn’t know him any better, he would have said he was being shy.

But ain’t no man who could do those kinds of things with his tongue got any business being shy.

And Gale knew John wanted it, wanted him, just as badly. He caught the heated looks; heard the aborted gasps when Gale did something - anything - that showed off his physique (and his brain, he’d later discover). Christ, he felt it every time he woke up before John in the morning.

But it didn’t seem fair to always leave it to John. John had done the bulk of the legwork throughout their whole relationship, even before they finally figured it out. It was Gale’s turn.

So, he started easy.

The next morning that he woke first, the heavy weight of John at his back, he buried his smiling, blushing face in the pillow and rocked back into Bucky’s hardness. He did it harder than he expected, and Bucky woke with a groan pulled from the depths of him and grabbed Gale and pulled.

Gale revelled in his easy and rapid success and coyly teased, “John. You woke me up with that thing.”

And John abruptly released him, full of apologies and sweet kisses to his shoulders before he toddled off to the bathroom, leaving Gale painfully disappointed.

Disappointed, but not deterred. His next idea involved Bucky’s favourite hobby: lookin’ at Buck. There were horses stabled in a field nearby, and Gale had permission from the owners to take them out for some exercise anytime he wanted.

John had never been, but agreed readily enough when Gale asked him to come along.

Gale made sure to wear his tighter pants, and when they got there stripped off his shirt so he was left in only his tank, and mounted a horse called, of all things, Major.

Gale didn't go overboard. He was still workin’ an animal that demanded respect and care. But he made sure to show Bucky the flex of his thighs, the roll of his hips, the strength in him, staying in the saddle when Major wanted to jump.

He got a little lost in it and wasn’t sure how long it had been. But when he looked up, John was gone.

He found him back at the house, stumbling down the stairs red-cheeked, glassy-eyed and a little breathless. And Gale knew. He knew that look; had seen that look so many damn times since they were cadets in basic.

He looked at John with such vicious fury, that he’d gone and done that without him, that John had turned tail and given him a wide berth for the rest of the day.

Gale was going to pull out every damn hair on his head. He’d tried everything he could think of: pressing up against Bucky whenever he moved past; biting his lips like he knew John loved. He even rubbed Coppertone on John’s shoulders and back when he was out doing yard work in the heat one day. But, when Bucky had turned to him and rasped a husky, “Thank you”, Gale got so worried that John was dehydrated, he’d rushed back into the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water and glowered at him until he drank it all, before fetching him another one.

One day, Gale had had enough and decided to take a leaf out of John’s book. He was gonna flirt with that man like he’d seen John do a dozen times before, even if it made him feel like the stupidest man alive.

He allowed himself a small whisky for courage. In return for John dramatically reducing his alcohol intake, Gale sometimes, rarely, let himself indulged and shared a glass with John.

He downed this one in one go and headed into the living room where John was trying to pick a record.

Gale sidled up to him, placed his arms around his waist and said, “Hi darlin’. Can I buy you a drink?”

John’s eyes crinkled, he smiled so wide, and leaned back into Gale's arms. “Oh, I dunno. My ma warned me about guys like you.”

Gale thrummed with excitement that John was playing along, finally, finally getting the damn hint. He let his hands move from John’s hips to the spot on his belly, just above the waistband. His fingers tickled and traced along the hem. “Guys like me?”

“Mhmm. Y’just wanna get me outta my skirt.”

Gale's breath hitched. He moved the palm of one hand to John’s thigh. Heavy and slow, he stroked it up and up, letting John feel the drag of each finger. “I think you’d look good outta your skirt,” he mumbled with a nip to John's ear. He stilled his hand on John’s upper thigh and with one finger, drew a teasing line across the expansive width of it. “Maybe keep the stockings on, though.”

John choked on a laugh, on thrilled disbelief, and Gale grinned into his neck and let John turn in his arms.

And the best part, Gale quickly decided, was that for the first time ever, he managed to make John blush—at the mention of women’s stockings no less, which he had much more experience in than Gale.

