#Once Upon a Tee
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New sweatshirt for fall đđ¤
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Please everyone, if you want to, check out the collab I made with some of my best buds for our OC couples (well, some of them, there's so many more to choose from). I love everyone who worked on it, thank you very much this is adorable!
Thank you @oneirataxia-girl, @ginevrastilinski-ocs, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, and @come-along-pond
TAGGING: @waterloou @eddysocs @ocs-supporting-ocs @foxesandmagic @decennia @hiddenqveendom @arrthurpendragon @luucypevensie @kentaroranda @noratilney @wordspin-shares @endless-oc-creations @lucys-chen @andromedalestrange @far-shores @daughter-of-melpomene @bibaybe
#ocappreciation#ocapp#disney descendants oc#teen wolf oc#glee oc#once upon a time oc#oc: greer grimm#oc: tee wiley#otp: tiley#oc: riley parrish#oc: coop harris#otp: ciley#oc: sabine mitchell#otp: sambine#oc: vanessa mills#oc: felicity ray#otp: felissa#Youtube
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i've only had criterion for a short amount of time. but the 1st of the month is quickly becoming one of my favourite days i love sifting through the new collections i love having a look at what i need to watch before it leaves soon.
#this is great. spent like an hour not even thinking abuot [redacted] a streak i have only broken by just pointing it out now. ah.#lily dot tee ex tee#anyway apparently the birdcage and forbidden planet are leaving but not much else of note#altho theres a few i certainly might try and get to before they disappear#such as rear window or once upon a time in america. or clockwork orange but i'll surely see that film at SOME point anyway.#and of the new batch. eyes of laura mars looks really interesting. i'll give those punk rock documentaries a look.#and pretty much all the noirs look fun as well
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Fitness Trainer
A/N: I blended some french terms of endearment with English don't come for me. But is Antoine really French, or is he feigning this way to get closer to you? (Had a fem idea for this too)
Synopsis: Another day at the gym, your personalized trainer is helping you out a lot more intimately than he would with most clients.
TW: Creep gym trainer, yandere themes, mentions of future stalking/imagined groping, sensual content
And up... and down, just like that."
The squeeze on your hips kept you stable, even with your fingers shaking, mouth agape as hot breath was sucked in, and out.Â
"One more, you can do one more for me."
"I can't..." you huffed, thighs quaking as the barbell on your shoulders made you ache.Â
"Yes you can. C'mon sweetheart, we'll do it together."
He gripped the barbell beside where your sweating hands were, chest flush against your back as his feet entrapped the outside of your own.Â
âDo it with me now,â He pulled the weight lower, forcing you to squat despite the agony in your ankles and tailbone. âPush through it, baby.â
The sweet name just slipped out, breathy against your ear as his hot exhales slowed compared to your huffs. It almost made you slip.
You could feel the muscles in your wrists shaking, vision going blurry as sweat drips into your eyes. One of his hands leaves the barbell to grip your hip, forcing you back into a standing position as your knees nearly give out.Â
You rise slowly back up with the barbell in your hands, nearly groaning in pain at the strain. You finally lift your arms to your chest, finishing the rep with a strained frown as your personal trainer forces the weight off of your arms. His taller stature makes it easy to put the barbell back on the rack in front of you.Â
You feel as if you could collapse, an hour and a half of intense training brought upon by your own determination leaving you exhausted and a little discouraged. You thought you could do more, push yourself harder-- but at the end of the day, the amount of reps your body would let you do, was it. Youâd crack if you tried to go even further, end up tearing something or worse.Â
Your trainer could tell; the way you sweat, your eyebrows furrowed as you kept that hard, strained look with each motion he made you do.Â
âI hate to say it, but youâre done for today.âÂ
You look up at him from your place on the ground, water bottle hanging from your grip as you try to catch your breath.Â
Antoine had only worked with you for a couple weeks now, what started as once a week now thrice, if you had the time after work of course. But somehow, he always enticed you to come back.Â
His body, which shouldâve been motivation, was more or less disheartening-- rippling muscles and bulging quads peeking beneath his tight âTRAINERâ black tee and athletic shorts as the perfect ensemble.Â
He was so sweet, so encouraging and upsettingly positive. Always filling up your water bottle, saying how heâs always admiring the growth of muscle definition in your back, giving you light touches to show which area of your body that a machine might work out. He even offered post-exercise massages to make sure you didnât get sore after each session, free of cost as a perk of joining the gymâs âpremium membershipâ, an idea he sold you on. That, along with the complementary protein shakes made that were hi âspecialty.â
You knew it was his job to hook you in, but who could say no to that sweet meatheadâs face? Which is why you were here, on a late saturday afternoon, in this nearly empty gym with him that he convinced you to love.Â
You couldnât help but feel a little guilty, even if he was the one persuading you, offering to use his time off to come in and help train you.
âFeelinâ sore?â Antoine bends down next to you, offering a small towel from his pocket. The twinge of accent in his speech makes him sound funny, dry lips parted as he looks you over. âYou went harder than usual today.âÂ
âYeah,â You let out after a gulp of water. âDefinitely gonna feel this later tonight; ha, maybe Iâll actually take you up on one of those massages.âÂ
You point with your water bottle, grinning tiredly as Antoineâs eyes seem to shine. He licks his lips to hide a giddy grin.Â
âOf course-- definitely, Iâd be more than happy to. These hands can work magic you wouldnât believe.â
Antoine shuffles behind you, pulling at your shoulders to make you sit up straight.Â
âWha- you mean right now? Iâm all, sticky.âÂ
âNowâs the best time, your muscles are just coming down from the effort theyâve exerted. Best to prevent any aches and pains as soon as possible rather than waiting.âÂ
He begins gentle rubs against the base of your neck; vast, warm fingers grace your collar with a softness you hadnât expected. Usually when people try to massage your shoulders theyâre too harsh, too grippy; but Antoine was rhythmic, pushing into your back with his palms as he made his way down to your shoulder blades.Â
âBut considering youâve pushed so hard, I donât want to see you back here for a couple of days.â Antoine insisted.
âAwe, you want me outa here that badly?â You joked, laying your head forward as Antoineâs fingers made their way to the back of your neck, running pressed thumbs down from your hairline. âI see how it is, prefer your other clients over me.âÂ
It felt sort of weird, having him massage you so deeply on the gym floor out in the open. But the only person here in the middle of the afternoon was an older woman, paying more attention to her cellphone on the treadmill than anything you two were doing.Â
Antoine shook your shoulders.Â
âDonât say that, now!â He leaned his head over next to yours from behind, getting so close your nose almost brushed against his cheek. âItâs not funny; I hope you donât see me that way.â
âItâs just a joke,â You titter, running your handtowel down the front of your shirt.
âI never understand your jokes.â He sighs, hands moving down to your tailbone. He lifts the bottom of your shirt sticking to your skin, digging his hands against the soft flesh.Â
âWoah, hey,â You turn to look at him, but his head is down, looking at his fingers.Â
âI have to get to your hips, you canât do so many squats without release. And at the rate you were going to day⌠well, you see what I mean.â
The bottom of your tanktop covers his knuckles as he pulls and kneads the skin of your lower back.Â
âO-okay.. I guess..âÂ
Heâs not usually so insistent, but he seems so genuine about it-- and, heâs the trainer, shouldnât they know best?Â
He begins with little strokes to your skin, almost caressing. You grow anxious until his thumbs push deep lines into your flesh.Â
âDoes that feel a little better, Mon cĹur? Less pain?â He asks up close, staring at your heated and perspiring cheeks.Â
Youâre awed by how good it actually feels, the tension melting away with each push of his knuckles into your skin, and grip of his hands around your waist as each of his thumbs digs into your sides.Â
âYeah⌠feels a lot better..âÂ
âYou can rest your head on my shoulder, donât be embarrassed, sweetheart.â
You do as he says, arching your back with your head against his shoulder. He had easier access into your back, working his hands up beneath your shirt to reach your mid abdomen.
The deeper Antoine kneaded, the farther he grew up your back, the more⌠audible, his groans became. Each dip was another breathy moan into your ear. It was fine at first, just the sounds of his work; and then, it became almost, uncomfortably sensual.Â
âJust like that...â He mumbled, giving a deep hum.
With your neck so close, his nose dips against your jaw to sneak a sharp inhale of your scent. It was heightened from your hour of strenuous work, a smell he couldnât get enough of.Â
But you jumped forward before he could nuzzle as deep against you as he wished.Â
âUh! Thanks, I feel a lot better now. Really⌠got all the kinks out.âÂ
You clutch your towel, facing your trainer to prevent him from working his âmagic fingersâ again.Â
âOf course. And thatâs just a taste, a fully body massage would leave the workout you just completed to drain away, as if it was just a dream.â He wiggles his hands with a sheepish grin, one so simple and sincere your guard fell again.
Sure, guys at the gym could be creeps, but he was your trainer, eyes kind and a little foreignly clueless, who only wanted to see you thrive; heâd never try something with you, his client.Â
âYeah, maybe next time. But now, I need to shower and get this stink off of me.â You bring yourself to your feet, all wobbly and achy-galore. Even with Antoineâs work on your shoulders, you can feel your back beginning to seize up. Itâs gonna be hard to bend down for a while.Â
Offering a hand to Antoine still on the rubbery gym floor, he takes it with a slight ease. He doesnât use the weight in his hand to get up, knowing heâd just drag you back down to the floor if he did.Â
âThanks again-- I mean, I know itâs your job but--âÂ
âDonât thank me; itâs always a treat to have you here, my cherie. Iâd train you for free, you know!âÂ
You laugh, flattered at the idea. If you were a bit more forward, youâd ask him for that little perk. Hey, paying for his service certainly wasnât cheap!
Making your way to the bathroom, you thank your lucky stars the hard partâs over. Too bad you canât look at Antoineâs pretty face anymore, though.Â
Antoine on the other hand, follows your stumbling body with his eyes, watching as you disappear behind the water fountain and bathroom door.Â
His eyes jut back and forth between the machines and front door for witnesses, seeing none before snatching up your forgotten towel. Howâd you never notice they didnât just give these things out?Â
Heâd brought the cute handkerchief from home, wanting to appear the most of a gentleman. And, in the hopes that youâd use it every and anywhere.Â
Oh, he thrived off that scent, pushing the white damp cloth heavy against his nose. It smelled even more potent of you, moreso than the few inches away of sniffs he usually got.Â
His tongue just barely brushed against it, writhing in ecstasy from how it still held the stickiness of your sweat. You didnât know how intoxicating it was to him, watching each bead of sweat leave your neck, the dip of your back when he got the chance to help hold that barbell with you⌠it was almost maddening, how strictly he had to restrain himself from lapping at your hot skin and running his hands beneath your gymwear.Â
 No, he had to save this for later. What would his manager think if he saw him acting so ferally?Â
Besides, there were more important matters to attend to. Such as, taking out the bathroom trash, a simple excuse to slide his manager for the opportunity to watch you shower.Â
Who knew working here would have such great advantages in getting close to you.Â
#gym trainer yandere#fitness trainer yandere#yandere#x reader#reader insert#yandere x reader#self insert#male yandere#writing#reader inserts#yandere stories#yandere aesthetic#yandere imagines#yandere oc x reader#yandere scenarios#yandere writing#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#yanderecore#yandere male#creep yandere#yandere boy#yandere boyfriend#gym yandere#yandere community#yandere blog#yandere thoughts#soft yandere#fiction#yandere fiction
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Duty
Jacaerys Velaryon x female reader smut
After a rough start to your marriage, whispers from the palace cause you and your betrothed to start what you should have done months ago; produce an heir.
w.c: 1487
c.w: SMUT 18+, NO use of Y/N, not exactly enemies but y'all beefing, hate sex (if you squint, but more like dislike sex and its more just sass idfk), mention of pregnancy, breeding kink, afab reader, p in v sex, fingering, overstimulation, pls let me know if i've missed any
a.n: so i recently watched the queen charlotte bridgerton spin off and i absolutely loved it, this is very inspired by charlotte and george's earlier dynamic tee hee.
Four months and 3 days. That is how long it has been since your wedding, and how long you have loathed your husband. The two of you were not exactly close before your betrothal on account of the rapidness of it but the tensions that spread between parts of his family did not help. You both seem to fight every conversation you had thereafter, so it became easier to avoid each other. That was until around 3 months into your betrothal that questions of when you would need your dresses altering had you worried. You were supposed to making heirs but you both exploded whilst in the same room as each other. Youâd visited the prince in his separate room and communicated the issue, he was reading by the fire. You played with your fingers in your hands as he eyed the flaw, thinking intently. He placed his book face down on the table as he petted the bench beside him. You hesitated for a moment, before sitting next to him. âOnce a week, we will fulfil our, uh, duty to try and produce an heir. Once you are with child we will stop.â You thought for a moment, before nodding. You couldnât help but feel your heart sink. This was not what you had wished for in your marriage. Jacaerys was a painfully handsome man, dark curls that framed he chiselled features.
âIt is the end of the week today, your grace.â You spoke, not fully considering the implications of the statement. But the quicker your belly was full the better.
He turned to you, hesitated for a moment before moving closer to you and pulled you onto his lap. You were surprised by the sudden closeness of someone, let alone your husband. He looked up from beneath you with a glimmer of what he had on your wedding night, without the naĂŻve hope. His hands slid up from your hips to the bust of your dress, he looked into your eyes before giving the bodice of your dress a quick tug down allowing your breast to spill out. You gasped as his hands cupped over your breasts, massaging them before running a thumb over your nipple. You brought your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt a warmth spread over your body. You didnât dare look him in the eye, keeping your eyes shut or trained on the ceiling. You felt as one hand left your breast and hike up your dress further up your hips. He sighed to himself slightly, at the sight of your exposed cunt. He could not believe his luck the first time he had saw you. You were quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and unfortunately that did not change the more you both disliked each other. If anything, it grew. Seeing you from across the room at formal engagements, gluing to his side when you needed to seem like the happy couple. It made the frustrations between the two of you even more palpable over the past few months, given the lack of relief. You opened your eyes to see his dark eyes looking up at you. He brought his two first fingers up to your lips, âOpen.â His soft tone contradicted the demand and look upon his face. His fingers slid into your mouth, gliding across your tongue as you closed your lips around them. Out of sheer lust you grinded your hips against him, needing to feel some release and gaining small jolt at the feeling of your cunt rubbing against his clothed cock. His free hand shot to your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh. He removed his fingers from your mouth, admiring his spit covered fingers for a moment before they reached between your thighs and lightly grazed across your clit. You jolted, leaning forward to grip the bench behind him.
You could not stop the moan that escaped your mouth as his fingers slowly ran circles across your clit. He smirked as the noises that fell from your lips, knowing how much you couldnât bare to be around him but fell apart in his arms was a satisfying feeling. âI did not know you were so needy, dear wife.â The honorific felt like a pin prick. Insincere and laced with sarcasm.
Despite the tightening growing in your stomach, you could not let him have the final word as usual. âYou hadnât been paying close enough attention, your grace.â A flash of frustration flashed upon his face as his hand moved to grip your hair and fingers plunged inside of you. A gasp left you as his fingers thrusted deep inside of your cunt, you had gone from strolling towards an orgasm to being thrown at it. The tips of his fingers curled slightly, deliciously massaging that spot inside your pussy that drove you wild. You jaw fell open, eyes going wide at the loss of contact when he removed his fingers from you. You went to protest before seeing his cock in his hands, brows furrowed as he stroked the length.
You couldnât hold off any longer before you took a hold of his wrists and pushed his hands away to his sides. You took his cock into your hand giving it a few pumps, watching an expression of lust spread across his face. You leaned over slightly, letting a ball of spit leave your lips and watch as it slid down his cock. He hissed, returning his hands to your hips pulling you closer to him. You took the hint, angling his cock towards your pussy, rubbing the tip over your clit for your own pleasure a few times, before lining him up and sliding down slowly, a large groan left his lips as be bottomed out inside of you. You had forgotten just how big his cock was, and just how good it had felt filling you up. You began to raise your hips up and down, moans leaving your lips as you did. You worked at a steady pace but after being accustomed to his hands began to push up and down with the movements of your hips moving you faster. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders as he pounded into you, no matter how much your stifled your moans, you gave him the satisfaction of them loudly leaving your lips. His hand reached up to yours, removing it from his shoulders and moving your fingers between your legs. You immediately got his instruction, fingers latching onto your clit. You worked tight circles into it as you got filled over and over with Jacaerysâ cock. A familiar tightness returned to your stomach as your head dropped back and numerous illicit words left your lips. Recognising your peak, he pulled you forward by your thighs, almost pressing your bodies against each other as he quickened his pace. Your orgasm cascaded over you, feeling your pussy tighten around Jacaerysâ cock and your body buzz from the overstimulation. You rode out your high atop of him, watching as his eyes screwed shut and his thrusts became sloppier.
You took the opportunity to return your knees to the bench either side of him and bob your hips up and down as fast as you could. His fingers reached the lip of the bench gripping it until his knuckles turned white. âMmm, my grace,â You moaned out. His eyes shot open, his heart pounding at your remark. âPlease fill me with your seed.â You pleaded and moaned, half doing it for a reaction, half because it felt too good. His jaw hung open in shock for a split second before he sputtered a moan from his lips, hips snapping into yours. You felt satisfied as a warmth filled your pussy. Your hips moved slightly, slowly thrusting his cock inside of you still. His hand shot to your hip, mumbling something, before you placed your hand flat across his chest. You bobbed a few more times on his cock, being sure to be as full as possible with his cum. You smirked to yourself seeing his head throne back, lip quivering, veins prominent in his hands gripping your waist, sweaty curls sticking to his neck. You slowly raised yourself off of his cock, standing to your feet and trying to mask your wobbliness as adjusting your dress.
You stole a glance his way, admiring his beauty before he spoke and ruined it. He panted through his mouth, arms outstretched over the sides of the bench. You smirked to yourself, admiring how he too had crumbled for you. The opening of his doorhandle caused him to call your name from behind you. You glanced at him and smiled. âGoodnight your grace, see you in seven evesâ.â He opened his mouth to response, but you had already shut the door behind you. You hoped it would be sooner before he fucked you again.
#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys x you#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys velaryon smut#hotd smut#jacaerys smut#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader smut#jacaerys targaryen#prince jacaerys#hotd fanfic#jacaerys velaryon x y/n smut#jacaerys imagine#game of thrones#game of thrones smut#asoif#asoif/got#fanfic#smut#jacaerys fluff#fluff smut#hotd jacaerys#jacaerys fanfiction
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can you pls write nerdy ellie? it can be sfw or nsfw
HOT! HOT!
?: Ellie is alot of things: Sheâs well articulated, Sheâs liked around campus, but for the life of her, she cannot get laid. Itâs gotten pretty embarrassing, maybe you can help? - NSFW - Excuse me for any spell checks!
!: My mutuals have really yummy fics about nerd!Ellie so please let me know if youâd like any recommendations. - Thank you for your anon, means sm to me baby
You stare at her with an incredulous expression, the sight alone being one of pure unbridled shock upon this new-found discovery.
âNever?â
âNever.â
She reaffirms after you, running a nervous hand through her auburn tresses to ease the silent tension in the air. Ellie Williams, all around âgood at fucking anything,â is a virgin. The thought alone was something that poked curiosity and incredulity. You knew she was quite kept to herself, often times busying with books and videogames, but this was something you didnât expect. I mean, she was with Dina at one point.
You donât want to make her make her more uncomfortable than the topic is, so you give her some form of comfort; âItâs quite normal, honestly, I donât even blame you in this society.â
That earns you a laugh and a slight snort from her, throwing her head slightly back. âYeah?â
You return a chuckle, shrugging, âYeah, but youâve atleast kissed before, right?
She immediately quiets down, olive-toned cheeks flushing with a light wash of embarrassment.
Holy fuck.
If you werenât shocked before, you were gawking now.
âD-donât look at me like that, man..â She groans, tossing her glasses onto the coffee table as she buries her face in a nearby decorative throw-pillow. âNo, noâ I donât mean in a bad way, just surprised.â
âSurprised?â She murmurs softly, staring at the dim dorm lightbulb that hangs above them, âThatâs a first. Dina usually calls me forcibly celibate.â
You want to curse yourself at the noise you let out, eyes watering as you slap your mouth with a cupped palm. Ellie side-eyes you with a scoff as she gets up from her seat, âYeah, Yeah, Alrightââ
âIâll be serious! I promise.â You call out, reaching for her wrist to sit her back down, to which she does.
âHave you ever, like, considered it, though?â
Her interest piques at this turn, reaching for her glasses back, âWhat? Having sex?â
Well, duh.
Ellie hums, thinking about it for a second, âI wouldnât be opposed to it..â She trails off, wiping her lenses with the corner of her graphic-tee, before putting them on. âOnly to someone I really like.â
âAw, thatâs actually really sweet, I actually had a friend once whoâ
âWhich is why I want you to fuck me.â She bluntly puts, staring at you four-eyed.
. . .
âCome again?â You cock your head out, âYou want me to..?â
She inches forward, nodding like a bobblehead, âYeah! It makes sense. Youâre my friend, and I like you, so itâll work.â You sigh, shaking your head, âElls, it doesnât work like that. What if you regret it?â
âSo youâd agree to it if I donât regret it?â She smiles, tone a bit ecstatic as she sees you entertain the idea.
She really was putting you on the spot, huh?
You stare at her for a bit, studying her face. She seemed enthusiastic about getting the opportunity to even lay hands on your soft skin. Saying you were pretty was an understatement, you were the epitome of wet-dreams; She was head over heels pretty much in-love with you, and the idea of even losing such a prize position like her virginity to you symbolized things she could only dream about.
You roll your eyes as you both kneel on her mattress, her fiddling with your bra like itâs the most complicated thing. âThis shit is a death machine, holy smokes.â
Holy smokes?
When she finally succeeds, sheâs jittery and giggling to herself, scooting back into the pillows to get a good look at your beautiful breasts. âTheyâre so fucking hot, ohmygod..â Next thing you know, sheâs cupping them softly, kneading the fleshy dough in circular motions, gaze fixed on the way your back arches ever so slightly, eyes fluttering. So she is doing something, right?
She leans her head down, giving your perked areolas experimental licks, opting to suckle them when you give her the green. Your hand finds itself buried in her hair, massaging her tender scalp while she works her tongue on your sensitive buds, closing her own eyes at the pure idea she might be making you feel good.
After a while, you pull her off your tits, pushing her down onto the sheets as she looks at you confused. Poor baby doesnât understand sex is transactional because sheâs too busy giving you her all. You smile softly, leaning over her, legs on each side of her torso as you give her a kiss on the lips, the brief âsmoochâ sound music to her ears as she opens her heavy lidded eyes back again; theyâre filled with neediness, a surge of wanting to be touched more.
