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afictionalwhore · 4 years ago

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104 Training Corps Masturbation HCs

(Eren, Reiner, Armin, Jean, Connie, Levi, and Erwin)

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□ AN: I wrote this in between second covid vaccine naps, so just bear with me. All characters are aged up.

□ NSFW, mDNI

□ TW: smidge of ddlg, mommy kink, mentions of BDSM, Eren has anger issues, dubcon if you squint, cum eating

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Eren Jaeger

He’s so focused on his goals that he doesn’t really have the time to think about his feelings. So he doesn’t masturbate very often and definitely doesn’t have sex (see above), so the act is usually a last resort stress relief.

The first time he did it, he accidentally said your name. The next day, he couldn’t stop staring at you, wondering when he developed such feelings. He would look way quickly with a bright red blush whenever you caught him staring. But you became an addiction and obsession for him, something very dangerous.

Angry. Everything this man does is fueled by rage and that includes some good ole self love. He’s grunting your name through gritted teeth while his hard cock is weeping precum over his tight fist. He’s fast, and he’s messy.

He always feels disgusted with himself afterwards. He thinks it’s a waste of time and energy. While he always has a clearer head in terms of what to do next, his thoughts and emotions are a big mess when it comes to you. He thinks he doesn’t deserve you, that you would only get hurt with him. But yet each time he paints his stomach white while crying for you, he falls a little bit more into you.

If you caught him, he’d be very aloof and ask if you planned on just standing there. Either leave or help him out.

Sweat dripped down Eren’s toned body as he jerked his hand up and down his angry cock. Precum was weeping from his slit, and he could only dream that it was your sweet juices making his cock so wet. He threw his head back, thumping against the headboard, as he chanted your name like his favorite prayer. Hot, sticky ropes of cum fell on his stomach, cooling rapidly against his overheated skin.

Eren gulped down oxygen, trying to regain his breath as he climbed down from his high. His fist unfurled from his softening cock and fell on the bed beside him. He lifted his head slightly before banging it back against the hard wood with a loud thunk.

“Goddammit.”

You stood behind his door, cracked just a little to give you the most delicious glimpse of Eren in his afterglow. A rough voice startled you out of your ogling as intense green eyes met your doey ones.

“You plan on standing there all day, princess? Close the door and leave,” Eren grunted. “Or better yet, come here and help me out a little.”

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Reiner Braun

A gentle giant who deserves so much love. He’s been through so much, so who can blame him for wanting a little bit of stress relief.

This man is so embarrassed the first time he cums to you. He thought you were just a friend, despite everyone else saying there was more between the two of you. So when he’s fisting himself to the thought of your soft voice calling his name, he can’t look at you the next day.

He can’t help himself after that. You invade every part of his mind and his dreams and fantasies are filled with you. His favorite fantasy is you riding him, while he peppers your body in sweet kisses and praises.

If you were to catch him, he would stop instantly and try to cover himself and hide from you. His face would flush red as a tomato as he stammered out apology after apology.

It’s only when you step into his room and take his massive hand in yours does he understand the feelings are mutual.

“Reiner?” you called, looking for your friend. You walked down the dark hallway of the shack you called home. Your oldest friend was having a difficult week watching the children train and fight, so you opened your heart and home to him.

You had heard crying earlier, and wanted to make your gentle giant a soothing cup of tea and ask if there was anything you could do to help. It broke your heart seeing Reiner this way.

As you neared the door, you heard panting coming from Reiner’s room.

“Reiner!” you yelled as you opened the door, fearing the worst for your friend.

Reiner looked at you before flushing a bright tomato red. His large hands wrapped around his generously endowed length. He stammered your name and quick apologies.

You walked towards him, closing the door behind you with a swift kick. You eased his large hands away from his hard cock. Confusion swam in his eyes before you cupped his cheeks in your hands and pulled him in for a soft kiss.

“I wish I had known sooner,” you said. “You know, I’ve loved you since we were kids.”

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Armin Arlet

Overall, Armin is really quiet when he’s pumping himself. It’s not until he gets closer to his end that he’s whining your name.

Armin stays in his room. He may tease himself in the shower, but he prefers to finish in the absolute privacy of his room.

The next day, he’ll be all blushes when he sees you, but you’re so used to Armin’s quiet demeanor that you don’t really think too much of it. Maybe he just had a stomachache and needed to go.

Armin is a master manipulator. He’s possessive and competitive even if not outwardly so. His fantasies can get dark, as he thinks of ways to rig you up, edge you, and fuck you until you know nothing but his name. He dreams of ways to mark you, sweet and innocent you, as his own.

Armin is a switch. While he dreams of taking you for his own, Armin also likes to fantasize about you torturing him. He wants to be wrapped completely in you as he begs you to “please please please” let him cum.

Whines could be heard from Armin’s room through the wall. You were the only one who seemed concerned for him. Eren and the others simply snickered when you mentioned strange noises coming from Armin’s room.

“Why don’t you check on him?” Jean suggested, prompting laughter from the rest of the men.

“Since I’m the only here who seems to care about him, maybe I will,” you said defensive, before stomping your way back to Armin’s room.

You knocked once, twice, and were met with Armin’s whines of your name.

“Armin!” you cried, throwing the door open.

“No! Don’t come in!” the blonde sobbed, but it was too late. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, in full view of you with his hard cock in hand.

“Oh, baby,” you cooed, eyes holding a dangerous glint as you stalked towards Armin. “Let mommy help, okay?”

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Jean Kirstein

A little aloof and obnoxious about it. So what if he masturbates, everyone does. It’s great stress relief. Man has a point.

Jean does try to muffle his sounds. As much as he doesn’t care that people know what he’s up to, he doesn’t intend on giving a show. He also doesn’t intend on everyone knowing it’s you he’s thinking of when his hand slides up and down his long cock.

Jean likes to bite. His pillowcase and sheets are full of tears from where he bites down, wishing it was your soft skin that he was sinking his teeth into. This does help to muffle his noises.

Jean is a talker. He loves dirty talk and will talk to himself while thinking of you. His favorite fantasy is him lavishing you in praises, saying you’re such a “good girl for daddy”.

While Jean is open that he does indeed masturbate, he is very defensive if he gets caught. He tries to cover himself and make up very poor excuses.

“Hey, Jean,” you called before bouncing into your lover’s bedroom. “Have you seen my—.” The sight before you cut you off.

On his bed lay Jean. The white sheets tangled into his legs as he pumped his cock with smooth rhythmic strokes. His head thrown back and eyes clenched shut, tell-tale signs that he was reaching his end. Your name fell from lips in light praises as he called you his good girl and imagined you wrapped tightly around him, milking him. With a heavy grunt, Jean came, spraying his chest with his hot cum.

The sound of light clapping from across the room jerked him out of his afterglow. Jean turned away from you, stammering at you to get out as he pulled up his sheets to cover himself.

“But daddy,” you cooed as you walked forward, swaying your hips just the way Jean liked. “Am I not good enough for you?”

You fake pout had Jean already hard again.

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Connie Springer

An addict and everyone knows it. He is also very defensive over this, stating it’s a healthy stress relief compared to drugs or alcohol. No one can really disagree with him, so he’s left alone.

He prefers the privacy of his room, but will absolutely rub one out in the showers that may or may not be shared by the other men.

The only one who could probably hold eye contact with you the next day after you catch him. You have the same sense of humor, so that helps.

You and Connie are close friends, who spill the dirty details over everything to each other, except of course how badly you want each other. Even Mikasa can see it.

Connie has a slight savior complex. His favorite fantasy is you calling him a hero and asking how you could repay him for saving you.

“Tell me! Tell me!” you begged Connie the next morning at breakfast.

The man in question groaned at your insistence.

“Connie, we tell each other everything, ever since we were cadets, we left no secrets between us. Please, please tell me!”

“No,” Connie whined, hiding his burning face in his hands.

“You had a wet dream, and I want to know who it was about. Maybe I can help, put in a good word with them for you?” You smirked at your best friend’s growing discomfort. “Please, Connie,” you whispered. “I’ll give you half my lunch.” You hoped to bribe the man out of silence.

Connie jumped up and pounded his tight fists on the table. “You!” He shouted. “It was you!” His face grew beet red as the cafeteria occupants turned towards the racket. “It wasn’t a wet dream either.” His voice softened in embarrassment as he turned away from you.

“Oh.” You sat in silence with Connie for a few brief moments before placing a hand on his shoulder. “Do you mind showing me then?”

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Levi Ackerman

Very quiet about it. It’s a surprise to most when it comes out that he masturbates, but as Jean said, who doesn’t? Still, what he does in private is his own business, and no one dares to mention if they’ve caught him.

For him, it’s a form of stress relief, so he’s prone to rub one out in the privacy of his shower or office. Occasionally he’ll lay in bed, but really the shower is just so much easier to clean.

Levi’s favorite fantasy unsurprisingly involves a maid outfit. He’d die if he ever saw you in one, bent over and giving him the briefest peek of your panties.

Overstimulation king. This man’s refractory period is next to zero. Also very kinky.

Canonically, Levi is an awkward sub. If you caught him, he would freeze before getting angry and yelling at you to leave him alone. He would completely avoid any and all interaction with you to the best of his abilities, prompting Erwin and Hange to ask if you’ve done something to provoke him.

That’s if you didn’t take matters into your own hands. Your handsome captain is overworked, and it’s your duty to help.

“Captain!” you called as you barged into Levi’s office, only to find the man hunched over his desk, head resting on the desk with sweat dripping onto the cool wooden surface. His back heaved as he struggled to regain his breath.

“Captain! Are you okay?!” You panicked and ran towards your captain.

Levi jumped up, face completely drained of color. He blushed furiously as he processed that it was you who walked in on him in such a vulnerable state.

“No!” Levi yelped. “Don’t come any closer! Get out!”

You ignored your captain’s direct orders and reached out for him, noticing the sticky white coating his hand.

“Oh,” you giggled. “I see. I thought I had cleaned everything, but it seems I missed a spot.” You raised Levi’s hand to your lips before licking him clean. You held his icy gray eyes in your darkening gaze as you drank everything he had to offer.

You smiled as you glanced down at his cock, already hardening once again.

“Do you want help with that,” you asked coyly. “Captain?”

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Erwin Smith

This man makes a goddamn show out of the act. He is sprawled on silk sheets, sporting nothing but an untied emerald green robe that lavishly falls on either side of him.

An exhibitionist who really doesn’t care if he’s caught. In fact, he hopes you walk by and hear him moaning your name. His favorite fantasy is you walking in on him like this. His bed is facing the doorway and he’s propped against luxurious pillows just in case.

He’s also loud. LOUD. He wants to be heard.

He pampers himself before and after like a true king. His skin is soft from a fresh shower, complete with moisturizing routine. Afterwards, he’ll take a few moments to regain his breath before collecting himself to clean up. He’s very careful to get all his cum on his own body and not his robe or sheets.

An arrogant bastard, but can back himself up. He has every reason to think so highly of himself and his sexuality.

You heard the deep moans from down the hall before you even neared your commander’s bedroom. Erwin’s deep, breathy pants of your name filled the empty hallway and echoed around you. You blushed furiously as you tried to pass, making your way to your own sleeping quarters.

As you passed, you noticed the door to Erwin’s bedroom was cracked open. You had always had a thing for your Greek god of a commander, and couldn’t help yourself as you peeked in through the open door.

You watched Erwin stroke himself, his perfect hand sculpted by Michelangelo himself moving up and down on his thick cock.

Erwin came with a deep grown of your name, as he painted his chiseled chest white. The sounds of Erwin’s ecstasy hitting you straight in your core as your own sex pulsed with need.

“Ah!” Erwin called, a dangerous glint in his ocean eyes. “Just the person I wanted to see!”

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction would bring it back.

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Bonus: Dick HCS

Eren: Above average in girth and length. He’s full of lean muscle and his dick matches. He has a nice curve too.

Reiner: Very well endowed. He’s a giant and his dick suits him. He’ll stretch you nicely and hit your cervix every time.

Armin: Just above average, but he worries he’s small. You remind him that he fits you just right.

Jean: longer than average, but of average girth. He’s a little self conscious of himself until you call him “daddy” and praise his cock.

Connie: average but knows how to use it and please you

Levi: this short king is packing and you know it

Erwin: a monster and he knows it. This man is unpacking a slip-n-slide every time he takes his pants off.

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#attack on titan #aot x reader #aot headcanons #tw.masturbation #eren jaeger #reiner braun #armin arlet #jean kirschtien #connie springer #levi ackerman #erwin smith #I feel like I’m dying #but they are bringing me back to life

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hellsbedroom · 4 years ago

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Arvin Russell // NSFW Alphabet

arvin russell x reader

Masterlist

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Arvin needs a minute to recover, not gonna lie. He rests his forehead to yours and breathes the moment in. He’ll hold your cheek or squeeze your hand and whisper, “that was so good.” Then he always cleans you up with a damp rag and offers to get you a glass of water before laying back down. The afterglow is blissful, with your hand tracing shapes on his chest as he speaks softly and you doze off together.

B = Body part (favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

He never really thinks about it, but he supposes he appreciates his hands. They’re strong and lean and can be so harsh to people he wants to hurt. But at the same time they can be so soft with people he loves, especially you. He loves how you don’t mind the calloused pads of his fingers tracing over your skin after a long day at work.

And your legs could knock him flat any day. He loves their shape and how they look under any dress you’re wearing. He especially loves how good your legs feel when they’re draped over his hips when you straddle him. Squeezing your thighs is one of his favorite things in the world.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum basically)

If he can’t cum inside you, Arvin loves to cum on your chest. When you go down on him and let him drench your naked chest in cum he almost loses it. You just look so pretty and in love with him. He’s always good about cleaning it up after, especially if it got on any of your clothes. But even so, a little mess never hurt nobody ;)

D = Dirty secret (an interesting dirty secret of theirs)

He thinks about your lips all the time. Especially sitting in church, when things are supposed to be holy. He’ll dream of the curve of your lower lip or the new lipstick color you wore the day before. Thoughts of messing up that lipstick by making out or your pretty lips wrapped around his length always follow.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s had a little experience with a girl or two when he was in high school. Making out, fondling, he’s not totally new to the idea. But with you is the first time he really explores someone. And he’s a fast learner. It doesn’t take him long to figure out what makes you tick and where he can kiss you to make you moan like that.

F = Fantasy (what’s their favorite fantasy/roleplay?)

Arvin will indulge in a nurse roleplay sometimes. You saunter in the room in a little white outfit with the red crosses and pretend to take care of him a bit (he answers everything with a smirk and “yes ma’am”) before he’s kissing you everywhere and trying to get the damn dress off. You take care of him so much in real life that a little fantasy play is the perfect way to spice things up.

G = Goofy (are they more serious or goofy in the moment?)

He can be playful with foreplay, anything to make you smile even while you’re just making out or trying to get your clothes off. But as things progress, he gets more serious. He wants to make sure you’re enjoying yourself and is so in awe of you that he sobers up and gets to work when you’re between the sheets.

H = Hair (how groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes?)

He’s not really worried about grooming, but he’ll trim if he knows that’s what you prefer.

I = Intimacy (how are they in the moment, romantic aspect)

A huge romantic. Arvin won’t always set up flowers or candles but he’s so focused on being close to you that everything else fades away. He gives constant praise and keeps his eyes locked on yours when you need it most. His favorite thing is to always be holding your hand if possible, and squeezing when either of you reaches climax. It’s a way to anchor himself to you because the moment is so important.

J = Jackoff (about masturbation)

A guy’s gotta get stress relief somehow. Especially if y’all spend a few days apart. He’ll pull one out in the shower thinking of the last time he saw your figure splayed out beneath him. Sometimes you’ll leave a few racy polaroids for him to find and they become a treasured part of the routine.