Gale rejoiced as John careened forward, tongue slipping straight into Gale’s panting, waiting mouth, and Gale whimpered in the dizzying satisfaction of it as they fucked their tongues into each other and their bodies writhed standing there, in a promise of what was to come.

But then, John pulled away. Gale watched him suck on his own tongue, like he was savouring the taste of something, before clarity and realisation descend over John’s face.

“Ah,” he said. “That make sense.”

Gale frowned, even as John drew him in close and pressed their foreheads together so softly and asked, “Wanna go to bed?”

Gale could have crowed. “Mhmm. Yeah. Yes.”

John brushed a hand through Gale’s hair. “Yeah. Lets get you all tucked in, before you wake up with a sore head.”

Drunk. John thought he was drunk. And rather than giving Gale what he wanted, he was trying to be a gentleman and send him to bed. But Gale was too frustrated to be endeared by the evidence of John’s goodness. Not tonight. No siree.

He almost screamed and threw his hands up in the air. “Goddamn it, John! I’m not drunk!” He even stamped his foot. “I am trying to fuck you!”

John just stood there dumbstruck while Gale raged.

“I have been trying for days! But you, for the first time in your sorry life, have become as dumb as a bag of rocks! How come a girl used to just have to look at'cha long enough and you were all over her, but I try every trick I got and nothing!”

That jolted John out of his Gale-induced stun. “Tricks? What tricks?!”

“Oh I don't know: how about rubbin' against you like a damn bitch in heat the other morning!”

“You said I woke you up! You haven’t been sleeping good!”

“And showing off with the horses—!"

“That was on purpose?! Buck - I left because I got hard watching you! I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of perv! No one should feel like that around an animal!”

“The I rubbed you down with Coppertone?!”

“I was gonna! I got that one and I was gonna, Buck! I swear to God, but then you made me shotgun water and started yellin’ at me about dehydration!”

Gale had worked himself into a fervour and paced the living room, barely looking at John.

“After that first night, you ain’t come near me like that again. And I know I’m hopeless at this kinda thing, and you got a lot more experience than me. But I don’t want it all to be on you. And Christ, John, I was starting to think you didn’t want—what are you doing?!”

John’s shirt was on the floor and he was using one hand to wrestle his undershirt over his head and the other to unbuckle his belt.

Muffled under the fabric of his shirt Gale heard him say, “You said you wanna fuck,” he finally pulled the shirt over his head and his curls sprung free and wild, “we’re gonna fuck.”

Gale stood with hands on his hips, still in his lecture pose. “Right here?”

John lost the belt and went for the buttons on his pants. “Right here.”

Gale drummed his fingers against his hips and stared as John dropped his pants. “Well…that’s, good.”

John snatched Gale by the belt and dragged him him. “Don't be getting shy on me, now.”

And normally that was exactly the kind of thing that would send all of Gale’s bravado running for the hills, but he’d been so desperate for so long that he pounced on John before he even made the conscious decision, and together they undressed him in record time.

John got him on the floor, somehow, and twisted and flipped them so Gale was on top, and Gale looked at him with one eyebrow arched in breathless judgement. “Really?”

John nodded wide-eyed. “Oh, yeah. Really. I’m serious, Buck. I don’t think I can go near those stables with you again. It’s indecent.”

Gale gave an experimental roll of the hips, and when John keened and bucked underneath him, Gale clenched his thighs and drove him down and brought him back under control easy. So he didn’t see that much difference between the skill this would take and what he used to work Major. But still. After what he’d put him through, John didn’t deserve to have it too easy. “Hm, I don’t know. How long you gonna last like this? You got a lot of making up to do.”

And John looked mortally offended, but he’d learned something about Gale through all of this too, and said, “About a long as you will when you see me in those stockings you’ve been fantasizing about.”

And Gale’s hips jerked without his permissions, and things descended beyond the power of words after that.

Later, as they languished on the living room floor with the throw from the couch tossed over them to ward of the evening chill, John turned to him and said, delighted, “You could just ask me to fuck you, you know. Ever thought of that?”

And Gale smirked and nipped at the finger tracing his cheek. “Don't count on it.”

[repulsiveliquidation]

Betrayed.