By the time youâve readied her for the real thing, littering her body in soft bruising marks, her voice slightly higher pitched with each âuhn!â she lets out, brows scrunched together and lips slightly ajar, coated in a sheen of saliva from how you kiss her with reassurance youâll take care of herâ sheâs telling you with pants, no, beggingâ âP-please, baby? âCanât take it anymore..â
She means her bottoms, fabric cruely soaked and covered in her own arousal from all the attention youâve been giving her; Ellie feels lightheaded, tears brimming her crinkled eyes when you thumb her through her boxers. However, words cannot explain the feeling that rushes through her when you lean down and lick a fat strip through the cloth, eyes locked on hers. She hiccups a gasp, shuddering as the cold air hits her mound when you pull the elastic band from the side.
âI wanted to eat it through it, but I think youâre a bit impatient for that, so iâll cut to what you want.â You whisper, warm breath fanning over her sensitive pussy. By the time you dig in, sheâs whining at volumes you literally need to reach up her torso and cover her mouth.
âUhn! Uhnâ! F-fuckâ?â
What sorcery did you have on her? Genuinely? She canât believe sheâs been withholding herself from such pleasure, your tongue trudging through her gummy folds making her want to die and come back again. She can barely even think straight, letting out muffled wails against your hand, saliva seeping through and rolling down your wrist in dribbles. Youâd be disgusted, but the sight alone boosts your ego, you had her whipped.
Was it mentioned sheâs already orgasmed before you even went near her cunt? Thatâs right, she already came once while you two were kissing. You definitely knew sheâd atleast finish early, but damn were you surprised when she shook against you, humming against your lips rhythmatically.
âAm I making you feel good, baby? Can you talk fâme?â
She could barely hear you, and here you were, asking damn questions. Nonetheless, she gives you a small huff in response; alluding that she was somewhat conscious.
Once you deliver her to cum, sheâs shivering against the sheets, balling her fists up as you rip both a cry, and orgasm out of her. âA-Ahnnnn..?!.â
Rest of the night, you two went at it like animals; Ellie insisting you teach her everything there was to know about sex in a singular sittingâ ..fucking? To say you both tired eachother out would be an underemphasis.
You ruined her.
When you both seemingly knock out, well, atleast you, she slowly sits up, biting her bottom lip in anticipation as she gazes around your naked body, you were gonna sleep over..
She seems more excited at the prospect youâll stay the night than the fact you two have been literally keeping the entire female dormitory quarters upâ likely going to be hit with a personal visit by the RA.
Who cares, not Ellie for sure. Sheâll happily flaunt the fact sheâs (finally) got some, just to show off.
God, was she a geek.
#Ellie Williams#ellie williams x reader#Ellie williams smut#ellie william hcs#The last of us 2#san8ny#tlou 2
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to depart from my usual annoyance when people reblog my posts that i intended for the small audience of mutuals and followers who know my lore, i actually love that people will occasionally put this one in my notes <3 i love penelope so much it makes me so happy when people watch penelopeâŚ. i love how most of you reblogging this one donât even know how half this post connects to my lore it just spoke to you anyway as a fellow penelope enjoyer :)
the way he first meets her and canât see her and has to talk to her through a one way mirror so heâs really just looking at himself as she talks to him with kindness. like again. what if i loved you so much it forced you to see the beauty in yourself. what if we werenât some predestined love story but just two people who met by chance and connected and stayed and had a profound influence on the otherâs life and self to the point where we literally grew into better people together like a sunflower and the vine of a morning glory coiled around it. what if there was no me without you anymore because you changed everything. WHAT IF I LOVED YOU SO MUCH IT FORCED YOU TO SEE THE BEAUTY IN YOURSELF. i love you movie <3
#i said the sunflower thing because at the time last summer i had sunflowers with morning glory vines wrapping around themâŚ#i half quoted once upon a time in there at one point#âwhat if i loved you so much it forced you to see the beauty in yourselfâ IS a sentence i made up but i do say it as if itâs a quote#and thatâs because in truth it IS a quote. from my june 2022 letterboxd review for call me by your name. unfortunately#beth.txt#also in truth i wrote and drafted this whole reblog last night and now today tee just watched penelope tooâŚ.. the tumblr mutual hive mindâŚ
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HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since itâs in a tent) butâŚ.. hahahahahaâŚ.. WEEEELLLLLLL.
CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse
WC: 7.5K (whoops)
There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip.Â
In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying.Â
Thereâs nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. Thereâs nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. Thereâs nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesnât exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar.Â
There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harryâs arms work as he pitches a tent, biâs and triâs intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. Thereâs something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines â no, what sheâs well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats sheâs scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders sheâs sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss.Â
Thereâs something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. Thereâs something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when sheâs sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. Itâs in the most subtle way. Thereâs something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away.Â
Thereâs something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock.Â
This lustrous affair â this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows.Â
Really, itâs nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of âŚfeelings. Because itâd be easy to admit theyâre fucking, that theyâve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then itâs sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way.Â
Thereâs a status that floats about when you confess youâre sleeping with somebody â when you admit that youâve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that youâve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, itâs basically admitting some form of something sentimental.Â
Theyâre just fucking. Theyâre just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that heâll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that...Â
Thatâs sexy, the young woman thinks.Â
Theyâre coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry thatâs dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. Sheâs in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. Sheâs coated in it â his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. Thatâs when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when heâs up close and personal, when heâs rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck.Â
She stares at his hands â the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does.Â
Y/N isnât panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface âŚquicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter.Â
By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his âŚludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she canât be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell âŚshe canât escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.
Sheâs turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi.Â
Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her.Â
A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbudâs been removed, âEasy, baby.âÂ
The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her.Â
âEasy.âÂ
Sheâd sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm sheâd admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. Heâs pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. Heâs pleased when she doesnât succeed.
Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud heâd pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that theyâre sharing the set, crooning, âWhat are you listening to? Hm?âÂ
He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that heâs listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook heâs seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders.Â
When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. Thereâs still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement.Â
âHey,â she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet.Â
And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again.Â
âHey, you.âÂ
Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line heâd run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, âTicklish?âÂ
When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly.Â
âYes,â she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesnât come out very gripey at all. Instead, itâs sort of small â thatâs on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and itâs one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag sheâs nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over.Â
His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair.Â
âI missed you,â his admission is soft-spoken. Itâd be sort of tender if it didnât come out so âŚhungry.Â
Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, âDid you miss me?âÂ
Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things thatâd cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then heâd only be more smug.Â
Thatâs dangerous.Â
Sheâs glad he isnât.Â
The young woman hums â an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesnât light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasnât spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasnât been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lowerâŚ
âNo?â Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like heâs petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, âI think youâre lying to me, little miss.âÂ
Her breath stutters.Â
âI think,â Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, âthat if I had a look right now, youâd be a drippy mess.â
Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, ââŚNot at all.â
Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. âI think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldnât it, pet?âÂ
Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear.Â
âHm? Itâs been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.â Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, âPoor baby.âÂ
Heâs always had it â this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like itâs innate, practically. She shouldnât be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, âCould stuff it full. Make it all better.âÂ
Y/N sighs. Finally. Like itâs a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work.Â
âWould you like that?âÂ
And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers â when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge â remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin â a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently.Â
âWords,â Harry mutters. Itâs gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way heâs going to fuck her.
She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. Itâs kind of a plea. Itâs also sort of pathetic. âYes.âÂ
But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasnât the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that itâs bridled in the chamber â she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag thatâs zipped. Slowly, like heâs teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs.Â
âWhat dâyou do if you want me to stop?â Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch.Â
âTeacup,â Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased.Â
âGood girl,â He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest.Â
Her bra is red. Itâs a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, âCheeky,â like his comment isnât, ââŚDid you wear this to get fucked?âÂ
The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, itâs not an accurate statement. She didnât wear it to get fucked â not when she knew heâd be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But itâs a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like itâs praise, âBecause you know I love you in red, pet.âÂ
The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. Sheâs buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve â the way he feels her trembling under him like sheâs a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth.Â
Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isnât particularly comfortable, but it doesnât really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. Itâs barely anything, but itâs a touch she longs for. And she doesnât know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin. Â
Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like heâs plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt heâs punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-donât-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon.Â
Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that theyâre kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then â this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more.Â
âTheyâre asleep,â he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where heâd squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp sheâs muffled.Â
And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and itâs quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harryâs hand skims down.Â
âWhere do you want me to touch you?â Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that heâs well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. âHere? Or⌠maybeâŚâ
The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. âMaybe âŚhere? âŚNo, I donât think soâŚâÂ
His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue â loudly â when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. ââŚI think you want me here. Thatâs about right, isnât it?âÂ
Y/N makes a little noise â itâs something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harryâs mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil.Â
âYeah, thatâs it, sweet thing,â he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.
Instead, he presses up until heâs hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like itâs all new and foreign.Â
Itâs not.Â
Itâs the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. Itâs familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. Itâs familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When heâs amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. Itâs familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. Itâs familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesnât let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp. Â
Itâs somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an âoâ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters.Â
âPleaseâ pleaâ itâs too muchââ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and thatâs cute, Harry thinks.Â
Aw, Y/N thinks heâd coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasnât occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They donât sound like a safeword, though.Â
He doesnât say that, though. He doesnât say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she canât tell if itâs in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress.Â
Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until heâs hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And heâs weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like heâs sat directly over her lungs.
âGonna suck my cock, baby.âÂ
Itâs not really a question â not in tone. Itâs a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head.Â
Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks heâs going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesnât. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like sheâs a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like heâs trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm thatâd settled on the ground to rest over her wrists.Â
âMâgonna fuck your mouth,â Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. âWhat do you do if you want me to stop?âÂ
Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesnât even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like heâs in awe of the sight.
âGood girl.âÂ
The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.
âOpen up for me,â the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, âNice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.âÂ
And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where heâs able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesnât coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.
âThatâs it,â his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, âThatâs a good girl.âÂ
The pointed little end grazes over his balls.Â
âEyes up here, pretty thing,â Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. Thereâs something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, ââŚWanna watch them get all teary.âÂ
Itâs like she tries to appease him. Itâs as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow. Â
And Christ, does it feel good when she does that.Â
Harryâs own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesnât have her digits balled â not all the way â not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like itâs an anchor. Something grounding to tether her.Â
âShit,â he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, âShit â youâre good. Youâre so goodââ
And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She canât exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him â this desperate kind sheâd only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and itâs loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until heâs wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.
And Y/N thinks sheâs going to implode. Sheâs going to implode if she doesnât suffocate over his cock first.Â
âShh, shh,â Harry wriggles the index sheâs gripping until her touch loosens enough, and heâs able to stroke the tip over her palm, âShh.âÂ
Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when sheâs about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. Itâs nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek.Â
âSo pretty,â Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, âYou take me so well.â
Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth.Â
Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, âAnd youâll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Wonât you?âÂ
The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth.Â
âYeah,â Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, âYeah, you will.âÂ
He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isnât something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, itâs like he pours kerosene.Â
âSuck,â her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like itâs purposeful, because it definitely is.
A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him â thatâs a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face.Â
A low groan squeezes past the door heâs made with his teeth, and then he says, âYeah. There. Go on.âÂ
Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as heâd directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful â and frankly, the most satisfying â are the sounds.Â
The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. Theyâre slow, and they come out like heâs trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and thatâs a telltale. And then thereâs the moans.Â
There arenât many of those to indulge in, but thereâs a couple, one that Harry canât seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there.Â
âChrist, youâre gonna kill me.âÂ
The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly.Â
âFuck,â Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like heâs contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until heâs hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, âSit up. Take this off.âÂ
Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but itâs frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.
Then itâs, âRoll over,â with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. âGonnaââ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, ââfuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.âÂ
And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and theyâre flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together.Â
âYou wanna bounce on my cock, baby?â Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise â of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, âBe a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then Iâll let you.â Â
Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive. Â
Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, âPlease.â And when Harry doesnât immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, âDaddy. I need you. Need you inside.âÂ
In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesnât breach.Â
âBetter, but not quite,â he sighs. Thereâs leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesnât hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesnât get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway.Â
Itâs a crying shame when he doesnât make any motion to keep going. And then itâs quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.
âFuck yourself on it,â Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows â the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. âGo on. Donât pretend to be shy about it.âÂ
Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that?Â
Thereâs a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he canât see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. Itâs not enough â itâs maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, thereâs also a lack of motion when sheâs rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. Thereâs only so much â so many inches she can ride back on when sheâs rendered immobile.Â
He knows it, too â itâs obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, âGood girl. But you can do better than that, canât you?âÂ
Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. Itâs stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. Itâs a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back.Â
âCome on,â Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and sheâs not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, âTake it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.âÂ
Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. Itâs hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. Itâs marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, itâs flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter.Â
Instead, Y/N is camping, and sheâs currently barely grinding over inches of Harryâs cock.Â
âI canât,â she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.
âYou canât? Sure you can, pet,â Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more â more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. âJust like this, right?âÂ
Sheâs sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until heâs flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until sheâs stuffed, just like heâd promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat.Â
âBetter?â Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesnât say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. Itâs odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, âNeed Daddy to do all the work, is that it?âÂ
Y/N hums. There isnât much she can say to disagree because itâs good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back.Â
âPlease, please, please, please,â Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull.Â
âShh,â Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until heâs flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, âShh âŚdonât need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.â
Heâs warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. Heâs a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. Heâs tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. Heâs a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. Itâs in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath.Â
The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesnât need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts.Â
âI know, baby. I know. Need you to be â shit â a good, quiet girl for me, though.â
Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence.Â
âGonna be good for me? Make meââ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesnât make her as hungry as when he beckons, ââMake me pleased with you?â
Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. Itâs not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does â press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.
âThere we go,â Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, âThereâs a good girl. Letâs keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.âÂ
He rocks into her until sheâs whining into his hand, until theyâre really slick with sweat, and heâs grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. Sheâs still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.
Heâs probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. Itâll be haphazard on account of the night, and sheâll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it wonât really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before.Â
But before that, heâll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though theyâre just friends that fuck, heâs never been weird about cuddling â aftercare is sort of a must. Heâll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.
Tomorrow theyâll still be friends.Â
Just friends that fuck.
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles one shot#harry styles smut#harry styles dirty one shot#harry styles writing#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfiction#dom!harry x sub!reader#harry styles imagine#harry styles au#fwb!harry#fwb au#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles one shots#dom!harry
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hey lil mama - jude bellingham x reader
el tiempo puede pasar / te perseguirĂĄ mi nombre / yo siempre serĂŠ tu hombre.
summary: fwb!jude calls you up in the middle of the night, insistent he needs to come over.
wc: 2.1k
warnings: lowk an undefined situationship, nsfw (18+), soft dom!jude, praise, a tiny bit of degradation, p in v, unprotected sex (DON'T!!!!), creampie, two very needy idiots, lowk a happy ending.
A/N: took this lil blurb from my lovely @judesecret (thank u sm prettyy !!) and turned it into this train wreck of neediness hehehe enjoy y'all
now playing... hey lil mama by eladio carriĂłn, rauw alejandro
âHello?âÂ
Your phone had almost fallen off your nightstand with the incessant buzzing. You ignored for a certain time, as you did with your first alarms. You only rolled around and reached out to answer it when the idea of someone calling you for an emergency appeared in your mind, deciding to not take any chances.
âBabyâŚâ You perked up at Judeâs breathy; whiny, even. You could notice he was agitated just from the way his exhales saturated the microphone.Â
âJude? Is something wrong?â You asked with a yawn following close after. Your voice showed disinterest, but you were surprised to hear from him; you hadnât done so in a while. At least not directly, his name, voice, presence⌠the ghost of him followed you everywhere. The silence seemed to lull you back to sleep, his labored breathing miles away in your hazy mind.Â
âI just need you, darling.â He finally breathed out. âSo bad.â It wasn't usual to hear Jude in such a desperate state. If you werenât half asleep, you wouldâve jumped eagerly onto teasing him, enjoying the way his cocky attitude was knocked down a peg. Â
âJude itâsâŚâ You parted your phone away from your ear, the screen lighting up. Your eyes squinted to get used to the sudden stream of light, making out the numbers to be âFour AM. But we can FaceTime, alright?â You stirred a little, but the will to make yourself look presentable was lacking.Â
âNo.â He quickly stood his ground, and you could hear movement on the other line. âIâll be there in ten minutes. I know where the emergency key is hidden.âÂ
Then he hung up.
You stared at the screen in disbelief, believing firmly he was probably messing with you. Starting with the troubles and tribulations of your relationships, once built upon pure infatuation, now just consisting of jealousy and sex. He also had training in the wee hours of the morning, the risk too great to be taken.Â
Unbeknownst to you, heâd woken up from a wet dream, blushing like a prepubescent boy. The desire for your body watered his mouth as he rushed to pack a duffel bag with his clothes for training in less than a few hours. With a shrug, your arm outstretched to place the phone back on the nightstand and chase back the few minutes of sleep that were slipping through your fingers.Â
But at exactly four-thirty AM, you could hear a key jingling and twisting around the lock in the peculiar way that the doorknob to your place required in order to unlock successfully. You only raised your head at the noise, the door closing was followed by a thud and featherlight steps.
âI thought you were bluffing.â You tutted at the figure standing by your doorframe, Jude slowly making himself welcome in the room. Without saying much, he kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket before sneaking under the duvet with you. Youâd always found it funny, that such a tall, muscular man like him laid in between flowery bed sheets, frilled pink duvet, and stuffed animals.Â
âNever.â He finally responded, a strong arm wrapped around you as he cuddled up from behind, his lips planting a kiss on your shoulder. You snuggled back against him, goosebumps blossoming with the way he toyed with the hem of the large tee.Â
It was his shirt.Â
âNot when I knew you were laying like this in bed.â He hid his face in the crook of your neck. Feeling your heart thumping against your chest, the deafening sound filling up your ears. âI know you wear those skimpy panties because you think no one will see them. Do you know how much I torture myself with that information?â His voice was low, and raspy because of the slumber he must have awoken from at some point before the call.Â
âYou live in my mind rent-free, princess.â He pressed a kiss on the back of your neck, his hand inviting itself under the top. âI missed you so much.â His fingers traveled your torso painfully slow, the same way he displayed kisses down the length of your neck.Â
You didnât reply for what seemed an eternity. You thought about it profusely; you could be snappy, ask why the sudden urge when he hadnât been giving you the time of day for almost two months now. But you didnât have the energy to argue, instead finding comfort in the way he caressed you.Â
âYou shouldâve called earlier.â You breathed out, ignoring the way your skin prickled, and only nestled further in his arms with the pretense of getting comfortable. The groan that left his lips echoed in the cold air.Â
It was quick, the way he swiftly shifted his weight and placed you under him. Startled, your chest heaved against him, lips parted in surprise.Â
âBecause youâre always available for me, right?â Jude cooed, his hand gently reaching and squeezing your cheeks, before stroking your cheekbone. You felt small under his gaze, identifying a certain mocking tone in his voice. âMy sweet girlâŚâ His knees pried your legs open as his torso found its place between them, finally closing the gap between your lips. âI knew he couldnât please you like I do.âÂ
Your eyes widened significantly, eliciting a small laugh out of him. Heâd found himself enjoying the taunting, letting his hand caress your left thigh. It was enough distraction on the painful hard-on heâd had for around half an hour now. âYou think I donât keep tabs on you, lil mama?â He reached to flick on your bedside lamp. It became a habit; your expressions only tipped him over the edge further and motivated him to do the most to make you cum. Under the warm light, Jude noticed you were still visibly tired, but you were as gorgeous as any other day you applied makeup and had your hair done.Â
Leaning closer, his lips brushed yours, and heâd even pulled back when you tried to close the gap. He wanted to get you riled up, the same way youâd make him feel when his sources told him you were attempting something with some random guy. The way you huffed, hands reaching to pull him in, made Jude know it wasnât going to take long to reach his first checkpoint of the night.Â
âJudeâŚâ You complained, all those weeks away from him had started to weigh in. âI was jealous, okay? He could never make me feel like you do.â It was the little things; things Jude learned with time, with touch and experimenting. The hours youâd spent locked in a bedroom with one another had him learning the tips and tricks that ruined everyone else for you.Â
The desperation made his chest swell, your admission dissipated any of the pent-up jealousy, the need taking over every inch of his soul as his lips crashed into yours. An involuntary moan left your mouth, mixing with the heavy breaths, getting lost in the frenzied sync your lips took. You wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer.Â
Goosebumps formed at the trail his hand left down your leg, hand edging dangerously close to your warm core. You shivered under him at the ghost of his fingers over the thin layer of cloth, fingertips grazing the damp area lightly. You tried leaning in closer to the touch, trying to get someâ if anyâ tangible pleasure. But Jude just smirked between sloppy kisses.Â
In a swift movement, he tugged the light fabric aside, with such strength you could hear some seams breaking. âDamn, lil mama,â Jude breathed out, his index finger collecting a good amount of slick. He placed it in his mouth, humming at the taste. You were still wondering if this was a dream, if you were actually asleep and would wake up with your alarm in a few minutes.Â
âYou still get dripping wet from just kissing me.â It sounded more like praise than mockery, and you could tell he was proud⌠of himself. It riled you up, enough to lower your hand and cup his bulge with a smirk. âI could say the same.â
There was that defiance once more, but Jude seemed to be having none of that as he took your lips, hostage, in his again. You almost yelped, but once his hand slid downwards, you helped in undoing his pants. The same sentiment of need had spread over to you, tugging down your panties, both struggling to keep your lips in touch.Â
The desire was suffocating, Jude was unable to keep his hands off your body, pulling the shirt upwards but with no intention of removing it fully, too desperate to go through the whole process of getting bare and turned on by the fact you were wearing his memorabilia.Â
âCâmon mama, help me out here,â He panted, lining himself to your entrance. You wrapped your legs around his hips to give him a better angle, almost melting into the mattress with each inch that filled you up to the brim. âLook at me,â Jude complained, his voice coarse as he pushed you back against the bed, knowing you were inevitably going to hide your face in the crook of his neck once he moved his hips.Â
Jude watched intently the way your face contorted with every slow thrust he gave you; the parted lips, eyes struggling to stay focused on him, brows slightly furrowed. âYouâre the most beautiful thing Iâve ever seen,â Jude praised with his whole chest, cupping your cheeks with one hand and giving you yet another ferocious kiss.Â
Your moans found their place at the back of your throat, practically choking you as he slammed into you, tongues intertwining. It was bizarre; the groans and the peculiar sound of skin clashing mixed with the soft tweet of birds outside as the sunrays overshadowed the hard work the nightstand lamp was doing by lighting up the whole room. The world seemed to move around you, but time stood still every time he hit that particular spot, the one that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back.Â
âYouâre mine, you hear me?â Jude managed to groan in your ear, your flustered face hidden in the crook of his neck. âIâll always be your man.â The hand resting on your hip tightened its grip, and the way you arched your back to respond to the touch only sent him more shivers down his spine.Â
âJude,â You whined and moaned, almost like a plea. He only could smile gently and caress you, just before manhandling you into laying on your stomach, pulling your hips back to give him that perfect angle.Â
âThatâs itâ ohh, you fucking slut, arch your back,â He muttered, admiring his last name and number 5 on the tee before slamming back inside you. He subsequently took off his shirt so nothing could obstruct the recoil of your ass every time his lower abdomen came in contact with it.Â
âI-Iâm gonna cum, baby,â You whined against the pillow, his hands digging into the doughy skin of your hips as he fucked you right into the mattress with enough force to make the bed creak even louder than it did before.Â
âYouâve been amazing for me, do it,â And as if his praise wasnât approval enough, he leaned down, his hand across your abdomen and downwards to press two fingers against your throbbing clit, drawing circles around the numb.Â
That was it. The thing he knew how to do best: send you shivering and chanting his name for your neighbors to hear. He found it perfect also, as you squeezed his cock deliciously, making the rhythm of his hips sputter before he filled your pussy up to the brim.Â
Jude collapsed on top of you, feeling a big amount of melatonin rush back into his system. âI missed you too.â You muttered from under him, replying to what he said seemingly hours ago.Â
âHm, yeah?â He rolled off to your side, pulling his sweats up before drawing you to his chest straight away. âWe must do this more often, then.â He peered over your shoulder to check the time, turning off the lamp once again. âGreat. Weâve got one hour left.âÂ
âYouâre not leaving?â You tilted your head up. He never lacked in the aftercare department, but left as soon as it was prudent.Â
âNu-uh.â Jude yawned, his grip around you tightening. âLetâs snuggle up. And have a lunch date later.â He pressed a kiss against your forehead, brushing the lightly sweaty strands back. Â
You nodded, an arm across his chest. Now the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat combined with his hand massaging your scalp lulled you to sleep, not the tears youâd spilled because of him.Â
You were so glad you picked up the phone.Â
#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham x y/n#jude bellingham x you#jude bellingham smut#jude bellingham imagine#tbh not using the jude tag by itself since i donât want to clog it w more fics#football smut#football fic#đă
¤× đźâ˝ â writing !