K = Kink (any kinks)

Marking you with bite marks or hickies — where no one can see, of course. Slight daddy kink (saying “c’mon daddy” will end him). Pulling his hair makes him grin and now he’s sure to keep those locks long. And of course a praise kink!!! Breathlessly moaning that he feels so good, he’s hitting the right spot, that you love him and he’s doing such a good job. All of it will send him in a tizzy.

L = Location (favorite place to do it)

His car! It gives the two of you the most privacy when you can go park in a clearing far away from everyone else. You’ve figured out just the right way to lay on the seat to make it work and Arvin hovering closely over you is nice anyway. And it gives him a little pride when he’s driving alone and thinks back to all the things you’ve done on those seats.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

A pretty new dress will do it, but what gets him most of all is when you sass him. Getting playful, sarcastically quipping at him, and teasing him with a twinkle in your eye. He cocks his head in surprise but loves it deep down. It makes him mutter “c’mere you” and chase you around, which always ends hot and heavy.

N = NO (something they won’t do, turn offs)

Hitting your face. It’s too degrading and he couldn’t bear it if he hurt you.

O = Oral (giving and receiving)

Arvin is so eager to please, he wants to do right by you and one of the best ways he’s found is by fervently going down on you. Hearing the sounds you make and feeling you quiver around him sends him over the moon.

But you on your knees for him is a real pretty sight, too. You can make any bad day fade away with the things you do to him. He’ll never admit it, but he loves when you tease him, keeping him on the edge and driving him wild.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

If either of you have had a hard day, or you’re barely hidden in his car like giddy teenagers, he’ll be quicker and rougher. You’re breathing fast, his chest has a sheen of sweat, and his teeth glint in the darkness as he grins and takes you like there’s no tomorrow. Otherwise he’s on the slower side, taking his time to do it right. Burying himself in every inch of your form is important and you’re one of the most precious things in his life so he doesn’t like to be harsh.

Q = Quickie (opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He has no real need for quickies; if he wants to fuck then he’s gonna do it properly and not let anyone rush him along. Especially if you’ve found a good secluded spot in the woods. Rushing it doesn’t allow him to fully appreciate you and your body anyway. On occasion it’ll happen if he has to head out to a work site for a few days and you can’t resist having him one more time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment?)

He’s not too keen on being risky other than maybe being caught out in the woods. He likes stability when he finds it. You’re the one who has to shyly bring up new ideas in the bedroom and he might be a little hesitant, but he’s willing to try anything once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

Early in the relationship Arvin busts quickly, he can’t help it. But now he can last decently long, especially because he follows the cardinal rule of getting you off first. And for stamina? The man is like an ox. As long as he has a bit of a breather between each round he can go for as long as you want.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them on a partner or themselves?)

You won’t find a lot of sex toys in 1960s small town America. Mostly he likes knowing he can get you off by himself anyway. But if you visit a big city and come back with a vibrator to play around with, he wouldn’t be opposed.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Usually Arvin gets right down to business, but he can get in moods where he’s a real tease. In public he’ll stick to pinching or swatting your ass when he’s in that mood. When you’re alone he’ll taunt, “you like that, pretty girl?” when he can tell you’re really enjoying yourself. Hearing you beg for him when he’s endlessly teasing makes his eyes blow wide and he can’t help but give in to you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Surprisingly, he’s not quiet. He’s no screamer but you will definitely hear that he’s having a good time. He’ll groan deep in his chest when you nip at his neck or when he’s sinking into you, and he’ll gasp your name near the finish. And he’s always talking to you in between, murmuring how good it feels.

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

When he’s drunk: Arvin finds everything funny when he’s drunk. He chuckles at anything you do and will even take your hand and make you spin for him just so he can admire you. He leans on you more, burying his face in the crook of your neck even if you’re with friends and family. You’re always so happy to see him let loose and relax for a bit.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s in those pants)

He’s an average length and fairly girthy. Fills you up well. There’s also a curve to it that does wonders for you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Moderate. He can sometimes be really eager to get his hands on you, especially if you spend the weekend apart or something like that. Or he’ll sneak into your room late after you’ve gone on a date just to taste you again. But some days he just enjoys being around you with no pressure to perform in any way.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It varies. Sometimes Arvin will be out like a light as soon as he knows you’re satisfied and cleaned up. Other times he lays awake worrying for your safety or a dozen other things, and those nights you’re there to hold him and whisper the anxieties away with sweet nothings.

#arvin russell x reader #tdatt imagine #tom holland #arvin russell imagine #arvin russell #the devil all the time

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dubersbutt · 4 years ago

Note

if you’re still taking connor and leon poly requests, can i request a smut fic where y/n is being bratty the entire day and connor and leon decide to fuck each other and make the reader watch? thank you!

Yeah okay I had way too much fun with this one

1.2 K

Warnings: smut, mlm smut, mentions of exhibitionism

"Leon, come on," you groan as Connor ties down your hands, "I wasn't even that bratty."

Leon raised an eyebrow from where he sat on the bed, already in his boxers lifhtly palming himself through the fabric, "You jacked me off under the table in front of half the team."

And yeah you had. Connor was sitting on your left and Leon on your right, during the dinner with a few of their teammates and their girlfriends. Everyone was deep in conversation, including Connor and yourself. Leon was on his phone, sitting across from you. And he was wearing a Chris-Evans-cable-knit sweater, how did he expect you to not be all over him???? You didn't look in his direction as your foot travelled up his leg and started to tease him until his knuckles turned white around his phone and he bit his lip so hard he almost broke skin.

“Technically I used my foot, which is not jacking you off.”

Connor laughs as he fasten yours your legs down the exact same way you had a few weeks ago, “I have about 12 foot fetish jokes and I’m trying to decide which one is the best.”

“Keep them to yourself,” you scrunch up your nose, “I’m willing to do a lot of things, incorporating feet and piss into the bedroom is where I draw the line.”

Both Connor and Leon laugh at you , promising that neither of them will ask you for either of those things.

“Well foot or hand you still didn’t follow the rules,” Leon says as Connor finishes fastening you to the chair, “and you know what happens when you break the rules.”

“Not so fun when it’s you that doesn’t get to come, is it?” Connor teases, running his thumb over your lip before jumping on the bed next to Leon.

Connor knee-walks to over to Leon, straddling his lap.

"Hi," Connor says, smiling as he leans down to kiss him. Connor's cute like that.

You watch, unable to move or join in as Leon pulls Connor's shirt over his head and unties his sweats. Connor moans as Leon's hand slips into his sweatpants. You press your lips together as Connor reaches over into the drawer on the nightstand and pulls out the little bottle of lube that they keep there. Connor puts it into Leon's hand.

"Finger me?" he asks, shimmying out of his sweats.

"No."

Both you and Connor are taken aback, Leon usually loves to open both of you, either with his hands or his tongue. Plus Connor is a total pillow princess with Leon.

"What do you mean no?"

"I mean," he says, handing the bottle back to Connor, "you can finger me open, if you want."

Connor's head nods at a speed you find almost alarming. Leon usually doesn't bottom, but when he does Connor jumps at the chance.

"I mean I spent, like, half an hour prepping for you, so a heads up would have been nice," Connor mutters.

"Shut up and fuck me."

Leon pulls off his boxers, spreading his legs so Connor has access. Connor coats his fingers generously with lube before sliding them into Leon. You can't see Connor's fingers pumping in and out of Leon, only Leon's face. You can't tear your eyes away as Connor stretches Leon's hole, watching Leon bite his bottom lip to hold in his moans until Connor coaxes it out with his own. His moans are muffled, but the deep groans go straight to your core. You try to spread your legs so you can get a hand on your clit before you realize that you're tied down.

You let out an exasperated groan, to which Connor laughs, "Someone's impatient."

Leon's head falls back, breathing deeply as Connor acts another finger, "Well someone's just gonna have to deal with it."

"Fuck, I'm ready," Leon says, pushing Connor over onto his back, "Don't get it twisted, Davo, I'm still in charge here."

"Fine by me," Connor responds, resting one arm behind his head.

Leon lines himself on Connor's cock before slowly sinking down on it, groaning as he bottoms out. Connor grunts, running his hands over Leons lower abs and thighs as Leon adjusts. At this new angle you can see Connor's cock disappearing into Leon's ass perfectly. Leon isn't usually very vocal until he's about to finish, except when Connor's got his dick inside him.

Connor's flushed, all the way down his chest. You can see Leon's skin transparent where Connor's fingers are digging into his hips. Both their moans filling the room as Leon bounces on Connor's cock. Your pussy is aching, desperate for any attention. You try to grind down on the chair to get any kind of friction but all of your attempts are in vain.

"I-fuck-Leo," Connor's panting, voice strained and one of his hands leaves Leon's hips to jack Leon off slowly, "Fuck, I always forget how good you take it."

Leon grunts, he's usually the king of dirty talk, except when Connor's balls deep in him. Leon's about to cum, you can tell. His thrusts are falling out of rhythm, his head is lulling forward as Connor continues to move his hand up and down.

"Fuck- Con," he chokes out, "I'm gonna cum on your face."

Connor sucks in a breath and you're pretty sure you can hear him mumble please. Soon Leon shouts, falling to rest his hands on the wall in front of him as he shoots onto Connor's chest. He doesn't quite reach Connor's face, instead resting in the hollows of his collarbone. Connor follows soon after, shouting Leon's name as he spills into him.

Leon leans forward, lazily making out with Connor as they both bask in their afterglow. Leon presses his forehead to Connor's, murmuring sweet nothings as he kisses Connor's neck. And that's it, you want out. You want Leon to fuck you senseless and whisper unending praise afterwards.

"Let me out," you plead, trying to scooch the chair forward, with no results, "Please. I'm sorry."

Leon practically ignores you as he walks into the ensuite and look to Connor, "Please, Connie, I love you."

Connor snorts, "I love you too, but you know that I can't help you."

"Please," begging isn't working so you try bargaining, "Untie me and I'll do your laundry for a month."

"Promising, but my hands are tied," he winks at you.

You groan, head falling forward in anguish. Leon comes out of the bathroom just then, unfortunately wearing Connor's sweatpants low on his hips.

"I'm surprised Connor hasn't given in yet," he says, amused smirk on his face and leaning on the doorframe.

"Yes, Connor's been good and more importantly I've been good so you can untie me now."

He hums, pretending to mull it over in his head before he looks at Connor, "Go ahead."

Connor gets up and walks over to undo the knots he tied so artfully before. You know he's taking his sweet sweet time to untie them and if you could smack him, you would. When you're finally free, you're aware of your absolutely drenched panties. But you don't dwell on it because Leon's beckoning you over with one finger.

He seats you on his lap, pulling of your bralette once you've settled yourself.

"You gonna be a fucking brat anytime soon?" he asks, toying with your nipples.

"Probably the next chance you get," momma didn't raise a liar.

"I don't know why I expected anything else," he says, "Get yourself off baby."

#leon draisaitl #connor mcdavid #ran writes #nhl smut #poly fic

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rocorambles · 4 years ago

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Tangerine Shrimp

It’s April Fool’s somewhere already, so @sawamooora sweetie, this is for you.

Pairing: Ikkei x Hinata, Ikkei x Reader (one-sided)

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Geriatric Fucking, Old men fuckery, Lee’s infection, Stupidity, Absolute stupidity, This whole thing is a mess

Your friends told you something was seriously wrong with you, never understanding the way your eyes gleamed whenever Ukai Ikkei spared you even just a single grumpy glance as you helped him with maintaining his training camp. They don’t even bother hiding their disgust as you rave on and on about how more pronounced his wrinkles are getting, how you collected his rapidly falling greying hair and plan on making something out of it, how you can’t get enough of the old person smell that permeates around his frailing figure.

But they console themselves with the reassurance that this is all just a joke, maybe a phase at worst, and that you’ll be over your fascination with the old man soon enough.

Except months pass, years pass, and Ikkei is still alive and kicking although much more bald and much less mobile than when he was a young 69 year old, and you are more in love with him than ever before, tirelessly working as his live-in aid.

You silently pray for any hint or sign that your feelings are returned, that he doesn’t just see you as the clingy but helpful wench he refers to you as when he speaks to his grandson.

But despite how you painstakingly haul him to the bathroom, guiding his wrinkly sack of bones onto the toilet seat, setting any pride you have aside as you help him wipe and clean up afterwards. Despite how you attentively change his diapers for him, massage hard and calloused feet, and gently wipe a sponge across his naked weakening body. He barely thanks you, just silently acknowledging you before returning to grumpily bark at the kids he still insists on training.

It’s okay, you convince yourself. The knowledge that there’s no one else warming his bed or sharing his meals soothes you. It’s not a you thing, not personal. He just has a hard time being vulnerable and loving in general. But you can be patient. He’ll eventually at least soften up towards you. And it’s so easy to believe your little fairy tale when it’s just you and him, no one else to distract him, no one else to capture his attention. You almost convince yourself that his gaze is softening when he looks at you, that his tone isn’t as harsh as it used to be.

Almost.

When a certain tangerine shrimp decides to pay a visit to the old man, you realize just how naive and foolish you were.

You know of Hinata Shouyou. It’s hard not to when his name constantly comes up whenever Keishin decides to visit. And you try to hide the scowl that spreads across your face when you see a sparkle in Ikkei’s eyes whenever the brat’s name is mentioned, an excited joyful gaze you’ve never once seen otherwise on that age spot littered face, telling yourself there’s absolutely no reason for you to be upset about some man halfway across the world in Brazil.

Except he’s not in Brazil anymore, apparently, and it takes all your willpower to muster up some semblance of a smile as the orange haired athlete practically skips over to the both of you, politely bowing to you before yapping away like an enthusiastic chihuahua to the old man in your care.

You expect Ikkei to snap at him to shut up, hope for at least an annoyed roll of his eyes. But your heart drops when you see the almost...loving gaze in glassy eyes, the affectionate smile on a weathered face as he intently listens to every word, laughing with glee when Hinata proudly shows him his new MSBY Jackals jersey. And all you can do is dumbly nod, trying to hide your swirling emotions as Ikkei swiftly turns to look at you, telling you to help him plan some Osaka trips so he can see the pro athlete in action soon.

There’s no way...there’s no way it’s anything more than an old man doting on someone akin to his grandson, a teacher fondly looking on a student who's gone on to do great things.

Then why can't you get rid of that sinking feeling of defeat hanging low and heavy in your gut?

You shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be violating your employer's privacy like this. But you can't help yourself, needing proof, validation, any scrap you can work with to reassure you that you're just overthinking things. So you go on, creeping through the house in the middle of the night, heart thundering as you near Ikkei's room, shattering to pieces as you hear high pitched whines and moans the closer and closer you get to the slightly propped open door.

There's still time to go back, pretend you heard nothing, never verify what you know deep in your soul is happening past that wooden wall. But morbid curiosity has you peeking through the doorway crack and you're rooted to the spot, unable to look away as Hinata rides Ikkei's cock, his own shaft swinging with every movement of his powerful thighs as he bounces up and down, moaning like a whore.

The vertically challenged athlete is doing his best to put on a show for the man underneath him (and begrudgingly you have to admit he’s doing a pretty damn good job). Yet it’s the elderly face underneath him that you can’t tear your eyes from and your hand slips underneath the hem of your panties, pupils blown wide with desire as you watch that age spot littered face you’ve come to adore contorting with pleasure, low raspy grunts and wheezing filling the air in between the slapping of skin against skin. And when the old man finally blows his load, your own orgasm crashes over you, although you can’t bask in the afterglow, not when you’re ready to sprint in and rescue Ikkei as the force of his orgasm almost seems like it might kill his aged body.

But you breathe in relief when he seems to come back to his senses, at least enough to bring a bony hand to Hinata’s cock and give it a few shaky light smacks, all he can do in his weakened state, yet more than enough for the pro-athlete to spill his seed all over Ikkei’s torso.