Alexia Putellas x Reader [SMUT!]

word count : 3.6k

warnings of degrading name calling, edging, spitting, choking.

“Mi amor, I’m home!” yelled Alexia as she walked into the house with Nala. Nala took off running as soon as Alexia unleashed her, chuckling as the little thing went running in search for you. Your dog Zeus, who was a big Doberman was sat lounging on the couch but ran after Nala. They both got along well, Zeus was protective of his big sister but had Alexia wrapped around his finger. She claimed to not liking big dogs and was scared that Zeus would, in her words, eat Nala but Zeus proved to be the perfect companion for Nala.

“I’m upstairs!” you yell back, just walking out of your office and finding your dogs both excited and jumping up on you. “Where’s Mama, baby?” you ask Nala and pick her up, walking towards the bedroom you just saw a head of blonde hair disappear into. Zeus trailed behind slowly, jumping onto the bed with Alexia as you walked in.

“Hola, cariño. What were you up to today? Were you a good boy for Mamí?”

“You greet the dog you didn’t want before your own wife. I’m deeply hurt, Ale.”

“You’ll get over it,” she teases as you roll your eyes. Nala cuddles comfortably on your chest, licking your chin as you run your fingers through her freshly groomed fur.

Alexia smiles and leans over, kissing your cheek. “Hola, mi vida. I missed you.” You blush, leaning into her and kissing her slowly. She hums into the kiss, scooting closer to deepen the kiss. You’ve been married a significant amount of time now but kissing her just never fails to bring you to your knees.

“Did you manage to get your work done?” she asks, rubbing Zeus behind the ears.

“Yes, got a lot more done than I thought I would so I’m all yours.”

“Perfect, the girls would have been disappointed if you couldn’t go out tonight.”

“I think you’ll like the outfit I got planned.”

“Oh? Can I have a sneak peek?”

“You wish.”

She grabs you, startling both dogs. They run out, supposedly having had enough of your shit.

“Show me.”

“You can see it when I’m done getting ready, missy.”

“You’re mean.”

“You’ll get over it.”

//

“Babe, can I borrow your gold–Dios mío.”

“Borrow what, Ale?”

“Forget the earrings. We aren’t going anymore.”

“What? Why?”

“No one else can see what you are wearing right now. For my eyes only; it says it on our marriage certificate.”

She saunters over to you, wrapping her arms around your exposed middle as you apply the finishing touches to your makeup.

“Do you like it?”

“Like it? I’m about to fuck you right here, right now.”

“You’re worse than a teenage boy, are you ready?”

“Bebé, we’re not going.”

“Yes we are, at least I am. I will leave your horny ass here!”

//

“Y/N! Oh, I’m so glad you could make it. Girls, look who’s here!” Ingrid pulls you to the corner of the club the girls are at. All of them wolf-whistle at your outfit, the revealing black dress you wore brought out your confidence like no other. You didn’t dress this way that often and when you did you went all out. Ale had a scowl on her face, her black suit matching your dress perfectly. She came up to you and kissed your cheek, softly muttering “The usual, hermosa?” You simply nod, fixing the lapel on her jacket as she walked to the bar with Mapi.

She kept her cool throughout the night, hand wrapped around your waist tightly as the both of you danced together. She made sure your glass was always filled and ice cold, your favorite whiskey coke never watered down the whole night. The dress you had on was one that she had never even seen you purchasing, let alone wearing; all she wanted to do tonight was rip it off and show you just who you belonged to. It was borderline driving her insane, your hips swaying to the music lightly brushing up against her hips. Her hand wrapped itself around your waist again, pressing you back into her. You obliged, wanting to tease. You subtly kept grinding back into her more and more, your free hand grabbing onto hers around your waist.

“You’re being a naughty girl tonight, hermosa.”

“I’m just dancing with you, Ale. Like we always do.”

You feign ignorance the whole night, dancing with all the girls who wanted a turn with you. Mapi was being particularly touchy tonight, not that that was odd for the woman. She and Ingrid had you sandwiched between them as the music began to boom louder and louder into the night. Alexia had walked over to the bar to get you another drink when the two girls had dragged you over to them and began to dance. You were enjoying yourself, Alexia was not.

