#if not then WHY?????? LET IT BE ENOUGH!! IT IS!! I FUCKING PROMISE IT IS!!!!!!!!!

[hockeyluvrr]

BLENDER || lh43

MAIN MASTERLIST

summary: Love was never the problem-but distance, doubt, and heartbreak were. You tried to hold on. So did he. But when love stops being enough, what's left?

based on the song BLENDER by 5SOS

warnings: arguments, emotional tension, swearing, miscommunication, jealousy, confrontation, desperation, uncertainty, breaking up, heartbreak, emotional limbo, unresolved feelings, basically all the basic angst stuff lol

notes: holy shit, this came out of nowhere ngl... this is my longest fic yet and I love it so much. shoutout to my 5sos girlies, this is for you (mostly me though 🤭)

word count: 6,410

The fight had been over for an hour, but your phone was still buzzing.

LUKE: can you just pick up?

LUKE: i don’t want to end the night like this.

LUKE: please.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the notification. Your body still felt tight, wound up from everything you’d just screamed at each other. The distance was getting to both of you. Maybe it had been from the start.

This was supposed to be easy. A summer fling that accidentally turned into more.

You met Luke last July, when the air was thick with humidity and the nights bled into each other without much consequence. You didn’t think twice when it started—just a guy and a girl caught up in something fun, something fleeting.

But then August came, and instead of ending things, you found yourself tangled in his sheets, whispering promises neither of you had planned to make.

So now, months later, you were here—staring at his name on your phone, wondering if loving someone like this was supposed to feel like free-falling with no parachute.

Another buzz.

LUKE: i’m calling.

The screen lit up with his name, and you swore under your breath before finally answering.

“What?”

A beat of silence. Then, his voice—tired, frustrated, but still laced with something soft. “You actually picked up.”

“I figured you weren’t gonna stop until I did,” you muttered, shifting in bed. Your voice came out flat, but you weren’t sure how else to talk to him when your heart was still beating too fast from the argument.

Luke exhaled sharply. “I don’t get why you’re acting like I don’t care.”

“You don’t get it because you’re never here.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and aching.

His silence was louder than the words themselves.

“Y/N…” He sounded exhausted. “You know I can’t just—”

“I know, Luke,” you cut in. “I know you have a career. I know you can’t just drop everything for me. But I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one trying.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You sat up, gripping your blanket. “I call. I text. I make time. But when was the last time you put in the effort? When was the last time you planned something instead of just squeezing me in when it was convenient?”

His breath hitched, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the words.

The silence stretched.

You should’ve let it sit. Let him stew in it. But instead, your voice broke when you whispered, “Do you even miss me, Luke?”

The question must’ve hit him harder than anything else, because when he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “Are you serious?”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure you could.

“Of course I fucking miss you,” he snapped. “Every damn day. But I can’t just—” He cut himself off, cursing under his breath. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Y/N. I can’t fix the distance. I can’t fix my schedule. I can’t—”

“I don’t want you to fix it,” you admitted, voice cracking. “I just want to matter enough for you to try.”

The silence came back, heavier than before.

You closed your eyes. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Wait—”

“I need space, Luke.” Your throat tightened. “Just… goodnight.”

Then, before he could say anything else, you hung up.

You threw your phone onto the nightstand and curled up into yourself, letting the weight of it all crash down.

Outside, the city lights flickered through your window, but they didn’t feel warm. Not tonight.

Not when you weren’t sure if this was just another fight—

Or the beginning of the end.

———

You didn’t sleep.

Not really, anyway. You drifted in and out, your mind replaying every second of last night’s fight, twisting his words in a way that left a hollow ache in your chest.

By the time morning rolled around, your phone was still dark. No texts. No missed calls.

Luke had listened when you said you needed space.

You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or worse.

With a deep sigh, you pushed the blankets off and sat up, rubbing your hands over your face. The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional hum of traffic outside. It felt unnatural, like the silence had taken up permanent residence in your head, stretching far beyond last night.

You hated how much you missed him.

Even now, your body was wired to check your phone first thing in the morning, waiting for one of his lazy, half-awake messages. Morning, pretty girl. Wish you were here. Call me when you wake up.

But today, there was nothing.

It shouldn’t have surprised you. You were the one who ended the call. You were the one who asked for space.

So why did it feel like he was the one pulling away?

With a groan, you flopped back onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling, replaying the fight in your head. Maybe you’d overreacted. Maybe you should’ve let him explain instead of throwing accusations like knives. You knew his schedule was hell. You knew long distance wasn’t easy.

But at the same time… when was the last time he really made you feel like a priority?

Before you could spiral any further, your phone buzzed.

Your heart jumped.

But when you grabbed it, the screen didn’t show Luke’s name.

It was your best friend, Riley.

RILEY: u up? brunch. now. no excuses.

You hesitated. Normally, you’d decline, opting to stay curled up in your thoughts. But today, with the weight of last night still pressing on your chest, you needed the distraction.

YOU: be there in 20.

—

The café was small and familiar, the kind of place you and Riley had claimed as your own years ago. The smell of coffee and syrup hung thick in the air, and the morning crowd buzzed around you.

Riley spotted you before you even reached the table. “Oh, yeah. You look rough.”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped into the seat across from her. “Thanks.”

She pushed a mimosa toward you. “Drink. Then talk.”

You didn’t argue. One sip turned into two, and before you knew it, you were spilling everything—how Luke had called, how you fought, how you hung up first. How he hadn’t texted since.

Riley frowned. “So you told him you needed space, and now you’re mad that he’s giving it to you?”

You groaned, slumping in your seat. “Not when you say it like that.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to say it?” She arched a brow. “Did you expect him to blow up your phone? Show up at your door?”

You hated that you didn’t have a good answer.

Riley sighed, softer this time. “I get it, babe. I do. Long distance sucks. And I know you’re tired of feeling like you’re the only one putting in the effort. But you guys love each other, right?”

Your stomach twisted. Love.

Neither of you had said it yet.

Riley noticed your silence and leaned forward. “Wait. Have you guys even talked about—?”

“No,” you cut in quickly, suddenly regretting this conversation. “It’s not like that.”

She gave you a knowing look but didn’t push. “Okay. So what is it like?”

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “It’s…” You struggled for the right words. “It’s messy. It’s intense. It’s too much but never enough at the same time.”

Riley nodded like she understood, even though you weren’t sure you did.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Then, she reached for her phone.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, with a pointed look, she turned the screen toward you.

Luke’s latest Instagram post stared back at you.

Your chest tightened.

It was a photo of him at practice, mid-laugh, sweaty and effortless in a way that made your heart ache. The caption was simple. Back at it.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing emotional.

But all the comments blurred together in your head. Can’t wait to watch you this season! Missed you on the ice! Looking good, Hughesy!

It was a reminder that, while you were sitting here overthinking everything, Luke was out there living.

Like last night never happened.

Like you didn’t happen.

You swallowed hard. “So what? He’s just… moving on?”

Riley gave you a sympathetic look. “Or maybe he’s just waiting. For you to reach out first.”

You stared at the screen, your stomach twisting into knots.

Maybe she was right. Maybe you should text him.

Or maybe the cracks were already too deep to fix.

———

It had been three days.

Three days since the fight. Three days since you hung up on Luke. Three days of absolute silence.

You told yourself you wouldn’t be the one to break first. If he cared, he’d reach out. If he wanted this to work, he’d try.

But every hour that passed without his name lighting up your phone chipped away at your resolve.

You were starting to wonder if maybe this was how it ended—not with a dramatic goodbye, but with a slow, suffocating silence that swallowed you whole.

And yet, even with the weight of it pressing down on your chest, you still couldn’t bring yourself to text him first.

Instead, you did the worst possible thing.

You checked social media.

Luke wasn’t the type to post often, but his teammates were. And there he was—in a video on Jack’s story, laughing in the background, surrounded by friends, a drink in hand like the last three days hadn’t meant anything to him.

You stared at the screen, your grip tightening on your phone.

Maybe this was stupid. Maybe you were reading too much into it.

But the longer you watched, the worse it got.

Because then she appeared.

A girl you didn’t recognise—blonde, wearing a Devils jersey far too oversized to be her own—sidling up next to Luke, whispering something in his ear. He didn’t move away. Didn’t look uncomfortable. Just smirked, shaking his head at whatever she said before taking another sip of his drink.

Your stomach twisted.

The worst part wasn’t the fact that she was there. It wasn’t even the fact that Luke didn’t seem to mind.

It was the fact that, for the first time since you met him, you had no idea where you stood.

You weren’t his girlfriend, not officially.

Not really.

Because when the summer ended, neither of you had wanted to put a label on it. You told yourselves it was easier that way—no pressure, no expectations, just whatever this was.

But now, as you watched him on that screen, looking so effortlessly unbothered, it hit you like a fucking freight train.

Maybe you’d been wrong.

Maybe you weren’t something worth holding on to.

The buzzing in your head was so loud that you almost didn’t hear Riley calling your name.

You blinked, barely processing that she was standing in the doorway of your apartment. “Are you even listening?”

You swallowed hard, locking your phone before she could see the screen. “What?”

She sighed, stepping inside and dropping onto your couch. “I said we’re going out tonight. You need a distraction.”

“I don’t need a distraction,” you muttered, even as you stared blankly at the wall.

Riley rolled her eyes. “Okay, so what? You’re just gonna sit here all night, refreshing Instagram like a psycho?”

Your silence must have been answer enough.

She groaned. “Y/N. Come on. I love you, but this? This isn’t healthy. You don’t even know what’s going on.”

You clenched your jaw. “I know enough.”

She gave you a long look, then sighed. “Fine. If you’re not gonna let it go, then at least don’t let him be the only one having fun tonight.”

You hesitated.

Riley saw the crack in your resolve and jumped on it. “Just a couple drinks. That’s all I’m asking.”

You weren’t sure why you agreed. Maybe it was the fact that you’d barely left your apartment in days. Maybe it was the need to feel something—anything—other than this ache in your chest.

Or maybe, deep down, it was the smallest, most pathetic part of you that wanted Luke to see you moving on, too.

———

The bar was packed. Music pulsed through the speakers, and the air was thick with the smell of alcohol and too many bodies crammed into one space.

It should’ve felt suffocating.

But instead, with a drink in your hand and Riley’s laughter ringing in your ears, you almost managed to forget.

Almost.

At least, until your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You knew who it was before you even checked.

LUKE: are you out?