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What Are We Doing Step Bro? - Chris Sturniolo
summary : after your steamy vacation, you and your step brother, chris, seemed to pretend nothing ever happened. that is, until you throw a party while your parents are away.
warnings : step sibling trope, spit kink, very slight breeding kink, choking, spanking, slight fingering, brief (f) oral, rough sex, etc
a/n : NOT INCEST SO GET OFF MY DICK AB THAT SHIT!!! they are not blood related in any way, so actually stfu thanks! this is also HIGHLY requested, so enjoy xx FYI i used taraâs pic bc thatâs the inspo for readers outfit
â
It has been a few weeks since the little family vacation in which you and Chris had crossed certain boundaries in a profoundly sensual way. Neither of you have addressed it at all. When you woke up the next day, you were both dressed and on opposite ends of the bed. When he awoke, he didnât say a thing about it. You assumed he was pretending it didnât happen, so you did the same.
Itâs been hard, actually. Knowing what heâs like in bed and how good he can pleasure you, has you thinking about it constantly. Though, youâve never been bold enough to do something about it. Maybe you were just supposed to forget the whole thing.
So, you try your hardest. However, you canât help the lingering glances on him any time heâs in your presence, the squeezing of your thighs when he brushes past you, the clenching of your core when he innocently touches you. Oh, how bad you want him to strip you of your clothes and make you tremble in euphoria.
Both of your parents are heading out the door, as they've planned a small getaway, kind of like a second honeymoon. Doing so, leaves you and Chris alone, once again.
The two of you had planned a party, and you're excited for it. Maybe you can finally get intoxicated and let loose, forgetting about the dooming fantasies you constantly have about your stepbrother.
Chris had arranged for the alcohol delivery, while you had sent out the memo. He had mentioned, earlier in the day, that the two of you should get the last-minute supplies you would need; solo cups, shot glasses, soda, and a variety of things to snack on.
You open your chapstick, twisting the wheel on the bottom to raise the stick of lubricant. As you apply the moisturizer to your plump lips, your bedroom door swings open. Upon looking up, you lock eyes with Chris who halts in place.
"Uh-" He starts, pausing as his eyes take in the sight of your lips rubbing the product in. "Are you ready to go?"
You hum, nodding your head as you slide your chapstick back in your purse. You stand up, slipping your feet into your slides, and pulling the strap of your purse over your shoulder. You look over at Chris, who hasn't taken his eyes off of you.
"What?" You quip, raising your eyebrow.
A slight smirk pulls to his lips as he looks you over, enjoying the way your shorts hug your plush thighs and the way your small baby tee shows off your perky tits.
"What kind of chapstick is that?" He asks.
Your eyebrows knit together, "Cherry."
He's suddenly standing directly in front of you, his eyes boring into your face. You can almost feel his breath on your skin.
"I bet it tastes good." He speaks, his voice slightly raspy and low in tone.
Before you can respond, he's flashing you a grin and turning around to make his way out. You stand there, watching his retreating figure, feeling butterflies swarm in your stomach at the simple interaction. If only you had the balls to act on your desires; he'd be under you as you bounce up and down on his cock.
You swallow the accumulating saliva in your mouth, and take a deep breath, following Chris out. Heâs already making his way out the front door, so you follow in suit.
The ride to the store is silent, aside from his quiet music playing from his playlist. You canât help the sneaky glances you throw his way, admiring the way he so effortlessly looks sexy. The way he manspreads in his seat, gripping the steering wheel with one hand. You find yourself clenching around nothing as your breathing gets a bit shallow.
To retain the last bit of dignity you have, you use everything in you to pull your eyes from him, forcing yourself to look out the window and watch the passing scenery.
Little do you know, Chris is struggling with the same thoughts as you. Every chance he gets, his eyes soak in the way you lick your lips, just imagining them wrapped around his cock. The way you shuffle in your seat makes him think about how you would move as you ride him. Your thick thighs rubbing together, he just wants to shove his face between them.
The two of you head into the store, Chris purposely behind you just to watch the way your ass jiggles as you walk. Every time you turn around to make sure heâs still following you, youâre met with a smirk from him. You bite back a smile and continue with the shopping, Chris following closely behind you.
After the two of you buy everything you need, you head back home to set it all up. Surprisingly, Chris is actually putting in effort and helping you with everything. You thought for sure you would have to do it all yourself.
âCan you hand me that remote?â He questions after putting the led lights up.
You grab the mini device and pass it to him, biting your inner cheek as his fingers grasp yours. You look up at him, only to find him already looking down at you.
âWhat?â You ask, your voice barely audible.
âYouâre just really pretty.â He shrugs as if itâs nothing.
Your heart practically skips a beat at his words, your stomach fluttering with butterflies. You know itâs wrong to even feel such a way with him, but you canât help it.
You turn away with a slight blush on your cheeks, willing yourself not to smile like an idiot. Still, Chris canât take his eyes off of you.
Everything about you drives him absolutely insane, and he just wants to have you again. But, despite his deep infatuation with you, he continuously shakes the never ending thoughts from his head, knowing itâs probably something he wonât be able to indulge in again.
While Chris makes sure the lights and surround sound are working, you walk through the house, making sure everything else is set up and in good condition. Everything valuable is tucked away, and furniture is moved out of the way for partygoers to maneuver with ease.
âWhere are you going?â He questions as you head down the hall.
âEverything looks good, so I have to get ready.â
Without another word, youâre shutting yourself in your room. You immediately go for your closet in search of an outfit to wear. After a few moments of pondering, you pull it out and lay it on your bed.
You strip from the clothes youâre currently wearing, replacing them with what you picked out. You sit down at your vanity, ready to start your makeup and hair.
As you continue getting ready, you can hear people coming in and the music playing loudly throughout the house. Itâs okay to be fashionably late to your own party. You want to take your time, making sure you look your absolute best. Maybe your plan is to tempt Chris, just so you can have him once again while your parents are away.
After finishing up, you stand in front of your mirror to observe your appearance. Satisfied, you leave your room to join the fun.
The lights are out around the house, glowing and flashing colors in place of them. The floor vibrates with the loud music, the atmosphere filling with it and chatter from everyone inside. Thereâs people piled on the makeshift dance floor, a few people occupying the sofa, and people scattered throughout the kitchen with drinks and snacks in hand.
You hate that your eyes are instantly searching for Chris. Tonight is supposed to be the night that you forget about him, but you canât help it. Your actions and words contradict themselves, putting you in the biggest dilemma with your mind and body.
Coming up short in finding your stepbrother, you head to the kitchen to get a drink. There, you come across a few of your friends.
âY/N!â Asia cheers, bringing the rest of their attention to you.
âHey, you guys made it.â You smile, the four of you reciprocating hugs.
âOf course we did.â Liz chimes in, âYou look absolutely killer by the way.â
You grin widely, giving them a twirl, âThank you!â
Ash pours you a drink, handing it to you with a smirk on his face, âWho you tryna look good for?â
You and the two girls laugh as you shake your head, âPleeease.â
The four of you continue drinking and chatting, catching up on things youâve missed. Unfortunately for you, your mind is still stuck on Chris. You have yet to see him and itâs a bit of a bummer, but youâre forcing your feelings down with alcohol.
Youâve lost count of how many drinks youâve had, simply enjoying the feeling of being intoxicated. Itâs been quite some time since you were able to have fun like this with your friends, so you do your best to forget about Chris.
âWanna dance?â Ash asks you, grabbing your hand.
You nod with a smile, letting him guide you to the crowd of dancers. Your relationship with him has always been different. Youâve never hooked up, and there arenât any feelings, but you both get close and flirty. Maybe this would be a good time to get Chrisâ attention.
Ash pulls you close, placing a hand on your back. You hold your cup in one hand, wrapping the other around his neck. You move sensually to the beat before turning around and placing your back against him. And as if the universe is working overtime, the second you do that, you lock eyes with Chris.
Heâs sitting on the couch with his legs spread and a cup in his hand. He looks absolutely delicious with his black jeans, white long sleeve shirt with a black short sleeve layered on top, and his camouflage beanie.
His face is expressionless as he watches you dance with another man. He yearns to take his spot, being the one to dance with you like that. Itâs torturous for him, not being able to be close with you in the way that he so desperately craves.
no matter what i do,
all i think about is you.
even when iâm with my boo,
boy, you know iâm crazy over you.
You sing the lyrics, mindlessly directing them at Chris as you hold each otherâs eyes. His gaze trails over your entire body, turned on by your revealing outfit, yet furious at the thought of other guys eye fucking you the way he is.
He shuffles in his seat, adjusting his jeans at the crotch, already feeling a hard on coming in. He hates how easily you get him going, especially knowing that he canât do anything about it.
Watching as Ashâs hands roam your body, Chris brings his cup to his mouth and downs the harsh contents. Itâs becoming unbearable for him to see you like this with someone else. Heâs growing more and more frustrated, itching to put a stop to it.
So he does.
He gets up, walking over towards you. Your eyes widen the slightest bit, your head tilting up to look at him as heâs not directly in front of you.
âBeat it. I need to talk to her, kid.â Chris says, directing his sentence at Ash.
Ash lightly scoffs, âCanât you do it when weâre done?â
âNo. Get lost.â
Reluctantly, he does as Chris says, leaving the two of you alone in the crowd of people. Chris nods his head to the hall, silently telling you to lead the way. You make your way down the vacant hallway, Chris hot on your tail.
Just as youâre about to say something, he pulls you into his room and shuts the door.
âWhat are you wearing?â He asks, leaving you appalled.
âWhat?â
He throws his hand up, gesturing towards your dress. âWhat is this?â
You furrow your brows, completely flabbergasted, âChris, what the fuck? Itâs very obviously a dress.â
âWhy are you acting dumb?â He questions, incredulously. âThe fuck are you wearing it for?â
You roll your eyes and lean against his dresser, only for him to follow you. âItâs a party, I can wear whatever I want.â
âNo you canât.â He bluntly states, only to receive a blank stare from you. âTake it off.â
You choke on your saliva, your cheeks immediately flushing, âWhat?â
âYou heard me.â He bites back, crossing his arms.
Despite your increasing heartbeat, you shake your head, âYou canât just say that.â
âWhy not? Sânot the first time.â He casually shrugs.
Your heart stings a bit at his words, and youâre suddenly reminded of what happened last time. How he pretended nothing ever did.
âExactly.â You mutter, looking away from him.
He feigns a pout, grasping your chin and turning your head back towards him. âAw, are you upset that we didnât wake up cuddling? That I didnât buy you flowers and ask you to be my girlfriend?â
You forcefully push his hand away, now extremely aggravated with his taunting. Obviously, you know thatâs entirely off the table. Thereâs not a single chance the two of you could work together, itâs simply unattainable.
âYou donât have to be a dick.â You tell him.
He smirks, âThen just let me give it to you.â
Your face heats up instantly at the thought, and even though you want it so bad, you feel as if you need to turn it down.
With a shake of your head, you simply decline, âNo.â
âOh, come on. I know how bad you want it. You think I donât hear you moaning my name in your sleep? When you shower?â
You flush with embarrassment, putting your head down in an attempt to hide your humiliation.
âKid, Iâm not tryna make fun of you.â He gently speaks, âMâjust saying you donât need to lie to yourself.â
âChrisââ
âShh.â He cuts you off, running his hand up your thigh. âJust let me make you feel good.â
Your breath catches in your throat as you feel his fingertips graze over the fabric of your underwear. Part of you wants to stop him, but an even bigger part of you never wants him to stop.
Guess which part wins.
You suddenly grab a handful of his shirt and yank him into you, your lips smashing together in a heated kiss. As cliche as it is, it feels like time has stopped the moment your lips meet. This is what both of you have been longing for since the last time you were like this.
Chrisâ hands instantly wrap around you, engulfing your ass in a tight squeeze, pulling a low moan from you that he swallows with his kiss. Your tongues sensually dance together, gliding all around each otherâs mouths.
Your hands run up his chest and around his head, pulling his beanie off and throwing it for access to his hair. Your fingers run through it, tugging at the strands, eliciting a groan from him.
The kiss is feverish and sloppy, showing how bad youâve both been craving one another. Chrisâ hands slide up your skirt, gripping your ass even tighter than before, pulling you impossibly closer to him. Youâre both frantic with your movements, desperate to feel each other.
You walk him backwards to the bed, your lips and hands never leaving him once. Suddenly, he pulls away, his mouth moving to your neck as he tilts your head.
âFuck, youâre so hot.â He groans against your skin, his breath sending shivers up your spine.
You whine at his words and the way his mouth skillfully works on your sensitive skin. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, holding him flush against you as he sucks and nips at your throat.
You tug him back by his hair, your hands instantly dropping to the hem of his shirt. He helps you in removing it before doing the same to you, leaving you both topless. He groans at the sight of your bare chest, your perky tits sitting pretty just for him.
He takes them and squeezes them in his palms, your hard nipples rubbing against the center of his hands. You softly moan at the sensation, your hands gripping his biceps. Your skin burns beneath his touch, your center throbbing with need as your arousal soaks your panties.
âBeen waiting forever for this.â He admits in a low voice.
Youâre breathless from his touch, âWhat took you so long?â
âWanted to see if you would cave first, but then I saw you dancing with that douchebag and I couldnât take it anymore.â
Your hands meet his belt, immediately undoing the buckle and pulling it from his jeans. He unbuttons his pants and kicks them off, leaving him in his boxers. Seeing his cock straining against the fabric, youâre eagerly dropping to your knees, only he stops you before you can get all the way down.
âNuh uh.â He shakes his head, pulling you back up. âGet on the bed.â
Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, but you oblige and crawl onto the bed, sitting on the back of your legs. Chris palms himself through his boxers as he watches you, licking his lips. He joins you on the bed, only behind you rather than in front of you like youâd thought.
You go to ask him what heâs doing, only he pushes your head down into the bed, arching your back as he pulls your ass up. Your heart thumps in your chest, your pussy clenching in anticipation.
He audibly groans at the sight of your skirt barely covering your ass, your wet panties on show. He reaches forward, pressing his thumb into the wet patch, eliciting a whimper from you.
âAlways so wet for me, hm?â He teases.
You whine into the sheets, pushing your ass back for more friction, only to receive a loud smack in return. Your body jolts from the feeling, a stinging sensation running along your skin, before being soothed by his hand rubbing it out. His hands move to the waistband of your skirt, tugging it down along with your underwear, tossing both aside.
âGod, youâre so perfect.â He whispers, admiring the way your pussy glistens from behind.
He brings his hand up to you, dragging it through your folds. You canât help but push back into him, eager for more. He tsks, spanking you once again, causing you to cry out in pain and pleasure.
âNever learn, do you?â He shakes his head, squeezing the plush skin. âBe patient, or youâre not getting shit.â
âMâsorry.â You whine, your hands fisting the sheets beneath you.
Suddenly, his mouth is on you, his tongue gliding between your wet folds. The sounds of your moans are muffled with your face buried in the bed. He continues to lap at your heat, shaking his head back and forth, his tongue repeatedly swiping over your clit. His mouth wraps around your bundle of nerves, sucking on it as he presses two fingers into your entrance.
âOh my g-god.â You cry, your legs instantly twitching.
âTaste so fucking good.â He groans as he pulls away, his fingers pumping in and out of you at an extremely fast pace.
Your entire body feels ablaze as itâs wracked with pleasure. It takes merely seconds for your thighs to quiver and your toes to curl as your pussy squelches, your juices squirting out of you.
âFuuuck.â You hear him mutter.
He pulls his hand away from you, taking his fingers in his mouth to clean them of your essence. Next, heâs grabbing the base of his cock and rubbing it in your folds to coat it in your arousal. He puts the tip at your entrance and slowly pushes forward, watching your pussy squeeze around him.
Both of you moan as he bottoms out, and he only gives you a split second to adjust to him in this new position, before heâs thrusting in and out of you. Your mouth parts, lewd moans falling from it as he pumps in and out of you in such a rough manner.
âChris.â You gasp, feeling him continuously hit your sweet spot.
His thrusts are quick and deep, your walls gripping him tightly as he shoves in and out. His hands are placed on your waist to keep you upright as he drills into you. The coil in your stomach is twisting and twisting, your face scrunched in pleasure as you take him. A continuous âah, ah, ahâ sound leaves your mouth with every stroke.
Chris bites his bottom lip, furrowing his brows in concentration as he tries not to bust right then and there. Just the sight of your pussy sucking him in is almost sending him over the edge.
His hand wraps around your hair, tugging you up into him. Your back meets his chest, your skin sticking together as he continues to fuck you. Your eyes are squeezed shut and your jaw is slack. Your baby hairs are slick against your forehead, and your face is flushed.
His hand pulls your mouth open a bit more, his face hovering over yours. Your eyes open just in time to see him spitting in your mouth, and you canât help but clench around his cock as you swallow.
âSo fucking sexy, baby.â He groans, his hand wrapping around your throat and squeezing.
Tears well up in your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure of him abusing your cervix. You fall back down, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Chrisâ thrusts grow faster and harder, you walls going rigid around his cock.
The tightening in your stomach grows stronger before it snaps, and youâre cumming around his dick with a loud strung out moan. The pressure in your stomach soon dissipates as Chris helps your ride out your high. His thrusts fall sloppy as his orgasm sneaks up on him.
âMâbout to cum. Where do you want it?â He moans out.
âInside.â You force out, clenching around him. âPlease fill me up.â
His hips sputter at your words, and he groans as his cock twitches inside of you. âYouâre so fucking nasty.â
He spews out a few curse words as he empties his load into you, painting your walls with his milky cum. He slowly pumps in and out of you a few more times, before pulling out altogether and falling beside you on the bed.
The two of you are left panting as you regather yourselves, knowing you have a house full of guests you need to tend to. You look over at him with a small grin, admiring the way his cheeks are flushed a rosy color, and the way his hair is sticking to his forehead.
Before sitting up, you lean over and hungrily kiss him as if you canât get enough. You canât. He moans into your mouth, before reluctantly pushing you away.
âLetâs get back out there before I fuck you again.â He forces out in a breath.
You sigh, nonetheless standing to redress yourself. Youâll have to clean up later. You both start putting your clothes back on. Then, heâs at the door waiting for you while youâre still looking for your panties.
âChris! Whereâs my underwear?â You ask.
âHell if I know.â He shrugs, âHurry up, weâve been gone long enough.â
âWhose fault is that?â You retort as you look in the mirror, making sure you look presentable.
He smirks, smacking your ass as you walk out the door, âYours for being so damn fine.â
You chuckle, shaking your head as you swat his hand away. The moment you both enter the living room, youâre parting from each other in order to look casual as if he wasnât just balls deep in you.
You search for your friends, finding them talking to each other against the counter.
âY/N, where have you been? Iâve been searching everywhere for you?â
Before you can even think to come up with something, Ash is pulling you aside, âAre you okay, have you been crying?â
Your face heats up at that, clearing your throat, âNo, yeah, Iâm fine.â
He stares suspiciously at you for a moment before nodding. He goes to lead you back to the group and, only then, do you notice how drunk he is from the way heâs stumbling.
âAsh, what the fuck?â You mumble.
âYeah,â Asia begins, âHeâs had a lot to drink. Speaking of, um, youâre out of vodka now.â
Your eyes widen at that information. Before you can say anything, Chris has his arm around Ash, helping him stand up.
âHere, come on. Letâs get you some fresh air.â He says, guiding him to the front door.
You furrow your eyebrows as you watch him, before ultimately turning back to your friends to see what theyâve been up to.
Chris stops Ash at the door, turning him back to see you guys. He pats him on the back, before pointing over at you, âSee your little friend over there? Yeah, Y/N. Wanna know something funny? That entire time you were talking to her, my kids were dripping down her thighs.â
Ashâs head snaps over to Chris, his eyes wide, âWhat?!â
âYep. Shouldâve seen her, begging me to fill her up.â Chris grins, taunting the guy.
âYouâre not serious.â
Chris smirks, digging in his pocket. He pulls out your black lacy panties, dangling them in front of Ashâs face. Only then do you look back over them, and your jaw drops as the two look from your panties over to you, Chris with a sinister look in his eyes, Ash with eyes wide as saucers.