“You look like you’re going to kill someone.” Ona quipped at her captain, smirking as she sipped on her 5th margherita for the night.

“I am. Mapi.” Alexia gruffed at Ona, eyes seeing red as she marched over to you. You smiled and waved, about to walk over to her when she grabbed your arm and pushed you over to the bathrooms.

“Ale, what–“

“Don’t Ale me, you slut. What the hell was that?”

“I was just dancing, isn’t that what we came here to do?”

“You dance that way with me, not her.”

“They dragged me over there, what was I supposed to d–“

She rushed forward and kissed you hard. Her hands groped where they could, pressing you up against the wall. You whine into the kiss, hands flying around her neck. She picked you up suddenly, sitting you on the counter.

Her eyes were dark and lustrous, pulling your legs apart and yanking your underwear off. She stuffs them into your mouth to keep you quiet, hiking your dress up to reveal your soaked folds. She smirks, leaning in and giving you no mercy. She slurps and suckles, growling deeply into your pussy as she devours you. Your hands simply hold her head in place, legs trembling as they wrap themselves around her head. She presses them open easily, grumbling a low “Stay,” before diving back between your legs. She maintains eye-contact the entire time, tongue darting into your hole momentarily as she assaults your folds incessantly. You feel that familiar coil in your stomach wind itself up, lips chanting her name as they are drowned by the loud club music and muffled by the risqué lace in your mouth.

Just as you’re about to hit your high, she pulls away with an annoying smirk on her face. She’s covered in your juices as they drip down her chin. She pulls your underwear out from your mouth, uses it to wipe her own and tucks it into her jacket like a pocket square. You’re beyond shocked at her actions, she fixes herself and walks straight out of the bathroom with one last request.

“Freshen up, I’ll be in the car.”

//

“Where are you going? The night is still young!” Mapi yells over the music. You grab your bag and rush towards the exit.

“Ale isn’t feeling too good, we’ll see you guys soon, we had a great time!”

“What she means is Ale isn’t feeling too good about how you were touching Y/N Mapi. They totally just fucked in that bathroom.” Ona tells the table laughing but stops when Mapi smiles devilishly.

“She’s the one who told me to; she wanted to rile La Reina up.”

//

“What took you so long?”

“I don’t know, maybe explaining to the girls why my wife took off like that and why I look like a disheveled mess right now because you’re jealous! Of your best friend!”

“I did tell you to freshen up, cariño.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“I don’t like it when other people touch what is mine.”

“So? Remind them.”

Her eyes turn even darker at your words; she starts the car with a locked jaw and a tight hand on your thigh. The whole drive home she doesn’t say a word, occasionally huffing angrily. You know you’re in for it this time; you really were pushing it with Mapi only because you planned on it. The dress, the dancing, the teasing on the dance floor was all to get her riled up and jealous on purpose. But she didn’t need to know that.

She parks the car and pinches the bridge of her nose. She checks her phone briefly before she uses her strict tone on you, you know better than to disobey her.

“I want you upstairs at the foot of the bed naked and on your knees, do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

You rush out of the car and run upstairs, doing as she says. She walks in 10 minutes later, cool as a cucumber. She reaches into the bedside drawer and grabs something before walking to the bathroom. She takes her own sweet time, sauntering out with her hair fixed and clothes perfectly on.

She walks over to you, a smirk on her face. You’re kneeling exactly where she wanted, hands obediently behind your back.

“You’ve been disobedient the whole night, mi amor. Why is that?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s not what it looked like to me.”

“I was just dancing Ale, maybe I got carried away but you know I would never do anything to upset you.”

“Then tell me why did I get a text from Mapi saying that you had asked her to touch you so ravishingly all night? With the intention of, and I quote, “riling Ale up”?”

Your blood runs cold as the words leave her mouth. That bitch. You had sworn her to secrecy with the promise of doing her a favor when she next asked but it seems like you had made a pact with the devil.

“I–I,”

“Save it. You have been quite the handful all night and I intend on making sure that by the end of it you know who owns you.”