Your heart nearly stopped. After three days of nothing, this was how he chose to reach out? Not an apology. Not an explanation. Just that.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and typed back before you could think better of it.

YOU: why do you care?

His response was instant.

LUKE: where are you?

You stared at the message, pulse pounding in your ears.

He had no right to be asking that. Not after ignoring you. Not after letting you sit with the weight of this fight while he went out, acting like he didn’t care.

So instead of answering, you did the stupidest thing possible.

You let some guy buy you another drink.

You didn’t know his name. Didn’t care. He was tall, attractive, and most importantly—he wasn’t Luke.

And if you felt the burn of guilt in your chest when he leaned in closer, when his fingers brushed against yours. You shouldn’t even feel guilty, right? Luke’s been doing the same thing.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Until your phone buzzed again.

LUKE: Y/N.

One words. Your name. That’s all it took to make your breath hitch.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just a fight. It wasn’t just a rough patch.

This was a game.

———

The tension had been simmering all night.

It started with Luke’s text. One simple word that crawled under your skin, wrapping around your ribs like a vice. But what pissed you off the most wasn’t the message itself.

It was the fact that he suddenly cared.

After three days of silence. After her in his Instagram story. After making you feel like you were the only one suffering through this distance.

And now, here he was, acting like he had a say in what you did.

So you ignored the text.

And maybe you let that guy keep flirting with you a little longer than you should have. Maybe you let his hand linger at the small of your back when he leaned in to talk. Maybe you even laughed a little louder, tilted your chin just enough that if Luke somehow saw—if he was watching—he’d know exactly what you were doing.

It was petty. It was reckless.

But so was loving someone who could make you feel this small.

The tension cracked the second you stepped outside the bar.

Luke was waiting.

You nearly tripped when you saw him, heart slamming against your ribs. He was standing near the curb, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he was trying to grind his teeth into dust.

Your stomach flipped. He was here. He actually came.

But you weren’t sure if that made things better or worse.

His eyes locked onto you immediately, flickering down to the guy who had followed you out. And in that moment, the simmering tension didn’t just build. It exploded.

“The fuck is this?” Luke’s voice was low, controlled—but you knew him well enough to hear the storm brewing beneath it.

You blinked, still caught off guard by the fact that he was here. “What?”

Luke’s jaw tightened. “Who the hell is he?”

The guy next to you—God, you didn’t even remember his name—shifted awkwardly. “Uh—”

“Not your business, Hughes,” you cut in before he could finish.

Luke’s eyes snapped back to you. “Not my business?”

“You heard me.” Your pulse was pounding, but you forced yourself to hold your ground. “You don’t get to disappear for three days and then show up acting like you have any right to be pissed.”

Luke let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “That’s funny, because I could say the same thing. You tell me you need space, ignore me for days, and then I see you all over some guy?”

“I ignored you?” You scoffed, anger bubbling to the surface. “That’s rich, Luke. Where the hell were you? Oh, right—too busy playing NHL golden boy, letting some random girl hang off you—”

“What girl?”

The fact that he had the audacity to act confused made your blood boil. “Don’t play dumb.” You crossed your arms, nails digging into your skin. “The blonde. The one in your jersey.”

Luke stared at you for a moment, then let out another disbelieving laugh. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“She’s Jack’s friend. She was at the game. I barely talked to her.” He shook his head, eyes dark with frustration. “Jesus, Y/N. You saw a story and what—just assumed the worst?”

You hated the way your stomach twisted at that.

Because maybe—just maybe—he was right. Maybe you had let jealousy cloud your judgment. Maybe you had let the silence between you turn into something uglier than it was ever meant to be.

But that didn’t change the fact that this wasn’t just about her.

It was about everything.

The late-night calls that were always cut short. The weeks without seeing each other. The way it felt like you were constantly reaching for him while he was always a step too far away.

“You let me assume the worst,” you muttered, voice shaking despite yourself. “Because you never do anything to prove me wrong.”

Luke’s expression flickered—just for a second. And in that second, you saw it. The guilt.

But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” His voice was quieter now, raw around the edges. “That I wish I could be around more? That I fucking hate the distance just as much as you do?” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You act like this is easy for me. Like I don’t miss you every goddamn day.”

Your throat tightened. “Then why don’t you act like it?”

He stared at you, breathing hard, like he was trying to find the right words—but they never came.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

There was always so much left unsaid.

Neither of you spoke. The tension that had been simmering all night was now crackling in the air between you, but this time, there was nowhere left for it to go.

The guy you had walked out with cleared his throat. “Uh—”

Luke’s head snapped toward him. “Leave.”

“Luke—”

“No, it’s fine.” The guy held up his hands, clearly deciding that whatever this was, it wasn’t worth the drama. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You didn’t watch him leave. You didn’t even care.

Because all of your attention was on Luke.

On the way his shoulders were tense, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes locked onto yours like this was some kind of battle neither of you knew how to win.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you exhaled. “So what now?”

Luke hesitated.

And that hesitation—that tiny moment of uncertainty—made something inside you crack.

Because if he didn’t know, then maybe you already did.

Maybe you’d known for a while.

Maybe you just hadn’t wanted to say it out loud.

You swallowed hard. “I can’t keep doing this, Luke.”

His face fell.

You regretted the words the second they left your mouth.

I can’t keep doing this, Luke.

Because now they were out there, hanging heavy in the space between you, and you couldn’t take them back.

Luke’s face twisted, like the weight of them had hit him straight in the chest. He shifted slightly, like he wanted to move closer but didn’t know if he was still allowed to. “You don’t mean that.”

Your throat tightened. Didn’t you?

“I don’t know,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the hum of the city around you. “I don’t know what I mean anymore.”

That seemed to snap something in him. His jaw clenched, frustration bleeding into his voice. “So what? You just want to walk away?”

Your stomach twisted. That wasn’t what you wanted—not really. But maybe it would be easier. Maybe it would hurt less than this constant, suffocating ache in your chest.

“I don’t want to,” you admitted, voice cracking. “But, Luke… I don’t know how to keep this from falling apart.”

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Then we figure it out.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “And how do we do that? Because I’m fucking exhausted. I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one fighting for this.”

That made something flicker in his expression—something wounded. “That’s not fair.”

You scoffed. “Isn’t it?”

His eyes darkened. “You think I don’t fight for this? You think I don’t want to be with you?”

“I think you want me when it’s convenient.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take them back. “When you have time. When it doesn’t get in the way of your schedule.”

Luke took a step closer, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?” You could feel your control slipping, the frustration bubbling over. “Because I spend every day waiting for you to call, waiting for you to show up—and half the time, I’m left wondering if you even remember I exist.”

Luke’s brows furrowed, his expression torn between anger and something softer, something that looked like guilt.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, voice tight. “You have no fucking clue how hard this is for me too.”

“Then tell me.” Your voice cracked, raw and desperate. “Because all I know is that I feel like I’m constantly reaching for you, and you’re never there.”

Luke let out a frustrated breath, his hands flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I don’t know how to do this, okay? I don’t know how to give you everything you deserve while I’m a thousand miles away.”

Your chest ached at the confession, at the vulnerability underneath the frustration. But it didn’t change anything.

“I’m not asking for everything, Luke.” Your voice softened just slightly. “I’m just asking for something.”

Luke shook his head, exhaling sharply. “I—fuck.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to pull himself together. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I can’t lose you.”

Your heart clenched.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Neither of you knew how to fix it. But neither of you could bear the thought of letting go.

Luke’s gaze searched yours, desperate and pleading. “Tell me what to do.”

Your throat felt tight. “I don’t have the answer.”

For a second, neither of you spoke. The tension was suffocating, your emotions teetering on a knife’s edge.

Then, suddenly, Luke moved.

He reached for you like it was instinct, his hands cupping your face, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath was shaky, his grip almost too tight—like he was afraid you’d slip right through his fingers.

“I love you.” The words were barely above a whisper, but they hit you like a punch to the chest.

Your breath hitched.

Because he’d never said it before. Neither of you had.

You felt your resolve cracking, splintering under the weight of those three words.

But love wasn’t always enough.

And as much as you wanted to believe this was the turning point—the moment everything changed—you weren’t sure if this was a beginning or just the messiest part of the end.

Because Luke had never said those words before.

And you’d spent so long wondering if he ever would—if he ever could.

Now, here they were, hanging in the air between you like a lifeline you weren’t sure you could reach for.

I love you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the way his hands trembled against your skin. He was holding you so tightly, like he thought you might slip through his fingers if he let go.

And maybe he was right.

Because as much as you wanted to say it back—as much as you felt it—you weren’t sure love was enough to fix this.

Your throat felt tight. “Luke…”

He shook his head quickly, like he already knew what you were going to say. “Don’t. Just—don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

Your heart twisted. “I do mean it.”

Luke’s breath hitched, but before he could say anything, you continued.

“I love you, Luke.” The words tasted like the truth, and you hated how much it hurt to say them. “But I don’t know if that changes anything.”

Luke exhaled sharply, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were desperate, searching. “Of course it changes things.”

You swallowed hard. “Does it?”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to ask that. “It has to.”

Your chest ached. Because you wanted to believe that. You wanted to believe that loving each other was enough to make the distance bearable, to make the jealousy fade, to make the ache in your chest disappear every time he left.

But love wasn’t a bandage. It didn’t erase the late nights spent staring at your phone, wondering if he’d call. It didn’t undo the fights, the silences, the way you felt like you were constantly fighting a battle you didn’t know how to win.

Luke must have seen the hesitation on your face because his grip tightened. “Y/N, I need you to tell me what to do here.” His voice was quiet, but it was raw, edged with frustration and fear. “Because I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know how to make this work.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know either.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Neither of you had the answers.

You loved him, and he loved you. But love alone wasn’t fixing anything.

Luke clenched his jaw. “So what? We just give up?”

You inhaled sharply. “I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t,” he pleaded. “Stay.”

Your heart cracked straight down the middle.

Because God, you wanted to stay. You wanted to hold onto him and pretend like love was enough. You wanted to ignore the distance, the fights, the uncertainty.

But how much longer could you keep pretending that love was enough to stop this from falling apart?

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. “Luke, I don’t know how to keep doing this.”

His expression twisted, something breaking in his gaze.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

The silence felt heavier than ever before. Stretching between you, thick and suffocating.

Luke’s hands were still on you, but his grip had loosened—like he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t hold on forever.

But neither of you were ready to say it out loud.

Not yet.