âOh my fucking god.â
â
a/n : matt series nextttt!!
taglist : @luv4kozume @worldlxvlys @flowerxbunnie @sturniolowhore @creamoncreamoncream2 @lvrsparadise @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @tillies33ssss @chrissfavwh3re @its-jennarose @sophssturn @defnotayonna @ksskianshd @d0wnbad4chris @braindead4l @avasturn @knowingnothingnoel @luverboychris @remussbitch @stunza @rootbeerworshiper @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @strnlsblog @keira324 @domaniquessidehoe @mattslolita @junnniiieee07 @pepsienthusiasts @gamermattsgf @cupidsword @iloveneilperry @leprechaunbirthdaygirl @luul223 @matt444nixi @sturniololol @evieolo @dlyansworld @luv2matt @nmegamett20
#lustfulslxt#joss speaks#sturniolo triplets#sturniolos#the sturniolos#chris sturniolo#imagine#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo smut#step bro chris#christopher sturniolo x you#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo x reader#step siblings
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the crush theory.
pairing:Â lorenzo berkshire x reader.
song inspiration:Â london boy by taylor swift.
authorâs note: this is just a cute indulgent coffee shop! au with my sweetheart enzo. majorly inspired by all the boyfriend vibes louis has been serving with miss olivia lately. letâs not even talk about the ass grab with his big hands and ringsâŚđŤŁ
Enzo Berkshire never quite managed to master the language of love.Â
Despite being a polyglot and a linguistics major, romance remained a complete mystery to him. It wasn't like he could craft a conjugation chart to help him not make a fool of himself in front of the girl of his dreams. When it came to matters of the heart, Enzo often found himself at a loss for words. Perhaps that was the reason why he never mustered up the courage to speak to you.Â
Until that one fateful fall morning.Â
The kiss of autumn arrived on campus a few weeks into the semester, freeing the city from the grips of the summer heat and bringing with it the changing of leaves and the distinct scent of cinnamon and apples. Enzo shoved his hands into the pockets of his burnt orange corduroy trousers and savored the sound of the jewel toned leaves crunching underneath his loafers. As the wind picked up, he wrapped his chunky knit cardigan tighter around himself to shield against the chilly breeze.Â
The ivy covered brick buildings and cobblestone streets faded into the background as he walked past the quad. Deja Brew, the little hole in the wall cafe that Enzo frequented, greeted him like an old friend. The coffee shop was located on the outskirts of campus and was only a short walk from his dorm, which made it the ideal place to conduct his tutoring sessions. Not only was it convenient, but the cozy and quiet ambience provided the perfect setting for Enzo to teach his fellow struggling students.Â
As time went on, the choice of location became less about convenience and more about catching a glimpse of youâthe surly barista that worked the morning shift. For the past few months, Enzo developed a rather embarrassing crush on you. There was something about your scowl and no bullshit attitude that drew him to you like a moth to a flame. Though in his case, Enzo was perfectly content to hover a safe distance from the proverbial light of your fancy French cigarette lest he get burned.Â
Upon first glance, anyone would have been intimidated by you. With your faded band tees, ripped jeans, and scuffed leather boots, Enzo was well aware that a girl like you would never be interested in a bloke who's wardrobe consisted of sweaters with elbow patches, floral print button downs, and neatly pressed pleated trousers. Needless to say, you were way too cool for him.Â
Enzo was resigned to merely admiring you from afar, but fate seemed to have other ideas. The bell above the door tinkled softly as he made his way into Deja Brew only to stop dead in his tracks when he spotted you at the register. Usually, you were behind the bar manning the espresso machine during the early morning rush, but not today.
Today, you were front and center.Â
Part of him considered walking out the door, but given the fact that the shop was nearly empty, a hasty exit would definitely not go unnoticed. Enzo had no choice but to suck it up and approach the register with resignation. The minute he opened his mouth, he was sure heâd muck things up.Â
Enzo swallowed thickly and pushed his round framed glasses further up the bridge of his nose; a nervous habit he developed when he was younger. The erratic beat of his heart echoed in Enzoâs ears as his gaze flickered up to your face, expecting to be greeted with a frown. To his surprise, your lips curved into a small smile once you spotted him.Â
âLemon balm tea with two pumps of peach syrup and a dollop of honey, right?âÂ
Enzo blinked at the melodious sound of your voice, nearly missing the fact that youâd recited his exact order, which shouldnât have been surprising given the fact that youâve been making it for him for months. Still, he couldnât help but feel a little warm inside as you looked at him expectantly. He stared in stunned silence for a moment.Â
You furrowed your brow in doubt. âDid I get that wrong?âÂ
âNo, no, itâs right. Itâs great. Itâs perfectââ Enzo cleared his throat, mentally kicking himself for rambling. âIâm just surprised that you remembered it.âÂ
âOf course I remember it, youâre one of my regulars. Iâd be a pretty shit barista if I forgot your order.â You cocked your head, tapping your lips thoughtfully. âSpeaking of which, do you want your croissant warmed up, Lorenzo?âÂ
âYou know my name?âÂ
Enzo hadnât meant to sound so starstruck, but hearing his name come out of your mouth made his heart skip a beat.
âAnd your social security number too,â you deadpanned. Enzoâs eyes widened, which made you chuckle. âIâm just having a laugh. I promise I wonât commit identity theft against you. Unless you piss me off.âÂ
You accompanied the statement with a cheeky wink, which only made Enzo even more nervous.Â
"Don't look so nervous, peach. I swear I don't bite."
âRight. Sure. Of course,â he stammered. âThe tea and the croissant sounds good, Y/N.â The realization that youâve never told him your name came a beat too late. âItâs on your chest. The name tag, I mean. I wasnât just staring at your chest. Though Iâm sure itâs very nice. Bloody hell, Iâll stop talking now.âÂ
Enzo cringed at himself, but eased when you laughed. âYouâre a strange bloke, Lorenzo.â You said as you began making his drink. âBut Iâve got to admit, itâs oddly charming.âÂ
He chuckled, trying to hide the flush coloring his cheeks. âThat seems to be my sweet spot.âÂ
"As sweet as peaches," you retorted as you added two pumps of peach syrup into his tea. "You'll have to excuse the fruit references. Before I knew your name, I referred to you solely as the peach guy."
"Is that good or bad?"
Enzo hiked his backpack over his shoulder and meandered down the end of the counter where you were topping off his tea with a dollop of honey. You swirled it into a heart pattern before sliding the warm cup into a sleeve.Â
"Well, I've never met anyone who's preferred drink could constitute as a dessert, so it's certainly something. You're an enigma, Lorenzo," you said thoughtfully. "Though I think I like peach better. You don't really strike me as a Lorenzo."
âYou can call me Enzo. I prefer it over my full name. It sounds so stuffy.âÂ
âWe certainly canât have that,â you said with a smirk. âEnzo. I like it. Itâs rather becoming. Not stuffy at all.â He chuckled as you handed him a brown bag. "I might still call you peach from time to time. Force of habit. You understand, right?"
"Of course," Enzo replied. "El loro viejo no aprende a hablar."
"You kiss your mum with that mouth, peach?"
Enzo flushed. "It's Spanish for the old parrot does not learn to talk. Basically their equivalent of you can't teach an old dog new tricks." He shifted his weight onto his other foot. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't mind if you call me peach or Enzo or whatever else you'd like."
"You're giving me way too much freedom, Enzo. I intend on taking full advantage." You winked as you slid his drink over to him. âEnjoy your croissant. I put a little something extra in there for you.âÂ
Enzo peered into the bag and saw an extra pastry wrapped in black cellophane next to his croissant. The brownie didnât look like any of the ones behind the counter, which meant that it was probably homemade. Strange, he wouldnât have pegged you for a baker.Â
âOh, you really donât have toââÂ
âNonsense,â you countered, waving off his protests. âReally, youâd be doing me a favor. Itâs an experimental recipe of mine, which makes you my guinea pig. As payment, I expect a full report on the brownie tomorrow morning. Donât hold back either, peach. I want a brutally honest review.â
âIâm sure itâll be great,â Enzo said in reassurance. âIn any case, your guinea pig will take ample notes.âÂ
âThat would be much appreciated,â you said with a serious nod. âIâll see you tomorrow, Enzo-not-Lorenzo.â
Enzo couldnât help but grin. âIâll see you tomorrow, Y/N.âÂ
Enzo rubbed his temples, willing the headache forming behind his eyes to vanish. Unfortunately for him, his last tutoring session with Flint seemed to have left a permanent mark. While Enzo usually enjoyed teaching French, Marcus was proving to be a rather difficult case. Not only was Flint unwilling to do the work, the knobhead also spent the entire session leering at you instead of studying the conjugation chart that Enzo poured his blood, sweat, and tears on.Â
âMerlin, I have no idea how you deal with rich, smarmy arseholes all day.âÂ
Enzo looked up to find you seated across the table, sliding a sandwich, a fruit cup, and a bag of crisps towards him without missing a beat. He hadnât even realized it was already an hour past lunch until his stomach grumbled at the sight of food.
âOne could argue that Iâm also a rich, smarmy arsehole,â Enzo countered, picking up a grape and popping it into his mouth with a slight smile. âYet you seem to have no problems dealing with me.âÂ
âYes, well, everyone knows Iâm just using you for your body. Specifically, your taste buds.â Enzo shook his head in amusement before taking a bite out of the sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly, his favorite. âBesides, how else am I supposed to learn new insults in different languages if I hadnât met you? Speaking of which, I believe Iâm completely justified in saying that Flint is a total gehirnverweigerer.â
âMarcus isnât so bad. He just needs a bit of a push,â Enzo replied rather unconvincingly.Â
âIf by a push you mean my boot against his arse, then I wholeheartedly agree.âÂ
âThe French have this saying, petit Ă petit, lâoiseau fait son nid. In English, it roughly translates to: little by little, the bird builds its nest.âÂ
âExcept Flint isnât a bird, heâs a twat,â you deadpanned. âThe bloke was too busy staring at my arse to even pick up a lick of French. To think, you even made this cute little chart and everything. You have the patience of a saint, Enz.âÂ
âOne of us has to,â Enzo replied as he tore open the bag of wotsits. âGiven your proclivity to violence.âÂ
âDonât make me take your crisps away, Lorenzo.âÂ
Shielding his wotsits from your vengeful wrath, Enzo flashed you a saccharine smile. For good measure, he even batted his pretty honey eyes at you. The audacity. âHave I ever told you that youâre my favorite person in the whole entire world?âÂ
You rolled your eyes fondly. âFlattery will get you everywhere, Berkshire. Now finish your lunch or else Iâll be very cross with you.âÂ
Enzo smiled to himself, wondering at the fact you were complete strangers until a few weeks ago. Ever since you gifted him with the best brownie heâs ever tasted in his entire life, he became your designated taste tester. Every morning, Enzo would start his day off with his usual lemon tea and whatever new pastry recipe you had chosen to tackle that week. Between the scones and muffins, Enzo learned that you intended on opening your own bakery after uni. Hence, his very important role of reviewing your recipes.Â
Granted, Enzo didnât know how much of a help he actually was given the fact that he thought everything you made was amazing. Still, the novelty of finding a fresh pastry in his bag with a handwritten note from you never failed to brighten his morning. Especially since you signed each one with a crimson kiss print that made him blush every time he laid his eyes upon it. It was safe to say his crush had only gotten worse the more he got to know you.Â
As you settled behind the counter to help with the afternoon rush, Enzo attempted to get some work done before classes started for the day. With finals fast approaching, he was caught up on making sure he had everything in order. It wasnât until Enzo heard a familiar voice when he finally tore his gaze away from his laptop screen.Â
Enzo froze as he watched one of his best mates saunter up to the counter. Even from his seat by the window, he could tell that Mattheo was flirting with you. In hindsight, his friend seemed exactly like the type of guy you would go for. The broody bad boy who probably listened to all the obscure bands that you often talked to him about. As Mattheo directed his smoldering gaze at you, Enzo thought he might be violently ill.Â
Squinting across the coffee shop, Enzo angrily shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers in an attempt to keep himself from strangling his curly headed friend.Â
In a tone that was at least an octave deeper than his regular voice, Mattheo drawled a question at you. âWhatâs good here?âÂ
You stared at him pointedly before waving a hand towards the menu. âThereâs coffee, thereâs pastries. Itâs really not rocket science.â
The deadpan delivery combined with the utterly unenthused expression on your face nearly made Enzo snort out loud. It mightâve been an arsehole move to rejoice at Mattheoâs fumble, but he found it immensely satisfying that you seemed to be immune to the infamous Riddle charm.Â
âA bit feisty today arenât we, love? I just wanted to see what the pretty lady behind the counter recommends.âÂ
Enzo watched in amusement as you slipped on your signature scowl, the one that made him fall for you in the first place. âThe pretty lady recommends that you stop holding up the line so she can get to the other customers who actually know what they want.âÂ
Hiding his smirk, Enzo feigned surprise as a dejected Mattheo plopped down across from him. âMerlin, that was brutal. Is the barista always this mean? I complimented her pins and she stared at me like Iâd grown an extra head.âÂ
âY/N isnât really a people person,â Enzo supplied.Â
âNo shit, Berkshire.â Mattheo tapped his fingers on the counter. âLetâs just get to class before I embarrass myself any further.â
âThatâs probably for the best,â replied Enzo.Â
Ignoring Mattheoâs glare, Enzo packed up his laptop and put his tray away. He followed his mate through the throng of people, which had thinned out once more. They were a few steps away from the door when you called out his name. With a raised brow, you held out a pink box. Enzo smiled sheepishly in return. He couldnât believe heâd almost forgotten the dessert of the day.Â
âOne lemon berry scone. Less tart, per your critique last week.â He took the box from your hands, blushing furiously when your fingers brushed against his. âHave a good class, peach.âÂ
âThanks, Y/N. Iâll have your full report ready tomorrow.âÂ
âYou better.â Enzo nearly dropped the box when you winked at him. âLater, Berkshire.âÂ
Smiling to himself, Enzo came face to face with a gaping Mattheo. âFor Salazarâs sake, itâs like I donât even exist.â He muttered before breaking out into a grin. âNo wonder my moves had no effect. Mate, she obviously fancies you.âÂ
Enzoâs cheeks immediately heated as he pushed out into the quad. âWhat? No. Y/N and I are just really good friends.âÂ
âNow I understand why you come here so often,â Mattheo remarked. âIf the mean hot barista plied me with baked goods and called me peach, Iâd be coming here every day.âÂ
âIt's an inside joke about my drink order..." Enzo tried to explain. "The point is, Y/N isnât mean. Sheâs actually really nice.âÂ
âYeah, because she likes you.âÂ
âNo, she doesnât.â
âDoes too.â Mattheo countered. âWhy else would she bake you a scone?âÂ
âShe wants to own a bakery someday. Obviously, that means she needs someone to test her recipes out on,â Enzo explained. âItâs how we became friends.âÂ
âRight,â Mattheo said with a shit eating grin. âFriends.âÂ
Enzo rolled his eyes. âCan we just please get to class?âÂ
âWhatever you say, peach.âÂ
âI have a theory,â Mattheo announced.Â
Enzo sighed, rubbing his eyes. âNot this again, mate.âÂ
The rest of their friends perked up, abandoning their laptop screens and textbooks in favor of the newest piece of gossip. The little corner of the library that their group had claimed was fairly quiet, which was supposed to be optimal for revising, but Mattheo couldnât seem to let his conspiracy theory go. He'd been badgering Enzo about it for a week.
âBerkshire here refuses to believe me, but I have it on good authority that Y/N has a crush on him.Â
âY/N,â Theo started, âYou mean his mean barista friend? Sheâs proper fit.âÂ
âDonât call her fit,â Enzo replied rather defensively.Â
âA little touchy there, Berkshire.â Regulus said with a chuckle. âIs that jealousy I sense?âÂ
âFor the millionth time, Y/N and I are just friends.âÂ
âIs that the same friend that makes all those tasty pastries for you?â Draco asked with a raised brow. âIâve seen the cute little notes she leaves for you posted all around your dorm. With the adorable kiss prints and hearts. Seems to me like Mattheoâs right. Y/Nâs sweet on you, cousin.âÂ
âDo me a favour and stop being a snooping twat, cousin.â Enzo retorted with a frown. âY/Nâs just being nice. Itâs what friends do.â
âNone of my mates have ever gone out of their way to bake me a bloody thing,â Blaise declared in feigned offense as he wrapped an arm around Pansy.Â
âYes, well, none of your mates even know where the oven is located, let alone how to operate it,â replied his girlfriend. Pansy smiled at Enzo. âBesides, I think their friendship is sweet.âÂ
âThanks, Pans.âÂ
âSo you donât fancy Y/N?â Theo asked. Enzo opened his mouth then closed it. He was well aware that his friend was baiting him, but he refused to fall into Theoâs trap.Â
âLike I said, weâre friends.âÂ
âIn that case, you wouldnât mind if I asked for her number, right?âÂ
As a matter of fact, Enzo did fucking mind. He minded very much. Too much, probably. But he couldnât very well say that out loud. Instead, he masked his scowl and returned his attention to revising.Â
âKnock yourself out, mate.âÂ
Theo smirked. âAlright then, letâs go.âÂ
âGo where?â Enzo asked disinterestedly, flipping through his study sheet for Latin.Â
âTo Deja Brew,â Theo replied smugly. âWe all need a study break, anyways.âÂ
âYou want to go there? Right now?â With each question, Enzoâs death grip tightened on his notes. âTo ask for Y/Nâs number?âÂ
âThat shouldnât be a problem, right? In fact, maybe you could introduce us.âÂ
Enzo would rather walk on hot coals. âI think I'll pass. I've already seen her turn Mattheo down and that was brutal enough as it is. I donât need an encore.â
âRiddleâs probably not her type.âÂ
Mattheo frowned, crossing his arms. âIâm everyoneâs type.âÂ
Theo chuckled. âApparently not hers. Perhaps sheâd prefer a handsome Italian, no?âÂ
Mattheo rolled his eyes. âIn your dreams, Nott.âÂ
âNow Iâm intrigued,â exclaimed Blaise. âIâd never miss an opportunity to witness Theodore get humbled. Are you sure youâre ready for a woman like Y/N, Nott?âÂ
âPlease,â Theo scoffed. âI was born ready.âÂ
Against his will, Enzo found himself at Deja Brew ten minutes later. In his usual corner by the window, he brooded like a petulant child. This was a horrible, terrible, and idiotic idea. All he wanted to do was revise and now his study session had been hijacked just so he could watch Theo flirt with the girl he fancied.Â
âYou know, you can put a stop to this any time youâd like,â Mattheo said in a sing-songy voice. âJust admit that my theory is right. Y/N has a crush on you and Iâm willing to bet that the feeling is mutual. Isnât it, Berkshire?âÂ
Enzo crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. Instead of giving into Mattheoâs childish pursuits, he opened his laptop and pretended to be immersed with Russian translations.Â
âHave it your way, Enzo.â Regulus declared, nodding towards the register. âNottâs about to give us a show.âÂ
As irritated as he was with his friends, Enzo couldnât tear his gaze away. Theo marched up to the counter with swagger and confidence, slipping on his signature smirk. You looked up from your phone screen, giving the tall and lanky boy a sweeping gaze. The unenthused expression on your face screamed that you werenât at all impressed.
âY/N, is it?â Theo drawled, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron. âA pretty name for a pretty lady.âÂ
âThanks,â you deadpanned. âMy parents gave it to me. Now what can I get started for you?âÂ
âArenât you going to ask me for my name?âÂ
âI know who you are,â you replied dismissively. âOne of Enzoâs friends, right? I heard about your little stunt in the fountain. You know, Decemberâs not really a smart time to go skinny dipping.â Theo flushed as your eyes trailed down to his crotch. âCertain parts shrivel in the cold, Nott.âÂ
âI assure you, my parts were perfectly intact.âÂ
âThatâs not what Katie Bell said,â you countered, tapping your lips thoughtfully. âI believe I heard something about shrinkage.â Theo opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. âIâll tell you what, Theodore. Why donât I fix you up a cappuccino? Itâll help keep you and your parts warm and cozy.âÂ
Enzo bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter. The rest of his friends snickered as they watched a dejected Theo return to the table.Â
Regulus snorted as he sat back down in defeat. âMerlin, that was hard to watch. Absolutely brutal, really.âÂ
Theo glared at Regulus in response. âIâd like to see you do better, Black.âÂ
Regulus winked. âWatch and learn, boys.âÂ
The older boy had about as much luck as Theo. Though the attempts had put him in a foul mood at first, Enzo was absolutely elated as he watched you turn down his friends. Regulus received an eye roll while Draco reeled from the head to toe once-over that humbled the absolute hell out of him.Â
âItâs useless,â his cousin mumbled. âShe hates everyone.âÂ
âOr maybe Y/N just doesnât appreciate random blokes chatting her up while sheâs trying to do her job,â Pansy said with an eye roll.Â
âOh bloody hell, here she comes.â Regulus muttered under his breath. âI donât think my ego can take another hit.âÂ
The boys cowered as you came closer, but you didnât pay them any mind. Instead, you set a fresh mug of tea and a lemon scone down in front of Enzo.Â
âLast one, I promise. Itâs finally perfect this time.âÂ
âYou said that the last three times,â Enzo said with a chuckle. âThey were all brilliant, by the way. Not that you listen to my well crafted reviews.âÂ
âYou say that about everything I make, Enz. Honestly, a girl bakes you a couple of treats and suddenly Iâm the best thing since sliced bread.âÂ
âIâm just being honest,â he replied with a shrug. âYou couldnât bake a single bad pastry if you tried.âÂ
âIâd like to try a pastry,â Mattheo interjected.Â
You tore your attention away from Enzo. The smile that you reserved for him transformed into a scowl, your entire body language turning stern. âIâm sorry. Who are you again?âÂ
âRiddle,â Mattheo supplied. âMattheo Riddle.âÂ
âRight,â you said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. âMy pastries arenât for sale. Youâre more than welcome to try the day-old brownie behind the counter though. If you can manage to chew through it.âÂ
Mattheo sputtered, but you paid no mind to his aghast expression. Enzo fought the urge to kiss you right then and there.Â
âClosing again tonight?â he asked, ignoring the blatant stares from the rest of his friends.Â
âUnfortunately. Diggory bailed again. Probably too busy snogging Cho to come in for his shift,â you said with an eye roll.Â
âLeave those lovebirds alone,â Enzo quipped back. âTheyâre in their honeymoon phase.âÂ
âI canât for the life of me understand how they arenât sick of each other by now.âÂ
âThatâs because youâre a mean old grump.â You glared at him, which only made Enzo smile. âLuckily for you, that doesnât deter me. Iâll come keep you company if you want. I promise to be way more entertaining than Cedric.âÂ
âItâs not a hard task to accomplish, but Iâll take you up on it nonetheless.âÂ
âI thought you might say that,â he said with a small smile. âIâll meet you back here after my last class. Pad Thai tonight?âÂ
You nodded and grinned back. âThis is why youâre my favorite, peach.âÂ
The boys gaped as you ruffled his hair in parting. They waited until you were out of earshot before launching into a tirade.Â
âWhat the bloody hell was that?â
âJust friends my arse.â
âI canât believe she actually smiled at you!âÂ
âItâs strange how treating Y/N like an actual human being instead of pestering her while sheâs trying to work yields such positive results,â Pansy retorted. âI think you all need to start following Enzoâs example. Clearly heâs had more success than you lot.âÂ
Blaise patted Enzo on the back. âMate, you might be the most oblivious bloke in all of Britain, but youâd have to be an absolute knobhead not to see whatâs right in front of you.âÂ
He hummed in response, glancing up at the exact same time that your gaze met his from across the room. You winked, making him blush furiously. Merlin, you were pretty. It was honestly unfair. Maybe Zabini was onto something.