She leans forward, eyes sharply looking into yours.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Good. Let’s make sure you never forget it.”

She takes her jacket off, your underwear still in the same spot she tucked it into. She’s got on a gorgeous lace bralette that you recognize as your own, her abs making a statement around her middle. Even like this she looks completely composed, hair perfectly in place; not a strand astray.

You become face to face with her crotch, which seems to be bulging. Your mouth waters and eyes widen when you realize what she had taken from the drawer and disappeared into the bathroom to do. She’s got her strap on in her pants. She rarely did this; she knew it made your pussy drip at the idea that she’s got it on under her clothes, ready to fuck you the moment she deems you deserve her cock.

“I think you’re starting to understand the agenda for tonight.” She smirks, leaning down and forcing your jaw open. She gathers her saliva and spits it directly into your mouth; some of it missing and landing on your cheek. “Don’t swallow,” she says as she stands and undoes her pants, the fake appendage springing out. She’s picked a bigger one today; one that would leave you sore and constantly reminded for a while.

She steps closer, the tip of her cock rubbing against your spit-covered lips. She wrenches your jaw open wider and slides into your mouth, throat letting out a drawn-out moan as you immediately begin to suck on her.

She grabs your head and thrusts into your slick mouth, you make a show of hollowing out your cheeks and earnestly sucking on the silicone cock. Alexia likes to pretend she can almost feel the pleasure elicited, throwing her head back and pulling on your hair animatedly. She gives you a soft “mierda,”, eyes watching with great focus as you wet the cock with your spit. She pulls away and strings of saliva follow, your eyes blown with pleasure.

She spits into your mouth again and makes you swallow, shoving her cock back into your mouth and fucking your face with it. She gathers your soft locks into a makeshift ponytail and speeds up her strong hips, praising you softly as she goes. She shoves it down too far one time, causing a loud gag to follow. Somehow it gives her an ego boost; shoving the silicone down your throat periodically as she continues to fuck your throat. Your hands remain behind your back obediently, not wanting to risk making La Reina angrier than you know she already is.

She pulls away again and grins maniacally. “On the bed,” she growls; pulling you up and shoving you back onto the bed. The both of you had a mutual understanding about bedroom dynamics and knew each other’s boundaries very well. She knew how hard she could push you; you knew how far she would take it.

She reaches into the drawer again and pulls out a bullet vibrator. You lean back on your elbows and watch her as she turns it on. “Open your legs; do not hide from me,” she tells you, settling herself between your now open legs. She runs the vibrator over your nipples causing them to harden. She glances down at your folds, they glisten back at her. She smiles proudly, eyes going back to admiring your body. She leans in and finally touches you, the vibrator travelling lower to rub through your folds. You jolt and make a noise, hand instantly flying to your mouth in shock. The vibrator immediately pulls away, her eyes darkening once again.

“I will let that one slide; one more sound from you that I don’t ask for and you will be left here to cum until you pass out, understand?” you can only nod, scared to say the wrong thing.

“Words, puta.”

“Yes, La Reina.”

“Good girl.”

The vibrator returns to your clit, you hold yourself back from making a noise this time. She presses it right on top of your clit and grins, watching you convulse and hold yourself back. She makes things harder for you when she leans down and begins to suck on your breasts; lips locked around them with suction that makes your head spin.

You’re really holding back now, a moan sitting uncomfortably in the back of your throat like its teasing you. She nibbles on your nipple a little aggressively and your hands grasp the bedsheets so hard your knuckles are white. You’re trying to divert your attention to anything but, scared that you’ll accidentally set her off again. Everyone knows better than to piss off an already pissed La Reina; the last time you did she didn’t let you come for 2 months. She got off often though, making you watch each time she did. It was not pleasant.

The coil in your stomach returns for a second time tonight, legs trembling as you try your absolute hardest not to cum. La Reina owned all your orgasms she liked to remind you. It was unsaid that there was to be no cumming unless she says so. Again, that was a lesson you learnt the hard way.

Just as you were about to tap out, she pulls away completely. You breathe heavily, trying to catch your breath. You look up at her with pleading eyes but hers do not soften. You are her biggest weakness but you had to commend her; the girl had unwavering iron will.