“I can do better,” he said suddenly, voice hoarse. “I’ll—fuck, I’ll make more time. I’ll fly out every chance I get. I’ll call more. Whatever you need.”

Your chest ached at the desperation in his voice.

Because he meant it. You knew he did.

But the problem was never him meaning it.

The problem was reality—the way life always seemed to get in the way, no matter how much either of you wanted to pretend otherwise.

You swallowed hard. “Luke…”

“Just give me a chance,” he pleaded. “One more chance to make this work.”

You hated how badly you wanted to say yes.

Because you did. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that one more try would be enough. That if you just held on a little longer, fought a little harder, things would get easier.

But history had already proven otherwise.

Still, when you looked at him—at the raw emotion in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were slipping through his fingers—you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

Not yet.

You exhaled shakily. “Okay.”

Luke’s shoulders sagged with relief, and before you could second-guess it, he was pulling you against him. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in your hair, like he was trying to memorise the feel of you against him.

“I love you,” he murmured again, like saying it enough times would make everything okay.

You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the back of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

And you did.

But deep down, you had a sinking feeling that love wouldn’t be enough to save you.

Not this time.

———

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

For a little while, it almost felt like things were okay. Luke called more, sent you stupid texts throughout the day, made an effort to remind you that he wanted this, that he wanted you.

And maybe that should’ve been enough.

But it wasn’t.

Because even when he was trying—when he was doing everything he promised he would—the ache in your chest never really went away.

It wasn’t just the distance. It was the exhaustion. The weight of trying so hard, only to feel like you were running in circles.

Like you were holding onto something that was already slipping through the cracks.

And now, standing in his apartment, you felt the final thread start to snap.

Luke was frustrated. You could see it in the way he raked a hand through his hair, in the way his jaw kept clenching like he was trying to hold something back.

“Jesus, Y/N, what else do you want me to do?” His voice wasn’t raised, but it was edged with something sharp, something tired. “I’m trying. I’m here. What more do you want?”

You exhaled shakily, heart pounding against your ribs. “I don’t know.”

Luke let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You have to know. Because I can’t keep guessing what’s going to make you happy.”

Your stomach twisted. “This isn’t just about me.”

“No? Because it sure as hell feels like I’m the only one bending over backward to make this work.”

That stung.

Because you had been trying. You had been fighting for this.

But maybe that was the difference.

Luke thought fixing this was about doing things—calling more, texting more, showing up when he could. And sure, those things mattered. But that wasn’t what was breaking you.

It was everything in between.

The distance that couldn’t be closed by a few extra phone calls. The silence that still felt heavy, even when you were together. The way you still felt alone, even in the moments he was right in front of you.

It wasn’t about effort anymore. It was about the fact that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t supposed to keep fighting for something that hurt this much.

Your throat felt tight. “I don’t think we can fix this.”

Luke froze.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then, his expression hardened. “So that’s it?”

Your chest ached. “Luke—”

“No, seriously. That’s it?” He let out a sharp breath, stepping back like he couldn’t stand being this close to you anymore. “We hit a rough patch, and you just decide it’s not worth it?”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “This isn’t just a rough patch.” Your voice wavered. “We’ve been fighting for months. We keep trying, and it’s not working.”

Luke shook his head, eyes dark with frustration. “No. You keep doubting us. You keep looking for an excuse to leave.”

That felt like a slap.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” Your voice cracked. “Do you think I want to feel like this? To feel like I’m constantly begging for something that’s never enough?”

Luke’s expression flickered—like maybe, just maybe, he finally saw how much this had been hurting you.

But the worst part?

You knew it was hurting him too.

That was what made this so fucking unbearable.

Because this wasn’t about not loving each other.

It was about the fact that love had stopped being enough.

Luke’s hands flexed at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, but it still felt like a punch to the gut.

“You really want to do this?”

No.

God, no.

But what choice did you have?

Your chest felt like it was caving in, but you forced yourself to nod. “Yeah.”

Luke inhaled sharply, like he’d been punched.

And just like that, it was over.

The fight drained out of him all at once. His shoulders slumped, his eyes flickering toward the floor. “Okay.”

You weren’t sure which hurt more—the frustration, the fighting, or this.

The emptiness.

The realisation that there was nothing left to say.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I should go.”

Luke didn’t stop you.

And somehow, that was the worst part of all.

———

The apartment felt too quiet.

Your suitcase sat half-open by the door, clothes spilling out of it. You hadn’t unpacked since you got back a week ago, pathetically trying to cling onto something you weren’t ready to let go of.

But what was left to stay for?

Your hands shook as you opened it further, starting to finally unpack. Your chest felt hollow, like the fight had carved out a part of you that you weren’t sure would ever feel whole again.

You had been the one to walk away.

So why did it feel like you had just lost everything?

You had told yourself that this was the right decision. That love—no matter how deep, no matter how real—wasn’t always enough. That some things just didn’t work, no matter how badly you wanted them to.

But God, it hurt.

Your phone sat on the bedside table, untouched since you got back to your apartment.

Luke hadn’t called.

And you weren’t sure what hurt more—the idea that he was too angry to reach out, or the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he had already accepted this.

That he was ready to let you go.

You weren’t sure you were ready to let go of him.

But you had already done the hardest part. You had walked out of his apartment, out of his life.

Now, you just had to figure out how to live with it.

———

The silence in the apartment was unbearable.

Luke had never noticed how loud it was when you were here—the hum of your voice on the phone, the sound of your laugh echoing from the other room, the way you always seemed to fill the space in a way he never had.

Now, it was just quiet.

And he fucking hated it.

His hands flexed at his sides as he paced the living room, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

You were gone.

And it wasn’t a stupid fight. It wasn’t a rough patch.

This time, you weren’t coming back.

Luke had thought about calling you. Had stared at his phone for so long that his vision blurred, the screen taunting him with your name.

But what would he even say?

That he was sorry? That he still loved you? That he wanted to take it all back, but he knew deep down that nothing had changed?

That no matter how much he wanted to fix this, some things just weren’t meant to be fixed?

Luke sat down heavily on the couch, staring at the door like he half expected you to walk back in.

But you wouldn’t.

And he wasn’t sure how to live with that.

———

Time was supposed to make this easier.

That’s what everyone told you. That eventually, the ache in your chest would dull, and one day you’d wake up without the weight of him pressing against your ribs.

But weeks had passed. Then months.

And Luke still felt like a ghost in your life.

He was everywhere and nowhere all at once. In the song that played in the coffee shop, in the hoodie still shoved in the back of your closet because you couldn’t bring yourself to throw it away. In the fleeting moments when you reached for your phone before remembering that he wasn’t yours to call anymore.

You had moved on, technically. You did all the things you were supposed to do—went out with friends, filled your days with distractions, pretended like the hole in your chest wasn’t still there.

But every time you saw his name in a headline, every time you heard his voice in an interview, it hit you like a punch to the gut.

Because you still missed him.

And no matter how much time passed, you weren’t sure you’d ever stop.

———

He didn’t talk about you.

Not to his teammates, not to his family, not even when Jack asked in that quiet, careful way that made Luke’s jaw tighten.

Because if he didn’t talk about you, maybe he could pretend like he wasn’t still thinking about you.

Like he didn’t check his phone some nights, scrolling mindlessly, hoping to see your name somewhere even though he knew he wouldn’t.

Like he didn’t still hear your voice in the back of his head sometimes, teasing him, laughing, telling him you loved him.

It was pathetic, probably. Holding onto something that was already gone.

But Luke had never been good at letting go.

He threw himself into hockey. Into practices, games, anything that kept him too exhausted to think about the way his apartment still felt empty without you.

But some nights, when the adrenaline faded and the silence crept in, he wondered.

If you still thought about him. If you still missed him the way he missed you.

If this was really over.

Or if maybe, just maybe, it never really would be.

[writingwisterias]

I know requests are closed so there really isn't any rush, please take your time and respond when you are ready. :) But I would love to hear your take on the reader letting Leon use them as a toy, while he looks at porn or scrolls other girls profiles. I just want to be a vessel for his cock and nothing more <3

I sure can omgggg, I mixed this is with an idea that has been stuck in my head all fucking day! I know this is late lmao but it works perfectly. I can't tell if I hate or love it either

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Degradation Kink, Cock warming, Dom!Leon, Intox Kink, Age-Gap, Overstimuation, Dickhead!Leon, Erectile dysfunction (Whiskey Dick), Light Praise kink, Creampie, Unprotected Sex, Reverse Cow-girl, Light Angst, Drinking, Alcoholism, Self-doubt

Vendetta!Leon x AFAB!Fem!Reader

It wasn't normal to have a relationship like this, you knew that. To be with someone so closed off to not only the people they care about but themselves. You knew you weren't going to get anything better with him but he still gave you attention. Still kissed your pretty tears away when he would fuck you. Being used by him at least made you feel like you had a purpose in this life, that someone actually wanted you.

It didn't matter it was just for sex. For Leon that was perfect having no connection to someone meaning he didn't have to spill the horrors that plagued him.

It wasn't unusual for you to saunter into bars, prying on the broken men slumped against the stools for free drinks. Uni was rough, barely having enough money to pay for your food yet alone the drinks you craved. All that work, a diploma under your belt just for you to be wondering here every night dressed to the point where your tits might as well just hang out. Normally as a thanks to the poor souls you would convince to get a drink or two, you'd drag the round back or to the toilets and give them a few pumps of their gross cocks and then leave them in the alleyway drowning in the aftermath of their orgasm.

Not Leon though.

He didn't fall for it. Leon's words never slurred like the others guys did, his shoes didn't drag across the floor in an eager drunken stumble as he followed you with a warning smirk. You weren't used to drunk men being so coherent with you, to actually realize they were paying for your drinks with the promise of a ghost of your touch. The growing pit in your stomach told you that you would have to do more than a few fake moans and whimpers to get him to cum. His looks made it worthwhile, his attitude demanded your attention and effort. Almost like if you didn't cave into this persona he put in place you weren't worth his time.

However, Leon differed to the other men, somehow in a more pathetic way that caused you to suck in you bottom lip to prevent the low chuckle. No despite the darker look in his eyes, the ego you were surprised even fit in the bar entrance. The poor guy could not get his cock to rise. His cheeks flushed pink as he stared at his stubborn dick as it flopped pathetic in front of you. Trust it to ruin his night further.

You thought Whiskey dick was just a rumour, never really experiencing despite all the older men you dragged around like a puppy on a leash...it until now. Maybe that's why you took pity on him and allowed him to drag you back to his home on a risky drunken bike ride.