When it came to you, even Enzo had to agree that he was a total and absolute knobhead.
Later that night, Enzo helped you clear the plates and mugs as the last customers trickled out of Deja Brew. The soft sounds of your perfectly curated playlist trickled over the speakers as you flipped the sign to closed. He watched with a small smile as you hopped up onto the counter and beckoned him over. The fairy lights twinkled above the ceiling, illuminating your smile as Enzo took his place next to you.Â
The sight of you grinning up at him tugged at his heartstrings. There were coffee stains on your jeans and apron, your thick hair was falling out of its braid, and a cold bowl of Pad Thai awaited in your lap and yet heâd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.Â
âArenât you glad Cedric bailed?â Enzo teased, knocking his shoulder with yours. âNow you get to enjoy cold noodles with your favorite person.âÂ
You chuckled, nudging him back. âI suppose this is nicer than listening to Diggory ramble on about Quidditch. Itâs always bludger this, bludger that. I honestly considered bludgeoning him myself.âÂ
âTo be fair, the man could merely breathe and youâd still find a way to be annoyed by it.âÂ
âNo one needs to inhale that much oxygen.â
âI rest my case, you mean old grump.âÂ
You rolled your eyes affectionately. âYou know, if anyone else called me that Iâd poke their eye out with a fork.â Enzo chuckled as you stabbed into your bowl of noodles. âBesides, I have every right to be grumpy. Itâs been a long day. Thanks to your incessant little friends.âÂ
âIâm sorry about the guys,â he said earnestly. âI tried to talk them out of flirting with you, but theyâve got this crazy theory.âÂ
âOh?â You asked, raising a brow. âWhatâs the theory, then?âÂ
Enzo flushed, avoiding your gaze. âThey uhâŚâ He cleared his throat and stared at his shoes. âThey think you fancy me.âÂ
âHmm,â you hummed thoughtfully. âMaybe theyâre not idiots after all. Your friends are right. I do fancy you.âÂ
White noise rushed through his ears. Enzoâs mouth fell open as he met your gaze. Surely, he hadnât heard you correctly.Â
âYou alright there, peach?âÂ
âYouâŚâ Enzo trailed off, his voice tinged with disbelief. âYou like me?âÂ
You chuckled. âI have for a bit. Thanks for finally noticing.âÂ
âHow?â Enzo muttered. âWhat?â He cocked his head, trying to search for the proper words. âWhy?âÂ
At the moment, it appeared that one syllable words were the full extent of his vocabulary. All those languages in his head and yet he couldnât form a single coherent sentence.Â
âEnz, I know your drink order by heart,â you explained softly. âI make you cupcakes and muffins. I write you notes every day. I thought I made myself pretty obvious.âÂ
âGods,â he breathed, silently reprimanding himself. âI really am the most oblivious bloke in Britain.â Enzo licked his lips, turning over to look at you. âI just thought you were being nice.âÂ
âLorenzo, when have I ever been nice to anyone?âÂ
âI am a bloody idiot.âÂ
âYou never made a move, so I just thought you didnât see me that way. Which is fine, by the way. I donât mind being friends.âÂ
Enzo turned so fast he nearly smacked into the register. âAre you kidding? Iâve had a crush on you for months. Youâre the best part of my day. Waking up and knowing that I get to see you every morning is the only thing that gets me out of bed.â
âWhy didnât you ever say anything?â
âBecause,â he stated matter-of-factly. âYouâre out of my league. Youâre smart and funny and not to mention way too cool. Honestly, I thought youâd go for someone like Mattheo or Theo or literally anyone else but me. Someone a little moreâŚâ he trailed off, waving a hand over you.Â
âScary?âÂ
âNo! Well, yes. Someone more confident and intimidating.âÂ
âBad boys arenât really my type.â
He scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. âTheyâre not?âÂ
âNo,â you said, setting down your food and turning over to face him. âMy type is a nerdy linguistics major who teaches me how to curse in six different languages and who makes cute little conjugation charts and orders drinks that should quite frankly classify as a dessert.âÂ
Enzoâs smile grew wider. "I like you too, you know. A lot. Like, embarrassingly so. With your grumpy little scowl and all black wardrobe and dry humor. I like all of it."
You beamed as Enzo leaned closer, tracing your lips like he was trying to commit the curves of your smile to his memory. His heart pounded in his chest as your eyes flickered up to meet his.
"Then kiss me like you mean it, Enzo."
Despite your confidence, the air left your lungs as soon as Enzo cradled your face in his hands. The twinkling lights made his brown eyes shimmer like pools of honey in the dark. The tension stretched between you as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours ever so gently. They briefly closed around yoursâtasting, testing, taunting. Then the dam broke free.
Enzo pressed you closer and kissed you like his life depended on it. You smiled against his lips, melting into his touch as he tilted your head back for more. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as Enzo sighed into your mouth, his lips molding perfectly against yours. The once shy and experimental kisses turned needy and passionate, making you feel slightly lightheaded. Enzo savored your soft sighs, kissing you over and over again to elicit more.
It wasn't until you felt like the air had been depleted from your lungs when he finally relented. He pressed his forehead against yours, noses brushing as you both grinned at each other. It felt right to be this close. It felt like you were made to do this all along. Enzo brushed his thumb over your cheek, looking dazed as he pulled back to look at you.Â
âItâs about time, Berkshire.âÂ
âHey,â Enzo grumbled, pecking at your lips. âYou canât blame me. I couldnât even look at you without blushing and making a fool of myself. Youâre so intimidating.âÂ
âNot so scary now, am I?âÂ
âOh no, Iâm still terrified of you. But Iâve also seen you cry during the Notebook, so I know that deep down inside, youâre just a big softie.âÂ
You started to protest, but Enzo just leaned in and kissed you again. With his lips pressed against yours, you couldnât even remember what you were about to say. As he pulled you into his lap, you heard cheers coming from outside. Behind the glass window, his friends were cheering and wolf-whistling rather obnoxiously on the street.Â
Enzo responded by flicking them off and kissing you even harder, pressing your bodies together as you giggled. He hauled you to your feet, his arms circling around your waist as he dipped you for a better angle. Your back hit the counter as you raised to your tiptoes, winding your arms around his neck and mussing up his hair as you arched for more. The hollering only grew more incessant when Enzo grabbed your ass and squeezed. The groan that escaped from his mouth made you dizzy with desire.
If one kiss could elicit such a response out of you, it was almost scary to think what else Enzo had in his arsenal. A cheeky little smile curved against his lips as though he knew exactly what you were thinking. You basked under the warmth of his gaze, feeling flushed and flustered. That pretty face had you entirely fooled. Enzo was far from innocent.
âGods, I really fucking fancy you.â
With a smile, you kissed the tip of his nose. âI really fucking fancy you too, peach.âÂ
Despite the many languages in Enzo's arsenal, no phrase or saying could convey how he felt better than his lips against yours. Maybe he hadn't quite mastered the language of love, but he had a feeling that you'd be more than willing to teach him.
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William was getting antsy in the airport, crossing his legs and kicking his feet anxiously as he awaited his flight. It had been nearly two months since he had last seen his long-distance boyfriend and the excitement was riling him up. William had been preparing for this trip for weeks now. Everything was packed, the shuttle from the airport coordinated. As soon as he landed he would quickly change from his plane pajamas to a fancier outfit to surprise his true love.
All of this made William bouncy with a child-like giddiness. The two had been lovers since their first year of college, but Williamâs boyfriend had made it clear early on that senior year he planned to study abroad. Even though this separation was planned and temporary, the young, romantic William had swooned since the day he left. He practically looked the part too, his average, lean build and mousy brown hair perfectly accompanying the lovelorn persona.
Doing his best to distract himself, William grabbed for his phone, surprised to find an unknown number trying to reach him. With nothing better to do, he decided to accept the call. William did not notice all the other men in the airport simultaneously reaching for their phones and answering the same number through their devices.
âMen!â a rugged, masculine voice exclaimed from the other end. âIt is our time to rise up to save our country!â
William was not prepared for this sudden call to action, but curious, he remained on the line. He did not realize his decision was already made for him.
âMen should be with women! Men need to become fathers again!â
Williamâs eyes glazed over at the strong words as the masculine voice continued to spout even more offensive remarks. It was jarring, aggravating to a point thatâŚaggravating to aâŚaggravating to his dick.
William let the manâs uproar of commands project on, unaware of the small boner that rose from his soft pants as insults were delivered at his masculinity. Each of the manâs statements were absorbed willingly into Williamâs innermost self, adjusting the poor boy to the expectations of a complete stranger. Williamâs height rose dramatically, a soft breeze tickling against his shins as his pants rode higher up. His thighs and calves began to fill the empty space as the pants became a starchy material, khakis functional either indoors or outdoors. His shoes too, once cheap sandals, grew larger into massive athletic sneakers that (thanks to his manly privilege) passed as "business casual."
âStraighten out those backs and puff those chests!â the voice urged, and William obliged. His muscles tightened beneath the worn-out tee, which was quickly thickening into a sporty-yet-still-professional polo echoing a more standardized hue. Williamâs chest, now supported by hard-earned bulk, began to cover itself with little hairs while his entire being broadened and squared. The changes crawled out from underneath the new shirt down his arms, leaving William with tanned, lightly dusted appendages and thick mitts begging for a game of catch on the front lawn. A single finger was graced with a simple silver band.
Williamâs manhood continually throbbed with the manâs words, pulsing larger with every new mandate ordered upon him. âYour role is to reproduce a spitting-image, not a spitting savage!â William felt himself agree, tightening the typical leather belt that had secured itself around his stronger base. His evolving cock protested the loss of freedom, now a machine for fertilization built for a purpose other than sheer pleasure. âYou are a man, so act like one!â
âI am a man!â William repeated, his vocal chords deepening with maturity and testosterone. His jaw squared out with manly aftershave, years brutishly piling onto his body to make him better prepared for fatherhood. William's hair flattened out into a neatly combed shape, a long-practiced art form that matched his weathered, experienced eyes.
âFamilies and jobs are the priority.â the man signed off. âFather our children, father our country!â
Bill placed the phone down, noticing his flight had just arrived. The 30-something-father watched as the passengers got off, noticing all the proud men with their families. The thought aroused his massive paternal schlong, quickly forcing him to spread his legs to make some room. Bill had just finished a week-long corporate retreat, talking business, the home life, and politics with the other like-minded men out on the greens. Now though, he was excited to get home to the wife and kids. So excited in fact that he had to hear his voice one last time.
âHey hun, boarding the plane now. Have dinner ready by the time I get home." Bill's command held the dominance and authority of natural masculinity. "Tell the kiddos I'll see them soon, love ya.â
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how to disappear
Summary:Â a reunion ten years in the making serves as a reminder that absence doesnât always make the heart grow fonder- especially when history has a tendency to repeat itselfÂ
Pairing: dick grayson x fem!vigilante!reader
Requested:Â no
Warning: nsfw!!! (18+ MDNI), porn with plot, lovers to enemies, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, choking, angst, minor barbara gordon slander (for the plot, I swear)- do not read if you are not comfortable with the warnings listed above!!!
Word Count:Â 12,874
masterlist
Light reflects off the crystals that hang from the chandeliers above, and like a moth drawn to a shiny flame, you bask in the warmth of their glow. For as beautiful as the crystalline teardrops twenty-two feet overhead are, they dull in comparison to the- equal parts blinding and mesmerizing, simultaneously gorgeous, yet gaudy- diamonds that dangle from earlobes, rubies that rest against dĂŠcolletages, and the pearls placed upon dainty fingers in an over the top display of money, power, and status. Itâs the epitome of wealth, and though meant to allure, you find yourself disgusted by the flashy exhibitions of greed and corruption.
Every smile is artificial. Every laugh is humorless and diluted. Any feeling beyond complete and utter misery is a hoax. Yet, they play their parts. Each and every one of them continues to mingle, boast, and feign genuineness, but itâs obvious what they are, even beneath their disguises, you recognize the vultures circling the fresh carnage of the innocent- with blood on their talons and a hunger thatâs never truly satiated. Do they even know what theyâve done? Do they even care? Given a chance to make amends, would any of them take it?
Revulsion counters amusement as you watch the elite interact with one another. Itâs pathetic. In a room full of affluence, not a single person knows pleasure beyond material possessions, and thatâs an injustice in itself. Amongst thieves, youâre the honesty that rivals them all- and thatâs a scary revelation, all things considered.
Taking advantage of the large crowd, you continue to bump elbows with the rich- literally- as you weave your way through the opulent mass. A tight-lipped smile is granted when you pass an older woman, and an even wider flash of teeth catches your attention from a man around your age. Mimicking the gestures seal your fate, damning you- even if only temporarily- to this game of confusion, a game in which approval and disgust are indiscernible. Having had years to grow accustomed to the tricks of this elitist trade, itâs almost impossible to recall a simpler time. Back when you still thought there might be a modicum of authenticity behind the action, back before you were close enough to spot the invisible strings controlling the marionettes, you believed- and even hoped- that you had it all wrong. There was a time, long, long ago, when you were desperate to believe that there was still some good left in these people, but you grew out of your naivety. Now older, and wiser, you wonât make the same mistakes you once made. Under the influence of optimism, your purpose became convoluted. Not anymore.
Without anyone to dissuade you from reaching out- to challenge you from swiping a few bejeweled tennis bracelets, engagement rings, or even one or two watches and calling it a day- a thrum of urgency spreads through your fingertips. Itâs an impulsive electricity you canât deny. Besides, itâs not like social dynasties would crumble if a few diamonds went missing. If only it were that easyâŚ
Wealth doesnât doom these poor, unfortunate souls, but their greed- coupled with the blood on their hands- paints a distinguishable target on their backs. If you look closely, itâs impossible to miss that theyâre all cut from the same cloth. A hundred different reflections of the same privileged archetype imitate the same gestures, mannerisms, and movements to a tee. An amateur would operate under the guise of distraction- causing a small scene and offering their apologies before making off with their prize- but youâre not an amateur. Not anymore. Not by a long shot.Â
A few women- four or five, at most- nurse flutes of bubbling booze a few feet away. The sound of their laughter is a little too joyous to be feigned and when one of them waves a manicured hand towards a waiter, signaling another round of drinks, you start to put the pieces together. Perhaps, the ladies in your sights are the most genuine in attendance- even if theyâve lost themselves to their cups. Matching their demeanor is childâs play. Once equipped with a half-empty glass from a server on their way back to the kitchens, you stumble towards the group, plastering on the same elated- intoxicated- grin, and hope that theyâre inebriated enough to be welcoming towards a newcomer. Masking the bitter taste of insincerity with a sip of prosecco, a greeting rises from the mix, but it never has the chance to come to fruition because a large hand wraps around your wrist- effectively halting your heist before it even really had a chance to begin.
You shouldâve known better.
As you turn to glare at the idiot who dared to put their hands on you, your breath catches.
Two birds die from the blow of one stone, and he takes advantage of your stupor- finding that youâre more pliant in your daze- leading you away from the women you intended to rob, and into the crowd. More witnesses make it less likely for you to cause a scene. At least, thatâs his logic, anyway.  While itâs not exactly flawed, itâs not all that accurate, either, but for old time's sake, youâll play along. His hold on you remains firm, and he reaches for the flute in your hand with his other, placing it on a tray and discarding the prop. Your surprise begins to morph into anger- especially when he pulls you closer towards him as the orchestra starts to play a tune. Remembering the steps forced upon you as a child is muscle memory, and you glare daggers up at him- though, they donât pierce nearly as deeply as the blue of his irises.
âNice hair,â Dick revels in your obvious frustration of being thwarted, his lips curling into a smirk when your frown deepens, and he asks, âI thought you were blonde, last I saw you?â
âI was,â For the sake of maintaining appearances, you don a phony expression of your own and respond with as much benevolence as you can muster- even though youâre filled with animosity- as he leads you through the steps of the dance. âAnd you didnât have a five oâclock shadow,â You note, allowing yourself a split second to take in everything thatâs changed since the last time you saw him, before pressing your lips together tightly with a huff.
âThings change.âÂ
 As if he needed the reminderâŚ
Chance has never meddled in your relationship. Coincidence doesnât exist within the realm of precision both you and Dick operate from. Everything has always been on purpose, calculated and planned, never left blindly to fate or possibility- which is why this meeting isnât an accident. As if he can feel you about to pull away, he flexes his fingers against you, tightening his grip and holding you in place. Ten years later- ten years too late- heâs found you. Not destiny, not a fluke, but with his own intention, and you wish that he wouldâve just stayed away.
âWhat are you doing here, Dick?â As you abandon your costume, your smile falls away to reveal genuine loathing as you force the question from behind gritted teeth. Still, despite your obvious disdain, he doesnât let you go. âLast I checked, you were in San Francisco- and more recently, BlĂźdhaven. Youâre not supposed to be here.â
âYou keeping tabs on me?â His amusement contradicts your revulsion, and a shallow breath purges the threat of an outburst. Dick has always had a way of getting under your skin, of pushing your buttons and doing everything he possibly could to make you tick, but the sudden onslaught of such juvenile taunting fills you with a fire not even he can extinguish- not anymore. Despite his charming exterior, the steady flow of his breath, and the easy grin of confidence that was once impossible not to mirror, dampness swells where your palms meet, and you feel the rough, raised reminders that heâs kept busy during your time apart- that heâs evolved into a stranger despite how familiar he still seems- and you wonder if he can feel it too, if he can tell just by touch, that youâre not the same girl he once knew.
âI keep tabs on everyone who might get in my way,â Your eyes narrow accusatorially, and the corner of his mouth twitches. âYouâre not special.â
âThatâs not what you said the last time we-â
âYeah, well, the last time was when we were teenagers, and a lot has changed since then.â Any attempt to remain cordial flies out the window when he dares to mention the last time- like it hasnât plagued you for a decade. Not even he possesses the antidote to the venom your words carry, and he winces slightly as your rebuttal shakes. He clears his throat softly, the sound filling the lull where an apology should sound, and he takes a look over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again.
âAny chance I can convince you not to go through with whatever it is youâre planning?â It brings little joy to watch his smile dissolve into something more serious. His face hardens, and you notice lines and creases that you arenât well acquainted with- unable to distinguish battle scars from the divots of age- and you quickly shake the thought away. Instead, you stare at him blankly, not revealing an answer. Though, he takes your lack of conversation as a reply, and with a heavy sigh, he shakes his head, âYeah, I figured.âÂ
He dares to express melancholy. Stunned by his nerve, after everything, not even shame or regret could rattle his courage enough for him to reconsider such a crestfallen expression, and the discouraged twist of his lips and the downcast slant of his eyes are so pronounced and dramatic that youâre unable to discern whether or not this is part of a ruse, or his genuine reaction.
âDid you think that would work?â Your skepticism is muddled with ridicule, a mocking scoff filling the line meant for his counter. Itâs almost laughable- the nerve he has to look dejected by your questioning. To be fair, itâs been a while since heâs danced this dance- a routine once familiar, consisting of bite and bark, push and shove, before simultaneous defeat and victory-Â Â but heâs smart enough to know that thatâs not how this works. âI mean what did you think would happen, birdy? Iâd take one look at you, all grown and handsome, and reconsider my plans?â
Even in heels, heâs taller than you remember. Heâs always been pretty- all mesmerizing eyes, slightly crooked smile, and sunkissed skin- but not even he was immune to the awkwardness brought forth by puberty. There was a time when he thought his shoulders were too broad, his ears too big, and the angular structure of his face too sharp and strong for a boy. It didnât look right. Features that were admirable on their own, looked out of place on his face- or so he feared. You always thought he was beautiful- especially when he didnât know it.
Now, Boy Wonder is all grown up, exuding confidence and oozing charm. He knows heâs attractive, but he doesnât parade his arrogance- not anymore. His early twenties were a never-ending roller coaster of trying to find himself, his purpose, and where he fit into the grand scheme of things. Conflicted by right and wrong, tempted by lust and surrender, divided by good and evil, heâs had a lot of time to awaken from the grogginess inflicted by nightmares of freedom and liberation. Still, his eyes are just as mesmerizing, his teeth are straight- but his smile is still crooked- and heâs truly grown into himself. The man before you is a boy evolved- still a bird, but with a different set of wings. Robin is an old friend, a fond recollection of a different time, and though the stranger before you mimics the familiarity youâve longed for, heâs not Robin, anymore- heâs Nightwing.
âLook, theyâre anticipating for you to strike,â His warning is low and hushed, but even in whispers youâre able to detect his plea. Call it concern, or at the very least interest in serving justice as quietly as possible, but his timbre urges you to reconsider- if not for his sake, then for the sake of those around you. He really doesnât want to cause a scene. âSecurity has been tripled, and youâve grown sloppy-â
âDid you ever consider that the trail I was leaving behind wasnât for anyone else but the one person I wanted to find me?â Thereâs no affection behind the way your fingers thread through the dark tresses at the nape of his neck. Without any fondness, without passion, or care, the action is mindless, meaningless, and merely muscle memory. Thereâs no repressed feelings you wish to convey, no animosity youâre trying to diffuse. With no hidden agenda, the gesture serves no purpose- except to unintentionally torture you both. Old habits die hard, and something undefined urges you to reach for him. He flushes, and the sight is so droll that you canât bring yourself to stop. His lips part once, twice, three times, trying to produce an answer, but heâs at a loss. When you cock your head to the side, he tenses. âOf course, you didnât,â You purr, and he clears his throat softly.Â
Dickâs no stranger to berating. He knows what it feels like to be chastised, scolded, and reprimanded. This exchange feels similar. The only difference is that you donât raise your voice, your eyes donât darken and you donât threaten him- not with words, at least. If anything, the remark feels like a gentle rebuke, but the sting left from the impact of your insult brands him with shame. Youâve always seen right through him. Easily able to discern real from fake- truth from falsity- under both his domino mask and the hardened mask of his stoic expressions, youâve always had a knack for exposing his most vulnerable self- welcoming his flaws, humility, and weaknesses to light. Even though heâs not the same kid he was when you first crossed paths, he feels just as naive and guileless as the boy he once once.Â
âYou and the bat were never really known for considering every angle,â Spoken so thoughtfully, heâs almost able to forgive the verbal assault. As intended, the blow lands- precise, heavy, and unforgiving in the center of his chest- and the muscles in his jaw tighten with thinly veiled frustration. It seems, that in the moment he needs his voice the most, it evades him. He swallows consonants and vowels, a jumbled mix of letters that sit heavy atop his palate, and focuses on maintaining his composure- though, his steps are a beat behind and his footing seems, suddenly, unsure. Youâve struck a nerve. Whether or not you intend to wound, the damage is already done. Picking at scabs that shouldâve scarred a long time ago cause his insecurities to bleed- a punch more lethal than brute strength and weaponry combined.Â
Blindsided by the truth, he feels utterly defenseless.