“That’s two of many more tonight, my love.” The tears follow suit, frustration beginning to set in. You knew you deserved it, but you also knew that you wanted to cum; and if there was one woman who was a woman of her word, it was Alexia Putellas.

You were edged five more times after that. She moved onto much more intense things after the third edge. By the sixth one, she was fucking you; hips as powerful as ever as they pounded into you with unrelenting force.

She had given you permission to moan now, wanting to hear your voice tell her how good she was and how only she could provide you with the bliss you were in now. You were past sensitive, toeing the line of delirium. It was euphoric, her thrusts were executed with terrifying precision. She knew you, you knew her. It was scary to be honest, it was beyond intimacy.

Your orgasm was creeping up now, her hand kneading your tender breasts with refreshing affection. They were secretly her favorite part of you, their perky and firm characteristics made her, like you had accused earlier, like a horny teenage boy.

She felt you clenching on the toy, whining high in your throat. Your hands were gripping the sheets tightly again, desperately needing to hold onto something so that you felt that you had just a sliver of control. Alexia pulled away as soon as she knew you were close, crocodile tears following soon after she pulls out.

“That’s the last one, mi vida. Gonna take care of you now, you’ve been such a good girl for me tonight.” She wiped your tears away as you nodded frantically. She kept her word, kissing your swollen lips tenderly as you calmed down. She reached for a bottle of water and fed you it, kissing your forehead as you took big, much needed sips.

“Turn over, baby. Wanna see your pretty ass when you come on my cock.”

You turn over obediently, pressing your chest to the bed and pushing your ass up. She hums appreciatively, grabbing your cheeks and pulling them apart. She leaned in and licked up your ass, which makes you yelp; she hadn’t done this before. She kept licking, tongue frantically flicking over your loose hole and asshole. It felt good, you moaned loud to tell her you liked it. She grinned and slipped two fingers into your pussy before suckling on your asshole enthusiastically. You lurched forward and reached back to cradle her head, she dove in deeper and curled her fingers into you deeper.

"Qué buena chica. mi niña perfecta y obediente.”

“Please, Ale…please let me cum…”

“Yes, my love. I’m gonna make you cum so good bonita.”

She slides her fingers out and pushes her cock in so smoothly you don’t even have time to miss feeling full. She does as she promised, pounding into you from behind. She does lean back and admire the fullness of your ass, the ripples that follow each thrust only spur her on. Her own pleasure is forgotten, the harness rubbing against her clit combined with the most beautiful woman she’s had the privilege of being married to between her legs was more than enough stimulation for her.

She pulls you back up against her chest, fucking into your at this new angle with fervor and purpose. Her arms wrap themselves around you, hand gently applying pressure to your throat as she whispers dirty things into your ear. Your body shudders and writhes, your pleasure wholly dependent on her.

“Are you going to cum on my cock, cariño? Gonna make a pretty mess for me?”

“Yes, Mi Reina, yes! Please!”

“Go on, cum for me. My perfect girl.”

Your legs shake and body convulses as you make a mess on her cock. Her hand around your neck restricts airflow just enough to make you light headed and floaty while her other hand presses down against your clit and rubs hard. It makes you gush, a cry of her name echoing through the house. She cums at the same time, her own legs shaking from watching your own unfold in front of her.

She lets go of you and you flop forward. She pulls out and pulls the strap off, kissing your face all over. She whispers sweet nothings to you, praising you for holding out for her and being a good girl. She leaves you for 5 minutes to quickly run a hot bath, carrying you in her arms and slipping into the steaming water with you.

You snuggle into her strong arms, they rub and massage your legs softly as the warm lavender water wafts through the air. She turns you around in her arms as you settle in her lap. Her big hands hold your waist softly when you cup her face and kiss her tenderly. She kisses back the same way; she pulls you flush against her chest and make out till you become wrinklier than raisins.

She insists on wrapping you up in the fluffiest towel and carrying you back into bed. She sits you on the couch as she changes the sheets as fast as she can, pulling you into bed with one of her old jerseys on like she did.