It was all so dangerous...so thrilling. Being dragged back to the strangers house, the feeling of sipping the alcohol from the glass he held in hand. That night changed everything, not just for him but for you. Perhaps this was you purpose in life. Your true calling was to be this sex doll for a depressed alcoholic so he could finally get some release in his supposed shit life.

It should have insulted you more that the only purpose you to him was to be a glorified doll but then you would have gotten this lavish life. To be able to wander around his penthouse free of rent, money chucked at your feet to keep you quiet as he sauntered off to god knows where. Your soul purpose to him was to sit there and look pretty.

So that's exactly what you did.

Leon's cock was so far inside of you stretching the limits of your poor pussy. It had been hours since he managed to get it to even twitch let alone becoming hard enough for you to sit on it like this. He spent half the time blaming it on the stress from the mission he had just returned from and not the whiskey glass that was sat on the side table. Your throat burned from the neat liquid that he gave you. He had to share...he always shared. You didn't care though not when it took away the burn from his stretch or the ache in your thighs from where they remained spread out across his own.

He didn't pay any attention to you, no, his eyes were glued to the phone that he held out to the both of you. Your job was to squirm and clench him as he watched the porn he pulled up. His fingers absently moved around that needy little clit drawing figures of 8 around the puffy nerve. Smirking at the small gasps that left your lips as his finger pinched it. You couldn't see the video, not with the tipsy glaze that washed over them. Instead you had to rely on the stimulation he was giving you to reach an orgasm.

You moaned loudly as he finally started to move his hips, a shallow grind nothing like the pace the man had on the video he was watching. Leon liked to make it last, after all the days of him getting this hard and thick were far and few between. The sudden change was a lot for your tispy brain, his soft grunts filled your ear as he nipped at your neck. You felt his arm around your waist tightening as he adjusted you. "Shh, just take it" Leon grunted, his lips muting you in a harsh kiss. His lips tasting like the remains of the whiskey from his last sip.

"Good girl" He groaned as his hips grinded inside you, his length barely exiting you.

You cheeks flushed darker with the compliment, your back arching against his chest just for something...any form of simulation. Leon's grip loosened around your waist allowing your hips to circle slightly. You listened as his grunts soon turned into groans as he felt your walls contract around him. You worked yourself to an orgasm, providing him with the warmth as stimulation of your moments not entertainment.

Leon's eyes still remained only on the small screen. Watching the guys cock slide in and out of the girls pussy much like his was doing right now.

He watched your breasts bounce in the corner of his eye as you adjusted yourself to used his knees for leverage to bounce once his arm fell from your waist. Your nails bit into the fabric of his trousers. "Fuck" You muttered as he shfited himself to sink back in the chair, his legs spreading wider. "Shit I needed this...I need you" He groaned. You weren't sure if he was telling the truth most of the time. You could never tell if you were actually something to him instead of a glorified fleshlight.

"Much better than my hand or any toy...my personal little sex doll"

Each word sent tingles down to your pussy, your clit twitching against his balls. "Leon-"

"Dolls don't talk sweetheart, I want to hear my video"

An apology lingered on your lips along with your moans and whimpers silenced by the bite of your lower lip. You were you to do anything above your station for him. It was all becoming too much, his cock was perfect filling you perfectly as the tip brushed against that spongy spot inside. The twitches of it were becoming more violent the closer he got. His grunts and groans finally becoming breathless, all signs that he was almost done. That his tired dick was finally ready to pump the cum it was meant to do after so long of forcing it to rise.

Your moan slipped past your lips as your orgasm finally snapped, your walls sucking him in tightly. No doll could do that, squeeze him like a vice as they whimpered and shivered on his lap. "Fuck sweetheart" He grunted as he buillied his cum into you. His eyes only leaving the phone to pull you back against him to stop the obstruction to the money shot of his cum leaking out from between you falling on the fabric that surrounded his balls. He watched your chest rise and fall you heaved out breaths, your limbs becoming loose on him like a weighted blanket.

It didn't take long as guilt settled whilst he came down from his high. Leon the thought about the way he treated you, the way you just put up with it all with no complaints. As if that was your only worth in this life.

He couldn't bare look in the mirror not when the eyes of his younger self would stare back in shame. Instead his fingers placed the phone on the side table and reached for the whiskey instead. Drowning the thoughts was better whenever it was with your pussy or the amber liquid. He wasn't ready to face the younger version of himself. Or the belongings that he managed to keep buried deep on the top shelf of the closet, where they should stay.

He knew you had your own problems that's why you didn't hesitate as he bought the glass to your lips. You didn't cough as the burn of the amber liquid settled on your chest. Instead you looked at him, eyes begging and craving for something more from him. This was the only intimacy that you got, these post nut clarity where his mind was just slightly clearer. Perhaps this is all you'll ever get from him. The intoxicating whirlpool of Leon Kennedy.

[littelovelunette]

Omg im so super done with fragile helpless reader!!! Pls do sevika and reader freshly dating or even just seeing each other, they’re still still getting to know each other and sevika being herself she LOVES to tease and annoy reader and show off her strength and stuff expecting reader to be to be helplessly weaker than her, however when reader get fed up enough they start fighting back ^playfully^ and sevika making a mental note to not take readers warning for granted🙏🏼 basically reader unexpectedly humbling sevika

Challenge Accepted

"Look me in the eye and say that again." You said in a more gravely voice that usual as you shifted into a better sitting position, glaring daggers into Sevika's gaze.

This wasn't the first time Sevika underestimated your strength or wit. She had the habit of doing that because of the sheer fact she was so darn old and had seen a lot.

You admitted it, yeah she'd seen some shit in life but that didn't automatically mean she was untouchable.

"I dont think you'd be able to take me in a fight." Sevika repeated and put out the cigarette she was smoking in the ashtray on the bedside table.

"Oh, yeah?" You repositioned yourself so you were now over her thighs, straddling them. "Are you challenging me?"

"Why yes, sweetheart." Sevika stared at you with amusement, one eyebrow raising.

"Challenge accepted." You whispered and got off her.

Sevika blinked in mild shock before slowly getting off the bed too, to stand in front of you.

Sevika easily towered over you. But that didn't faze you really, you'd come to terms with the fact you were short as fuck compared to her.

"You really wanna do this?" Sevika asked as she crossed her arms, both flesh and mechanical arms flexing as she did so.

"You scared?" You taunted as Sevika flexed her flesh bicep purely to annoy you non-verbally.

And it worked.

It ticked you off.

You charged at her, but Sevika being taller than you took advantage of her height.

She scooped you up with ease, pinning you to the wall. "Angel, just accept it. You're weaker than me." There was no heat behind her words as she said it though. It was more playful than anything.

You simply gave her an amused look before locking your legs around her waist and grabbing her flesh hand, pressing down on the shoulder nerve making her wince and pull her arm back.

Because she did so, she let go of your frame giving you the opportunity to push her on the bed with all your strength and pinning her hands down with both your legs.

You grinned victoriously at her.

"Gremlin." Sevika whispered under her breath. You let up and let her get out of your grasp, Sevika flexed her mechanical arm and it's fingers before letting out a soft sigh.

"Fine, you win."

You smiled and laid back down in the bed, the soft mattress dipping under your weight.

"Wipe that look off your face." You pulled Sevika close.

"Hmph."

She was clearly sulking. What a sore loser. But that's fine. She was yours after all.

As you laid down beside her, Sevika wrapped her flesh arm around you. You grinned a little and wrapped both arms around her, squeezing her making her chuckle.

"Even though I am prideful, I correct my errors if I notice them." Sevika kissed your forehead, it was a silent promise of always respecting your strength. That's all you needed.

[celestialgallaghers]

Double Dare Ya pt 2 [18+]

Part 1

I’m sorry this took so long I kept changing my mind on where I wanted it to go. I hope you enjoy <3

Summary: Still reeling from your encounter with Noel, you find yourself not wanting to see him again. That is, until you run into him in a place you really should've expected, now face to face with the memory that’s been haunting you.

Word count: 7.6k

--------------------------------------------------------

You paced the length of your flat, chewing at your thumbnail. You weren’t entirely sure why you felt this way. 

Well, maybe a little. 

Jo already knew, obviously. She’d guessed as much. But that wasn’t what had you on edge.

It was what came next.

She’d want to talk about it. Pick it apart. Ask you how you felt. And a week after the incident, you still didn’t have an answer.

What you did know was that you felt guilty. You’d been avoiding her calls for days and it was starting to weigh on you.

Soon after she’d caught you, she had her little "told you so" moment, but the second she started prying, you shut down. You’d barely been able to process it yourself, let alone talk about it. Instead, you mumbled a half-assed promise to talk soon and basically ran all the way home without saying another word to anyone.

But now, after days of radio silence, you had no excuse.

Taking a deep breath, you picked up the receiver and dialed her number. 

"Finally," Jo answered on the first ring, exasperation evident. "I was about to send a search and rescue team to make sure you were still alive."

You winced. "I know, I know. I’m sorry. I should've called sooner, I just… didn’t really know what to say. And I still don’t, so don’t expect much," you warned.

You could practically hear the smug smile in her voice as she waited for you to continue.

Then, a sudden realization struck, sending a wave of panic over you. You weren’t her only source of information in this situation. 

"You… uh, didn’t talk to him about this, did you?" you asked hesitantly.

"Noel?" she half-laughed. "No, I trust you way more to tell me the truth."

Your pulse slowed, but only slightly. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

"But," she continued, "I did see him briefly, a few hours after you left. Completely off his head with some other bird, doing god knows what." She huffed. "Sorry." 

She added it as an afterthought, as if you’d be hurt by this information.

"No, no, it’s not like that at all," you said quickly. "This was just a one-time thing. I really couldn’t care less who he’s screwing."

It was easier that way. Knowing it wasn’t a big deal to him. And yet, somewhere deep in the back of your mind, there was a flicker of something that you didn’t want to name. It was quickly smothered.

"I think I just want to put the whole thing behind me," you said, hoping to make it sound final. "Chalk it up to a moment of weakness."

She was quiet for a moment. "Really? Well that’s a shame. I think you two would get on well."

You huffed out a laugh, trying hard to downplay her words. "I think I’ve had enough of your matchmaking, thanks."

Silence stretched between you. She was obviously waiting for you to continue.

You twirled the phone cord between your fingers anxiously. "So, um, I guess you already know what happened, but I don’t really know where to start and I know you have questions so—" 

"You sucked him off, right?" she cut in bluntly.