âCan I ask you something, Dick?â Your brows barely pinch together, your voice calm and steady as something softens in your gaze. Dick should know better than to let his guard down- especially when you lean in, and your lips brush against his ear, âIf youâre the hero, here to save the day, does that make me the villain?âÂ
âNo, youâre not-â
âHow about this, which is the lesser of two evils- knowing that youâre protecting a corrupted establishment because itâs what you believe to be morally correct, or taking back what was wrongfully stolen and returning it to its rightful owners?â As you tilt your head to the side, he hates the way that you look up at him through your lashes. Itâs not a demure move. Youâre demanding an answer, and a look like that- a look meant to allure, tempt, and bait- would have a weaker man spilling his deepest darkest secrets. With a sharp inhale, he reminds himself that the tricks up your sleeve arenât new. He knows all of the cards youâre going to play- albeit, heâs unaware of the order in which youâre going to play them- and he wonât allow history to repeat itself. Purposely, your thumb caresses the back of his hand- the touch feather-light, but far from hesitant or accidental- and his breath hitches. Dick doesnât undermine the small, sinister smile that threatens to spread into a victorious grin when he fails to answer your question. Perhaps, he doesnât know the answer. Or, perhaps, heâs just distracted. Either way, your voice fills the absence of his own. âWeâre not on different sides of a playing field, Grayson. You and I arenât on opposite ends of a spectrum, weâve always been right in the middle- dancing on a thin line.âÂ
Prompted by the soothing symphony of strings, Dick twirls you- delicately extending his arm and leading you into a spin before pulling you back in- and itâs fitting, the push and pull between you so familiar it almost feels as choreographed as the steps of the waltz youâre dancing.
History repeating itself, just one more time.
âWe both know youâre not here to turn me in, because if you were going to, you wouldâve done it by now.â Your arrogance causes something to snap within him. Clarity comes rushing back as he breaks free from your spell. Without meaning to, his grip on your hand tightens.
âLook, I understand why youâre doing this, but-â
âNo, you donât.â Like a switch being flipped, your façade shatters- revealing a face so unbridled with emotions that not even a mask could obscure. Heâs defensive. Tired of grappling for control over the situation, he tastes power as he parts his lips with a clever retort, but you donât allow him the space to get a word in. âDid you know that last year, the city council held a vote to refurbish a few run-down parks on the south side of Gotham with the hopes of restoring the communities destroyed by violence, or increasing the GCPD budget?â The heat behind your accusation pokes and prods at his curiosity, coloring him intrigued. Admittedly, heâs not the most up-to-date on Gothamâs politics, but something this large shouldnât have slipped under his radar- or the watchful eyes of those who swore themselves to protect the beloved city.
Itâs deeper than that, though.
Your frustrations, however warranted, seem to extend beyond such an injustice. Between the lines, amongst all the words you havenât said, thereâs a decipher hidden in every twitch, gesture, and glare. From the way your eyes narrow, to the sharp exhale and tightening grip of your fingertips. To sweaty palms and clenched teeth, all the way to flared nostrils- thereâs something just beneath the surface that he canât crack. Too much time has passed for him to unscramble tacitness when he no longer understands the codes in which you speak, and, unfortunately, he needs you to paint a clearer picture than the vague abstract before him.
âWhen it came down to it, do you think that the citizens of the south side had a say in the matter?â Dickâs smart. Heâs not just a pretty face or a nice body- heâs actually got brains to match. You know- deep down- that sooner or later, shapeless pieces will fall into place to reveal the completed puzzle, but you need him to come to the conclusion all on his own. It would be easy to simply reveal your motive, and while a straightforward approach may have been less complicated than the mental gymnastics youâre forcing him to perform, it wouldnât have been as impactful. Dick needs to understand, and to understand, he needs to feel- the same anger, outrage, and upset you felt. âDo you think the people on the other side of the tracks were given a chance to speak in front of the council?âÂ
âThey canât segregate who speaks publicly-â The gears are turning- some slower, some faster, and others completely out of control as he struggles to make sense of your elusiveness. When the current song fades out, a scattered round of applause takes its place before a new song begins. Hardly anyone else is dancing, save for a handful of couples who look just about as miserable as you and Dick- without the coordination or grace, the two of you share. It takes him too long to jump to the conclusion, and you tire of waiting for him to put the pieces together on his own. He always did work better with a helping hand- though, the quality of his work declined greatly whenever your hands were involved.
âYouâre right,â Your agreement further confuses him, until an additional explanation provides the last bit of clarity heâd been seeking. âBut they can change the date, time, and venue of the meeting without alerting the other parties involved, parties that spent weeks building the foundations of a strong claim, and vote on the matter without them being present- subsequently, granting them access to funnel more funds back into their pensions.â
âThatâs not possible,â His argument is backed by disbelief instead of reason, denial influencing his refusal to accept such an absurdity, even in spite of proof, and every ugly, undesirable, nasty feeling youâre not supposed to have swirls together in the pit of your stomach at his incredulity.
How can he still be so blind? How, after all of the evil that heâs witnessed, how can he deny the truth in favor of possibility? He may be a man grown, but he still lives in a delusional state of boyhood- where he still clings to hope and the prospect of good intentions even when the jury has already delivered a conviction.
âWhy not?â You seethe, simultaneously demanding an answer without allowing him the chance to speak. Unfortunately, whateverâs been brewing amongst your insides finally bubbles over and your own reluctance to accept an outcome where he doesnât justify your point of view sharpens the words at the tip of your tongue until theyâre as lethal as any weapon. âBecause good old Commissioner Gordon wouldnât let that happen?â
Itâs resentment- the concoction without a name- but itâs also envy, pain, and perhaps a bit of fear. At the very least, itâs petty, to bring her into this and force him to pick a side, but itâs been corroding your logic- eroding a place in your chest thatâs been dormant ever since he last filled it with life and meaning- and you watch his demeanor shift when his lips part to defend her. You canât bear whatever praise heâs sure to dole out in her defense, especially when sheâs just as guilty as the rest of them, as far as youâre concerned. Before he has a chance to tear you to shreds with his ire, you interrupt.
âLook, just because the commissioner has a heart, doesnât mean that the animals working for the force do.â Without any conviction, you start to claw at the mire on either side of you, closing you in. âItâs always been bad, but itâs gotten a lot worse.â He canât argue with that. Worse doesnât even come close to how downright doomed Gotham is now that someoneâs poisoned most of the police force. The one group of people who are supposed to remain impartial to power and abide by the laws theyâre sworn to uphold, have turned their backs on the people who needed them most, and the people hurting- the ones without flashy jewels or the stomachs for caviar and champagne- donât have anyone looking out for them.Â
Not the way they used to, anyway.Â
âYou donât get to come here and lecture me about whatâs right and whatâs wrong, just because she asked you to.â Bittersweet tips towards bitter and a sour taste settles in your mouth at the suggestion that she had even the slightest part to play in your reunion. âYouâre a few years too late for that, birdy.â This time when the song ends, you take a step back- though, his thumb brushes against the back of your hand before you pull away, the phantom of a silent prospect lingering even when the warmth of him is gone. Once, it was what you sought. He was what you sought. Years of desolation turned your desire for that same heat- tender touches and gentle caresses against skin- into favor of bleakness. You donât regret pulling away from him, not as much as you did back them. This time, itâs warranted- a choice you make unobstructed by what youâre feeling, now that you know the outcome of what was fated to happen between the two of you.
âI appreciate the dance,â You swallow, your throat tightening with words you wonât allow yourself to say. Instead, a retort finds you, though it feels foreign as you speak it into existence. âMaybe weâll do it again in a couple of years,âÂ
Without waiting for a reaction, you head off down the same way you came, and this time, without any intervention, he lets you go.
The bathroom door shuts behind you, and the sounds of lively chatter and the hum of instrumentals fade away until youâre consumed by a silence so stark that it buries you. It doesnât feel real. The soft tapping of your heels against the glossy marble floors cuts through the nothingness- even the slightest echo in the void registering as an alarm, coaxing panic and fear from the rusted, forgotten cells you banished them to long ago- and when you finally take a look in the mirror, you donât recognize the face that stares back at you.
Your reflection is plagued by guilt, and haunted by ghosts of the past. Well, one ghost, in particular.
Running into Dick Grayson was something youâd prepared for. Since the day you last parted, you always knew that there was a possibility your paths could, and inevitably would, cross again. It was destined to happen, and you were doomed from the start. He makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak. Back then, before everything that drove a wedge between the two of you, you had a bit of a soft spot for him. He was the only other person in the world who truly understood the life you lived because he was living a different version of the same life. Both protĂŠgĂŠs, both headstrong and zealous- attributes recognized as both strengths and faults- and both dancing a choreographed routine in the shadows cast by the bat and the cat. The two of you were fated. It was only a matter of time before you started pulling your punches, and he started letting you get away.
The chase was always the best part- second only to the capture.
Still, itâs been years since he left. Youâre not the same girl he once knew, and he might as well have been a stranger. More than a decade apart will do that to two people. For everything thatâs changed, one thing remains the same- the chase and the capture are unavoidable.
With a shaky exhale, your chest tightens. Resting your palms on either side of the expensive stone washbasin, you attempt to focus on regaining your composure- but another heavy intake of breath punches your lungs. You havenât come this far just to let him swoop in and gain the upper hand. You��re done pulling your punches. Flipping the golden faucet on, you allow trickling water to interrupt the unbearable silence that surrounds you- a lull so loud it sounds like buzzing static without the interruption of something mundane. With a few more deep breaths, in and out, you begin to fumble with the clasp on your clutch, opening the small bag to retrieve a tube of lipstick. The color has started to fade from your lips, and you use the moment of stillness to touch up your makeup. If nothing else, maybe your reflection will look less distraught with a signature swipe of dark red. You long for a sense of familiarity that you can control.
Above the trickling from the luxurious spout, the door squeaks- or perhaps, it cries- as itâs pushed open, revealing a mirage basked in artificial light and a custom-tailored suit. As your fingertips graze the fixture responsible for the steady stream of distraction, a thud sounds, and seconds later, the unmistakable click of a lock latching into place seals your fate. A wave of emotion- a tsunami of feelings- brings forth a myriad of everything, all at once. Just as you suspected you always would, youâre drowning- caught in a riptide of your past and present, finally merging in a deadly current that threatens to pull you below the depths of your worst fears and direful imagination. You swallow thickly as you close your eyes. It fills your mouth with delusions of saltwater.
This isnât supposed to happen- at least, not like this, itâs not- but the one thing youâve been running from has finally caught back up to you. Nowâs the time to set the record straight. No more ties. No more draws. Tonight, the victory is yours- regardless of his intervention. Heâs taken too much from you to take this too, and youâre done letting him.
âI already told you that this is pointless,â You donât even look at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his overbearing stare. A swirling sea of darkening blue attempts to sail back to shore- pleading to find refuge within familiar comforts and intimacy- but you cast your gaze back to your reflection, focusing on fixing the corners of your lipstick and leaving him afloat. âYouâre not going to stop me.â The promise is backed by conviction- though, youâre not sure if youâre trying to convince him, or yourself.
The muscle in Dickâs jaw flexes as he grits his teeth- forcing ivories to clench and grind against each other, creating a perfect, white prison to cage the words he wishes to speak. Stifling his emotions is conventional. Itâs a routine heâs perfected through years of reluctant practice. Though uncomfortable and daunting, the void in which he sentences all thatâs repressed is secure. Itâs safe- if only in the sense that itâs familiar.
Youâre familiar- rather, you were once familiar- but he canât cross a bridge thatâs been burned, molten ash still ablaze amongst the rubble, and expect to be welcomed back with open arms. Not after everything thatâs changed. Not after everything thatâs happened.
Not after what he did.
âI need a list of names,â The determination in Dickâs voice contradicts everything he feels inside. His face hardens- a mask, a shield, protection- and he stands a little taller, fixated on resolving the one problem he could actually solve. âNames of the officers involved in whatever this is,â He clarifies with an uneasy edge to his voice- like he already knows heâs bit off more than he can chew, but he canât stop himself from going back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.
For all thatâs changed, Dick remains the same. A phantom- a spirit, a memory, a ghost- of the boy you once knew disappears just as quickly as your imagination teases familiar red, yellow, and green. Heâs not the same. You know it to be true, and yet, you find yourself distracted by glimpses and figments from a different life entirely.
âGrab a pen,â A scoff, an eye roll, and the gentle shake of your head, disbelief and credence existing in tandem- contradicting each other when your eyes finally meet his. âIt would be a shorter list if you started with the people who arenât guilty of committing some type of fraudulent activity.â
Youâre not a bad person. Despite varying beliefs, youâre not evil. Mayhem doesnât bring you joy. Confrontation doesnât get you off. Thereâs little pleasure to be found in being the itch that people canât scratch. Youâve never sought out violence or peril, and you seldom plan on causing either. Just like Dick- just like Bruce- you operate under a different moral code, but a moral code, nevertheless. Even if the only thing it provides is an excuse to justify why you do what you do, you still hold yourself to a standard. Unlike the vile, chaos-thirsty cravens that would happily light the match and watch the world burn, youâre selfless- bound to your morals, if nothing else.
What you do, the sacrifices you make- everything that youâve lost and everything youâve fought for- is fueled by benevolence. Youâre in a position to fight for those who canât fight for themselves, to speak up for those who canât speak for themselves. The power to defend those who have had their rights stripped from them- those who have had their power stolen by greed corruption and profit- is in your hands. Youâll be damned if you let anyone stand in your way and prevent you from doing what you know is right.
Through the reflection in the mirror, you recognize the face that stares back at you. Gone is the fear and doubt that mangled your features unrecognizable. With a heavy sigh, you unclip the earrings that dangle from your earlobes- and the buzzing sound of static fades away completely.
You know what you have to do.
The sound of your heels against the tile might as well have been deafening in contrast to the silence that follows your remark. As you cross the room, your resolve sharpens. Dick Grayson has taken so much from you, you wonât let him take this, too.
âNow, if youâll excuse me-â You feign saccharine, your tone phony and filled with counterfeit regret, as you reach for the locked door handle, but Dick blocks the latch, stepping in front of you before you have a chance to wrap your hand around the lever. He knows exactly what buttons to press and genuine annoyance, anger, and frustration fill the space where your poor imitation of remorse once occupied. Through gritted teeth, you command him, lowly, âMove, Dick.â
âYou know I canât do that, sweetheart,â He says it so easily, with a sorrowful sigh and undisputed repentance, that you almost buy the sincerity heâs trying to sell. Unfortunately, for him, youâre not in the market for his misery. Heâs a few years too late. Dick can turn his charm up to ten thousand- he can say all the right things and plead with his perfect crystalline eyes- but you wonât risk everything youâve fought for for a few crocodile tears. You know, now, that youâre better than that. One way or another, youâre getting out of this bathroom- and if you have to go through him to do so, then so be it.
âAnd you know Iâm not above fighting you, right?â Heâs entirely unprepared for your snark, the bite that fuels your reply nearly nipping his sense of control straight from the palm of his hand. Itâs obvious that this isnât the same game that it once was, but something much more dangerous. âThe dance wasnât enough?â With your arms across your chest, you challenge, and he hates the way youâre looking at him- like your eyes are piercing straight through him instead of actually looking at him. If you bothered to look closely enough, youâd be able to decipher all of the blatant emotions heâs never been the greatest at hiding. One look and youâd see him- and his heart beating proudly on his sleeve. Itâs why you donât spare him a glance. âYou still feeling nostalgic for old times? Because this feels awfully familiar, doesnât it?â
âWhat are you going to do with the money?â He asks, fighting to keep his voice stern. His poker face was never the best- or, maybe you could just read him better than most people could. Still, as he stands before you, he grapples with his devotion to whatever this competition is. This clash will never see a winner- only two losers- and he knows it. You do, too- but unlike him, youâre not willing to back down without a fight.
âGive it back to those who rightfully deserve it.â He doesnât deserve your honesty. He has no right to the truth, but you donât have it in you to scheme an elaborate lie. However gratifying it mightâve been to feed him false information and watch him fly in circles, youâre too exhausted for mental gymnastics. Like clockwork, you give, and he takes- his stare narrowing, almost accusatorially.
âAnd who are you to decide who rightfully deserves it?â Thereâs an edge to his question- like he canât fathom justice without his divine intervention- and itâs grating, the way he can make you feel so small, and worthless with a single sentence. His arrogance is astounding. Who was he to seek vengeance against Slade Wilson? Who was he to target Heartless? Who was he to sentence Tony Zucco to his death- by placing him behind bars, and granting other enemies easy access to the crime lord, which ultimately led to his demise? The self-righteous guilt trip nearly gives you whiplash from how fast it makes your head spin. Heâs no different than you are- no better or worse, since you operate on the same playing field. He doesnât get to act like he is. Someone needs to knock him down a few pegs, and youâre happily up for the challenge.
âWho are you to try to stop me?â
âSomeone who knows you,â He replies, instinctively. âSomeone whoâs a friend, not a foe.â
âHmm,â With a bitter laugh, your stomach churns- twisting, clenching, and swirling with swells of irritation, regret, and sorrow- and although itâs a familiar discomfort, itâs been years since youâve felt the threat of splintering cracks, chipping away at the stone-cold facade of your exterior. Come to think of it, the last time you felt this way was when Selina had told you that Dick left for San Francisco. The reminder fills you with a bitterness youâve long tried to suppress, and as it bubbles to the surface, so do all of the repressed thoughts and emotions thatâve haunted you for years.
For a moment, you ache- chasing forgotten remembrance plagued by wistfulness. Then, you burn.
âFriends call every once in a while, and if they canât make it to a phone, they send a postcard to let you know that theyâre still alive and well.â Vexation forces your eyes to narrow, the color of your eyes morphing into something much more bleak. With a heavy exhale- filled with frustration and a semblance of humility- you remind him, âFriends donât disappear into thin fucking air without letting you know why- especially, after those friends, were always a little more than just friends.â Thereâs a darkness behind your eyes that Dickâs not familiar with, and a weight settles in the hollow emptiness of his chest before sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. His jaw clenches and he swallows thickly- the tastes of bile, rue, and shame all indiscernible from one another as he forces them back down.
He knows youâre right.
While his absence was abrupt, it had nothing to do with any ill will towards you. There was never a falling out- no crossing a line of no return or being pushed past a point that shattered a shared fantasy. Though the bullet posed no real threat of death by passing through his arm- beyond the phantom agony of lead tearing through flesh, and the hot, wet feeling of crimson pouring from the wound- a part of Dick Grayson did, in fact, die that night, at the hands of the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime set off a domino effect when he fired at the young Boy Wonder, inevitably altering the course of his life forever. Acts of violent intent seldom harm a single soul, and as if it were fated, you became another casualty from an attack that was never meant for you.
When Bruce fired Dick, he was angry. Back then, thoughts of hanging up the cape never, ever, crossed his mind. Back then, he was content with fighting crime alongside his mentor, and never really considered what would happen next- or if thereâd even be a next, or an after. He felt betrayed, abandoned, and filled with cynicism. As selfish as it was, you werenât even really an afterthought in the downfall of his life caving in and swallowing him whole. He needed time to heal- time to rebuild- and prioritize who he was when he wasnât hiding in the shadows left behind by a cape and cowl. Years passed, and with time to reflect, Dickâs bitter resentment morphed into a new kind of devotion to himself, and the few that started to look to him for guidance.
Before the Titans, he never really considered himself to be a leader. He spent most of his life abiding by rules and plans- roles and paths- that were set for him by another. Had he been hungry for control before, his first real taste solidified an insatiable appetite for the very thing he felt himself deprived of for too many years. Though, heâd come to learn that there was an ugly side to the power he wielded. Some days, the responsibility felt like a burden, and others, he felt like his guilt and uncertainty would swallow him whole. He bottled up all of his doubts, packed them somewhere deep inside the closed-off caverns in his heart where darker demons haunted, and forced them elsewhere- out of sight, and out of mind, but never truly gone.
Itâs not fair that, somehow, youâve come to possess the key that matches the lock on his Pandoraâs box. Every emotion, every feeling, and every thought meant to be suppressed and banished to a place where they couldnât torment or harm him, refuses to go gently when one simple, magnetic look threatens to release them from their cages of skin and bone. The most daunting realization of all, however, is that heâs the one to blame- for everything.
For all of it.
Selfishly, heâs hoped for an ember amongst the carnage heâs created. Heâs held onto some convoluted idea of hope that whatever was once alight could be reignited again if he fully committed himself to an apology, but he failed to acknowledge the amount of ashes heâd have to sift through for a hint of a spark. Thereâs too much disappointment, too much duplicity, regret, and time passed between the two of you for things to ever revert back to even a semblance of what they once were.
He looks to you now, and he sees it- your anger is a mask for your pain. Itâs so faint he almost misses it, but your lip threatens to wobble. Beyond the wrath you try to convey with the narrowed glare of your eyes, he watches as thinly veiled yearning mingles with whatâs left of the color of your irises- simultaneously faint, yet prominent to the only other person who knows what itâs like to push away the person you love. What Dick and you shared wasnât love, but it couldâve been and thatâs what youâre both mourning- what couldâve been.
âYou and I arenât friends, Dick.â He hates the finality behind your conviction. Itâs so cold, and void of the warmth he associated with you once upon a time. A split second threatens to expose the façade, and you blink back tears instead of allowing them to fall- swallowing emotion and banishing it elsewhere. Feelings have no place here. Instead, you grit your teeth, clenching them together so tightly that your jaw begins to ache. He watches you struggle to commit to the act- because thatâs what your rage is, an outlet for your passions- and as you take a step closer toward him, his breath hitches. âNow, get out of my way,â
Toe to toe, you meet his gaze, and no matter how hard you try to fight it, despite your best efforts to disguise what you truly feel, Dick sees right through you- recognizing the parts of you that you try to mold and shape into something else. After all, heâs your greatest weakness- and youâre his. You always have been, and he always will be.