She held you close, hand rubbing your back softly as your fingers drew random patterns on her arm. She kissed the top your head, smiling softly.

“I love you so much, bonita.” She whispered, pulling you closer to her.

“I love you too, I’m sorry I danced with Mapi like that.”

“Don’t be, it was kinda hot.”

“Alexia!”

“What? I knew you were up to something with that gorgeous dress and the dancing, when Mapi texted me, it all made sense.”

“That wretched woman betrayed me; we had a deal!”

“I think I can get her back for you, cariño.”

//

“Five extra laps for you today, Mapi.”

“What the fuck for, Alexia?!”

“Going against your word with my wife.”

“I WAS DOING YOU A FAVOR!”

“Just run, Maria. You’re lucky I’m the one punishing you, not her. Trust me, you don’t want her getting back at you. I tell you this with love and first-hand experience; I still have scars.”

[storm-angel989]

Omg do you know the Valentino x reader period pains thing can you do that but with vox's teenage daughter like how would he react straight panic. Most men in the 50's didn't know anything really about period cramps or periods in general. So he probably not know much besides what Vel talks about. I can imagine him doing the wtf which one do I get her in the store thing so he buys everything lol.

Another super fun request! Enjoy!

Vox stared at the shelves in a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. His gaze fell from the shelves to the list, and back again. So many colors, and why was one woman playing volleyball? He cursed himself for not simply putting Velvette’s requests on the list and pushing it off. How was he supposed to know this could happen in the middle of the night?

“Dad? Dad, I need help. I think I’m dying.” 

Vox had heard his daughter's voice from across his bedroom. He instantly sat up and turned on the bedside light, swung his legs over the side of the bed and hurried to her. 

“What’s the matter baby?” He asked frantically. 

“My belly hurts, and I’m bleeding,” she sobbed. “Daddy, what’s wrong with me?”

He felt a cold chill and sheer panic settle through him as he noticed the bright red stains on her pajama pants. No, she couldn’t be. She couldn’t have her period already, right? She was only thirteen. God, he was so not ready for this. 

“You’re not dying babydoll, come on. We need to go see your Aunt Velvette,” he said as calmly as he could. “Come on now, follow me.” He put a hand on her shoulder and guided her down the hallway. He pounded on Velvette’s door. “Vel? Vel get up! We need you!”

He heard frantic footsteps and the door swung open.

“Vox you better have a damn good reason to-”  Velvette cut herself off mid sentence at the sight of reader. “Oh. Yep, that’s a good reason. Come in honey, go to my bathroom. I need to talk to your dad for a moment. You’re okay, I promise.” 

Vox watched as his daughter walked across the room and vanished behind closed doors. He turned to Velvette, who was scribbling something down on a pad of paper. 

“Vel, you still good to handle this?” He asked cautiously. “I just-”

“Vox, it's the middle of the night. I told you ages ago to have housekeeping order the supplies she needs and you put it off. Now you need to go to the store yourself while I convince sweet reader she isn’t about to kick the bucket,” Velvette grumbled as she ripped the paper off the pad and handed it to Vox. “Everything you need is on that list. You’re going to have to go out and buy it right now.”

Vox felt himself flush with embarrassment. This was a female issue- it shouldn’t involve him. 

Velvette gave him a look. “If you had listened to me in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this situation would we? Now shoo.” 

Now here he stood, with a list of what he firmly believed were made up words. What exactly was a “tampon” anyway? Or a “thin panty liner”?

“Excuse me sir, do you need any help?” A cheerful voice came from behind him.

Vox whirled around. He could feel his face turn even more red as he thrust the list towards the unsuspecting sales girl.

“I..I need these. I mean, I don’t need them. My daughter needs them. I just…”

The sales girl seemed unphased. “How old is your daughter?”

“Thirteen.”

“Okay! She needs this, and this, and this…” she loaded the items into his cart. “Easy enough! Extra chocolate too, might be a nice thing to do.”

Vox could only nod and add an extra bar of chocolate to the cart. To his relief, she packaged everything up in discrete brown paper bags. As he swiped his card, he wondered why such a necessary product was priced so ridiculously high. 