You choked. "Well, no, I—"

She gasped. "Oh my God, you fucked him? Right in that dirty field? You little slut!"

"Christ, let me finish," you groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. "I just gave him a handy. That’s all."

God, what was happening? You weren’t a prude by any means, but just saying the words out loud made your face burn like you were confessing some deep, filthy secret.

"Oh, that’s all is it?" she teased, amused by your flusteredness. "Must not have been a good one if he was fishing for more after."

"Oh, shut up," you shot back. "It was good enough."

"Was it?" she prodded, clearly fishing for more.

You hesitated. "Yes it was." 

Flashes of Noel’s trembling body beneath you surfaced in your mind, unbidden. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing them away.

"And that’s all you’re getting," you added firmly.

She tsked. "What’s the point of having girlfriends if we can’t talk about how men are in the sack?"

You sighed. "This is different, and you know it. He’s… well, him. And you’re friends with him too. It doesn’t feel right."

And while you knew Noel didn’t exactly shy away from bragging about his sex romps, something told you that whatever happened in that field wasn’t exactly routine for him. Or at least you thought so. Although you could be entirely wrong. You barely knew him for fucks sake. 

Either way, the idea of sharing the details didn’t sit right with you. Jo could keep a secret, sure. But still… you didn’t want to tell her.

"Then what’s the point of even calling me?" she grumbled.

"Fine," you huffed. You had to placate her in some way. "All you’re getting is that he’s a good kisser. Spread the word I’m sure it’d inflate his ego even more," you said dryly.

She sighed dramatically. "Fine. D’you think you want to see him again?"

You bit your lip. You didn’t really know the answer to that. 

The logical answer was no. You should avoid him. Avoid every place he might be. The idea of facing him again made your stomach churn. Would it be awkward? Would he act smug about it? Or worse—would he brush it off completely?

And yet another part of you was saying yes. Because what if he wanted more? The thought had never fully formed before now, but the moment it did, it burrowed deep. The whole thing had been amusing and incredibly filthy. 

But would he want it again?

Would you?

It seemed impossible. He was famous. He did this all the time, didn’t he? It was meaningless. That’s what you should believe.

And yet, that glimmer of vulnerability, of realness, it had enthralled you much more than you would've liked to admit. 

Not that you’d ever admit that to Jo.

"I don’t know," you admitted. "I don’t think so."

"Why not?"

"It’s…too confusing. Like I said, it was just a one-time thing." 

She was quiet for a moment. Like she was holding back her disappointment. 

"Well, I’m not gonna force you," she said, "but I think you should reconsider."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Jo."

"All I’m saying is that you guys would—"

"Jo, I’m hanging up now."

"Wait!" was all you heard before you slammed the phone back onto the receiver, exhaling sharply.

Fucking hell what had you gotten yourself into.

❦ ❦ ❦

True to your word, you became hyper-aware of everywhere you went. 

The city was massive yet it suddenly felt suffocating, like you were navigating a minefield. No matter how much you tried to avoid him, Oasis was inescapable. Their songs followed you into every shop, their faces stared back at you from every magazine stand. It was maddening. Everywhere you turned, there he was. A reminder of that night. It was like the universe was playing some cruel joke on you.

One night, you flicked on the telly only to be met with Noel’s face. He was on some late-night interview show, sprawled lazily in his seat, exuding that signature self-assurance. Your thumb hovered over the remote, hesitating. Watching him now, it almost felt like you knew something about him that no one else did. Because for all his bravado, for all his sharp words and easy smirks, he was actually quite malleable. Quick to break if you knew where to apply the right pressure. 

Then, as if on cue, he flashed the camera a crooked smile, and for a moment all you could think about were the broken moans that had fallen from that very mouth. The weight of him in your hand. The way he had unraveled beneath you. 

A flush of heat curled in your stomach, creeping lower before you could stop it. 

With a sharp inhale, you grabbed the remote and switched off the TV, tossing it aside like it had burned you.

You needed to get a fucking grip.

Nights out had become a hassle too. 

Jo kept trying to drag you along, promising Noel wouldn’t be there, but you didn’t want to tempt fate. No matter how much you didn’t want to, you spent night after night in your flat, drinking alone, watching trashy TV with a scowl on your face. You knew you couldn’t keep this up forever, but it needed to blow over before you were less on edge. 

Yesterday, though, Jo had finally lost her patience.

"I don’t understand what’s so bad about what happened that you won’t even face him. This is starting to get a bit ridiculous. You're gonna have to come out of hiding at some point."

She was right of course. What was so bad about it? You were starting to feel too much like a coward. 

Her words still rang in your mind tonight. And after one too many glasses of wine, irritation was starting to creep in.

Why the hell were you letting him dictate your life like this? You’d spent weeks holed up like some estranged recluse, avoiding places you used to love. And for what? Noel fucking Gallagher?

It was pathetic really. And you were over it. 

Before you could overthink it, you were rifling through your closet, yanking out the most flattering dress you owned. Twenty minutes later, you were out on the streets, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. Like shedding an old skin. A rebirth. A good fuck would be just the thing to snap you out of this.

You hadn’t even registered where your feet were taking you until you found yourself outside the same club where this whole mess with Noel had started. 

Well. If there was ever a place to begin again, this was as good as any.

The fleeting thought that he might be inside entered your mind, but you ignored it. You were too determined to care. And besides fuck him. You didn’t owe him anything.

It didn’t take long before a man approached you. He was attractive enough, at least for what you needed tonight. When he offered to buy you a drink, you let him. You laid it on thick—laughing at his mediocre jokes, brushing your knees together, a coy smile curving your lips.

When he asked you to dance, you didn’t hesitate. This new version of you liked dancing. For a while, you let yourself melt into the music, let the bass vibrate through your bones, let the alcohol dull the edges of everything sharp.

His body was pressed against yours, radiating heat and hands roaming. It was making you feel alive. Letting yourself revel in the heady mix of sweat, liquor, and fleeting affection. It felt good. It felt easy. 

You were breathless and flushed, and when he leaned down and asked if you wanted to get out of there, you agreed without a second thought.

The two of you stumbled through the club, laughter bubbling in your throat as you leaned into him, ready to disappear into the night. But the moment shattered when you rounded the corner and collided heavily with another pair of bodies.

"Watch it, cunt," he voice was sharp, impatient. Familiar.

Your stomach plummeted.

Noel.

His eyes locked onto yours, and you felt rooted to the spot. Your mind was suddenly infuriatingly blank. For all the time you’d spent avoiding him, you hadn’t once considered what you’d say if you actually saw him again.

For a fleeting second, something unreadable flickered across his face. Was he thinking the same thing? Or had you not even crossed his mind since that night?

"Sorry mate," the man beside you muttered, breaking you out of your sudden trance. You’d nearly forgotten he was there. His arm slipped around your waist, and the touch suddenly felt like acid burning your skin. 

Noel’s gaze flicked down, tracking the movement. His jaw tightened just slightly, just enough for you to see it if you were looking. And you were looking.

You forced yourself to look elsewhere. That’s when you noticed he wasn’t alone. A brunette clung to him. Not the same one as last time, but close enough. 

Right. 

This was what he did. Moved from one woman to the next like it meant nothing.

Again the irritation flared hot in your chest. Now you remembered why you were avoiding him.

"Noel," you greeted smoothly, summoning every ounce of detachment you had.

His lips curled into something smug, his usual arrogance snapping back into place. "Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again, love."

"Yeah, well," you tilted your head, mirroring his smugness. "Let’s hope this is the last time."

His eyebrows lifted slightly, amusement glinting in his eyes as his gaze dragged over you before flicking dismissively to the man at your side.

"Enjoy her, mate," he said, voice light but laced with something else. "She’s a right good time."

Then he winked at you and sauntered off, pulling his brunette along with him.

You exhaled sharply, tempted to grab the nearest object and hurl it at the back of his head. 

So that was it then.

"Was that Noel Gallagher?" The guy beside you squinted after him. "Do you know him?"

You clenched your jaw. "Not really."

He studied you for a moment before adding, almost absently, "Y’know, you kinda look like that girl he was with."

Something twisted violently inside you. Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked away.

"Hey, wait! Where are you going?"

You ignored him. His voice sharpened behind you, something ugly creeping into his tone, but you didn’t stop. You just kept moving, his thick Mancunian accent you hadn’t noticed before faded into background noise.

This had been a stupid idea. A really, really stupid idea. 

Gripping the edges of the sink, you stared at yourself in the club’s bathroom mirror, swaying slightly. The fluorescent lights cast sharp shadows across your face, making you look as wrecked as you suddenly felt.

You exhaled hard, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. The night had gone sideways. Now you were just drunk and alone. Again.

You reckoned you should probably go home, but your limbs felt restless, skin too hot, mind buzzing with unspent frustration.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed open the door and stepped back into the hallway. 

As you passed the exit leading to the alley, your eyes caught on it for a moment.

What the hell might as well. It was hallowed ground now.

You pushed the door open, welcoming the rush of cool air. You had just wrapped your fingers around your pack when a voice cut through the quiet.

"Where’d your man go?"

You froze. 

No fucking way. 

Sure enough, Noel emerged from the shadows, cigarette perched between his lips, the ember casting a faint glow over his face.

You scoffed, shaking your head as you tried to suppress the aggravation rising in your chest. "Where’s your model?"

"Sent her home." he replied easily, smoke curling from his lips.

You considered walking away. That would be the smart thing to do. You didn’t need to stand here and entertain his bullshit. But there was just enough alcohol in your system, just enough lingering frustration in your chest, to make you stay. To push back.

"Were you waiting out here for me?" you accused, narrowing your eyes at him.

A slow smile tugged at his lips. "Maybe." He shrugged, taking another drag. "Thought it was worth a shot."

Oh. You hadn’t expected him to be upfront about it. Something about the way he said it so casually made it worse. Like he already knew you wouldn’t walk away. And you knew it too.

His gaze dragged down your body, eyes lingering in a way that sent a prickle of heat across your skin. 

"S’nice dress."

"Thanks, I was dying for your approval," you deadpanned.

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, unfazed. "So, what brings you back here tonight?"

"Same thing as you, I presume."

His brows lifted. "What, him?" He jerked his head toward the club. "C’mon. You can do much better than that."

"Oh yeah? Like what, you?" you said, not even considering the implications until the words were out of your mouth. 

His grin widened, all teeth, all ego. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, you said it. Not me."