You should leave. You know you should. But you stay frozen in place as Ikkei barks at the younger man to lick him clean, feeling arousal and envy stir inside of you again as Hinata eagerly laps at the sticky essence like an enthusiastic pet, even gently nuzzling the shriveled flaccid cock that had just been inside him in an attempt to work the old useless thing back to life.

But even with all the patience and enthusiasm in the world, there’s only so much Hinata can do against age and biology and he pouts at the still soft length despite all the attention he’s lavished upon it, only to perk up, eyes sparkling, mouth opening in surprise at Ikkei’s next words.

“It’s not going up anytime soon, brat. So just this once, I’ll let you fuck me instead. But you better not get used to it.”

You can’t believe your eyes as Ikkei exhaustedly slumps even further into the soft tempur-pedic mattress, resting his aching body, and with morbid fascination you watch as Hinata carefully spreads the old man’s puckered hole open. One finger becoming two becoming three. But when he brings the tip of his cock to Ikkei’s now fluttering hole, you race away, uncaring of how loudly your pounding footsteps reverberate through the home, frantically shaking your head in denial at seeing how vulnerable and submissive the intimidating man you fantasized so often about could be.

It feels like ages have passed as you curl up on your bed, knees to your chest as you rock back and forth, quivering lips and tiny tears pricking the corner of your eyes as dismay and unrequited love take their toll on you. To think that of all the people in the world, it would be a tangerine shrimp that would steal your man from you. To think that said tangerine shrimp would be allowed to peg the domineering man you respected so much.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and you can feel the rejection fuel you, a determined resolve forming inside of you as you swiftly turn on your phone, searching for orange hair dye, shrimp costumes, and strap on dildos.

If Ikkei wants a tangerine shrimp to fuck him, that’s what you’ll become, that’s what he’ll get.

#tw: lee's infection #haikyuu smut #ikkei x reader #ikkei x hinata

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stressedkitkatttt · 4 years ago

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Taking Your Virginity - Headcanon

Okay, so I got two requests for the same thing literally seconds apart from one another. And since you guys seemed to like my Headcanon of having sex on your period, which you can read here if you haven't already, this is another requested headcanon - the boys taking your virginity. Also got kind of carried away with this but who's gonna complain? Sorry if they all seem similar, but these are my opinions and how I see something like this going down.

Note: If this seems similar to other headcanons, I apologize. I'm not trying to steal anyone else's work. Also, this is my opinion blah blah, and not a reflection of their real experiences. Also, I was too lazy to write in condoms, but please do use protection in real life. Also worthy of noting - I posted two stories within four days of each other, something I don't think I have ever done XD

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: boys being soft, sex for the first time, sort of descriptive smut

Anon 1: Are you taking requests if so can you do a headcanon about the boys having sex with a virgin for her first time

Anon 2: Can you do a headcanon about each of the boys taking your virginity?

DISCLAIMER: Do NOT think it is okay to take my stories and post them somewhere else without my EXPLICIT PERMISSION. Do NOT think it is okay to take anyone else's stories and post them somewhere else without their EXPLICIT PERMISSION. Giving credit does NOT count as permission. You may reblog my stories, you may NOT repost my stories without MY PERMISSION.

~~~~~~~~~~~

✫ So we can all agree that Chris knows his way around the block. You, however, were the total opposite. So when you had met him at a party, you were shocked when you both hit it off.

✫ The thought of sex never really appealed to you. You didn't want to wait until marriage but it also wasn't at the forefront of your mind. That changed when you met Chris. He was funny, his laugh was contagious, and you somehow knew that if you were going to lose your virginity to someone, it would be him.

✫ After months and months of talking to one another, you guys became official, out of the public eye, of course.

✫ I see you losing your virginity with him after a night out. Like you would tell him that you were ready and then the next day, he would be a total gentleman - taking you out to your favorite places, eating dinner, then coming home and just making sure that you were comfortable with him. Or just after a day out in general.

✫ You guys relax against the bed and you know that you're ready. So you let him know.

✫ "Hey Chris," you mumble against his skin. He replies with a hm. "I'm ready." It doesn't long for your words to sink in and he turns and faces you.

✫ "Are you sure?" He says as he cups your chin. You nod and he grins, leaning in to kiss your lips. He takes things slow, letting the fire build slowly between you two. He gently lays you on your back and lets his hips grind into you. The makeout session is comfortable since it's the farthest you've ever been with him.

✫ "Chris, I want more." He nods and lets his hands wander under your shirt and your underwear. Soon, your hands also wonder and before you know it, both of you are naked in front of each other. Your heart jumps at the size of him and he notices how you tense slightly. He assures you that he'll make it as comfortable as possible for you.

✫ You trust him and he begins to prep you, sliding a long finger through your folds and pushing in when there's enough wetness to help ease his pass. When he's stretched you out enough, he lines himself up and asks again if you're sure. You nod and as he pushes in, he makes you focus on him.

✫ You stare into his doe-like eyes seriously, I have never seen someone with eyes like that. Going from innocent to "I can fuck you till you can't handle it anymore" in .2 seconds like wtf Christopher

✫ Anyways. You get lost in his eyes and he bottoms out, hips flush against yours. You feel pressure down below and you're obviously not used to it, so he continues to distract you, placing little kisses against your skin and whispering things like, "You're doing so well amor," and "You're going to feel so good". Maybe tries to make you laugh since he's always so damn happy.

✫ You've never felt so full, in this sense. Well, it's your first time, duh. When you finally grow accustomed to his size and feel, you tell him to move. He pulls away, not all the way out, and pushes back in. Soon, he feels you relax and begins to pull almost all the way out.

✫ He was right - he was making you feel really good. Since it's your first time, he takes his time, makes sure that you're enjoying yourself. When you cum, it's amazing and with Chris mouthing marks onto your neck and whispering things in your ear in between, it just amplifies the sensations he's giving you.

✫ He helps you clean up and relax, cuddling with you afterward and getting all lovey-dovey with you, asking you if you're okay and how he did for your first time.

✬ Same as Chris as far as making the night as comfortable for you as possible. I see them all trying to make it comfortable for you. Maybe he would stay in a cuddle, watch movies, really show a softer side to you.

✬ I say that you and Richard will have been together for a while before you open up to him and admit that you're a virgin, or maybe you'd tell him off the bat(depending on what type of person you are). Maybe you'd be a little self-conscious because Richard is experienced and you aren't? I seem him being a little surprised and excited that he'd get to be your first time.

✬ You'd be getting comfortable with him when his dick brushes your leg and you're a little shocked. I see him letting you explore his body at your own pace, let you get used to him in such an intimate position at your own pace. Though he takes control in some places.

✬ When he's prepping you, he's whispering sweet things and helping you take your mind off of what's to come. When he's done prepping you and begins to push in, stopping to let you adjust every few inches, and tries to take your mind off of what's happening by leaving little kisses. Once he's fully inside you, he lets you take all the time you need to adjust.

✬ "Okay Richard, you can move," your voice falters. He nods and starts slow, and even at this slow, gentle pace, he still hits places deep inside you. Same as Chris, in the sense that you're filled up.

✬ "Does that feel good, baby?" He grunts against your neck. You can't reply verbally but you manage a nod and he smirks, his ego would boost to the fact that you're speechless because of him. As you both get closer, he picks up his pace slightly and your seeing stars, putting passion into his thrusts.

✬ He also helps clean you up and makes sure you're okay. You just nod, feeling drained of energy and basking in the afterglow. He pulls you into his chest and you both relax and eventually fall asleep.

✬ And when you've fucked a few more times, he'll start bringing out a more dominant side, just to see what your limit is and what you can and can't handle.

✵ That hair tho. 🥴👌 Blonde-haired Zabdiel is supreme

✵ Like Richard, maybe he would let you explore at your own pace? I also see you and him having a relaxing day and you feel comfortable enough with him that you want to do it with him. You and him have been together for quite some time now.

✵ I say it would start with you two cuddling on the couch or bed and maybe you guys are in the feels and a makeout session ensues. You never went passed make outs and the occasional roam of his hands, and he never pushed you to do anything.

✵ This time was different. You wanted to go all the way with him. You grind on him and he'd let you explore him, making your way down his body to his hard cock, confined within his sweats.

✵ You mess with him a little before pulling down his sweats. I see him letting you stroke him a few times before he makes it all about, bringing you back up and putting you beneath him. I see him taking his time going down you, finding sweet spots on your neck, giving your chest attention before finally reaching where you need him most.

✵ Running his fingers through your folds, slicking you out, even more, he presses a digit in and begins to slowly move it in and out. When you get used to one finger, he'll add a second, scissoring you out to help open you before grabbing more lube, just to be safe.

✵ Taking his time entering you, he presses in slowly. You tighten around him and he would do things to help relax you, peck your lips, rub his large hands against your sides, etc. When he does finally bottom out, he continues to comfort you, letting you take your time adjusting.

✵ When you tell him it's okay to move, he creates sensation you didn't know could exist. I see him also whispering sweet things in your ear. He has you moaning in no time, even at a slow pace. "Feel good, amol?" He grunts and you nod, moaning his name.

✵ He brings you over the edge with a few more thrusts. Maybe he would pull out and cum on your chest instead of cumming inside you, to not go too far with you for your first time. Once you get more comfortable, you'll start finding out what he likes and stuff. Definitely would take a nap with you right after.

✺ I don't think he's a virgin... Though I half want him to be if he isn't but if he hangs around Chris... His beard throws me for a loop. For the sake of this, we're gonna say that he is a virgin as well and he's saving himself for the right person

✺ You two would have defiantly talked about it in advance, planned a day to do your favorite things to help calm both your nerves. Also, you two would have been together for a while before this topic came up. When the time comes and you both feel you're ready, you take things to the bedroom.

✺ Would be awkward, since you both have never done this before. I can see this as a "find out what we like before we actually get down to it" kind of thing, but Joel makes sure to make it about you. I see him making you cum on his fingers first, and you stroke him before you finally can't take it and you want him inside you.

✺ He also uses extra lube, just to be safe, and he makes it very clear to you that if you need him to stop, tell him to stop. Also asking if what he's doing feels good. If it's his first time, he might have trouble holding back his orgasm from the feeling of your walls against him. And that's fine, you don't hold it against him, and reassure him that it's okay.

✺ When he bottoms out and you've adjusted, and he begins to thrust, you both would get lost in the feeling. Maybe you both hear a weird noise and laugh about it, cause let me tell you, sex in real life is very different from sex in fanfics and isn't always so picture-perfect.

✺ You both probably wouldn't last long, so you try to make the most out of what time you have. He helps clean up the mess and you guys would practice some more, but maybe not as much as say, Chris or Richard, seeing as you would have other things to do than just fuck.

❂ Though he's young, he's not a virgin. He doesn't have as much experience as Chris or Richard or Zabdiel, but its experience nonetheless. You on the other hand... Not so much. Sure, you've dated in the past, but none of them felt right.

❂ That changed when you met Erick. He made you comfortable and never pushed you to do anything you didn't feel comfortable with. And that's why you wanted him to be your first time.

❂ When you tell him that you're ready and want to take your relationship to the level, he is excited to be your first. I say you and him plan a night in, just relaxing, watching movies, him playing guitar for you...

❂ You feel that tonight is the night and you're ready. He will ask if you're sure about this and when you say yes, he leads you to the bedroom. He takes his time with you, giving your body all the attention - to your chest, to your neck, whispering little things in your ear...

❂ When he reaches your entrance, he plays with you a little, just to see if you like anything he does. When you're slicked enough, he pushes a finger in and continues to move, adding a second one to the mix.

❂ When he feels you're stretched out enough, he pulls down his boxers and asks one more time if you're ready. You tell him yes and takes his time pushing in, pulling back and thrusting in if he meets resistance. Once he's bottomed out, you moan his name.

❂ I see him making it a fun deal, kind of like Chris, which helps ease your nerves. You tell him he can move and he has you moaning. His body is flush against yours and you can hear his grunts. If you get tired of the slow pace, you ask him to speed up a little, and he does, dragging out his thrusts.

❂ He helps clean you up and asks if you're okay and how it was for your first time. Maybe you take a nap afterward.

~~~~~~~

Tgalist: @cracraforfandoms @kmsmedine @kikixfandoms @xmaudjexo @richardscurls

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puckyess · 4 years ago

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I Hope Part 2 | Roman Ahcan & Brock Caufield

For the morning crowd: Get your tissues ready! I’m super happy with how this turned out. Let me know your favorite part. Listen to the Afterglow/Ghostin’ mashup for some extra sadness (linked on my blog). S/o to @penaltbox for getting this one going ❤️❤️

*Italics indicate flashbacks

*** FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED***

Words: 10.1k

Part 1 // Part 3

“I forgive you, Ro, I really do. It’s the forgetting that’s the hard part. I can forgive, but I can’t forget”

Your words hung heavy in the air and he accepted them graciously. You had just basically rejected Roman, the least you could do now was offer him a place to crash for the night. While his apology had brought you some nice closure, you weren’t ready to jump into a relationship with him and at this point, you weren’t even sure you wanted to anymore. He definitely still had a hold on you, but that’s what scared you. He had just piled a lot on you and you needed some time to digest it all. Doing that with him a room away was not ideal, but you didn’t have the heart to throw him out, especially at this hour.

“Do you want to stay here tonight? It’s late, well early now. I don’t want you out this time of night” you asked him. It felt odd to ask him to stay in a non romantic way after everything.

“On the couch?” He shyly questions.

You crack a smile at his shyness, a contrast to the overconfident Ro you were used to getting. “Yes, on the couch, Ro”.

He agrees after some prodding and that’s how you find yourself digging through the drawer that used to be his, but is now someone else’s, for clothes for him to wear for the night.

He watches you and can’t help but stare at the back of your shirt. “We play for each other” written in the signature Wisconsin font. Who’s was it? Were you dating someone on the team? How had he missed that? He’d admittedly gone through your social media a lot lately and hadn’t detected anything unusual, just the regular back and forth chirping, no flirty interactions, but now he was going to have to go analyze the boys’ comments. Would they do that to him though?

He’s broken from his thoughts when you stand up and say, “These are Brock’s but they should fit, you guys are like close to the same size”. His eyes zoom in on the red 29 on the leg of the sweatpants in your hands.

“Of fucking course” he thinks to himself. He should’ve known Brock would weasel his way in the first chance he got. He tried to not let his irritation leak into his voice as he thanked you for Brock’s clothes and you pretended to not notice the way the muscle in his jaw twitched when you said Brock’s name. It was just like old times.

—

You laid in bed that night, unable to fall asleep. Tonight had brought up so many feelings and memories. You thought long and hard about the boy sleeping on your couch. From the first time you encountered his fiery temper, to your roller coaster of a time together, to the night that everything went to hell and the mess he left behind.

Living across from a quarter of the men’s hockey team was a blessing and a curse. They were constantly yelling and tonight was no exception, this time accompanied with incessant pounding on a door. You shouldn’t be nosy you kept telling yourself, but a little peek through your peephole wouldn’t hurt anything right? If only you had known how much he would come to change your life.

You peered out just in time to see the boy laying another beating on the door and then putting his whole body into yelling, ”Fuck!”, dropping his head back in defeat when his efforts were met with silence. He must be locked out. You take a deep breath and open your own door, propping yourself against the door frame. “I was going to invite you inside, but with a temper like that I don’t know that I should?” You tease him, sending a little smile his way to let him know you were only giving him a hard time.

That was the first time you had seen that smirk you love so much spread across his face. You would come to find out his name was Roman and he quickly became your person. Well, besides the other boy in your life who was your best friend.

The highs of your relationship with Roman were so high. You were borderline inseparable with each other. He did everything he was supposed to as a boyfriend, he was the type of guy that you’d proudly brag to your family about, the one your friends looked at and said “I wish”. He could be sweet and thoughtful, and had a spark to him that you adored, his temper the first time you met him, proof of that. He was that little rough around the edges kind of guy that every girl chased, a little mean to everyone but you. You were his soft spot and for a while, you couldn’t have written a better love story. In hindsight things were probably too perfect, you should’ve seen the storm that was brewing.