When he got back to the apartment, he knocked on Velvette’s door. She stuck her head out and took the bags. 

“I woke up Val and he’s making hot cocoa. We’ll join you two in a few minutes. Now shoo.” She slammed the door in his face. 

Vox resigned himself to the kitchen. He took a seat at the table and buried his attention in his phone as Valentino stood at the stove in his pajamas, stirring the hot chocolate pot. 

“How are you, amicito?” He asked. “Big day for our little princessa.”

Vox groaned. “Can we not talk about it?”

“I think you need to get with the times. Your little girl needs you,” Valentino replied easily. “So get over yourself.”

Vox raised an eyebrow and looked over to him. “You’re not freaked out about this?”

Valentino shrugged. “Why should I be? Our little girl is simply growing up. If you treat her like the plague she will feel shame- and that’s the last thing we want, right?”

Vox considered. He hadn’t thought about it that way, how his reaction to what was admittedly a natural event, might affect her. 

“Do you think she knows I’m…”

Valentino cut him off. “I think you did just the right thing, bringing her to Vel.”

“Here she is!” Velvette’s voice called through the kitchen. “Officially a young lady!”

Reader flushed and looked down. “Not…it’s not that big a deal I guess.”

“Oh, baby princessa, it is.” Valentino said as he ladeled the hot chocolate into a mug and added whipped cream. “The heating pad is all set on the couch. Remote is yours.” 

“Thanks Uncle Val,” she mumbled as she made her way out to the living room. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Vox asked with concern. 

Both Valentino and Velvette looked at him with a mix of annoyance and shock. From the living room, the television blared top volume. All three recognized the theme to her favorite show. 

“She hurts, she’s bleeding for the first time and she’s embarrassed about it,” Velvette answered. “Even though I told her there was nothing to be ashamed of. It’s normal.”

“So, what do I do?” Vox asked. “How do I help her?”

“You love her, and give her chocolate and give her a bit of grace if she’s crabby. Her hormones are all over the place,” Velvette replied. “And for god sake, get over yourself.”

Vox winced. He didn’t want to think about his daughter having hormones, or growing up. He knew it was a fact of life, but what he wouldn’t give to be unaware of it. Valentino handed him a cup of cocoa and he took a sip. He watched as Velvette flopped down on the couch next to his daughter. 

“She’s going to grow up, Vox. You can’t stop it,” Valentino warned. 

“I know I can’t,” Vox replied tiredly. “But I’m not ready to lose my little girl.”

Valentino gave him an irritated look. “What are you talking about? She’s still your little girl- she always will be. And right now she needs her family to support her,” he replied as he turned and left the kitchen. 

Vox sighed as he watched Val collapse on the other side of the couch. He could barely make out their chatter. After a moment, he stood up and joined them and took the seat next to reader. Concern flooded his face as he looked at his daughter. She looked pale, paler than usual. 

“How are you feeling, babygirl?” He asked. He reached over and brushed the hair out of her eyes, the palm of his hand lingering on her forehead for a moment. Was it him, or did she feel warm?

“I’m okay, Daddy, just tired,” she replied quietly. “My tummy hurts. Can I go to bed?”

“Of course you can, princess,” he replied as he pulled his hand away. “I’ll be in to check on you in a bit.” 

She climbed off the couch and wrapped him in a hug. “Night night, Daddy.”

“Goodnight baby.” He replied. 

She did the same with Valentino and Velvette before trudging back to her room. He heard the door close and looked to Velvette. 

“She felt warm, is that normal?”

Velvette rolled her eyes. “You know what? Figure it out on your own. I’m going to bed.”

“Not a bad idea to do some research, amicito,” Valentino added as he stood up. “If nothing more than to help our little princessa.” 

Vox watched them both retreat back to their rooms before shutting off the lights and returning to his own bed. He pulled out his phone and hesitated for just a moment. Breaking free of the ideas that he had been so held to in life was uncomfortable to say the least. But at the same time, he felt he owed it to his little girl to at least try to understand what she was going through. And he was willing to do whatever was necessary to make sure he was the best dad he could be.

Even if it meant figuring out exactly how to handle a period.