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "Jesus, do you ever stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Deflecting. Acting like nothing ever gets to you," you said, folding your arms. "Like you're untouchable."

His smirk didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes.

"And what, you think you’ve got me all figured out, yeah?"

"I think you're exhausting."

He let out a low chuckle. "Yeah, well. Can’t win ‘em all."

You narrowed your eyes. "So that’s it? That’s the whole act?"

"Dunno what you mean."

"Yes, you do," you pressed. "This little performance you put on is bullshit. You always go on about how real you are, but this—this is fake as fuck. And I can’t believe more people don’t see through it."

Something flashed in his gaze. It was subtle, but it was there. He took a slow drag, exhaling through his nose, like he was buying himself time.

"And what if there’s nothin’ to see through?" His voice was even, but there was an edge to it now. "What if this is just who I am? Arrogant cunt."

You studied him, trying to pick apart the layers he kept so tightly wound. He was good at this. Keeping people at arm’s length, at never letting anyone see past the smirk.

But you'd seen something else.

You tilted your head slightly, voice quieter now. "No. I know that’s not entirely true."

His amusement faltered, just slightly. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I happened to really like the version of Noel I met in that field."

His expression flickered again. And for the first time since this conversation started, he didn’t have a response ready.

His mouth opened slightly, then shut. He inhaled deeply, tapping ash from his cigarette, gaze flicking away for just a second.

"And which version was that?" His voice was different now. Lower. Cautious.

Your stomach flipped.

There were two versions, weren’t there? The one who had been laid-back, at ease, warm in a way that had caught you off guard. And then the other one. The one who had let you undo him completely. The one you couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard you tried.

The silence between you was tight, buzzing. A question waiting to be answered.

You weren’t sure if he wanted to go there. If he wanted to acknowledge what had happened. Or if he’d rather let it fade into nothing.

There was really only one way to find out. 

You swallowed before speaking. "You know which one." Your voice was lower now. Careful. Calculated. Just in case he chose to pretend he didn’t hear the subtext.

His gaze flitted away for the briefest moment, like he was considering his next move, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to acknowledge it. When he looked back at you, something in his expression had shifted. Less cocky, more guarded.

You grinned. "What? No witty comeback?" You stepped closer, emboldened by his silence. The longer he stayed quiet, the bigger your smile grew.

The cigarette between his fingers hung idly, forgotten. You reached out, plucking it from his hand before bringing it to your lips, dragging slowly. Your fingers barely brushed, but the contact sent a spark skittering up your arm.

He watched you silently, his expression unreadable. Even as you blew the smoke directly into his face, he barely reacted. He just kept his eyes on you, like he was working something out in his head. 

Then, like he’d been holding it in for too long, he asked, "Why’d you run off?"

Now it was your turn to be thrown. You hadn’t expected him to confront you on that. 

Why had you run? Because staying had felt like stepping off a ledge. Because the weight of the moment had pressed too hard against your ribs, and the uncertainty had been suffocating. 

What would he have said afterward? Would he have just rolled over, lit a cigarette, and acted like it was nothing? The fear of the unknown had sent you running before he had the chance to make you regret staying.

But you weren’t about to tell him that.

You took another drag, letting the smoke linger in your lungs, buying yourself a few extra seconds before responding. 

"Look, I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of groupies overstay their welcome. I just figured I’d make things easier for you by leaving before you had to ask me to, okay?"

He stared at you for a long moment. 

"I don’t think of you as a groupie," he said finally.

You narrowed your eyes. "Don’t you?"

He exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. "No groupies don’t usually make me work this hard."

You raised a brow. "Is that what this is? Work?"

He tilted his head slightly, considering you. "Let’s just say you’re not making it easy for me."

You weren’t sure why, but that response sent something sharp and unexpected through you. Maybe because it felt dangerously close to admitting something.

Silence settled between you, thick with something unspoken. The air between you had become charged and neither of you seemed to know where to go from here.

You took one final drag on his cigarette before flicking it away, the ember sparking briefly against the pavement.

At some point the space between you had shrunk, unconsciously drifting toward each other. It was like he had some sort of magnetic field that you’d gotten pulled into. And now you were now stuck in it. 

Your gaze lifted to his. He was already watching you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

You parted your lips slightly, but no words came out.

His gaze dipped to your mouth. Then back up. 

Your heart pounded.

Oh, fuck it. 

You closed the shrinking gap and kissed him.

He responded instantly. His hand slid to your back, pulling you against him, the heat of his body searing through the thin layers of fabric between you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and the noise it pulled from him, deep and needy, sent something sharp and electric surging through you.

He tasted just like you remembered. Or maybe better. Just as intoxicating, just as addictive.

At first he seemed tentative, unsure. But then he melted into it, kissing you back with a quiet urgency that made your knees weak.

"I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you," he gasped against your lips.

Heat flared in your chest. And something else. Something akin to pride.

"Me either," you admitted, voice just above a whisper.

You felt him smirk. "Oh really?"

"Yeah." Your fingers tightened around his waist, pulling him closer. "But don’t let it go to your head."

You deepened the kiss, swallowing the groan that slipped from him. The sound sent a shiver straight through you, and fuck you wanted more of it. More of him.

You nipped at his lower lip just to hear him again. Another soft noise escaped him, and you drank it in greedily.

Now you knew. Knew where you could take him. And god you wanted to see it again.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your grip on his waist tightening. "Come back to mine."

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face before you turned, making your way down the alley.

He followed.

The ride back to your flat had been…eventful. 

Noel had called his driver, and the two of you had slipped into the backseat, your legs brushing together. Neither of you spoke at first, but the silence was thick, pulsing with something electric, something inevitable.

Then his hand found your knee.

His touch was barely there, but you felt the weight of it hit you hard. A jolt of heat shot through you as he began rubbing small circles against you.

That was it.

Before you could stop yourself, you turned to him, capturing his mouth with yours in a kiss that sent him back against the seat.

He barely had a second to react before you were climbing into his lap, fingers diving into his hair. His hands shot to your waist, gripping hard. The feel of him beneath you again was dizzying, sending heat rushing straight to your core.

A low moan slipped from his throat as your weight settled over him. His fingers tightened, digging into your ass, pulling you flush against him. 

"This dress," he groaned against your lips. "God."

You smirked, lips brushing his as you teased, "You like it?"

His breath was ragged as he rasped, "So much."

You leaned in, dragging open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down the column of his throat. His skin was warm against your lips, his pulse wild beneath your touch. He shuddered when you reached the spot where his neck met his shoulder, grinning to yourself before biting down, just enough to make him gasp.

His grip on you tightened. His body tensed.

And then—

The car jerked to a stop, sending you both lurching forward.

You let out a quiet curse, quickly sliding off his lap as the driver cleared his throat from the front. 

Face burning, you smoothed down your dress, stealing a glance at Noel. He was still slumped back, breathing heavily, hair a mess, lips wet and parted.

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes dark as they watched you.

Neither of you spoke as you stumbled out of the car and into your building, the silence thick with anticipation, charged with everything you hadn’t said.

Now, standing in the middle of your flat, the reality of the moment sank in. The mess you’d left behind suddenly felt glaring—clothes draped over chairs, an empty wine glass perched precariously on the coffee table.

But Noel didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

His eyes were on you. Watching. Taking you in.

Then they lifted, met yours, and held.

"Hi," you breathed, suddenly shy in a way that felt ridiculous after everything that had just happened.

"Hi," he murmured back.

And then he was on you again, pulling you into a slow, deliberate kiss. It was different from before. Less frantic, more controlled. Like he wanted to take his time.

You let him take the lead this time, curious to see where it would go.

He backed you against the wall, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, while the other found its way to your waist. His grip was firm, grounding. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself as he deepened the kiss, tongue brushing over yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

He seemed much less overwhelmed this time. More sure of himself. And, god, it was sexy.

Not that the other version of him wasn’t, but you were beginning to understand why he had a reputation for this. 

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. "So… is this your move then?" you teased, though your voice was slightly uneven.

His lips ghosted over your jaw as he hummed, "What move would that be, love?"

You swallowed, heartbeat unsteady. "Oh, come on. You know. The one that drives all the girls mad with desire." You tried to sound mocking, but it barely landed.

He chuckled, low and knowing. "Depends." His thumb stroked idly along your cheek. "Do you feel mad with desire?"

Your pulse stuttered. You hated how good he was at this.

"I bet you’d just love for me to say yes, wouldn’t you?" you challenged.

"You will," he said, completely self-assured.

Then, he dipped his head, lips grazing over the curve of your neck.

You sucked in a sharp breath, body tensing as he found a particularly sensitive spot. He lingered there, lips warm, tongue darting out just slightly. Testing. Teasing.

You could feel his smirk against your skin.

And then he bit down. Not hard, but just enough. Enough to send a shock straight through you.

A strangled sound tore from your throat before you could stop it.

Noel pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, a smug look settling on his face.

"Bastard," you muttered, though there was no real heat behind it.

He only grinned, unbothered, before moving to the other side of your neck, continuing his slow, torturous assault.

You pressed your lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of another noise. But then, one particularly well-placed kiss just below your ear had a soft whine slipping out before you could stop it.

Noel pulled back again, eyes dark, lips wet.

"Feeling mad yet?"

You exhaled sharply, realization hitting you. This was payback. For last time. You were going to have to admit to something if this was going to continue. And god you wanted it to continue. 

"Absolutely barmy," you muttered, conceding just this once.

His smirk widened before his lips crashed onto yours again, this time with a heated urgency that made you lightheaded. Your hands roamed him, desperate to feel as much as you could.

You weren’t sure how this would end, but right now you didn’t care. You just wanted more.

You pulled him toward your bed, kicking off your shoes, heat pooling low in your stomach as he pressed his body flush against yours. His breath was heavy, lips brushing along your jaw as his hands skimmed down your sides.

He exhaled a quiet laugh. "I haven’t been able to stop thinking about touching you. You didn’t let me get a turn last time." 

Your stomach tightened, heat licking up your spine. You tilted your head, lips grazing the shell of his ear. "Then you’d better make the most of it, yeah?"

A low sound rumbled in his chest, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushed you back onto the mattress, covering you with his body. His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, his gaze dark and searching.

"You always such a tease?" His voice was low, almost accusing.

You smirked, fingers threading through his hair. "You always so easy?"

For a second, you let yourself soak in the weight of him, the heat rolling off his skin, the way his breathing had shifted. Then, with a slow grin, you flipped him onto his back and straddled his hips.