Between the friction between Brock and Roman and Roman’s wandering eyes, the lows could be pretty low. It was the same old fights every time, always starting and ending the same. Roman never acted on his insensitive behavior, but it still didn’t sit well with you. You tried not to play the jealous girlfriend part too often but sometimes it would just build and build until you snapped and then you both engaged in loud arguments, leaving a sinking feeling in your stomach, but Ro always managed to patch things up afterwards with flowers or warm baths that made you forget all about what had just transpired, at least until next time.

Roman’s jealousy would shine at moments too. He’d call you out saying, “You baby Brock too much” and that “You shouldn’t worry about someone you’re not dating as much as you do. He can handle himself, he’s a big boy” anytime you’d defend Brock, and then under his breath he’d mumble “He’s too soft already” and that drove you crazy. You’d frown at your boyfriend's lack of empathy and ill feelings toward one of the most important people in your life. You had heard some of the stories the boys would tell you and you knew he called Brock soft to his face and you hated it. You loved his temper, but not when it was directed toward your best friend. You had no idea why the boys hated each other so much. Part of the reason you were always so nice to Brock was to make up for your boyfriend's behavior, though if only you knew the half of what Roman said to Brock. You’d called Roman out on it multiple times and instead of apologizing, he’d say, “It’s not like it’s not true. You know it, I know it, and he knows it”. You of course can’t just sit around and leave B out to dry when he wasn’t even around to defend himself so cue another fight. The cycle was endless.

You had half expected Brock to come over and check in on you the night that Owen sent you that picture and your world had caved in on itself, but he had only sent you a simple text that said “I love you. You’ll get through this, I’ll help you”. And then he was at your door the next morning with coffee and a shoulder to cry on, ready to let you grieve and then when you were ready, to pick up all the pieces.

You finally fell asleep that night, not thinking about the boy who had torn you apart but instead about the one who had helped you to grow and become who you were today.

Roman laid on your couch, his mind going a mile a minute. You having a drawer full of Brock’s clothes answered his earlier question about the T-shirt. He hadn’t asked about it though, not wanting to start a fight. You always had a soft spot for the kid. It was one of the very few sore spots of your relationship.

How could he not hate Brock’s guts though? The kid had a huge stinking crush on you and you had no clue, you just continued to show him affection and give him your attention. He thought about all the times you’d go running to Brock after you two had gotten in an argument and he did know about all of them because Brock would waste no time in posting to his Snapchat. But never in a way where it could get turned on him for rubbing it in Roman’s face, it was always just enough so that Roman would know he was with his girl but if Ro dared to bring it up to you you’d take Brock’s side no matter what. You stuck up for Roman in every other situation and would fight a whole hockey team for him, but not when it came to Brock. He wasn’t blind, he knew that Brock could steal you without even trying, though he did credit the kid with trying.

He thought about all the times he had dangled the carrot over your head, practically telling you about Brock’s feelings for you and how you’d watch as Brock’s cheeks reddened and defend Brock and tell Roman to knock it off. He thought about the time that Brock had caused yet another fight by telling you about some locker room talk. That was the first time you had threatened to break up with him and damn it if that didn’t fuel his hatred for his teammate.

Roman sat in his stall, trying to get dressed for practice, but was unable to because all he could hear was Brock’s voice. Normally he could just block it out, but today he was talking to Alex about you and well, he just couldn’t have that. He was downright gushing as he happily told him about grabbing dinner with you at the Union the other night. He rolled his eyes as he bent down to tie his skates. It was time to remind Brock who you belonged to, who had won and who had lost. He begins to tell Tarek and Josh all about the activities that had taken place after your little dinner with Brock. He bragged maybe a little too loud about things you’d hate knowing he talks about in front of the boys, just to make sure Brock heard. Normally, Brock would sit back and take it. He knew that Roman messed with him to get a reaction out of him. But today he was degrading you in front of everyone and he wouldn’t allow that, so he speaks up on your behalf.

“No one wants to hear how quick you are in bed, Ahcan. She probably doesn’t appreciate it either”.

Roman’s face twisted into a smirk knowing he was about to hit him where it hurts. “Shut up, Caufield. We all know you wish you could please her like I do. 30 minutes or 30 seconds, it’s still more than you’ll ever get with her”.

The locker room falls silent and Brock bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. The amount of disrespect Roman had just shown you made him sick. It takes all of his self control to not tackle Roman in the middle of the locker room. Luckily, his brother keeps him busy as he goes to lunge at Roman, himself. Brock has to throw an arm across his brother and shove him back to his stall. “Don’t”, he says, shooting him a dangerous look. “He’s not worth it. I’ll take care of it”. Cole’s fuming, as he aggressively grabs his stick that’s fallen to the floor in the hustle of things. “You better”, he says as he storms out of the locker room, shoulder checking Roman along the way.

He’d kept his mouth closed about all of Roman’s other taunting and bullshit, but this was unacceptable. He couldn’t let this slide. You deserved to know that your personal business was being spread out for all to hear in the locker room. So he grabbed his phone and sent you a quick text. “Your boy keeps running his mouth about all your bedroom activities in the locker room. Figured you should know.”

When you read the text your heart dropped. It was basically one of your worst nightmares. All of your business and most vulnerable moments on display for a bunch of guys who could pick you apart and look at you differently. You had trusted Roman enough to give yourself to him and this is how he respected you? You felt so many things, but betrayed and angry were at the top of the list. You were ready to lay into his ass when he got back from practice.

You let Roman have it the second he walked through the door. He brushes your feelings aside, as he’s more concerned with who told you.

“I knew that little shit would go running to you”

“It doesn’t matter who told me, but I’m glad they did! There’s two people in this relationship, not a whole locker room”

“Exactly, Y/N, there’s two people in a relationship, the key word being two, not three. Tell Brock to fuck off”

“God, that’s not even the point, Roman. It’s like I speak and you just don’t even listen!”

“How am I not listening? You just said there’s two people in the relationship and I agree with you, but Brock thinks he’s one of those two people and so yeah, maybe I had to remind him who gets to please you in bed and that’s not him”

“If you ever. Fuck and tell again, I swear to God Roman, you’ll be single. I’ll dump your ass so quick. No more kill stories in the locker room.”

While he knew your threat was probably hollow because of the darkness that had taken over your eyes ever since he mentioned pleasing you in bed, part of him should’ve known to never doubt you.

Brock had won that round, you had put Roman in his place rather than him putting Brock in his. He couldn’t stand the fact that you spent so much time with someone who he knew for a fact wanted you as much as he did, especially someone who was the polar opposite of Roman, himself. What if you woke up one day and wanted the sweet guy? Roman knew he wasn’t sweet. The gentle, always doing the right things guy? He tried to show that side of himself to you, but he was generally hard headed, feisty, and anything but just plain old nice. Brock already seemed to fill so many places in your life, he couldn’t let him take over the boyfriend role too. So he made sure Brock knew his place and he had been chastised by you more times than once for it. And apparently it hadn’t worked because it looks like he took his place anyway.

It made him question the night everything went down. Was Brock the one who had sent the picture? He doesn’t remember seeing him there, though he doesn’t remember a whole lot from that night besides the fight. Your look of hurt had stayed with him but he had someone else to go to during that time so he had put the little detail of how you had managed to get the picture in the first place to the back of his mind. Laying here on your couch now, it would make perfect sense for it to have been Brock. He had always had a nagging suspicion but never talked to you about that night.

—

The bye week couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. The boys had hit a rough patch, having lost three weekends in a row now and the tensions in the locker room were high. The combination of losing and Brock’s history with Roman made for a stressful past month.

Brock breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t spot Roman anywhere in the bar. Some of the guys had decided to blow off some steam and reset for the upcoming weekend by going out tonight. He scanned the room once more making sure he didn’t see you, but since Roman wasn’t here he didn’t assume you would be either. Ever since you had started dating him, you barely went anywhere without each other much to his dismay. Yes, he had feelings for you but that didn’t change the fact that you were also his best friend. He missed you in more ways than one.

“Dude, she already said she wasn’t coming out tonight”, Ty said, nudging his teammate.

Brock replies instantly, “I don’t know who you’re talking about”. But he knows he’s been caught looking for you again. He doesn’t say anything about the fact that Ty had known who he was looking for without asking.

Owen shows up then with an arm full of beers and a handful of shots. Brock throws back a shot with barely a grimace. It was going to be one hell of a night.

Flash forward a few rounds and the boys are rolling. It had been a fun, easygoing night, exactly what everyone needed. That is until Brock turns his head and spots a certain someone a few tables over. His eyes narrow and he has to do a double take.

His jaw clenches and his hand that wasn’t holding his drink, balls up. He swears he sees red as he looks on at the scene playing out three tables over. He reaches over and grabs Owen’s arm so hard Owen says ow and swats his hand away.

“Please. Tell me that isn’t my Y/N’s Roman making out with that girl?” He says through gritted teeth. He can’t take his eyes away.

“There’s no way..” Owen trails off in disbelief. That was most definitely a girl straddling Roman, her tongue down his throat and that girl was no where close to being you.

The rest of the guys look over then at what has their teammates so dumbfounded and the same silence spreads across the group amidst all the noise of the bar. With ten pairs of eyes burning holes into their faces, the pair continues to make out in the corner, as if you weren’t at home waiting for your boyfriend to return to you.

Brock is livid. He slams his glass down so hard the liquid splashes out and he’s ready to rip Roman to shreds. How could he do that to you? Sure, he had always had an issue with Roman, how could he not? Roman had the girl he had been crushing on since the first day he met her and Roman had no problem rubbing that in his face any chance he got. But he did make you happy (most of the time) and that’s what mattered to Brock. This though? Throwing all of that away, your trust, happiness? It made Brock want to cave Roman’s face in. Nostrils flaring, he’s up and out of his seat.

Owen is quick to grab B’s arm and frantically looks to the other guys for help. Owen’s taller frame was no match for Brock’s 5’9 one when he was fired up and boy, was he fired up. Cole was in front of him then and shoving his older brother back in his seat.

“You can’t go fighting him right now. Not now, not here in the middle of a bar” Cole says, trying to talk some sense into his furious brother.

Brock was seething. “Who does he think he is? This is going to kill Y/N, I’m going to fucking kill him!”

O backs Cole up, “Your brother’s right, man. We all love Y/N, but you and I both know how she is when it comes to Roman. She won’t like that you threw the first punch”.

Brock’s shaking his head at that, he knows they’re right. You always gave Roman the benefit of the doubt and it really grinded Brock’s gears when you made exceptions for Roman. He took you for granted and didn’t appreciate you the way Brock knew he could.

“She probably wouldn’t believe me, just say I’ve always had it out for him. She’s not wrong but I can’t be the one to tell her about this”.

The boys all agree on this and finally Owen says, “Why don’t I just send her a picture? She can’t deny it if it’s right there in front of her, right?”

Brock finally agrees with a small nod. He hates that he can’t just knock Roman out right there. And he hates even more what this picture is going to do to you. He wishes you would’ve just picked him and you never would’ve had to deal with this pain. But you hadn’t, you had chosen the more exciting boy, with his flaring temper and charming smirk. You chose to pass over the cute, boy next door who was everything you needed but nothing you wanted.

—

You should have known that word would get out somehow that Roman had stopped by. The boys hockey team was worse than old women at tea time when it came to gossip.

You barely had time to register the neatly folded blanket and clothes on your couch before your door was swung open and a very pissed off and hurt looking Brock is storming through it, coffee in hand.

“Well good morning to you too. What’re you doing here so early?” You said in the middle of a yawn.

He shoots you an irritated look. “Early? It’s past noon, Y/N. Or is your long night with Roman screwing with your head again? I can’t believe he had the audactiy to show up here after everything.” The venom in the way he says Roman’s name has you rolling your eyes. Roman had been..civil about Brock last night. Though you noticed the way he tensed about the clothes, he hadn’t said anything. Brock was your rock, your level headed one and yet he was the one speaking out today.

“You do realize this is my apartment you’re standing in right? And my business? And my life?” You’re annoyed that he wants to have this argument again and right after you woke up. He was not catching you at a good time.

Brock had a hard time hearing it wasn’t his life. It was like his hands were pinned behind his back. Roman being back in your life very much affected his own because that would mean he’d lose you again and you were very much a big part of his life.

“Roman staying the night has nothing to do with you” you tell him, plopping yourself on the couch. You catch a glimpse of the hurt that flashes across Brock’s face, along with something else you couldn’t quite place as you reach for your coffee.

Brock felt like he had just been slapped in the face. He had always been there for you, that night and every night there after. He had finally gotten his best friend back and at times it felt like he could have more than that and now you were just brushing him off like his opinion meant nothing. It absolutely killed him that you couldn’t see how much this had to do with him. He was there for you, he’d always been there for you and yet he couldn’t be there for you in the way that he wanted to because you wouldn’t let him.

He wanted to shake you. “That’s where you’re wrong, Y/N. This has every bit to do with me. I was there when he broke you and I helped you pick up the pieces. I let you cry on my shoulder, sleep in my bed. Not just that night but so many times before that. Or do you not remember why ice cream is our thing now? Or all of the walks home we’ve had? And all of the games of pong we’ve played? I’ve put up with so much shit from him for you and I’m sick of seeing you get hurt over and over by the same guy when you deserve so much better than that”.

You weren’t insecure by any means, but everyone had their days and today just so happened to be yours. You had a long day at work and didn’t really want to go out to dinner with the guys, but you had already promised Roman and Brock that you’d be there.

You trailed behind Roman as he led you to the table. Brock immediately noticed that your smile was off as you leaned in to give him a quick hug, not wanting to set off your boyfriend. He gave you an extra squeeze and then released you. He noticed the little frown on your face when the waitress shamelessly flirted with Roman in front of you and Roman made no effort to stop her, even giving into her banter and eyelashes. Wanting to see you smile again, he gave you a little nudge and asked if you were getting the kids’ meal, poking fun at the fact that your ordered chicken fingers everywhere you went. You cracked a smile and playfully punched his arm and then got serious again to tell him that yes, you were in fact going to devour some chicken’s fingers, which he chuckled at.

However when it got around to being your turn to order, Roman spoke up for you. “She’ll just have a salad.” He says to the waitress and she shoots you a look that says she agrees with that being an appropriate selection for you. “Aren’t you trying to start that diet? That’s what you said when you were jumping into your jeans before we got here. Now’s a good time to start” he asks you rather loudly. Your face heats up, embarrassed, but you mumble a “yeah, I guess” and close your menu, handing it to the girl and then looking down at your hands in your lap. Brock is absolutely speechless and the rest of the table is equally uncomfortable. As much as he wanted to deck Roman, he wanted to wrap you up in his arms and tell you how perfect you were even more.

When you snap Brock later that night, you’re by yourself and your face is still in a frown. He knows he has to do something about it, so he asks if you want to go get ice cream with him. You snap back that you really shouldn’t and you’re biting your lip and it makes Brock throw his head back with a groan. Why did the universe hate him so much? He leaves you on open, but grabs his keys and ends up showing up at your door.

“B, what’re you doing here?” you question. Your hair is thrown up in a messy bun and you’re in a pair of sweats and a baggy Badgers hockey tshirt. You look so beautiful and natural, he has to really concentrate to remember what exactly he’s supposed to be doing.

“You said you wanted ice cream?” he said with a smile, as if it were obvious.

You smiled back. “I believe I said that I shouldn’t get ice cream”.

He wouldn’t be taking no for an answer tonight. “No, I think you said you should get ice cream. Go get your shoes or don’t, but we’re still going”.

You shake your head at your best friend, but take the couple steps backward to retrieve your shoes and coat and lock your door as you head off to ruin the diet you hadn’t started.

A short drive later, you find yourself standing at Dairy Queen’s counter debating over a cookie dough or oreo blizzard. “I’ll have a small cookie dough blizzard, please”, you finally decide.