He dares to move. This close, he resists the urge to reach out for you and never let you go again, but this isnât about him. Itâs about you. Hesitantly, he raises his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as the shaky tips of his fingers graze your chin with a tenderness youâve sought since the last time you felt it. The air is tense, passed back and forth by sharp breaths and thundering pulses- intimate with warmth and affection that mimics that of a simpler time- and when his palm rests against your cheek, cradling it with such gentle endearment in the face of betrayal, you let him. Dickâs throat bobs, and he pours everything he canât bring himself to say into such a delicate touch. Every apology he wishes he had the courage to speak aloud, every declaration of devotion he was too afraid to voice, and every inevitable truth he attempted to ignore lingers, and you can feel it- in every shy stroke of his thumb across your cheek.
âYouâre not going to distract me,â A single tear merges with the pad of his thumb- a testament to your resilience, but no match for the broken, battered, beaten bond you share with the man before you- and your certainty begins to dwindle. Thereâs a string that ties you to him- an invisible thread strong enough to stitch the two of you back together when you should remain apart- but youâre destined for him, the same way heâs always been destined for you.
It was foolish to believe any differently.
âIâm not trying to distract you,â Barely above a whisper, he pleads, desperate to make you understand, âIâm trying to apologize.â
He hangs his head with defeat, his shoulder slumping forward as he peers down at you. Heâs never known such cruel torture. Such sick and twisted suffering is self-inflicted. The past erodes his future, but he canât stop himself from resurrecting his demons. Foolishly, he invites them to haunt him further- and youâre no exception. His tightrope is stretched taut, and itâs a long way down. How much longer can he balance between anemoia and actuality before tipping one way or the other? Itâs insanity- repeating the same act and hoping for a different outcome- but Dick canât bring himself to accept that this time wonât be different. If nothing else, the possibility that this never-ending game could crown two winners is enough for him to play the martyr, and suffer whatever repercussions might follow after barring himself whole. What more does he have to lose, if not everything heâs already lost, again?
It would be so easy to reach past him and turn the lock in your favor, granting your escape. Hell, with the way heâs looking at you now, you know that he wouldnât even put up a fight. Heâd let you waltz right past him, slipping through his fingers for the umpteenth time because he knows that this time wonât be the last. It never is. Visions blurred by uncertainty flash before your eyes- infinite possibilities, each with consequences and punishments, rewards and sacrifices- but the unknown doesnât elicit the same adrenaline-filled excitement that it once did. Maybe because this time, Dick isnât fighting back. Surrendering his shield, he abandons resistance- instead, entrusting you with the vulnerability that spills from his heart, blood crimson against his fingers as he squeezes it with each thump and thud- crumbling before you, and submitting everything he has to give to you. Even if he canât bring himself to support your cause.
You lean in closer, drawn to him- the same way you always have been, and likely, always will be- and your palm hovers over his chest. For a second, itâs unclear whether or not youâre going to reach out for him or push him away, but when your hand meets the fabric that covers hard muscle, you know youâre done for- because in the same ways heâs willing to fall before you, youâre willing to fall before him, too. Over and over again. Repeatedly and infinitely.
âWell, you have impeccable timing,â Your reproach is close enough for him to taste. It wavers against his lips and slips past his tongue, allowing him to savor parts of you he hasnât been allowed to indulge in for so long. Thereâs no mistaking the invitation of your reprover, and Dickâs palm rests against your lower back, coaxing you closer towards him as his nose brushes against yours. Itâs dizzying, and your arms find their way around his neck to steady yourself when he rests his forehead against yours with a soft sigh. The irony of the situation isnât lost upon you- even when the two of you have ceded to one another, youâre still fighting to see who will give in first. As if heâs come to the realization at the same time, a large hand- rough and callused, but soft and tender in the way that it trembles against your cheek with anticipation- encourages you to tilt your head back, and you follow his lead. You hold your breath as your lips part, and Dick surges forward, slotting his mouth against yours in a kiss thatâs fueled by the release of years of pent-up longing, need, and want. The gesture is foreign, yet familiar. Reminiscent of the past, yet entirely new. Everything you remember and everything youâve ever dreamed of merge together in this moment and bring life to what had only ever been fantasy before his lips found yours once more.
Itâs exhilarating.
âI missed you,â The affirmation rumbles against your skin, warm with fervor and urgency, and itâs completely unnecessary- considering that each movement acts as a balm to soothe wounds of time, fear, and doubt- but he vows with each breath, relying on words to convey what his actions can not, and vice versa. Masks are off. Shields have been abandoned. Capes remain long forgotten at the door. This is no longer about duty or morality. No, this moment is about two people seeking confirmation for what theyâve always known to be true- that a love unspoken, but never absent has always existed between them. Two people- not vigilantes or heroes- two hearts, beating to guide the other back, are bare, open, honest, and raw without the theatrics of a chase or the pretense of a game. Surrender invites you to balance on the edge of a precipice, and youâre the first to lose your footing.
Desperation is an influence, and his lapels wrinkle with the severity of your hold. Through the haze of everything unknown, heâs the only thing thatâs clear, and you reach for him- blindly, but intentionally- clawing at the fabric that keeps him from you. Clashing teeth and bruising grips donât elicit pain, not when real suffering exists in the absence of the other, and you allow him to paint you violet, blue, green, and red with desire, becoming the embodiment of his want. Your only regret is that the evidence of this divine crime will eventually fade away to nothing more than a memory- another ache that will never dull, a moment so unique that it can never be replicated. As you rejoice, you mourn.
âSure you did.â His blazer drops to the floor as you follow your script, hardly taking a moment to realize that the page youâre reading from is blank- without word or direction- as you venture into unknown territory. Even when you donât mean to be, youâre combative. Even when you donât want to be, youâre still on edge. This is different. This already feels different than before, and maybe itâs because thereâs a lot more at stake now that both of you have already lost one another, but for as overdue as this homecoming is, something subconsciously prolongs it further.
âNo, really, I-â He begins, ready to mold rhetoric and force it to take on a form that would allow you to see just how much you mean to him, but that would make this real, and youâre not sure if youâre ready for this to be real yet- because if this is real, if this isnât just a cruel imitation of memory like so many variations before or a concocted fantasy so vivid you can feel yourself shaking, then that means you can lose it all, again. Just like last time. Within your grip, one minute, slipping through your fingers the next.
âDonât.â Fear sounds different when thereâs a bite to it. It could almost pass as annoyance, if youâre able to keep your voice just steady enough, and he mistakes the command for irritation, rather than the timidity it actually is. Whatever youâve intended and heâs interpreted gets lost along the way, and he takes a hesitant step back. Itâs impossible not to lunge for him as he retreats, but you remain still- your breath hitching when he holds both hands out to you, surrendering his palms while he shows he meant no harm.
âCan IâŚâ
âYou donât have to ask,â You silence his fears quickly, closing the space between you before you even realize that youâve taken a step. This self-sacrificial eagerness to light yourself on fire just to keep him warm has always been one of your greatest downfalls, but a most ardent gesture, and with ash on your tongue and soot in your lungs, you strike a match the minute he begins to second guess himself. âJust pretend itâs like before.â The suggestion sounds just as unsure as you are, but with a heavy breath, you encourage, âPretend that nothingâs changedâŚpretend that weâre stillâŚâ You canât even bring yourself to say it, because the kids you were back then are gone. Theyâre never coming back. You canât avenge them or try to seek vengeance for what theyâve lost. Itâs over for them, but this is just the start of this new beginning for the two of you. âJust for tonight.â
He moves promptly, gathering the skirts of your dress in one hand, fisting the fabric- a blue so dark he mistook it for black, or perhaps it was, until his fingertips were close enough to paint the illusion with light, making it appear different than it was- without any regard for creases or lingering proof of your affair. Support rests at your back, his chest firm and protective as you lean into the rippling muscle, and Dick continues to illuminate shadows of the past with each touch- eager to help you forget all of the agonies suffered at his hands in favor of remembering glimpses of peace. Heâs ready to give you more than just a taste. Now, he wants to gorge you with the pleasure heâs reserved.
His hands shake- not with hesitancy, but anticipation, and when you catch his eye in the mirror, you shiver. Youâve never seen a blue so dark it looks black- until now. Without warning, he mouths at your neck- kissing, sucking, biting, any part of you he can get his lips on- reacquainting himself with parts of you that were once so familiar, and you allow him to explore. Blindly, you reach for one of his hands, taking it in your own, and he begins to intertwine his fingers with yours, but you gently guide his hand where you want it most- and he lets you, following your lead just as impulsively. You jolt at the first brush of his fingertips between your legs, even though you were expecting it, and he lets out a few ragged breaths against the back of your neck. Itâs paradoxical, the chills that contradict the flush of your skin, but this relationship has never really made sense before. Why should that change now?
Almost as if heâs in a trance, Dick is overwhelmed by the twists and turns of the evening, but the whiplash is starting to subside in favor of something much more exhilarating. He never thought heâd have this again. He believed moments like these to be lost to time, and he wasted years grieving memories he could never replicate, only to feel the weight of your body against his once more. Itâs too much. Itâs not enough. Itâs everything he never knew he wanted or needed until it was stolen from him, swiped right out from under his nose by his own negligence. He wonât make the same mistakes this time. No, this time, heâs going to do it right. Heâs going to-
âFuck,â When you grow tired of his stalling, you force his hand, again. This time, when your fingers meet his wrist, you press your palm on top of his- coercing him to mimic the shape- and maybe youâre the one in control, or maybe he finally rises to the occasion, but with a newfound determination, he cups your cunt- a choked sound catching in his throat when he feels how wet you are. You briefly wonder how something so vulgar can sound so pretty, but you already know the answer- itâs him. Itâs always been him. Had it been anyone else, the effect would cease to exist, but itâs Dick, and that desire- that pull that you canât ever deny- will always bind you to him.
You canât help yourself from rutting against his palm, and he presses himself further into your back, allowing you to feel the hard outline of his cock against your ass. The hand that isnât between your legs rests on your arm, and when he tries to hold your hand, you donât deny him. Thereâs just too much fabric for you to hold in just one hand and some of it drapes over his forearm, but you manage to keep most of it from obscuring his movements. Itâs a strange angle, and both of you are fumbling to make it work, but you crane your neck in search of him, and he answers your call with an eager kiss. Your tongue caresses his, savoring the feeling and committing it to memory, just in case-
He swallows your surprised gasp when he nudges your panties aside and begins to circle your clit. With just a bit of pressure, a crease forms where your eyebrows pull together, and you untangle your hand from his hold to brace yourself against the counter. Itâs been a while since someone else has touched you, and itâs been even longer since the last time Dick had, but itâs so much better than evocations of pleasure. You swear figments are tangible. Spurred on by the reaction his touch has coaxed from you, heâs torn between making the moment last as long as possible or picking up the pace. He settles on the latter, considering that if this is heading the way he hopes itâs heading, heâll have all the time in the world to make it up to you, but right now, heâs on borrowed time. You both are. With the reminder looming overhead, he adjusts his hand so that he can continue to work your clit while lining up a finger with your pussy. Youâre so wet, and warm when he curls his middle finger inside, and he canât remember why he ever left in the first place. What persuaded him away from Gotham when you were always right here? Would you have waited for him? Would you have followed him if he asked you to? He supposes none of that matters now, but he canât help but wonderâŚ
He adds a second finger, and even though your body gives little resistance to the intrusion, you groan at the feeling. His fingers are so long, reaching that spot inside of you that your fingers are just too short to reach, and theyâre thick enough for you to feel yourself stretching around him with each thrust- not enough to cause pain, but an ache that serves as a reminder that itâs been too long since the last time youâve had him like this. You vow not to let another ten years pass before you let him have you, again.
He continues a steady pace, curling his fingers in such a way that sweat begins to glisten across your chest, and when a third finger threatens to join his others, you wrap your hand around his wrist- abruptly halting his movements.
âN-not enough time,â He doesnât even get the chance to ask before you supply him with an answer, but he nods in understanding once you offer an explanation. Heâs already reaching for his belt, unbuckling the clasp and roughly shoving his slacks down before you have a chance to catch your breath, and youâre grateful- if the speed in which he undresses is any indication of his own eagerness- that heâs just as desperate for you, as you are for him. Taking a moment to adjust your skirts so that you donât have to hold them, you bunch them above your hips and lean forward, resting your forearms against the counter while Dick frees himself from his boxers, and when you look back in the mirror and catch sight of his cock behind you, you canât help but swallow thickly.
He strokes himself a few times, smearing the pre-cum beading from his slit down his shaft as he prepares to take you. This doesnât feel like last time. As he reaches for your waist and lines himself up with your cunt, this doesnât feel like last time at all. This is new, and different and everything heâs wanted ever since the last time he had you in his grasp. This time, he wonât let you get away. With as much self-restraint as he can manage, you feel the tip of his cock against your opening, slowly splitting you open, and your back arches. Your own strangled cry prompts a groan from him he sinks into you, inch by inch until his hips are flush against you. Youâre so full that youâre not sure if itâs too much or not enough.
âIâve got you,â Dick assures, his grip on your hip tightening when he feels you struggling to accommodate him. He tries to be a gentleman. He tries to give you a few minutes to adjust- even though he wants nothing more than to take whatâs right under his nose, whatâs always been his- but his restraint snaps when he feels you begin to rock back against him.
âMove,â You command, and he doesnât have to be told twice. With your permission, heâs happy to follow orders and obliges with a sharp thrust upwards. The sound you make is a mix between a sob and a moan, and his fingers flex against your hip as he repeats the action.
âI forgotâŚâ Through clenched teeth, he confesses, and you donât think anything of the admission, too lost within your own feelings to attempt to decipher his. Instead, he wraps an arm around your waist, offering thick muscle to serve as a buffer between your body and the stone he has you pressed up against- relying on intimate gestures to make up for words lost in translation. Even now, when youâre not on the same page, you still know. Somehow, you know, and he does, too. Every time. Without fail. Always. Your head rolls back to meet his shoulder, and your fingertips claw at the back of his neck awkwardly, with transparent desperation to pull him closer. Within reach isnât close enough. Near is too far. With a muted gasp, you push back to meet his next thrust, and he hisses softly before elaborating, âIâm so sorry if I made you forget.â
âDick-â Realization begins to splinter the mirage of bliss, and you manage to say his name with enough caution to serve as a warning. You donât want to think about the past. Not right now. Not when you can see your future so clearly in the foggy reflection of the vanity. He wraps his hand around your neck, encouraging you to bare your throat to him and he licks at the vein that calls out to him.
âI wonât let you forget, not this time.â He vows, bucking his hips faster and faster as you whine in his hold. In some sick twisted way, he loves that heâs the only one who has this power over you- that heâs the only one who could ever elicit such a reaction- and itâs a testament to how much the two of you care for one another; the influence both of you have over one another. âThis time, I want to remember.â
Itâs going to be impossible not to.
âI-â He can barely get a word out with how good you feel around him, and he takes a breath before trying again. âI know you want to pretend, but fuckâŚI canât.â Dick wraps his arm around you, guiding your back to rest against his chest, and one of his large hands splays across your stomach, where he can feel himself inside of you. âI really did miss you,â Somehow he manages to find his voice. âNot just like this, either,â
âI-I missed you, too.â You donât seem certain, not with the way you stutter, but your reply is genuine. It only appears dubious because Dickâs palm begins to press against you, and you all but choke on your confession. He canât help himself, but neither can you.
âIâm close,â He rasps, brokenly. âShit,â His thrusts begin to falter, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. âAre you-â
âYes!â You yelp when his fingers start circling your clit, and he doesnât relent, even when he feels you start to tremble beneath him. Youâre overwhelmed by him, in the best way possible, and as eager as you are to chance your release, a part of you never wants this moment to end. âDick, please d-donât stop,â Your muscles grow taut, and when his thrusts lose their precision, you know that heâs almost there. âJust like before,â You encourage him, clenching hard when he bites your shoulder and your orgasm washes over you. âJ-just like before.â
He knows what youâre asking for. He understands what youâre practically begging for, and in a fleeting moment of clarity, he catches a glimpse of the faded scar on your arm- his only regret being the fact that an implant still stands in the way of what he truly wants with you- but the thought disappears as quickly as it materializes.
A few seconds more and he grunts against your neck, pulling your hips to meet his and spilling himself inside of you. Itâs even better than you remember and your body shakes with aftershocks of pleasure. Luckily, heâs there to keep you upright. Your vision starts to blur and the only sound youâre able to make out is both of you struggling to catch your breaths. With a heavy sigh, he pulls out, and you can feel his cum start to leak from you, but youâre too disoriented to clean it up. Instead, you lean forward, relying on the countertop for support as you hang your head and try to come back to your senses.
Dick leaves a trail of soft kisses down the back of your neck and his forehead is both warm and damp when it meets your shoulder, resting comfortably against your skin while he takes a minute to catch his breath, and these sensations- these tiny little reminders that heâs here, this moment is present and real- ground you. Where your mind is a mess, reeling with indecision, emotions, and thoughts you canât yet process, your body is at ease.
As your eyes flutter shut, greedy gulps of air fail to satisfy your lungs, and you swallow thickly, allowing pressure to build up in your chest until you simply canât take it anymore. Darkness saturates all that you can see, and youâre caught in a void- trapped, without any light to guide you back home. The gentle caress of his touch along your arm brands you, flush enough to make you burn with reminders of this fleeting moment- when embers of devotion inevitably fade into ashes- and you stiffen in his hold, not that heâs coherent enough to notice.
He seems to be in his little world as he tucks himself back into his pants and presses another gentle kiss to your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you. Violent delights really do have violent ends and itâs not fair that you let it get this far without thinking about the consequences of your actions. None of this wouldâve happened if you just let yourself love him- without fear, without judgment, without regret- and if you had just been honest with yourself all those years ago, this mess wouldâve never spiraled so far out of your control.
Whatever repercussion await you, youâll brave. Regardless of what happens next, you know that you have to tell him the truth- even if it kills you. The thought is often more daunting than the action itself, but as you turn yourself around in his arms so that youâre facing him, youâre petrified.
âIâm sorry,â The magnitude of your apology isnât supported by the handful of letters that arrange themselves as they slip past your tongue. There has to be a better way to express your remorse, but if one exists it evades you. Over and over again, the same words come to mind and itâs not fair that you know exactly what you want to say, but you just canât find the right words to absolve your shame. At your inability to voice your regret, frustration overwhelms you. Your lips part, ready to divulge your sins, but only a pathetic, meek sigh comes out. Why is this so difficult? You know the answer, and yet, you play the part of the fool- leaning on ignorance as a crutch for what you canât bring yourself to brave. He deserves it, doesnât he? The truth- not something partial, but whole. Transparency is the only piece left of a nearly complete puzzle, the only thing keeping this tragic tale of two lovers who break each otherâs hearts only to stitch them back together again from reaching its inevitably doomed end. When your lip begins to tremble, Dick reaches for you, pulling you into his chest and embracing you in a hold thatâs absolutely suffocating. You donât deserve his kindness. You donât deserve his love or affection- his tenderness or his forgiveness.
You donât deserve him.
âMe too,â He sighs into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before resting his head on top of yours. You can hear his heart- how steady it beats- and the sound rivals the racing of your own where it threatens to burst straight from your chest, and your eyes flutter shut, savoring the gentle lull of his own serenity before you poison his relief with your own disruption. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how difficult it may be, you know that you have to tell him. With a breath, you prepare for carnage.
âNo, Dick, I-â
âDick? Are you in here?â Barbaraâs voice seeps through the wooden barrier that separates the two of you from the rest of the world- from reality- and as soon as she calls out to him, the illusion of tranquility is broken. Of course, itâs her. Of course, sheâd be the one to interrupt you before you had the chance to speak, and of course, it would be her that drives a wedge further between the two of you with one simple revelation, âTheyâre getting away!â
Itâs almost impossible to miss the sounds of commotion that follow her declaration. Faint screams and chaos replace the background of symphony strings and he turns to you then, a divot dividing the smooth skin of his forehead while his eyes narrow. Blue is black. Dark, and unmistakable. The muscle in his jaw looks like itâs about to burst with the severity of his clenching and his nostrils flare with a shallow exhale. Itâs excruciating to watch him slip back into consciousness after being caught up in a dream, but a nightmare unfolds before you, twisting your stomach into knots so intricate they threaten to snap. You canât breathe, and when you gather enough courage to finally take a step forward, he takes a step back. Heâs never looked at you with so much hostility before, and you open your mouth to explain, to shower him with honesty and desperate pleas to make him understand that this wasnât meant to happen like this, but no sound comes out. Not even a sigh. Not even a huff. Not even a pathetic, broken whimper. Nothing.
Unfortunately, Dickâs left to draw his own conclusions- to fill in the gaps in which your silence fails to atone for your crimes- and he paints a picture so drastically different from the truth, relying on his interpretation to establish a story so vivid he believes it to be real- even if itâs a figment of his own imagination, a product of his own devastation. Dispelled doubts come rushing back, and he allows them to influence the narrative- since you still canât seem to find your voice- and everything left unsaid becomes louder in the silence. He mistakes your tears for guilt, instead of recognizing the regret and shame that mingle with saltwater. As gutted as he is, he looks to you for an explanation, but you canât bring yourself to justify what youâve done- even if it wasnât your intention. Distracting him was part of the plan. Keeping him occupied was your mission, but confessing your true feelings and allowing yourself to fall back in love with him- not just the idea of what it would be like to love him- wasnât part of your job description.
The second your paths crossed again, you were done for. It was never about seeking vengeance or getting even for the hurt that he caused you, because the minute that Dick waltzed back into your life, you knew you were doomed- because he makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak- and you let him. Every single time. Always and forever. Infinitely.
When he looks at you, he looks past you and towards your belongings on the counter. No. You shake your head, vehemently encouraging him to look away. If his eyes would just meet yours, if only for a second, you know you could save this. If not for the sake of putting broken pieces back together you could at least salvage fragments amongst the wreckage, but he doesnât spare you a glance. No, no, no. His attention is solely on the expensive stone behind you, and when you reach out for him, your fingertips shaking as you grasp his bicep with all of the strength you can muster, he shakes you off of him.
Everything splinters.
When he reaches for your earring, you know that this is the end. Itâs all over. A new moment will erase everything you thought you knew about pain, heartbreak, suffering, and betrayal. This moment, as it unfolds before you, will plague you until you meet your demise, because the second that he dares to bring the jewel up to his own ear, the exact moment that he hears Selinaâs command through the gravely static of the earpiece you discarded earlier in the evening, you know that any hope for a future together vanishes- ripped straight from your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it and guard it with your life.
Even with his back towards you, you can see his face harden in the reflection of the mirror. Through the thin material of his crumbled dress shirt his shoulders tense and when he finally looks up to meet your stare through the glass, all traces of red, green, and yellow are gone. A piece of him- the piece of him that youâre most familiar with- dies, sprawled out and oozing across the marble. Itâs too late to try to revive him. All thatâs left in the wake of his slaughter is blue and black.
Blue and black, forevermore.