A surprised sound escaped him, low and unguarded. His hands instinctively found your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. The shift left only the thin barrier of your underwear between your aching core and the rough denim of his jeans. The friction sent a delicious shiver up your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

Noel shuddered beneath you. For a moment you wondered if he wasn’t comfortable with this dynamic again. But when you met his gaze, you searched his eyes for any hint. There was no sign of hesitation, no resistance—just raw, unfiltered desire. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat surging through you. 

You leaned down, pressing slow kisses along his jaw, trailing down his neck as your fingers worked open the buttons of his shirt. When it fell open, you let your nails drag lightly up his chest, reveling in the way his breath stuttered.

Then, unable to help yourself, you brushed a thumb over one of his nipples just to see what he’d do.

A strangled groan tore from his throat, his head tipping back against the pillows. The sound, deep and wrecked, sent a sharp pulse straight between your legs.

You were mesmerized. You needed to hear more. You moved to the other, teasing it with the same deliberate touch.

This time, the noise that left him was broken, raw, coming from somewhere deep inside him. The sound sent sharp heat twisting through you, your clit jumping at the noise. The need was possessing you, urging you to draw more out. 

You bent to kiss down his heaving chest. You couldn’t resist flicking your tongue over the hardened bud. This time his hand flew to your hair, and a breathless, high-pitched noise escaped him.

"Fuck—" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Please, I... I can't—"

"I know you can," you spoke against his skin, trailing your lips lower, down his stomach.

He shivered beneath you, body taut with tension. His breath came in uneven, shallow gasps, and you relished every single one.

You traced your fingers over the sensitive skin just above his belt, feeling him tense beneath you. Then, dazedly, you murmured against his stomach, "Do you let other people see you like this?"

His breath hitched. "Not often," he admitted, voice strained. "Doesn’t fit the image."

"Shame." You pressed an open-mouthed kiss just above his waistband. "You’re so pretty like this."

A weak laugh escaped him, breathless. "Pretty. That’s a new one."

You glanced up at him, your fingers toying with his belt. "But you are. And the noises you make are also so, so pretty."

He exhaled sharply, like your words had knocked the wind out of him.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me," he muttered, voice wrecked, desperate.

You grinned, trailing your fingers lower. "Oh, I think I have some idea."

You pressed your palm against the bulge beneath his jeans, feeling him jolt beneath you.

You reached for his zipper, hands eager, impatient. The rasp of metal sounded loud in the quiet room as you shoved his jeans down, dragging them off with no pretense.

Then your eyes landed on him.

The thick strain against his boxers, the way a damp patch was spreading at the front. Your mouth went completely dry.

Noel was panting now, his chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. "Love, you need to—"

His words were cut off by a strangled moan the second your fingers traced over him, pressing just enough to make him twitch beneath your touch.

You exhaled sharply, warmth pooling low in your stomach. He was right there in front of you, already leaking through the fabric, the evidence of his need making you lightheaded. Your breath ghosted over him before you leaned in, brushing your lips over the damp spot.

Then, with a slow pull, you closed your mouth around it, sucking gently through the fabric.

Noel let out a ragged curse, his hips jerking up against you. "Fuck."

The desperation in his voice sent a fresh wave of arousal straight through you.

Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, you dragged them down, drinking in the sight of him. The way his cock bobbed, standing heavy against his stomach, had something hot and primal unraveling inside you.

A small, unguarded whimper escaped him, his hands clenching into the sheets so tightly his knuckles went white.

You flicked your tongue over the bead of precum gathering at his tip, tasting the saltiness of him.

His entire body shuddered and a broken moan tore from his throat, raw and wrecked. He seemed to be struggling to form words, his lips parting, closing again, as if searching for something to say.

But he didn’t need to. You could see the silent pleading in his eyes.

And christ it undid you.

The heat coiling low in your stomach was nearing a breaking point, the relentless throb between your legs getting to be too much. You wanted to keep tasting him, wanted to hear more of those breathless, ruined sounds. But if you did, you knew he wasn’t going to last. And you needed him inside you.

Now.

Without a word, you spun, moving your hair over your shoulder. "Help me out."

His hands were shaking as he reached for you, dragging the zipper of your dress down in one slow, trembling motion, exposing every inch of you. His fingers traced along your spine, and goosebumps skittered across your skin in response.

You let the rest of the dress slip off, stepping out of your underwear in one fluid movement before turning back to him.

Noel’s gaze swept over you, his jaw tight, hands clenching into fists as if he were holding himself back.

Not for long.

You captured his mouth in a slow, deep kiss, guiding him back onto the bed, settling over him once again.

His hands grasped at your body, touch hot and desperate, sending wave after wave of need crashing through you. Your bodies were flush, nothing between you now, and the feeling of him hard against you sent a helpless moan tumbling from your lips.

You grasped him, positioning yourself over him, your breath coming in shallow, uneven pants.

"Can I?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Noel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips parted as he looked up at you, utterly wrecked. He nodded, unable to form a single word.

Slowly, you began to sink down onto him, gasping at the stretch, at the heat, the way he filled you completely. Your fingers dug into his chest as you took him inch by inch, your thighs shaking from how overwhelming it felt.

His hands shot to your hips, gripping you like a lifeline as a strangled moan tore from his throat.

You could feel him deep inside you as you finally seated yourself against him. You took a moment to adjust, shivering at the contact. The white-hot heat in your veins was everywhere.

"Fuck," he choked out, his voice breaking. His body trembled beneath you, every muscle tensed, struggling to hold on.

You glanced down at him, and his dark, desperate gaze met yours.

"Christ, you feel so incredible," he rasped, voice wrecked and rough. "Need you—fuck, I need—" His words dissolved into a sharp gasp as you shifted slightly, searching for the right angle.

You settled a hand against his chest and rolled your hips experimentally. The reaction was immediate.

A guttural moan tore from his throat, his hands tightening on your hips, guiding you into a rhythm he clearly needed just as badly as you did.

Your body was drowning in sensation. Every nerve alight, every muscle quivering, every inch of you focused on where you were joined. You rocked against him, getting lost in the pleasure. 

You barely registered when he planted his heels into the mattress, bracing himself. But you felt it the second he used all his force to thrust up to meet you.

A sharp, helpless cry ripped from your lips.

The force of it would have knocked you off balance if he hadn’t been gripping you so tightly, keeping you flush against him as he snapped his hips upward again.

"Fuck—Noel." His name broke from your lips as another surge of pleasure hit you like a shockwave.

Each thrust sent lightning shooting down your spine, pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable. You tried to meet him, to match his rhythm, but the way he was hitting so deep, so perfectly, made it nearly impossible to keep control.

You felt him everywhere. Filling you, consuming you. It was dizzying.

His grip on your hips tightened suddenly, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you down onto him harder, deeper. His own hips surged up to meet you with every thrust, dragging you into the frantic, unrelenting pace he so badly needed.

The sounds filling the room were obscene—skin meeting skin, ragged breaths, broken moans spilling from both of you.

Your mind had gone completely blank, overtaken by pleasure, your body running purely on instinct. The only thought was ‘Noel Noel Noel’. Your own moans were getting higher, more desperate, your broken off sounds of "No-el" between each thrust spilling out. 

"Fuck—" his breath came in ragged, labored gasps, his words shattered. "You feel—so fucking—good—don’t stop—"

Your thighs were trembling from exertion, but stopping wasn’t an option. Not when you were this close. Not when every nerve was buzzing, your entire body tightening around him, the telltale buildup coiling inside you like a live wire ready to snap.

"You’re so close, love," he groaned, his grip tightening. "I can feel it—I need you to—please—I can’t hold on much longer—"

His plea sent another wave of heat crashing through you, tipping you closer to the edge.

Desperate, you moved a hand between you, flicking his nipple again, watching as he arched into your touch with a helpless, ruined moan.

"Fuck—" His voice broke. His hips stuttered, losing rhythm. "You’re gonna make me—fuck—I can’t—"

Then one deep, perfectly-angled thrust sent you spiraling.

Pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body seizing as you cried out his name. Your walls clenched around him, dragging him over the edge with you.

A strangled moan ripped from his throat as he came, his hands gripping you so hard you were sure there would be bruises. His release flooded inside you in sharp, pulsing waves.

You collapsed against him, body giving out entirely. Every muscle felt spent, useless, like you’d been wrung dry. His chest rose and fell beneath you in quick, uneven bursts, both of you still gasping for air.

For a long, breathless moment, the only thing in the world was the two of you. Bodies tangled, limbs shaking, lungs fighting for air.

You figured you should get off him to allow him to fully breathe. You slid off and onto your stomach, melting into the mattress. You could feel him leaking out of you and onto the sheets, but you made no move to stop it. 

Then finally, finally, the world came back into focus.

Noel shifted onto his side as he caught his breath, his fingertips resting along your spine in slow, soothing strokes. The touch sent a shiver through you, but not from arousal this time. It was something softer, something more dangerous.

The intensity of what had just occurred was overwhelming, but unlike last time, you didn’t feel the need to run.

His voice broke the quiet, rough with exhaustion. "You alright?"

You forced yourself to lift your head, meeting his gaze. His blue eyes were heavy-lidded, searching yours.

"I think so," you murmured, still breathless.

His fingers brushed damp strands of hair back from your face, the gesture unexpectedly tender. "You’re shaking," he noted, voice softer now.

You blinked. You hadn’t even realized.

Something stirred inside you at his tone. It was unfamiliar—giddy, weightless. It felt like… affection. A small smile tugged at your lips before you even realized you were doing it.

"Yeah well that’s entirely your fault," you mumbled.

He huffed out a quiet laugh before tugging you closer. His fingers resumed their slow, steady circles, and the warmth of it seeped into you, easing some of the lingering tremors.

This kind of intimacy wasn’t something you were used to. Fucking him was one thing, but this… this was something else entirely. Something you weren’t sure you should allow. But you weren’t stopping him either.

If this was what the real Noel Gallagher was like then you were in trouble.

You laid there for a moment before a nagging thought entered your mind. "I’m sorry I left you in that field."

He stilled for half a second, body tensing before he relaxed again.

"I think I was scared," you admitted. "So I ran. I’m not even sure what I was scared of, really. But… I am sorry."

Noel exhaled through his nose, considering. "I get it," he said finally. "I’m sorry if I was being, uh… too much."