Brock also orders and the cashier asks, “Are you guys together?”

“Yeah, we’re together” he answers and then looking over at you his eyes widen in alarm. “I mean no, we’re not together, well we’re together but not together together”, he stutters over his words.

You’re looking at him like he’s lost his mind, but you’re also laughing, “B, chill. She meant our orders.” and then looking at the annoyed cashier, “yes, to clarify, our orders are together”. Brock mumbles an apology, handing over some bills.

“Well that was fun”, Brock huffs as he brings over your tray. When he sets down a chicken tender basket in front of you, your heart swells.

“What’s this?”

He just shrugs. “Figured you might want your kids’ meal. That salad didn’t look very filling”.

You swear you could cry on the spot at how thoughtful he was. “You noticed that too huh?”

“I notice everything, Y/N”, he says, taking another bite of his blizzard.

“So how is this fair? My boyfriend is an ass to you and me both, yet you’re the one buying me ice cream. Shouldn’t I be buying this for you?”

“How is he an ass to me?” Brock asks you. You’re not wrong, but he’s surprised you’ve noticed.

You give him a sheepish look. “A couple of the boys told me about what Roman said at the bar after last week’s game.”

Brock knew what you were referring to even though you were being very vague with your words.

They had gotten shut out and everyone all around had just had an off night. They had gone to the bar to blow off some steam but Roman was still heated, he took a while to calm down. You were off playing pool with Brock and it irritated Roman to no end as he watched you laugh easily with the wannabe lover. Soon your game finished though and you headed to the restroom before rejoining your boyfriend and the group and Roman took advantage of his opportunity. He was jealous and angry and just feeling a little mean so he took a swing at Brock.

“Hey, Caufield, maybe you should spend less time at the pool table and more time on the ice. We would’ve won tonight if you would’ve hit any of the shots you took. You were like 0 for 20.”

Brock looked at him wondering where this was all coming from right now. “Yeah, it wasn’t my best night”, he admitted.

Roman snorts. “Even your best night wouldn’t be good enough. You should stop trying to be your brother, you’ll never be as good as him. The only reason you’re even on the team is because they wanted Cole here, so they tried to sweeten the deal by letting you play” he says pointing at Cole with his beer and then taking a swig.

The comment brings an onslaught of “Hey, hey, hey”, “I think you’ve had enough”, “That was unnecessary” and “You better fucking take that back” from all the guys at the table. Everyone knew Roman could be a real dick when he wanted to be, but that comment was taking it too far. Just then you returned to the table, seeing everyone’s faces you asked “Whoa, what’d I miss?”

“Nothing. As fun as this has been, I think I’m gonna head home” he said looking at Roman. You pouted, but you didn’t question it as you hugged him goodbye and told him to text you when he got home so you knew he was safe.

“By a couple of the guys, I'm sure you’re referring to my brother?” he chuckles.

“I didn’t say that”, you tell him, but the small smile you’re wearing tells all.

“Yeah, he was pretty fired up over that”, Brock says.

“As he should’ve been! Why didn’t you say anything that night? I was fucking pissed when I found out. That was completely uncalled for. I let him have it when I found out. We’ve barely spoken all week because I’m still mad at him. Probably why he was such a dick tonight” you say, ripping off another piece of a chicken tender.

Brock just shrugs. “I don’t know why I didn’t say anything that night. It’s not like it’s not true, nothing I haven’t heard before. I know I’ll never be as good as Cole.”

You frown at the boy sitting across from you and take his hand in yours. “You know none of what Roman said is true, right? Not one word. You’re playing hockey for a D1 school and not just any school, the college hockey capital, Brock. You have so much talent and skill, I promise you’re on the team because they need a reliable, dependable, versatile player like you. You’re such a valuable part of the team, B.”

He would probably cry if you weren’t in the middle of Dairy Queen. You said the words with such conviction and love that he believed every one. To think that you saw all of that in him meant the absolute world to him.

“Thank you, Y/N. I can’t tell you how much that means to me”, he tells you honestly.

You beam at him. “Of course, B.”

He smiles back at you. “And to answer your question, no offense, but I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity to buy me ice cream when Roman screws up again. It can be like our thing”.

---

You were at your breaking point as you pulled up Brock’s contact. There was a good chance he was already sleeping and wouldn’t answer, but you had no other options so you pressed call. He answered on the first ring.

“B, I really need you. Can you come get me please?”

Brock shot up in bed at the sound of your shaky voice. “Y/N? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I- yeah, I’m fine. I’m just stranded. Roman and I got into this huge fight and he left and won’t answer my calls or texts. I’m sorry to bother you, I know you left hours ago, but Roman has my credit card and cash so I can’t even get an Uber… I could walk, but it’s kind of far”

“No” he just about yells into the phone. “Don’t you dare leave wherever you are by yourself. I’m coming. I’m leaving right now, just send me your location and stay on the phone with me so I know you’re ok, okay?”.

You do and he curses to himself. He couldn’t believe Roman left you stranded and drunk at a party in the middle of Madison. That was low, even for Roman.

“B, why do you sound so out of breath? Are you running?” you ask. You can hear his breathing through the phone and it sounds slightly labored.

“Are you calling me out of shape?” he jokes, “Yeah, I had a few beers tonight so I don’t want to take the chance of driving. We can walk home together. But I want to get to you as soon as I can so I’m jogging. I’m about a block away now, should see you in five or so minutes”.

You blink away your surprise, your hand clutching at your heart. You look up to the sky and thank whoever it was above for blessing you with Brock.

“How did I get so lucky to have a best friend like you?”

You don’t see him trip as you say “best friend”. It must’ve been a crack in the sidewalk, just like the one in his heart.

You knew going in that dating a basically famous college hockey player wasn’t going to be easy. You knew what you signed up for. Admittedly, most of the time Roman would make you forget about the outside world. He acted like any other boyfriend, spoiling you with love and affection. But there were times that the ugly side of what he does came to bite you and unfortunately he was the one to bring it up.

It was a Saturday night and the boys were having a party to celebrate the weekend’s sweep. Your night had been great until you had heard Roman’s comments. You were standing with a small group of girls gossiping about the one girl’s interest in Mike when you heard your boyfriend’s voice brag about the “hundreds of girls flooding his Dm’s after that game against Ohio State”.

“No way you have hundreds, there was barely anyone there at those games last weekend”. Tarek pointed out, trying to call his bluff.

“Okay, maybe not hundreds, but there’s a ton. I could literally have any girl I wanted. And they’re all like, really hot too.” He glanced to his left and saw you standing there, but you were turned, not paying him any attention so he continued, “Check out the rack on this one, pretty face to match too”.

Your heart sunk as you listened to the boys talk, one boy in particular really. You turned around just to make sure it was your boyfriend even though you’d know his voice anywhere. He was standing with a group of the guys, his profile to you, but he was only a handful of steps away. Close enough for you to see him holding out his phone to prove to Tarek that he had a bunch of Dm’s. You watched on as his thumb scrolled down the list until he found the girl he wanted to show off. You suddenly didn’t feel like being at the party anymore.

Brock was standing with Lex, Cole, Ryder, and Dylan when he first heard bits of the conversation going on in the group next to him. His temper flared as he realized it was Roman who was doing the bragging. If Roman even glanced to his left in the slightest, he would’ve seen you standing there, well within earshot. And then he watched as Roman did just that, looked right at you and still continued to show off. Brock too looked over at you, hoping by some miracle that you weren't hearing what was going on. But when his eyes fell on you, you were already staring at Roman and there was a pained expression on your features. His heart broke for you and he wished for the millionth time that he could show you what love really is. But he couldn’t so he settled for at least getting you out of that situation. He didn’t even bother saying anything to the boys as he removed himself from the group and walked over to you, placing himself right in between you and Roman.

“Can I steal you for a few? I could really use a kick ass pong partner” he asked, smirking at you. He knew you loved pong, it was one of the few drinking games you were actually good at.

You took one last look over the shoulder of Brock and saw your boyfriend pulling up yet another girl’s profile so you gave Brock a weak smile and followed him across the room to the pong table, far away from Roman.

It only took a few throws for your arms to be held over your head and your chirping to take over. You and Brock pretty much dominated, to the point that it would’ve been boring had you guys not been keeping each other entertained.

With one cup left, Brock looked at you, a confident smirk on his lips. “Are you ready for this trick shot, Y/N? I’ve been practicing.”

You grinned and nodded eagerly. “Show me what you’ve got, Caufield.”

Instead of overhand tossing the pong ball, he flicks his wrist underhand so that the ball bounces off the ceiling and arcs directly into the remaining cup.

His arms raise wide above his head and he backs up in a subtle celly. The smile on his face can only be described as cocky.

Your jaw is still on the floor, but you're screeching and launching yourself into his arms. He easily catches you, lifting you off of your feet and spinning you around.

The room is loud, still reacting to Brock’s trick shot, but you don’t hear any of it as he holds you close, still having not put you back on your feet. The smile on your face is bright when you tell him, “I can’t believe you just did that! I hope you know you just sealed your fate as my pong partner for life”.

---

“While I appreciate you doing all of that, and I really do, I couldn't have done it without you, I didn’t ask you to do any of that. Never did I ask you to come save me” you snapped at him, trying to defend yourself. And it was true, you had never once asked for Brock to come save you, he just did.

Hands running through his hair, tugging hard, that’s when Brock explodes. You were practically proving his point. “That’s the thing, Y/N, is you shouldn’t have to ask! It should just be normal for someone who cares about you to not hurt you over and over and to be there for you and help you get better when you’re hurting, not just turn their back on you with some other girl and then just show back up in your life when they decide they want you back. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.” He’s looking at you desperately, you were putting him in jail for something he didn’t even do.

You know he’s right. You know it with every bone in your body. Roman had done things that were far from loving and had conditioned you to think that that’s what love looked like. You had made exceptions for his behavior and built a tolerance for his actions. And that’s not how it was supposed to be. But you had also loved him and part of you still did and that was hard to just turn off and forget, you would know because you had tried.

“Brock, I loved him. You know that. What was I supposed to do? Things weren’t perfect, but I couldn’t just throw away what we had and pretend that I didn’t feel anything for him. I accepted him and his flaws because that's what love is.”

He hears every word of what you’re saying because he feels it too. He was living a parallel life, but with you. As much as he’s tried and wishes he could, he can’t just turn off his feelings for you and pretend they weren’t there. He accepted your flaws even if giving too much of yourself to others who didn’t deserve you was one of them. He wants to tell you that he could have shown you what loving hard instead of hard love is but he knows the time isn’t right for that confession yet. There’s still a lot left to be said.

“Well he threw it away for you and now you’re what? Just going to let him walk right back in again? You’re going to let him back in like usual? It’s not hard to see why he doesn’t take you seriously, if you don’t even take yourself seriously. You need to at least respect yourself, since he never does. You’re better than that, Y/N. We worked so hard-“ he corrects himself, “you worked so hard to be strong and build yourself back up...I’m just afraid he’ll break you again”.

His concern was well placed but the fact that he just assumes that you’d let Roman walk back in, even though you almost did and that he thought you’d break so easily was disappointing. “Well what am I supposed to do Brock? I’m not some D1 big time hockey player like you, I don’t just have this line waiting at my door to take me out like you guys do”

Brock’s voice catches in his throat as he almost lets out the secret he’s been keeping bottled up from you. But he panics and instead tells you, “you need to figure this out, Y/N because I can’t stand by and watch that happen again. And if you do decide that he’s the one you want and you’re willing to let him into your life again, I can’t promise to be there to put back the pieces this time.”

His statement makes your eyebrows shoot up.You don’t know that you’d still be here had Brock not been there for you, and as he pointed out not just this past time but so many times before. You can’t imagine having to go through another heartbreak, much less without having Brock at your side. Your heart’s racing at the thought of losing him. His statement surprises you and hits you like a ton of bricks. Why’d you have to break what you love so much?

“You’d leave me?” You quietly ask him, tears threatening to spill.

He sighs, shaking his head. Why was this so hard? “I’d never leave you,” he says swallowing hard, “but I can’t hurt like that again”.

The look on his face shatters your heart and you know you’re the one to blame.

You don’t miss that he’s talking about himself and you hate that you’ve caused him so much hurt over the years. You’d put him through more than one ever should and you’re hating yourself because this is the first time he’s admitting to you that it hurts him. Hurts him to see you with someone else, hurts him to always be the one to pick up the pieces, and hurts him that you might pick that someone over him again. You knew his feelings for you, you had for a while now. Cole had pulled you aside and told you as much and as if that wasn’t confirmation enough, you had accidentally overheard Brock say it himself, just not to you.

Brock had invited you over for a movie night, something you had done regularly with him in the months before you had started dating Roman. But ever since you started seeing Ro they had become less and less frequent until it got to the point where they ceased to exist all together. So he had finally reserved you for the night and had a whole night planned for you two to catch up. Or so he thought.

He was rushing around his dorm, trying to find his wallet and keys to go pick you up. He needed to hurry so that you guys weren’t late for your reservation. A new steak place had opened up downtown and though it was a little more fancy than your usual pizza dates, he knew you had been wanting to try it so he made the reservation.

“B if you’re five minutes late they’re not going to give your table away” Cole tells his brother, sensing his nerves.

“Yeah but if I’m five minutes late picking Y/N up, then we’re going to be 15 minutes late to the restaurant and then the table will be gone” he replies.

Cole shakes his head at how well Brock knows you. The boy had it bad. “Yeahhh you’re right. You better get a move on then.”

Brock huffs in response as he trips putting his other shoe on.

“Oh and good luck on your date” Cole calls as Brock heads out the door, lightly teasing him. Brock smiles but flips his little brother off as he shuts the door.

Not 20 minutes later, a very disappointed and frustrated Brock is slinking his way back through the door. Cole pauses the game he had been watching on the tv and turns toward Brock as he throws himself on the couch.

“She cancelled.” Brock mumbles into the cushion.

“What?!” Cole questions. He shouldn’t be surprised, he could probably guess as to the reason you cancelled but he couldn’t believe you’d do that to Brock and so last minute.

“S’fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” He said, face still pressed into the couch.

“It’s not fine, Brock! I get that you’re like in love with her but she doesn’t just get a pass. That was really shitty. Did she say why she cancelled?” He was fired up now, as Brock should’ve been but he would let you get away with murder.

He sighed as he pushed himself to a seated position and shrugged. “Said Roman had some kind of thing planned that he just told her about and she meant to text me about it but forgot. She felt bad”.

And just like that you were let off the hook, Cole could tell by the simple way he justified your actions by saying you felt bad. It didn’t erase the hurt that was in his face even if he tried to make his voice sound casual or the droop in his shoulders. It seems to be a more and more common thing lately and he doesn’t like it.

Turning the tv off he stands up. “Well let’s not let that dinner reservation go to waste. Steak sounds pretty good and you’re buying! ” he says and kicks Brock’s shoe to get him off the couch and back out the door.

As it turns out, Cole was right and they won’t give the table away if you're five minutes late. The steak was actually worth the reservation and it was nice to spend some one on one time with his brother. He knew nights like that wouldn’t last much longer. Brock seemed to be in less of a slump but Cole continued his care taking, telling Abby he’d call her tomorrow and catch her up on the Brock/Y/N saga to watch movies with his brother.

His phone rings in the middle of Grown Ups and Cole doesn’t even have to guess to know who it is. “You should just leave her hanging after she ditched you tonight” he says.

Brock shoots him a look and picks up on the second ring. “Y/N? Is everything ok?”

With the movie paused, Cole can hear the whole conversation, though he could’ve told Brock without having heard. It was the same old story. Roman promised one thing and then did another, leaving you upset and Brock comforting you. Of course he invited you over and offered to come and get you, already putting his shoes back on before even hanging up the phone.

“You deserve better than second best, Brock” he honestly tells his brother.

Brock looks at him then with a look of defeat and acceptance. “I’ll take what I can get.”