Thereâs nothing left for either of you here. Not anymore. Hope begins to decay, and the hollow hole in your chest that only he could ever fill begins to die from rot. Nothing will ever be the same. Not after this. Perhaps the final thought passed back and forth between a glare is the last thing youâll ever share- beyond moments of destruction and beautiful chaos- but itâs clear to you both, that not all ghosts are meant to be resurrected.
Some ghosts should just stay ghosts.
a/n: hey, Iâm raen and Iâm down bad for this man lolâŚanyway, Iâve been working on this story for months. I literally poured bits and pieces of my soul into this (so if you wouldnât mind interacting or providing feedback Iâd be forever grateful) but I just wanted to write a tale of doomed lovers who care about each other in such a way that it leads to their downfall. I wanted this to hurt, and I hope it did- in the best way possible! Iâm not above begging, so please, please, please feel free to send some feedback- as this is my first time writing for Dick and I would love to hear what people think! that being said, requests are also open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if youâve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!Â
everyone who requested to be tagged: @js-favnanadoongi @kalulakunundrum @1lellykins @octodog17 @novelizt @nesta-houseofwindfantasy @corgiqween576 @whiteglovemanor @godcreatoreli @lassmich1 @consternat1on @deffnotnia @haloney @iananiko @noodlesketchbook @thescarletcryptid @obsessedwthdilfs @vanice-e @taintedmaroon @holybatflapexpert @whatismypurpos @heylookwhoitis @corpseflower6 @heavenlym0chi @lokiwannacry @boywondergrayson @tetzoro @oiztsy @naf3211
tagging a few of my favorite accounts:Â @becauseicantthinkwritings @dxckgrxsonx @lightwing-s @makethatelevenrings @littleredwing89 @bat-writer @wingbcrn @rebelbluerobin @idyllcy @dick-nightwing-grayson @damiansgrayson @gone-batty-fics @graysonspet @graysonswonder @angry-nightwing
Send me some feedback, or request to be added to my taglist! (please specify which taglist youâd like to be added to- character or general) !Requests: OPEN!
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#dick grayson#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson smut#dick grayson fanfic#dick grayson fanfiction#dick grayson angst#nightwing#nightwing x reader#nightwing imagine#nightwing smut#batfam#batfam smut#batfam angst#dc titans#dc imagine#dc comics imagine#dc smut#dick grayson x you#dick grayson x y/n#nightwing x you#nightwing x y/n
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Not Your Average Caddy : ĚĚâ Carlos Sainz
summary: rather than caddy around, you decide to show carlos how you really play golf
âI donât think Iâd be half bad at this you know,â you proudly told Carlos, watching as he climbed out from the golf cart, grabbing a club from his golf bag. You followed behind as Carlos went over to the start of the hole, looking out to where the flag was.Â
Carlosâ eyes looked across at you, struggling to hold back his snigger. You could tell straight away he doubted your golfing abilities, only adding to your determination to prove him wrong.Â
âIf you showed me the ropes, I think Iâd be as good as you,â you proudly suggested, smacking his arm when Carlos scoffed.Â
He took a step closer towards you, offering his golf club out to you. âYou really think youâre going to be good at golf.âÂ
âIâve watched you play it enough times, how difficult can it be?âÂ
Carlos nodded as he placed his hands on your waist, lining you up with where his golf tee was. He made sure you were stood with your feet apart, lining them up with your shoulders. As he did so, Carlos pressed a kiss to your cheek, trying his best to catch you by surprise.Â
âAmor, hereâs your club,â he smiled, passing one of his clubs across to you. Carlos placed both of his hands over yours to show you how to hold onto the club, placing one just above the other. âNow, keep that grip nice and tight otherwise the club will go flying.âÂ
âHow mad will you be if I break one of your clubs out if interest?â You couldnât help but tease.Â
Carlosâ head shook, âIâll deprive you of sex for a month.âÂ
Your eyes widened at his threat, suddenly tightening the grip that you had on the club to make sure that you didnât let it go.Â
âSo, first thing you want to do is swing backwards, get a bit of power behind you,â Carlos instructed, showing you how it was done. Â
You swung the club backwards, keeping your eye on the golf ball that was lined up on the tee. However, as you followed through and swung forward, the club completely missed the ball, leaving you swinging into thin air.Â
You knew without even having to look that Carlos was smirking beside you, confident that golf wasnât quite as easy as you thought.Â
âIâve changed my mind,â you huffed, going to walk back over to the golf cart, only for Carlos to take a hold of your hand and pull you back into his side, refusing to let you give up so easily.Â
âFor a first try, that wasnât actually too bad,â Carlos encouraged, kissing against the side of your face, tickling against your side. You smiled appreciatively across at Carlos as he tried to reassure you, standing you back in position again to have another go.Â
You lined yourself up once again, holding back onto the club like Carlos instructed. Your nervous eyes looked to him to make sure that you were doing the right thing, relieved when he proudly nodded, letting you know that you were doing a great job.Â
As you went to swing back, Carlos walked over to you, moulding his body against yours. His hands rested over yours as you swung back yet again, keeping a hold of you as you swung forwards. Â
âLook at you go,â Carlos cheered as the club hit the ball sweetly, sending it flying up into the air. Your eyes lit up as you watched how far it travelled, barely able to see where it landed as it thudded back down to the ground.Â
Your body spun around as you came face to face with Carlos, a proud smile etched upon your face. His grin was much wider this time too as he saw how happy you were with your attempt, even if Carlos had helped you with it too.Â
âI told you that you could do it,â Carlos grinned, taking the club from you as he took his shot, making it look effortless. Â
Your head shook in disbelief as you watched him make it look so easy. âHow do you even manage to hit the ball that far?âÂ
âSheer strength,â Carlos teased, flexing his bicep as you both got back into the golf cart, driving down the hole to find where your ball landed.Â
When you found your ball, you grabbed the club once again, remembering what Carlos had taught you to do. You stood lined up with the hole, deciding to take a few practice shots before stepping up to where the ball was. You swung back, only for the club to once again fly straight over the ball and leave you stood cluelessly.Â
âTry again,â Carlos quickly told you, a wide smile on his face. âTake your time and I know you can do it.âÂ
You ended up with Carlos guiding you again as you hit your ball all the way down to the green. Carlos putted his ball in like it was the easiest job in the world, passing it across to you so that you could have a go too.Â
âJust think like youâre playing mini golf now,â Carlos instructed, taking a step back to watch you.Â
Your head nodded, having played mini golf plenty of times before with Carlos, you were sure that you could get it in this time with no problem at all. For one final time you lined yourself up, taking your practice shot first.Â
Once you were confident, you gently tapped the ball, not wanting to hit it too far this time, watching it roll along the green. You were almost confident for a second, however as the ball got to the hole, you managed to miss it by a matter of millimetres. Â
You threw your arms up in disbelief as Carlos smiled, struggling to understand how one person could be so unlucky. Your eyes landed on Carlos, looking to him for some sort of answer as to how you ended up missing the hole.Â
âYou tried your best,â Carlos laughed as he closed the distance between the two of you, âbut maybe itâs best if you stick to being the golf cart driver from now on, thatâs a job that you excel at.âÂ
Your head nodded as Carlos kissed against the top of it, placing his hand against the small of your back. âMaybe playing golf isnât quite as easy as I thought it was.âÂ
âYou did better than I thought you would,â Carlos smiled.Â
You walked over and tapped your ball into the hole, grabbing it out and passing it to Carlos. He took the club from you as you loaded the golf cart back up to head down to the next hole.Â
âI think I prefer being a spectator anyway, itâs not fair how one man can look so good hitting a golf ball,â you complimented, resting your hands against Carlosâ shoulders.Â
âI was thinking that itâs getting a little hot with the sun,â Carlos spoke, reaching down and holding the hem of his shirt. âYou wouldnât mind, would you?â He quizzed, lifting his top up and taking it off over his head.Â
âOh no, theyâll be no complaints from me.â Â
ËËË đđđđđđđđđđ ! ´ËË
#f1#f1 imagine#formula 1#carlos sainz#carlos sainz imagine#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 reaction#formula 1 x you#formula 1 fanfic#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x reader#formula one x you#formula one x reader#formula one imagine#formula 1 fic#formula one#f1 drabble#f1 fluff#f1 x you#f1 fic
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You Can Have Me - Rafe
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader (Jj's twin sister)
** MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU ARE NOT UP TO DATE**
18+ ONLY!!
Written with the help of my darling BFF @fanficgirl429
This is my first dip into OBX and I am not disappointed in myself :P Leave some love if you like it xo
---------------------------------------
I jolted awake, the torment of my latest nightmare abruptly dissipating. The early morning sunlight caressed my skin as it filtered through the delicate white curtains. The movement beside me anchored me to the reality that I was home in North Carolina, secure, if only for the moment.Â
âYou good?â Kie asked beside me in a sleepy tone.
My body resisted as I cast aside the comforter and compelled myself to rise from the bed.
âI donât think âgoodâ is the right word,â I muttered, grabbing my sports bra from the floor and moving toward the bathroom.Â
She mumbled something I couldnât quite make out before rolling away from me.Â
Upon our return from Morocco, the stark reality of having lost both our home and business hit us with overwhelming force. Rafe Cameron, who seemed the most improbable of heroes, extended the hospitality of his beachfront home to us pogues. John B would say this was a gesture to Sarah and the fact Rafe would soon be an uncle. Conversely, Sarah claims it was because of me. I chose to ignore her.Â
It may be difficult to comprehend, but experiencing homelessness was not the most distressing event of the past month. Upon our return home, we found ourselves one member short of our original group. My sole family member, my twin brother, is now lost to me permanently. My heart has been irreparably broken, as the only true family I ever knew was taken away by our estranged and unstable father.
I couldnât make this shit up if I tried.Â
It has been more than three weeks since that happened. While I have not fully come to terms with the loss of a significant part of myself, I have become emotionally numb to it. I could not endure another expression of sympathy or inquiry about my well-being from anyone in the community. With that being said, for the past week, I have rarely stepped outside the small room that Kie and I shared.
I brushed my teeth and then swiftly threw my hair up in a loose ponytail. Once I was done, I grabbed some running shorts and paired it with a loose tee, desperate to release endorphins.Â
âIâm going for a run, Iâll be back in an hour.âÂ
The door was already shut but I smiled at the muffled âbe carefulâ from Kie.Â
My sneakers slid on effortlessly, and before anyone had the chance to engage me in conversation, I exited. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, I halted suddenly, intrigued by the sound of music coming from one of the open garages. It was a quarter past seven, and we were not particularly a lively bunch this early in the day.
As I approached the open door, Rafe came into sight. He was standing there, humming to the music, dressed in a snug white t-shirt and boxers. A wave of butterflies stirred in my stomach at the mere sight of him, evoking a mix of confusion and excitement within me. He glanced up from the bike, removing the black grease from his fingers onto his shirt.
âY/N, hey.âÂ
I smiled at him as I leaned against the frame to the garage. âHey Rafe.âÂ
A week prior to our departure for Morocco, I had spent hours wrapped up in this man. His skin pressed against mine, his lips caressing every inch of my body. The mere recollection of those moments left me feeling lightheaded. However, since our return, our communication had dwindled to almost nothing. I stood at the door to his bedroom one night, desperate to feel him inside of me again, but terrified of being denied. I went to bed tense and alone.Â
My body yearned for him once more as he gazed at me with his deep ocean blue eyes. It was evident that he was attempting to decipher my thoughts, his eyes narrowing while I remained silent.
âAre you ok?â he asked, leaning on his bike.Â
I pulled myself from the trance and stepped further into the garage. âPlease donât ask me that, Iâm sick of people asking me that.âÂ
He cocked his head to the side before dropping a tool in his toolbox. âFine. Am I allowed to ask if you are having a good morning?âÂ
âI am so far, but maybe check back later as things can change at any given moment. Iâm going to go for a run.âÂ
Rafe nodded and reached down for something I couldnât see. âCool, cool. I would have thought maybe you were going to the shooting range or something.âÂ
I decided it was best to play dumb. âWhy would I be going to a shooting range?âÂ
His hand resurfaced holding a black gun.Â
Shit.Â
I looked at the gun then back at him. I was careless, and couldnât remember where Iâd left. It must have been in the back of his truck. âI can explain.âÂ
âI actually have a few questions. One, where the fuck did you get this? And two, are you insane?âÂ
This wasnât at all how I was hoping this morning would go. âLook, I know how to use it. Iâve been practicing.âÂ
âOh, you know how to use it? That makes me feel much better,â he laughed, removing the clip and putting it back into the bag he pulled it out of. âWhat are you doing, Y/N? Are you planning on going and killing Groff yourself?âÂ
âWhy not?âÂ
Rafeâs eyes widened as he straddled the bike. âFor fuck sake, Y/N.âÂ
I moved closer, standing right beside him and the bike. âWhy not, Rafe? I donât want anyone else hurt, and we know he isnât above killing his own children let alone my friends. I can do this, I have to do this!â
âAnd what if he kills you first?âÂ
As if I didnât think about that. âThatâs definitely a possibility.âÂ
âA possibilityâŚâ He had that crazed look we all knew so well. âDo you even know where he is?â He asked, clearly irritated as he rubbed his eyes.Â
His question surprised me. âNo, I donât.âÂ
Rafe nodded, then reached for a wrench in his toolbox. âAlrightâŚâÂ
I leaned forward trying to catch his gaze, âAlright what?âÂ
âOnce you know where he is, you let me know.â Â
This time I laughed. âWhy would I do that, youâd try and stop me.â
âI wonât. When you know where he is, Iâll go with you and weâll kill the son of a bitch.âÂ
I stood there silent for a moment, confused at the sharp turn the conversation just took. He continued on his bike as if no words had just been exchanged. Like neither of us were just perfectly ok with committing murder three seconds ago.Â
âRafeâŚI canât ask you to do that.âÂ
âYou didnât ask, I volunteered.âÂ
He threw the wrench back into the box and reached out to me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into him. âIâm supposed to be the crazy one, but right now youâre scaring me a little.âÂ
My hand instinctively reached for his abdomen, applying a gentle pressure against his muscles.
âYou scare me too.âÂ
An unexpected rush of life filled my heart, which throbbed so vigorously that I worried it might burst from my chest. He moved in closer, our lips nearly aligned, brushing softly against one another without fully making contact.
His calloused hands traversed the bare skin of my waist, then stealthily slipped under the waistband, pulling me tightly against his thigh. He smiled at me, and I could feel the heat rising, a flush spreading between my legs.
âY/NâŚâ his lips brushed my cheek, before moving to my ear sending a shiver down my spine to where my body wanted him most. âI need you, and if Groff takes you away before I even get to have youâŚletâs just say things wonât end well.âÂ
I moved my hand down to his boxers, slipping beneath the elastic. My fingers curled around his firm erection, gliding back and forth. âRafe, you can have me whenever you want me.âÂ
Rafe moaned, biting softly on the nape of my neck.Â
He gently pulled me closer, lifting my leg so I could straddle the bike to sit on his lap. Our lips finally reunited, but this time there was no hesitation, only an intense desire. My arm encircled his neck as I leaned back on the handlebars, arching my back into him while feeling the ignition pressing against my shoulder blades. It didn't matter though, as I was completely enthralled with this man.Â
Rafe withdrew slightly, his fingers gliding up my leg until they encountered my shorts. With a delicate motion, he eased them down, removing them as if he had performed this action countless times before. As he leaned in once more, his lips met my thigh, placing rough kisses upon the exposed skin. I arched my back as his mouth connected with my pulsating center, his thumb teasing the thin, damp fabric.
âOh, god.â I let out a soft sound as he moved the loose fabric aside, teasing my sensitive area.
His tongue swirled over my core, and my body threatened to tip over the edge. I could feel him smiling as he devoured me, the sounds escaping me only egging him on further. He momentarily withdrew, prompting me to reach out in protest.
âI like you begging, but Iâm just getting these out of the way so I can ruin you.âÂ
My underwear fell away effortlessly, and before I could utter another word, he returned to his position between my legs, guiding me nearer to my peak. The sensation coursing through me was the most intense I had ever experienced. His tongue glided over my center, while two fingers rhythmically entered and exited, propelling me toward the precipice of pleasure.
âFuck, Iâm going to come.âÂ
The apparent struggle in my voice served only to urge him to quicken his movements, and I was unable to withstand it any further. A delightful tingling spread throughout my body as I reached my peak, my heart racing and my breath becoming erratic.
Rafe reclined slightly before rising to his feet, a smirk playing on his lips, fully aware of the effect his actions had on me. His blue eyes roamed over my figure as he extended his hand toward me. I placed my hand in his, and he swiftly drew me up and guided me toward the wall. His hands descended to my waist, and he pivoted me so that my back was firmly against the wall.
âShould we stop?â Rafe asked, his fingers playing with the hem of my t-shirt.Â
His boxers were halfway down his thigh when I looked up at him, towering over me with a devilish grin. âYouâre so fucking funny.âÂ
He suddenly placed his lips against my neck, leaving a series of kisses before ultimately returning to my mouth. In a swift motion, he elevated my leg and pressed his aroused tip against my core.
âYouâre nice and wet, all for me.â He whispered, biting my already inflamed bottom lip.
His length entered me effortlessly, the sensation of his movements eliciting soft moans. One of his hands firmly grasped my thigh, elevating my leg, while the other hand held my backside, his fingernails creating delicate crescent impressions as they traced my skin.
Rafe's movements began with a deliberate yet pressing urgency, intensifying with each thrust. I felt myself tighten around him as the well-known pleasure surged within me. His lips met mine, our tongues intertwining amidst our shared moans.
âDamn, you feel so good.âÂ
My hand clung to his shirt, pulling him tighter to me.
A wave of bliss enveloped me, my head tilting back as I softly uttered his name repeatedly. Rafe was just behind me, a deep groan escaping his lips as he nestled his face into the curve of my neck.
The two of us stood there for a moment, catching our breath. Rafe reached down and pulled his boxers back up before gently placing a kiss on the corner of my mouth.Â
âFor that, with you,â he smiled and took a breath. ââŚIâd kill a hundred Groffs.âÂ
The expression in my face revealed my own satisfaction. He gently placed his hands on my cheeks and kissed me one final time, this time with significantly more passion.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally withdrew, his teeth grazing his lower lip as he returned to the project he had been engaged in earlier. "Are you still planning to go for that run?" he inquired, casting a glance in my direction.
I shook my head, âNo, I think Iâm good.â Â
#outer banks#obx season 4#obx#outer banks season 4#obx spoilers#rafe cameron#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron x reader#rafe x reader#rafe smut#rafe imagine#outer banks imagine#rafe fanfiction#drew starkey#rafe x y/n#rafe cameron x y/n
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Stairs or Brooms?
10:45am By Y/N
Good morning Students of Eden!
The last week has been hectic, certainly a rollercoaster none of us remembered getting on, but we sure donât want to get off.Â
Or do we?
Since according to an informant, who will stay anonymous, a cheerleader and a member of Omega Phi were getting it on behind the old stairwell of the Psychology building.Â
Sound familiar?
Well, thatâll be because it isnât the first time a cheerleader has taken a wild ride behind some stairs.Â
Youâll remember a campus-wide email sent in June of last year detailing the complaints members of the cleaning staff reported on âmysterious remnants stainingâ the floors and walls which they found âextremely difficultâ to clean out. CCâing the coach of the cheerleaders, none of us missed the implication. Ending with a reminder of the Code of Conduct we all agreed to upon acceptance of our offers, the good people of EdenU were left wondering, who were the culprits creating these stains?
Having conducted a poll, linked here, there ended up being no majority consensus on what it could have been, but a sizeable number of the student population, and beyond (thanks to the people of Eden City, much love), theorised it was âliquids of loveâ, as a Holistic Health researcher put it nicely.Â
We never did get an answer.Â
Until now?
Another informant kindly entered the Psychology building with a magnifying glass and pipe -- two fundamentally important ingredients to a good snoop -- and investigated for us. Their exploration led to a discovery of a used condom.Â
Thatâs a present heâll never forget.Â
Though, I donât recall if they ever reported what they did with it. Letâs just hope it isnât a repeat of BlueToothGate â it still gives me nightmares.Â
Now we have two incidents of inappropriate uses of stairwells, is it still too early to wonder, what is it about stairs that gets people going?
Perhaps itâs the curves of the bannister as it rounds over the corner, or is it the creaking of the third step that drives people wild?Â
Itâs entirely possible that weâll see a rising trend of stairwellphilia and I, for one, cannot wait.Â
Speaking of Philias, the rumoured cousin-lovers both named Phil, after 78% of you voted, have been sighted once more. This time in the broom cupboard of the Literature department. Was it a moment of convenience or something more?
Is there also a rise in broomphilia?
Should we be concerned?
Will the school ever make a stand?
So many questions but only one certainty:
We say NO to cousin-love!
Or, at least, 52% of us did.Â
I do not want to know why it was such a close call. But Iâm sure youâll tell me anyways in my Insiderâs Line.
On to more pressing matters; how is our List looking this time?
Drum roll pleaseâŚ.
Gojo stays at number one!
Anyone surprised?
Before someone starts, no, I am not biased. The number of confessions regarding him are staggering and that has not changed, only grown, since he entered the fold.Â
Having thrown yet another smashing bash, this time in Genesis Park, the president of Alpha Phi Delta secured his spot as the most desired man on campus. People reported the utter genius of using the skate ramps as beer pong tables and his quick thinking to hide the beloved pug mascot of our rival, Eden Met, down the slide.Â
The picture taken by his friends cuddling the adorable puppy in his shirtless arms has, Iâm sure, been printed out and pasted on every surface of many girlâs bedrooms.Â
No judgements here.Â
The silent but deadly man of campus, lovingly known as Hot Nerd Nanami, has risen up the rankings after many months of stagnation at 13th to 4th after he was seen abandoning his frumpy blue sweater in favour of a plain white tee. Boring and basic on anyone else but downright scandalous and drool-worthy on the physics student.
As some people have confessed, this is the most bare we've ever been able to see of him. Is it the beginning of a new era?
Or was it just laundry day?
Whatever the reason may be, we are sure glad it happened.
Apart from the usual, one other interesting change in our List is Vice President Sukunaâs rank â having been at 5th last time, heâs been bumped up to 2nd. And it wasnât because of a shirtless picture he posted on Insta, for once.
No, this time, there are videos circulating the Bulletin which displays him, in the background of Gojo's disciplinary hearing, eyeing someone up and down like they were the tastiest wagyu around. This is the most daring, most expressive, most human? weâve ever seen our star basketball player.Â
But just who was bringing that out of him?
Send in your guesses, people!
Itâs time to play our favourite game:
Who Are You Looking At?
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Some people wanted to see a example of Toji's reader's writing so I busted one out for y'all x
Not proofread btw
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