A short time later he returns with you in tow. You look sad, just as Brock had hours earlier when he walked through that same door, but without you. You give a tight lipped smile to Cole and then you’re following Brock to his bedroom where you’ll spend the night telling Brock about your boyfriend while wrapped in Brock’s arms and in Brock’s bed.

It breaks his heart that you’re crying again over him..Brock would never make you cry until your wedding day when he shed tears of his own and you wouldn’t be able to hold yours in because you always cry when other people do.

The next morning is when Cole decides to give you a reality check. You emerge from Brock’s bedroom in his T-shirt and Cole just raises an eyebrow at you. From an outsider’s point of view, you knew what it looked like. But it was Cole and this was unfortunately a rather regular occurrence. Nothing had happened, nothing would happen. “What?” You ask him as you reach into the cabinet and grab a mug. Their home was basically yours too, you spent so much time there.

“We’re gonna go grab something to eat before he drops me off, do you want to come with us?” You ask. Your offer however, is met with silence even though Cole is staring right at you.

“Dude what’s your problem today? Are you not speaking to me or what?” You question, growing irritated.

Cole thought the world of you, honestly. You had become a close friend but his brother was his favorite person and you were messing with his happiness so it was about time you were put in check.

“You know, one day he won’t be waiting around for you anymore. He’ll have his own girlfriend again and he won’t be able to play part time boyfriend when yours decides to be an asshole”.

He doesn’t specify who “he” is but you know he’s talking about Brock. And he doesn’t come out and say that Brock has feelings for you but “waiting around” sure makes it seem like maybe he does. You want him to just say it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you say, looking down at the mug in your hands. Brock’s favorite you think to yourself.

Cole gives you a look and holds his hand out in front of him, gesturing up and down your body. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t give me that. Look at yourself right now. Where are you right now? Where do you spend your time, enough to know where the mugs are? Whose clothes are you wearing? Whose bed did you sleep in? Who was beside you? Who -“

“Okay, okay. Jeez, I get your point” you say, wincing, wanting to stop him there.

“Do you though? Because you let him get all the way to your place before you cancelled on him last night. You didn’t see the look that was on his face when he came back home. He’d been looking forward to this all week, Y/N. He’s been planning this all week. He never gets to see you anymore” Cole continues.

You grimace, knowing you did him dirty. “All week? I felt so bad -“

Cole cuts you off, not wanting to hear the excuse he’s heard a hundred times before “but Roman” is how it always starts.

“Yes. All week. He even made a reservation for you guys at that new steak place you’ve been wanting to go to. Hell the kid spent a half hour going through his closet and making me choose between shirts” he tells you.

Your heart sinks when you hear about all of his wasted efforts and the thought he had put into wanting to have a night with you.

“And you obviously didn’t feel too bad because you still called him when Roman bailed. You always call him, Y/N. Maybe you should think about the fact that he’s always the one you turn to when you need something, maybe he should just be the one. You can’t keep going back and forth between your two boyfriends though, it’s hurting Brock too much and I won’t let that happen anymore. He’s dealing with enough shit right now, he doesn’t need you hurting him too”.

His words sit heavy in your mind and never leave you. You can’t say how much of an impact they’ve had on your affection toward him since then but it definitely plays a part, maybe one larger than you realized.

—

Brock and Roman had been going at each other all day. Brock had started hanging around less and less so you were excited to be able to spend the whole evening together. The boys were having game night and then hitting the bar. Starting with the pregame Roman had been a pain. He was complaining about the whole night and how he didn’t want to share you. This meant he was extra clingy and barely let you out of sight. You really had wanted to see Brock, but he was in the apartment across the hall, the team having to split into two apartments since everyone was coming out tonight.

You pryed yourself from Roman and wandered to the next room, an easy smile spreading across your face as you found who you were looking for. You were instantly wrapped in a warm hug and he kept an arm over your shoulders as he talked close to your ear, trying to be heard over the shouting of the boys. “I saw you earlier and wanted to come say hi but didn’t want your boyfriend to get mad” he tried to play it off as joking but you could hear the slight bite to his words. He didn’t get to say much else as Roman came in and spotted your two heads bent together in the middle of the room. He made a not so light hearted comment about Brock stealing his girl and then all but dragged you back to the other room claiming you guys were up next for pong even though you still had to wait 15 minutes for the game to be finished.

And that’s how the night went with the two boys exchanging jabs and glares. Roman’s temper is short with you and even shorter for Brock. He’s been making stupid comments to you that he knows get on your nerves like “damn those jeans make your ass look good. Brock doesn’t her ass look good?” And “your shirt’s so low cut every guy in this bar has been staring at your tits, just ask Caufield.” and each time Brock also sends a look your way, one you read as pity and you become frustrated. There was a difference between him complimenting you and him making you feel like a piece of meat and tonight he was doing the latter. He was also dragging Brock into it which he knew you hated and so you became increasingly angry, more with yourself and Roman but after about the tenth time Brock looks over at you you take it out on him and just snap. “I don’t need the looks, ok Brock? I can take care of myself, you looking at me every time he opens his mouth isn’t making anything better”. You can’t quite read the look on his face before he just nods and says he’s going to head out for the night. You groan and guilt and more frustration flood your system. You know you have to go after him because it’s Brock after all. So after corralling a stupidly drunk Roman into his bed you head over to Brock’s to apologize.

The first thing you hear when you go to knock on his door is yelling. You don’t expect to hear anything given the time of night but with the quiet halls you can hear every word he’s shouting. “I just don’t get why she lets him treat her like that! She’s so strong and independent and then she just sits there while he spouts off his mouth the whole night. And she’s so beautiful like how can he even say the things he said tonight.”

He’s obviously talking about you, that much you can tell. You can’t hear what the other person is saying but you do hear what Brock is saying next. “ I just need her to give me one shot. That’s all I’m asking for is one shot to show her how much better I can be for her. Be to her. If I could just show her how much I love her and appreciate her the way she deserves… god why am I not good enough? I do everything I can for her, hell I’d do more if she let me. Do I have to act like an ass to get her attention? Because I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing I haven’t done yet”

You feel extremely guilty standing there in front of his door listening to something he doesn’t know you’re hearing, him pouring his heart out. But you’re frozen in place with his confession. You eventually get your act together and do what you went there to do in the first place, the whole time with your heart beating in your ears.

—

You had never let on that you knew how he felt. You had honestly thought that maybe his feelings for you would lessen until they disappeared since you had at the time still been very much in love with Roman. You hate to say it but you were often times wrapped up in your own drama that you pushed his feelings to the back of your mind but they were always there. With everything that he had told you that night, unknowingly and everything he was saying now, you could see it all in a new light.

Right now, with his cheeks flushed and his chest still heaving from anger and emotion it’s clear that those feelings are still very much present. He’s so worked up that you have to put a hand on his chest, something you often did with Roman, to calm him. Though unlike Roman, B instantly softens as soon as you touch him, practically melting under your hand.

“B, stop. It’s ok, I’m not getting back together with him. We talked and he apologized. It was nice closure, but that’s all it was for me, was closure. I can’t forget what he did. What you did to help me. You’re right, we did build me up and he’s not worth losing myself or you over. I don’t want to do this to you anymore, I don’t want to lose you” You can literally feel his heart skip a beat as you drop this information on him.

His mouth tries to form words but all he comes up with is “oh”. He’s surprised to say the least. “So what now? Is he going to go back to being an asshole to me about you?”

You frown. “Not if I have anything to say about it. I really am sorry you had so much to deal with because of me. So much stuff that I had no idea about. You did it so well, you’ve been so understanding, so good. If it were anybody else, they wouldn’t have lasted a day dealing with me and all of my baggage. But you, you’ve been the answer to all of my prayers”.

His heart catches at your words. Finally, finally he was getting some recognition for all the hell he had been through for you. He gives you a soft smile and a little shrug. “Wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I’m glad you didn’t have to deal with it, honestly. Now that I don’t have to worry about you not listening to me about him it makes it all that much more worth it. You’re worth it”.

You roll your eyes but there’s a smile on your face as you say, “and I love you for that” and you don’t know what that little line does to him.

He has to look away when you say that even though he knows you can see the blush quickly taking over his cheeks and feel his heart hammer a little faster over it. It gives him a little courage to try and see if maybe he can get you to say those words to him again, but in the way that he’s been wanting all of these years.

“You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?” He mumbles, running a hand over his face.

“What’s that supposed to me, Caufield?” You ask, tilting your head up so that your eyes can search his face.

A look of wonder is on his face as he says “You have no idea do you?”

Now it’s your turn for your heart to speed up as you do have an idea of what he might be about to tell you.

You don’t get the chance to hear what he has to say because you hear yelling from the hall and the voice that it belongs to is Owen. Both of your heads turn as he crashes through your door, breathless.

“Y/N have you seen Brock, I think we have a problem - oh shit, am I interrupting something?”

#Roman Ahcan #Brock Caufield #Cole Caufield #Owen Lindmark #Alex Turcotte #Ryder Donovan

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the-witch-and-her-husbands · 3 years ago

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Smutember - Day One

Strip Poker

The first of September. Jilomena was back on the Hogwarts Express once again.

This time was slightly different. Her boyfriend had graduated the summer previous, and was now returning as a Professor. As the newest member of staff, it was his unhappy task to ride the Hogwarts Express to act as chaperone, alongside the formidable trolley witch.

Since she was a Prefect and the Quidditch Captain, it wasn’t entirely unheard of that she would join him in his private cabin. After all, he was the also the new Head of House, and there were ‘matters’ that he may wish to discuss with one of his Prefects.

Just over an hour into their journey and she was already getting fidgety, causing him to look over the top of the Potions journal that he’d been reading. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘But I’m bored stupid!’

‘Oh?’ He smirked at her, setting the journal aside. ‘So what did you have in mind, hmm?’

‘Wellll,’ she drawled slowly. ‘Maybe we could play a game or something, pass the time. Maybe Exploding Snap, or something….’

‘Exploding Snap?!’ He snorted. ‘What are you, twelve?! Why don’t we play a real game…ever played poker?’

She shook her head. Growing up in a family of pure-bloods, such a muggle game was forbidden, although she had heard of it. ‘No. I know of it, but I’ve never played.’

‘I can teach you.’ He fished a deck of worn-looking muggle playing cards out of his case and began to shuffle them expertly.

She sat upright, her eyes never leaving his hands with rapt fascination. ‘Don’t you usually play poker for money? You‘ll rob me blind!’ she chuckled.

A wicked grin spread slowly across his face. ‘Usually. But not always. You can play for other things…like items of clothing. It’s called Strip Poker. Every time a hand finishes, the loser has to remove an item of clothing.’

‘You’re on. But make sure you play fair and actually teach me. Seeing as I’ve never played before.’ She tipped him a wink as she picked up the cards he’d dealt.

True to his word, he did teach her the basics. Down to sheer dumb beginners luck, she did manage to win the first few hands. Soon he was down to his crisp white shirt and trousers.

‘Don’t crow too loudly. I reckon it was more luck than skill,’ he smirked.

The cabin had been locked and even warded for good measure when they’d entered it, so he had no qualms on turning the tables on her. She was playing the game of her life, but it was no match for a young lad that had been playing poker with his Da since he could read numbers.

He took pity on her when she was down to her knickers. ‘Come here.’ He patted his lap, a warm smile on his face. ‘You look a little chilly over there. I’ll warm you up.’

Needing no further invitation, she went to him willingly. Her legs went either side of his as she straddled his lap, facing him.

Gently, he stroked his hands up her sides, making her shiver. His mouth claimed hers in heated kiss after kiss as he pulled her as close to him as humanly possible. In response, she began to grind against him. They’d been lovers since they lost their virginity to one another at the Yule Ball the Christmas previous.

‘Merlin, Jil.’ The words were a low moan. He gripped her bottom tightly in his hands.

‘Sev…I need you…’ She emphasised her plaintive request with another circle of her hips against the hardness she could feel in his trousers. ‘Please….’

There was no way he could resist her when she begged like that. He reached between them to undo his trousers, freeing himself before pushing the thin scrap of material that covered her opening out of his way.

She moaned as loud as she dared as he guided her hips, helping her sink onto his length slowly. Once she was seated and comfortable he helped her to ride him, biting her neck and her shoulder as they allowed their mutual passion to carry them away.

Afterwards, she lay contented on his chest. He picked up his new black cloak, draping it around her back to keep her warm as they revelled in the afterglow.

‘Hmm. Best ride on the Hogwarts Express ever,’ she chuckled tiredly. ‘Looks like we’ve joined the Express Club.’ They were silent for a moment, enjoying the closeness between them, before she spoke again. ‘Think this is going to be the best year ever. Especially since I’ll be shagging one of the professors on the regular.’

‘Really? Who,’ he teased, giving her a squeeze. ‘But in all seriousness, you do realise I can’t show you any special favours,’ he continued. ‘I’ll have to be twice as hard on you as anyone else. Otherwise I’ll get accused of favouritism and dismissed.’

‘What are you going to do if I misbehave? Spank me?’ She giggled at the thought.

‘If you disobey in class I will.’ There was nothing in his tone to suggest if he was joking or not.

‘Yes, Professor.’ She yawned, snuggling into the warmth of the arms around her. She’d be loathe to admit it, but part of her found as she drifted off that she liked calling her boyfriend ‘Professor’.

Liked it very much indeed.

#drabble #v:The Subject of Schoolgirl Fantasy #lemon #smutember #day one

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copias-thrall · 4 years ago

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Worth

Things have been Not Great, so I wrote an angsty Mary fic to cope.

FYI: this is not a lighthearted, heart-of-gold Mary fic. He’s kind of an asshole, and there are some heavy themes.

*brief domestic abuse (not Mary); angst; recreational drug use*

It happened after an impromptu party at her place.

The bars had closed, but no one was ready to stop—so everyone had grabbed some beers and snacks from the all-nighter and headed back to her place. Friends of friends were called, and suddenly at 4am there were maybe 30 people in the cramped 3 bedroom in a run-down house she shared, complete with a DJ and speakers. They'd partied even after the sun came up, too drunk or high to give a shit.

When she passed out around 11am, there were still 10 or so people grinding on each other or playing a slapped-together game of beer pong in the living room.

Waking up at 4pm had been a disconcerting experience, but at least she wasn't too hungover. She’d shuffled out to the living room to assess the damage (lots of trash, but fortunately no irreparable damage)—and that's when she heard noises in the kitchen.

She’d made her way there and saw a skinny punk boy with floppy hair and smeared makeup making eggs on her stove. Upon her arrival, he’d turned and said,

“Oh, hey. You want some?”

And that’s how she became friends with Mary.

***

He was suddenly around all the time.

Sometimes he’d show up early evening with a 6-pack, and the two of them would smoke weed, or play video games, or she’d listen to him pontificate about the musical artist of the week he was mainlining before he left to troll the bars.

Sometimes he’d show up on her couch in the morning, sleeping off the night before, and she’d have to coax him up with coffee and the promise of bacon before he stumbled back out into the world to do whatever it was that Marys do during the daytime.

For a while he became something of an unofficial roommate to everyone—sometimes bringing supplies, other times eating what wasn’t his; sometimes leaving a mess of dishes in the sink, other times taking out the trash—but always her friend first.

That all changed the night one of her roommates gave the couch to a friend from out-of-town. There’d been a soft knocking at her door, and then Mary was slipping into her room.

“Hey.”

“You mind if I sleep on your floor?”

She’d looked down at the space rug that she hadn’t vacuumed in months.

“I don’t mind scooting over. But you have to lose some layers. I don’t want your denim pressing into me all night.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

He’d hesitantly stripped down to a t-shirt and boxers before sliding into the space she’d made for him. There’d been some jostling, but Mary had kept his hands to himself.

The friend had finally left the couch, but Mary never left her bed.

Now when he needed a place to crash, he crawled in through her window in the middle of the night to slip into bed with her. (And maybe there was some snuggling—but two friends sharing a twin was perfectly normal, right?) He suddenly seemed to prefer hanging out in her room—chilling cross legged on her mattress as he packed a bowl or they cued up a movie on Netflix—only showing his face in the common rooms anymore when there was food to be had.

Her other roommates even remarked on his lack of presence, to which she’d shrugged. He was her friend, after all.

One morning changed everything.

She’d woken up from a steamy sex dream still unsatisfied—still wet and throbbing between her legs. Half awake, she’d mewled in frustration and rolled onto her stomach, hand reaching down between her body and the bed so she could rock into it.

“Um.”

At the sound of Mary’s voice, she’d frozen. Suddenly fully awake, she’d snatched her hand back up, scrambled to the other side of the bed, and plastered herself against the wall.

“I was just! It wasn’t! I didn’t know …”

Mary was lying stock still, face flushed and very obviously affected. Seeing where her gaze had landed, his hands had flown to cover his erection.

“Uh. Sorry. But you were … you know.”

She’d quickly gone from mortified to fascinated.

“That … turned you on?”

His blush deepened.

“Well … yeah.”

“Why?”

He’d gone to gesture, remembered his predicament, didn’t.

“You were touching yourself. I mean. I thought maybe you were having a nightmare and then …” He’d shrugged. “Kinda hot.”

“You thought it was hot? Even though it’s me?” She didn’t think someone like Mary could find someone like her attractive. That’s why he’d never hit on her, right?

“Even though you’re my friend?”

“Because I’m. Me.” She’d swept her hands up and down her body.

He’d rolled onto his side and carefully arranged the sheets to cover him. She’d watched as his hand reached out to rest on her knee.

“You’re very attractive.”

She’d scoffed at him. “I have a mirror. You don’t need to patronize me.”

His hand had scooted up to her thigh, and he’d looked up at her. Her heart had begun to pound just as all the blood that wasn’t already between her legs rushed through her ears.

“Do you … want me … to show you how attractive I find you?”

His hand had slowly traveled up the leg, and was now resting on her sweaty inner thigh. Adrenaline was coursing through her—making it hard to verbalize her need for him to keep going—so when she’d opened her mouth, all that had come out was a whimper. Still looking up at her, Mary had pressed his thumb with unnerving accuracy into her clit.

Like it had been a release valve, she’d let out a long whine as her body opened up. His thumb had continued to pet at her clit through her dampening panties, and she’d rocked into his touch, legs splaying wide.

And maybe it was because she’d been so worked up already. Or maybe it was because it had been so long since someone else had touched her. Maybe it was the dangerous expression on Mary’s face … but she’d cum in no time—her clit bubbling as she twitched and groaned to each pulsing wave.

Before she’d had time to come down—or feel embarrassed—Mary was on her, all previous attempts at modesty gone as he’d pressed his hard-on into her thigh.

“Can I fuck you?” he’d mouthed into her neck.

Her first instinct had been to tell him “yes” … but it had been so long since anything bigger than a finger had been in her, and she’d hesitated. Feeling her tense, Mary had backed off.

“Or, I could just jack off.”

“No—I …” she’d wiggled around and kicked off her sticky panties. “Thighs ok?”

Mary had eagerly pressed into her back. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s great. Wanna feel how wet you are.”

There had been some wiggling around on his part—to divest himself of his boxers, she’d supposed—and then she’d felt as his dick eased between her closed thighs. He’d grunted, and then his arms came around her: one held her hips steady while he thrust, the other grazed and pinched at her nipples through her nightshirt.

“So hot,” he’d said as his lips smeared down her neck. “Wanted you for a while.” They came back up to press behind her ear.

All she’d been able to manage in return was a gasp as his clever fingers worked at her body—his free hand grazing her nipples and his steadying hand slipping down to rub at her clit again. Panting, he’d brought her to climax once more before clutching her tightly to him so he could finally pump himself to release as well.

Wheezing into her shoulder, Mary’s hips had finally stuttered, and he’d let out a breathy moan right before she’d felt the wetness of his cum start to drip down her thighs. Languidly, he’d rocked his hips as he worked himself through the aftershocks; then,his arms had loosened their hold, and he’d sighed before placing a quick kiss to the back of her neck.

“Good?”

Her head was spinning, and she’d murmured out a “Yeah.”

He’d shifted around, his arms withdrawing from her space.

“C’mon, let’s go back to sleep. Still early.”

“But the mess …” she’d begun, but he’d just pulled her onto his chest.

“Later.”

Mary had fallen asleep immediately, but she’d lain awake wondering what whatever the fuck had just happened meant.

***

Neither of them really talked about it later, but Mary had stopped showing up just to hang. Instead, she’d leave her window open, and most nights he’d crawl through her window in the AM and stick around for breakfast. A fresh box of condoms (since the existing ones in her underwear drawer were 5yrs old) and a few solo practice sessions later had her back on the horse. Mary had relished the full access to her body, delighting in fucking her lazily while he played her body—his mouth sucking on all the right spots while his hands and fingers teased at her other erogenous zones.

He always made sure she came before he did—often multiple times—before finally letting loose and using her body to get off. He always seemed so desperate for it, and she was happy to let him use her—afterward contently sighing into his chest while basking in the afterglow as his arms wrapped around her. It was nice to be wanted, to be touched—even if she missed the part where the two of them drank shitty beer and talked shit while gaming.

When she voiced her regret to her roommate, they had just rolled their eyes at her.

“Have you been out of the game that long? He was courting you then. That’s just how men are. Don’t worry about it.”

So, she tried not to.

***

It’s one of those nights she feels the stirring to go out. She tries to coax one of her roomies to come with her, but they all beg off with the excuse of work in the morning.

“I do too! We don’t have to stay super late!”

But they remain unmoved.

So, she shimmies into the dress that makes her feel the best about herself, pust her face on, and goes out for a drink.

The bar is moderately crowded when she gets there, and she makes a beeline for the electronic jukebox, determined to get some of her bops into the queue so maybe she’ll even get to hear them before she leaves.

Satisfied, she approaches the bar to order a chocolate porter. And hey, wait!—she recognizes that shape across the bar! As her eyes adjust, she's even more certain that it’s Mary. A smile breaks out on her face—she can’t wait to surprise him after she gets her beer.

Pint glass in hand, she makes her way through the bodies to the other side of the bar to where Mary is talking to the pink-haired woman next to him. He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t notice her standing in front of him. In fact, it’s the woman he’s talking to who notices her first.

“Um, hello?” says Pink Hair.

“Oh. I … just wanted to say hi to Mary.”

Mary looks over at her, but his expression is guarded.

“Oh, hey.”

“Hey!”

Pink Her takes an exaggerated sip of her cocktail.

“Did you need something? Because I’m kinda busy here,” he says.

She can feel her smile fall. “Oh. O-ok. I just thought …”

“Look, I’ll catch you later or something, ok?”

Her stomach turns to ice. “Oh, um. Ok, sure.” She starts to say that she’ll be here for a bit, but he’s already turning back around, a smile breaking on his face just for Pink Hair as his hand goes to res on the woman’s knee.

As she stiffly walks away, she hears Pink Hair say, “Who was that?” and Mary respond, “Just some girl who follows me around. You know how it is.”

On autopilot—heart making a rapid tattoo against her ribs—she makes her way to an open high-top. Her good mood has evaporated like water during a scorcher. The sensible thing to do would be to go home—but she hates herself, so she stands there, nursing her beer and trying to make it look like she’s not zeroed in on Mary and his … friend? No need to think the worst. Maybe Pink Hair’s having a rough day and Mary’s listening to her. He’s good like that.

Her bubble of delusion pops when she sees him lean in to kiss Pink Hair’s neck. When his mouth meets the woman’s, her heart officially drops into her stomach … but for some reason she can’t seem to look away. She feels an almost destructive need to make herself see this.

The two of them make out for a bit before Mary puts a bill on the bar and they start to make their way to the exit. For half a second Mary’s eyes catch hers across the bar … and then they slide away, his hand on the small of Pink Hair’s back as they leave together.

She watches the door for a long time after they disappear. She wonders if she’s going to be sick.

Beer unfinished, she sluggishly makes her way to the door, no longer interested in a night out. As she walks home in a daze, she keeps replaying the entire thing over and over in her head to the extent that she walks half a block past her apartment.

Her roommates are still up when she makes it inside, but she just mumbles out a “Hey” and goes straight to her room. For several minutes she just stands there, unsure of the next action to take: change clothes? smash things? brush her teeth? cry?

She ends up walking over to her window. Instead of lifting the pane open, she makes sure it’s closed all the way before thumbing the latch to locked. To make a further statement, she pulls her curtains shut. Mechanically, she undresses and crawls into bed—she'll brush her teeth in the morning.

It’s only because she's still awake—her brain unable to shut off—that she hears it: little plinks. At first she wonders if it’s raining, and then she realizes something is hitting the window pane. A glance at her clock tells her it’s 3:56am.

Even though she already knows what she'll find, she sloughs over to the window and parts the curtains. There’s Mary in his leather jacket, arm raised as if to throw another pebble. He grimaces at her, then motions for her to open the window.

But she's just some girl, so she closes the curtains again and gets back into bed.

As she lays there, a horrible thought passes through her brain: Is this how it always is? He always shows up around the same time every night. Has … has he been coming to her after he’s had his way with his stunning girl du jour? Is she just a warm bed to sleep in after they kick him out? How many times has she been sloppy seconds? Was he even attracted to her, or were those just pretty words to keep him in her bed?

Rolling over for the hundredth time, she thinks about how he always fucks her with her back pressed into him. She'd always thought it was nice—cuddled up close to Mary, his hands free to touch her everywhere … but now she wonders if it was so he didn’t have to look at her, so he could pretend she was the girl he’d just left.

Well. No more.

The next several days crawl. Her roommates give her a wide berth, waiting for her to say something … or not. Every night around 4am, she hears the telltale plink of detritus hitting her window, but she doesn't show her face again.

She wishes he’d just go away.

And then he does, and she wishes she knew what she wanted.

***

She never does say anything to her roommates, but with her mood and the lack of a Mary Goore, they put two-and-two together. They arrange movie nights with vodka and popcorn; they drag her out to clubs that play booty music; they snarl at any man who dares approach her.

She'd never met Mary before her house party, and now it’s like she can’t go to a bar without running into him. The first couple of times, her friends and roommates had barred him from interacting with her with hissed words and thinly-veiled threats, and he’d backed off. But as the leeway around The Event wears off, she eventually has to tell him to fuck off herself.

“But I just want to …”

“No. We’re done, Mary.”

“But—”

“Go away. Or I’m gonna grab a bouncer.”

She feels like she already knows what he’s going to say, anyway, and she’s already exhausted. While she never assumed he was her boyfriend, she had assumed they were exclusive. But: it’s not like the two of them ever talked about what they were, so he has her there … and she can’t help feel like he got away on a technicality on that point. Even before he started sharing her bed and then fucking her, Mary was crashing at her place on the reg. Was it so outlandish to think he wasn’t working his way through half the scene before crawling into bed with her?

And what good can he say about the cruel way he’d dismissed her? Perhaps even going out of his way to show her exactly what she meant to him?

As if she were nothing.

Some. Girl.

No. She has nothing more to say to Mary Goore.

***

Mary finally takes the hint. Now when she sees him out, he sends her looks, but doesn’t attempt to talk to her anymore. She knows all she needs to know anyway when she sees him still consistently leaving with a hottie on his arm.

So it’s with some surprise to her that he tries again in a way that takes her completely off guard.

It’s late in the evening, and for once she doesn't see Mary skulking about the bar she's at. A woman approaches her table and asks if she can talk to her. She thinks maybe the woman needs help, or likes her shoes or something—If she'd known what the woman was about, she'd have never agreed.

“What’s up?” she asks when the two of them are alone at a free high-top in the corner.

“I’m one of Mary’s friends, and—”

She scoffs and makes to go, but the woman rests a hand on her arm.

“No! Wait, hear me out.”

The woman’s eyes plead, and—against her better judgement—she stays.

“You’re not going to convince me of anything.”

“Just listen, ok?”

She folds her arms.

“Look, Mary’s really sorry. He’s really torn up about it. You don’t even—”

“I don’t give a shit about how he feels.”

The woman swallows. “He really does feel awful about the misunderstanding, and—”

“No,” she hisses, making a cut off motion with her arm. The woman’s mouth clicks shut. “Fine, I get it—I shouldn’t have assumed I was the only one he was fucking. That’s on me, I guess. But there was no misunderstanding. He wasn’t confused when he pretended I was just some sad little girl mooning after him. And I don’t know if he saw sex with me as repayment for giving him a place to crash or if my spreading my legs for him just an added bonus.” She's pretty sure her face is purple at this point. "But I seriously doubt he didn’t understand that fucking one person and then leaving to fuck another in the same night is not acceptable—especially without telling them.”

“I … he—”

“So I don’t care how many sympathetic friends he gets to do his dirty work, I’m fucking done with him. He can find another warm body to dupe. He certainly doesn’t lack options.” She starts to walk away and then turns back. “This isn’t some version of hard to get. I want him to leave me alone.”

***

She meets Benny at a friend of a friend’s house party. He’s … ok. Kind of pompous and into himself—but charismatic and funny. And if she wasn’t looking to fill the Mary-Shaped void (instead of waiting for it to close on its own) she probably would have just tossed his number. But he focuses his wattage on her, and his eyes take in her body like it’s a treat, so she thinks: what the hell?

As a boyfriend he’s … ok. He takes her out on dates and buys her small trinkets—so she purposefully overlooks that he has to have his own way. And when she’d been upfront about looking for exclusivity, he’d said they both were both on the same page. So what if he has the tendency to talk over her? It’s not like it’s forever.

In bed he’s … ok. Not exactly a thoughtful dynamo, but he touches her body and meets her eyes during sex—and that’s more than she's had in a while. So what if he sometimes makes little comments about what a catch he is and how lucky she is? It’s not like anyone else is asking to be put on her dance card.

He’s not Mary—but what had Mary been, really? Some guy who’d trespassed on her hospitality because she’d been so starved for contact that she confused gratitude for affection.

It’s inevitable that they run into Mary at a bar—she’s surprised it hadn’t happened sooner—but that doesn’t mean she has to like it.

She and Benny are at the bar eating rubbery burgers and decent fried pickle chips with a pitcher of beer to wash it all down when she looks across the bar and catches Mary glowering at her. She ignores him, and she resolves to put him out of her mind.

Her resolution is blown to shit when she comes back from the bathroom and she sees Mary on a stool next to Benny.

“… you hardly have to do anything. Oh hey, babe.”

“Hey.” She climbs back up onto her stool.

He turns to her. “This is—wait for it—Mary.”

Mary’s eyes bore into hers. She sticks her hand across Benny.

“Hi, Mary. Nice to meet you.”

He limply takes her hand, gives it a shake, then lets go.

“I’m gonna hit the head. Try not to talk about me,” says Benny with a wink.

When he’s well out of earshot, Mary lays into her.

“Are you fucking serious with this guy?”

“What’s it to you?” She pops a pickle chip into her mouth.

“He’s an asshole. He was just telling me he dates girls like you because you’re so grateful for the attention that you’ll accept anything.”

She's a little stung that Mary thinks of her as ugly too—some part of her had been holding onto the scrap that maybe Mary hadn’t been lying about finding her attractive.

She continues to graze the pickles.

“Well, I am grateful, Mary. I’m not like you; I don’t have people lined up around the block waiting to fuck me. I was grateful you were willing to fuck me, and I’m grateful he likes touching me.” She locks her gaze with his. “At least he isn’t ashamed to be seen with me in public.”

Mary’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. Benny’s reappearance interrupts his attempt to form a coherent retort.

"Getting acquainted, I see.”

“Sure,” she says.

“No, that’s good.” He turns to grin at her. “See, Mary here came over to express his …” Benny sucks his teeth and gives her a once over. “Interest in what a … healthy-looking girl you are.”

She squints in confusion as Mary’s face shows open shock.

“That’s not what I …” Mary sputters.

Benny puts his hand over hers.

“Do you think we could accommodate him, babe?”

“What?” she spits out as Mary tries to back away as much as he can while still sitting.

Benny looks at Mary and then at her with a knowing glance. His hand comes up to brush at her cheekbone.

“What would you think about me watching him fuck you?”

If it were any other guy, she might have thrown her drink on Benny—but any disgust she feels toward him seems to be overridden by the opportunity to get in a jab at Mary. Glancing over, she pretends to assess him.

“No,” she says with as much haughtiness as she can muster. “He looks like a hobo. I don’t want to catch fleas.”

Mary actually has the audacity to look hurt.

“Well, let it never be said I couldn’t take a hint.”

He slides off the stool and walks away.

“Hey, wait—she didn’t mean …” sputters Benny.

They watch in silence as he exits the bar.

Benny turns to her. “Why the fuck would you say something like that?”

“Why would you?” she retorts as she crams the last of the burger into her maw.

The mood effectively killed, they pay and head out.

The walk back to his place is a quiet one, both of them annoyed at the other for very different reasons. Once in his apartment, she's barely hung up her coat before Benny is laying into her.

“What that fuck was that back there, huh? Do you know how embarrassing that was for me?”

She rolls her eyes at him.

“My ‘gratitude’ has limits, Benny.”

The slap comes out of nowhere. More of an open-handed punch, really. She goes stumbling backwards, momentarily stunned. When her hand touches her face, it comes away with blood from a split lip. When she looks up, Benny is looking at her coldly, but calmly.

“You hit me,” she says, incredulous.

“I think I’ve been really good about restraining myself until now. You know how you are.”

It should say something that she's more annoyed that Mary was right about wasting her time on an asshole like Benny than she is in fear of him.

She grits her teeth.

“We’re fucking done, Benny.”

His face contorts in a journey of annoyance, disbelief, and irritation.

“You think anyone else is going to want you? Just look at you. You’re lucky to have me.”

“Mary wanted me,” she says.

“What?”

“The guy at the bar. For the record, I’ve already fucked him, and he might have bedbugs, but he’s a much better lay.”

Benny, face red, crowds into her space. “Are you really trying to provoke me right now?”

“You’re right. I’m actually leaving.”

“Bitch, you think—” he moves to grab her wrists, but she pushes him, hard.

He stumbles back and trips over his rug, landing on his ass. It would be comical except for the dark look he gives her. Feeling a sudden lance of fear, she goes for the door, knocking the end table over as an extra obstacle for him. She wastes precious seconds yanking hard at her coat as she flees—hearing it tear somewhere as it pulls free—since her phone and her wallet are in the pockets.

She catches a glimpse of him just getting to his feet yelling, “You fucking cunt,” as she slams the door behind her. Heart pounding, she runs up a flight of stairs, hoping to fake him out—but his door slams open just in time for him to see her.

“You never had it so good!” he screams as he climbs after her.

She chances running down the hall on the next floor to get to the back stairwell, but she’s not quick enough. “If you leave don’t expect me to take you back,” she hears as she practically vaults down the next flight. Instead of continuing or booking it back to the main stairwell, she sprints to the turn in the hall and stops—back pressed against the wall, hand across her mouth as she pants.

Benny’s footfalls stop as he reaches the landing to his floor then pause. She can hear him let out a Fuck, and she tenses—ready to claw if he comes around the corner—but he continues on down the hall. It sounds like he searches the main stairwell again, but it’s hard to tell.

She remains there, getting her breathing back under control and listening intently for the telltale sounds he’s checking the back stairs again … but so far: nothing. As she waits to make sure Benny isn’t going to chase after her, she has time to think about what she'd said to goad him. Part of her wonders if she didn’t have it good with Mary after all; the more reasonable part reminds herself that she deserves better than either of them—even if that means no one.

Finally, she hears him stomping and cursing, and then the slam of his door. Even so, she still waits—playing repeating songs over in her head—before craning her head around the L of the hall. Seeing nothing suspicious, she carefully slinks to the back stairs, lightly tiptoeing down them until she reaches the emergency exit. Uncaring about an alarm, she slams it open, making her way into the cooling night air.

She runs all the way home, never stopping to even put on her coat.

***

For months she’d kept her bedroom window closed and locked—not wanting to give Mary the impression that an open window was an invitation—but after his attempts had stopped with his friend’s plea, she'd felt comfortable cracking it open again.

Which is why several days after the incident with Benny, Mary can once again climb through her window. He scares the bejesus out of her—part of her half-asleep brain convinced it’s Benny here to enact retribution.

Something in her eyes must convey her alarm because he blurts out, “Hey, hey—it’s just me.”

She's relieved until she remembers how pissed at him she is.

“What the fuck, Mary.”

“Sorry.”

She sits up in bed and turns on her bedside lamp.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What about my memo didn’t you get?”

He rubs the back of his neck.

“I know—I’m sorry. I just. I wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“Because I obviously must be wasting away without a dick to fill me?”

He gives her a strange look.

“No. Because of …” He makes a flapping gesture with his hand.

“Because of … what? First word? Sounds like?”

His brows furrow.

“Shit. You don’t know.”

She rubs at her eyes. “It’s fucking late, Mary. Help me out.”

“May I?” he asks as he goes to sit on the edge of her bed.

“No,” she hisses, and he pops back up.

He teeters awkwardly before turning it into a lean against her dresser.

“Benny’s been around. Saying shit.”

“Lemme guess: he’s been talking shit about putting me in my place with a firm hand or something? Maybe that he broke up with me because I’m pathetic? Neither of which are true, by the way.”

Mary actually looks nervous.

“Um. Kinda. But it’s …”

“What?” she snaps.

He takes a deep breath.

“He’s been saying that he found out you were cheating on him so he ‘taught you a lesson’ by ‘destroying your ass’ before kicking you to the curb. He, um. Described it in great detail.”

She stares at Mary, stunned.

“What?”

He rubs his neck again, unable to meet her eyes.

“It’s just. His accuracy … I had to make sure you were ok.”

She realizes she’s balling her fists in her sheet, so she unclenches.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, thanks. I guess.”

“So you are? Ok?”

She rubs her face with her hands.

“I mean, he hit me, but—”

“What?” barks Mary as he looks up at her sharply.

“Yeah. He was pissed I declined to let you fuck me in front of him, so he slapped me. I told him to fuck off and left.”

Mary goes to examine her face before he remembers she's no longer his to touch.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he backs away again.

“I’m fine, Mary. Just a split lip. Practically healed. You didn’t even notice it.”

“Well, you’re light’s fucking dim. You didn’t even notice …” He trails off.

“Notice what, Mary?”

“Nothing.”

“Notice. What?”

He sighs and holds out his hands. She sees immediately that his knuckles are bruised and bloody.

“Mary! Your hands!”

Before she can stop herself, she shoots up and grabs his hands to examine the damage.

“What happened?”

“Do you really want to know?”

She squints up at him, feeling like she already knows the answer.

“Tell me.”

He sighs.

“True or not, I just couldn’t let that douche talk shit about you in public. I wasn’t the only one, either, you know—you have more friends that you think you do. A couple of us … drove home that he needed to shut the fuck up and move on.”

She hates that she feels thankful, but she is.

And then he has to go and ruin the moment by saying, “I’m not really boyfriend material, you know.”

She lets his hands go.

“That’s such a fucking cop out, Mary. An excuse to keep you from responsibility.”

He makes a frustrated noise.

“I have friends and I have people I fuck. I’m not …. I don’t have friends I fuck.”

The old feelings of righteous indignation flare up.

“Then why? We could have written off that first morning as a one off. Laughed about it as half-asleep shenanigans. Why keep fucking me?”

His head thunks back against the wall.

“Because I was fucking selfish, ok? Sleeping next to you for weeks without touching you was a special kind of torture. I didn’t think I could go back to that. And I wanted … I wanted you to feel good. That’s what I’m good at: making people feel good. You think that you’re this troll who’s lucky if someone looks at you, and I needed to show you that you’re not. Just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean you aren’t hot, ok? Your problem isn’t that you’re ‘ugly’—it’s that you refuse to believe anyone could be into you. You miss what’s right in front of you—and I don’t even mean me.”

Her lather gets up.

“Well, congrats: you did, you asshole. You made me feel like I could be worth something. You came by and talked to me about shit and slept in my bed and touched me like I wasn’t a gross beach ball. And then you,” tears suddenly well in her eyes, “and then you treated me like trash. You tell me you wanted to show me I was worth something, but then you treated me like I was some delusional fangirl—like you weren’t coming here and fucking me every night—so you could go home with a fucking goth model. You made sure you weren’t even subtle. Was I ever more than just the after party, Mary? Some place to slink to after the main event so you didn’t have to go home?”

Piece said, she scrubs her eyes and sniffles at Mary. He only stares back at her as the minutes start to tick by uncomfortably.

Just when she's given up on getting a response from him, he says,

“I just assumed you understood who I was.”

She waits for more. Anything else.

But that’s it. That’s all he has to say.

“I didn’t, but I do now,” she says tiredly. “And I deserve better than your paltry offering.”

Again, he has the audacity to look hurt.

She settles herself back into her covers.

“I appreciate you beating the shit out of Benny, but I really do wish you’d leave me alone. My open window just means I’d like some fresh air.”

“I—”

“Leave,” she hisses as she drapes her arm over her eyes.

It takes a moment, but then she hears Mary shuffle over to the window and scramble out of it.

And then all she hears is the wind blowing through the trees.

Epilogue

And that could be the end of it.

It certainly feels like the end of the 2yr entanglement with Mary Goore. He seems to disappear from her life just as suddenly as he arrived. Everyone around her vows to hate him on principle even if she suspects a few of them still smoke with him.

One of her roommates moves out, and one that she ends up hating moves in.

She gets a new job, and has a brief affair with a colleague that ends in tears when he realizes he actually is ready to marry his ex.

Once or twice she Googles Mary, but he has zero social media presence—just a few blurry, red-eyed pics of him with other people from the scene.

She moves into a place with another girl from work.

Two of her friends get married to each other.

She pays off her student debt and buys a modest place.

Occasionally she hears mention of one of his shenanigans, but never anything substantial. Never anything about his lovers.

More of her friends get married.

She finds herself missing the days when she could do casual shots with roommates and still be fresh for work the next day.

She dates every asshole her dating app has to offer before deleting them all and buying some very nice toys.

Sometimes she goes out to her old haunts and watches the social shit show with fondness.

Mary becomes like that song: someone she used to know.

Until …

He isn’t.

It’s in that Japanese coffee shop of all places that she finally sees him—the man behind the myth—again. She’s tapping away at her laptop, latte in hand, when she sees him in line. At first, she doesn’t even think it’s him.

She thinks, “Huh. That dude looks like Mary Goore.” But the longer she stares, the more she realizes that it is Mary Goore.

Mary used to be a skinny-ass noodle boy. His hair was always greasy and flaky with product. Even when clean, his clothes were covered in stains and holes. His leather jacket was dull with half the lining ripped away, and his Docs were covered in black duct tape. Under his makeup, his face was handsome, but covered in acne.

This … man is still very slender, but his shoulders have broadened, and she thinks she can detect a little potbelly. His hair is still styled, but it looks clean. He looks clean. His leather jacket looks lived in, but is still shiny. The black jeans are still molded onto his legs … but the only rips are at his knees and—unlike the only pair she ever saw him wear—don’t look like they’d ooze oil if you pressed hard. The ends are tucked into boots that—while scuffed—aren’t cracked or peeling. When he turns to stare absently at the wall, she can see that his face has filled out a bit, but the makeup is more subtle—still white in pallor, but instead of clunky skull accents, his eyes and cheeks are sleek and contoured.

The old feeling of longing stirs in her gut.

It’s why, stupidly, instead of being satisfied with just this glimpse, she says (in a hesitant, wavering voice), “Mary?” after he gets his order. She doesn't know why she does this to herself. It’s not like she wants to hear about his marriage or his kids. Or worse—how he’s still giving it away for free like that’s all he’s worth.

Despite various diets and exercise regimes, she's only grown more womanly—but she's learned that what Mary told her all those years ago was truth: she was the only thing cockblocking herself.

To-go cup in hand, he swivels his head this way and that, trying to find the source of his name. His gaze glosses right over her, and she doesn't quite have the courage to call out to him again. But then his eyes land on her and focus—and then he breaks out in a huge grin that opens up his whole face, that shows the fine lines his placid look was hiding.

“Oh my god. Is that you?”

She blushes and nods. He saunters over and half sits against the opposite stool. His eyes travel her up and down. She’s only a little self-conscious that he’s managed to glow-up while she's merely discovered the miracle of a tailor and Vaseline.

“You look great,” he says in a soft voice.

She waves away the compliment. “Look at you! Did you go into modeling or something?”

He snorts at her. “I—well … I guess there’s a lot of shit you wouldn’t know; a lot of shit I didn’t want to tell you. Anyway—long, boring story—after I got kicked out of my living situation, I ended up rooming with a bunch of drag queens.” He shrugs, but there’s a half smile on his face. “I was kind of their pet project for a while.”

She mirrors his expression. “That would only happen to you.”

“So how’s—” “Are you—”

Both of them chuckle nervously. Mary makes a “go on” motion.

As she wet her lips, her eyes flick to where his left hand is wrapped around his cup. No ring.

“I believe this is the part where I inquire after the health of a … uh … girlfriend?”

Subtle.

Mary’s half smile becomes whole.

“Oh, ah. Not one of those. Or the other kind. Not for a while, anyway.” He shrugs. “And … you?” he says carefully. “Husband? Kids?”

She feels her face flush, and she looks down.

“No, nothing like that.”

There’s what feels like a tense pause, but when she looks up, Mary is worrying at his bottom lip.

“I, uh. I looked for you, you know.”

Her eyes go wide “Y-you—you did?”

He nods. “But you … moved.”

She mirrors his nodding. “And changed jobs. Twice.”

He taps the tabletop between them. She rubs her palms down her jeans.

“That was kinda a fucked up time for me. I’m afraid I was really shitty to you.”

“Oh no, Mare—”

He holds his hand up. “No, I was. And I’m really fucking sorry about it. If this is it, if I never see you again, you have to know that. That, and you were just about the only good thing in my life for a while. I think I spent years chasing what I gave away with you.”

“Oh, Mare …” she says, too overcome to verbalize anything further.

“Except beating the shit out of Benny. He deserved that, and I’d do it again.”

She laughs, as was his intention.

“Maybe you should have knocked his head harder. He went away for trying to run over his girlfriend, you know?”

Mary’s brow furrows. “No shit?”

“No shit. She survived but ended up in traction.”

His face seems to darken.

“Did I push you into his arms?”

She sighs. “No, Mary. That was my own shitty decision. It’s not like I was at my best either.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says almost under his breath.

The two of them stare at each, the conversation seemingly having run its course. Then Mary jumps, and fumbles to get his phone out of his pocket. His eyes scan the screen, then he locks it.

“So … I, uh. Have to go.”

Her blood turns into ice in her veins, and she plasters a smile on her face. “Oh, ok. I understand.”

He slides off the stool, his phone scraping across the table in tandem. He goes to put it in his pocket, then raises it, then half lowers it, then grimaces at her.

“You wouldn’t want to get coffee sometime, would you? I mean, again. Not here. Or here is fine, but as a date.” His faces screw up. “Not like a date date—but like, a get together. To … talk.” His eyebrows form a triangle and he sucks his lips into his mouth, as if that’ll stop him from his verbal diarrhea.

She smiles at him. “I actually would like that very much, Mary.” She holds out her hand, and he hands her his phone.

#angst #mary goore #ficlet #brief #domestic abuse #not by mary #but mary is a dick #female reader 3rd person #n/sfw #longfic #my writing #original content

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