You let out a quiet laugh. "No, I liked it," you confessed, cheeks heating. "I think that’s what scared me. Everything changed so fast, and I wasn’t ready for it."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were warm. "Well I’ve been known to overwhelm people with emotions."

You nudged him playfully, laughing.

"Don’t deny it, love," he teased, his voice dipping into that cocky lilt again. "You know you can’t resist me. I’m magnetic."

"Don’t you start with that again," you warned, pushing up onto your elbows.

He let out a low chuckle, but his gaze flickered down, roaming over your body now that you weren’t caught up in the haze of lust. His expression shifted, less teasing, more appreciative.

"Oh, but it’s true," he replied, his tone cheeky and playful. "You’re completely captivated by me."

You pursed your lips, fighting back a smile. "That’s yet to be proven."

"Is that so?" he murmured. He closed the space between you with a soft kiss. "I think I’m more than capable of proving it to you."

Then, in one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, drawing a startled laugh from your throat. He grinned against your skin, pressing playful kisses along your jaw, your cheek, your neck.

"See?" he said, punctuating his words with another kiss. "Captivated."

You laughed breathlessly, fingers tangling in his hair.

You were starting to think he might be right.

--------------------------------------------------------

I know this is another Noel post but I pinky promise that I have concepts of a plan for a Liam post coming next.��

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating (not on you). egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - N

N is for your name on Wally's lips whenever he jerks himself stupid. It's for the nonsense newly flooding his brain—no longer just what are you wearing, but how you feel and what you think and when can I see you for things other than getting his cock wet.

It's for the fact that, as of fuck-knows-when, there's little to nothing Wally won't do for you if you look at him just right and ask oh-so-pretty. Never in his life has he been so consumed by someone apart from himself. He wants to know you, inside and out, back to front, top to bottom, and who the hell is he, where's the real Wally Clark? The Wally Clark who took girls home to bolster his ego. The Wally Clark who, "until Janet", never settled for one thing when he could have everything.

He assumed it was sexual tension, then sexual satisfaction, then sexual rampage, but, Christ Almighty, he can't get enough of you. It's never enough, no matter how many times he has you under him, over him, face to cunt, cock to mouth, around him inside you, limbs so tangled it's impossible to distinguish where one ends and the other begins.

What makes him more nervous isn't how addicted he is to the sex. It's how you've fucking nestled into his heart, brain, soul as much as he nestles into your body. The notion terrifies him—that he might be falling...down, over, backward, tripping over his own feet navigating shit he promised himself he'd never need. Yet, here he is, Wally Clark, wrapped around your little finger and you don't even know it.

He's in Janet's room, arguing with her as calmly as she'll let him, telling her to back the fuck off and stop sabotaging your chances to win an award Janet has Claire's money on. It's so fucked up. Nasty for the sake of it, because Janet's nabbed almost every number one spot she can get away with. Why can't she let you have one?

And Wally knows. Has a vague idea, anyway. You're naturally sweet, friendly, smart where you want to be, and willing to put in the work where you're not. A whole person with a nuanced sense of self that Janet loathes because she lacks identity. You're competition, and jealousy is poison in the wrong hands. Janet intends to softly kill as many of your high school accomplishments as possible before you graduate just to rub in your face how much better she is than you.

"Jesus, Janet," Wally bites, "She earned it. Let it go."

"Since when do you give a shit, Clark?"

Wally doesn't respond. Locks his jaw, crosses his arms, stares her down like he means business. Defensive.

Janet smirks, "I see the way you look at her, you know. Like you care." One step, two, and Janet's in his space, forcing him to her level with her nails in his scalp, "You don't get to have her—" LOL "—not unless I say so, and that'll never happen."

"This isn't even real." Wally reminds her, nudging himself out of her grip and taking several steps back. "I can end this whenever I want. Leave you to fucking rot on your own. We break up and you lose everything."

"Is that a threat?" Janet glares, but there's a hint of fear behind her eyes.

"Let her have the award." Wally narrows his eyes. "Do that and I'll be the best fucking boyfriend you could ever dream of. Dates, appearances. I'll start driving you to school like you wanted."

Janet considers his proposal and Wally swallows. What the fuck is he doing? The arrangement was exactly how he wanted it. Exactly how he could stomach it. Distant. Shallow. Virtually nonexistent in his mind outside of school. Now? It'll take up more time, energy, effort. But he saw how excited you were to be nominated, how much it meant to you that your talent was finally recognized, so he'll bite the bullet and adjust his terms.

Eventually, "Fine," Janet submits, sits primly at her desk and dismisses him after negotiating details.

Wally finds you at your friend's house. The Nihilistic one with the permanent frown. Rhonda Something. It's apparently game night and he doesn't leave until you're in the car with him. No fight, just urgency and frustration and, yeah, whatever, a little bit of pleading.

He parks behind the Walmart and fucks you from below, hard and vicious, to avoid going nuclear. He hates Janet. Hates what he got himself into. Hates the whole fucking world except you. Beautiful, brilliant you. "I want you to come again, baby," He pants, numbing out so he doesn't come before you blackout from pleasure. "I know you can. That's it. Let me see how good I make you feel..." Bites your nipple, nips a mark into your neck, fucks you like he owns you, and then lays with you in the back seat for a while to remind himself why he let Janet win.

There's nothing in this world, too big or too small, that Wally wouldn't do for you. And that realization scares the living shit out of him. Too bad there's absolutely fuck all he can do about it now.

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

[morelikeravenbore]

Sebastian Sallow x f!oc (Aurélie Collins).

This scene will likely feature in my fifth year AU WIP but was written for a discord writing event with the theme 'Cupids arrow' (the theme is there if you squint really hard, I promise.) 

🍓 Content: Bickering is a love language. They're insufferably fifteen. Two orphans idiots insisting they're not in love with each other. His mouth says "I'm not in love" but his body language says "I burn for you". Aurélie would like it to be known that they absolutely did not go on a date and if anybody says otherwise, they're lying.

🍓 Warnings: some swearing? Otherwise sfw.

🍓 Word count: 1.3k

Preview: He gaped at her. For weeks she'd been begging him to take her out for stupid tea and stupid fucking cakes, and now she was storming out in a huff because the experience didn't live up to whatever unobtainable level of perfection she'd imagined it would be? Merlin's fucking beard, never ever ever so long as he lived would Sebastian ever befriend another French girl: the ordeal of knowing one was enough to send him to a premature grave. [A/N: plot twist that's your future wife Sebastian muaahahaahahahahaaha.]

🍓 Cross posted to [wattpad] and [ao3]

Jammed uncomfortably into a too-small table in the corner of the cramped tea shop, Sebastian Sallow wore a scowl as dark as his all-black outfit. As far as his meticulously crafted plans to save his sister went, taking a French girl to fucking Steeply & Son's for an outing that she repeatedly, with much tenacious finger-pointing and foot-stamping, insisted was "not a date!" wasn't something he'd ever thought to factor in. Now, instead of spending an otherwise productive Saturday afternoon sneaking into the Restricted Section to nick another book he'd been eyeing (“Hexes and Hiccups: An Unintentional Villain's Spellbook”), he was hunched over a doily-covered table while Aurélie cast a critical eye over the assortment of tiny cakes piled on a platter between them. 

Sebastian didn't have time for carefree forays into the village to sample cakes and sip tea; when September slipped quietly into October, Anne's condition had worsened. When Halloween ushered in November, she got worse still. And now that December had arrived with unrelenting sheets of snow, Sebastian could practically see his twin sister fading before his very eyes. 

Every moment he wasn't working towards a cure was a moment he didn't have to spare. Most days, it was all Sebastian could do to keep from screaming. Most nights, he did not sleep. More often than not, he was short-tempered and argumentative. But did nobody understand the gravity of the situation? — That if he lost his sister, he'd lose himself, too? That if he lost her, his heart would remain eternally homeless, adrift in a snowstorm of grief, frozen in place forever and ever? 

Sebastian's scowl darkened. All around him, happy couples made gooey eyes at each other. Opposite him, Aurélie held up a cake between her thumb and forefinger as if it were an active dungbomb and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. 

'But why are they so small?' she asked for the third time in a row. 

Sebastian squinted at the micro-dollop of buttercream and what he guessed was a sliver of strawberry atop the teeny cake and answered, for the third time in a row, 'I told you. To maximise their profits.'

Repeatedly he’d tried to warn her that Steeply & Son's was renowned for their overpriced, undersized pastries, and that if she was expecting a tea shop run by a woman with a hunchback in Hogsmeade village to be anything remotely close to her beloved boulangeries back in France, she was bound to be bitterly disappointed. But had she listened to him? No. And now here she was, disappointed by cake just as he'd predicted. 

“I told you so” burned so hot on his tongue he thought he'd combust if he didn't say it out loud. Somehow he managed to swallow it back, but it scorched all the way down to his stomach. 

Visibly sulking, Aurélie set the little cake back on the platter and stared at it for a long, mournful moment before declaring, 'I want to leave now.'

Sebastian spluttered. 'What? We just got here!' he argued, but the red-headed embodiment of moodiness was already on her feet, hastily gathering her coat, scarf, extra scarf, woolly gloves and fluffy blue hat with a pout that deepened by the moment. 

He gaped at her. For weeks she'd been begging him to take her out for stupid tea and stupid fucking cakes, and now she was storming out in a huff because the experience didn't live up to whatever unobtainable level of perfection she'd imagined it would be? Merlin's fucking beard, never ever ever so long as he lived would Sebastian ever befriend another French girl: the ordeal of knowing one was enough to send him to a premature grave. 

Flinging his own scarf around his neck (the thinnest one he owned, since she was wearing his best), he followed her out of the tea shop and into the snow-covered grounds of Hogsmeade square. 

‘Aurélie!’ Frustration forged a path through the ice as he called after her, his frozen breath puffing out like angry steam from a boiling kettle. ‘I'm sure they didn't bake them that small to offend you!’

Ahead of him, the over-swathed girl only made a distinctly French sound of derision and picked up her waddling pace across the village square. Sebastian caught up easily, far more sure-footed in the snow than she. 

‘What's wrong?’ he demanded, taking a firm hold of her elbow lest her angry stomping across the icy cobblestones result in a head injury. Snow was falling thick and fast now, settling atop her silly hat like icing sugar, dusting her hair like strawberries and cream. 

‘Nothing is wrong!’ she wailed, struggling to shove her right hand into the left glove. ‘It's snowing and I'm cold and I want to go home!’

Frustrated, Sebastian watched her trying to force her thumb into the pinky hole for as long as he could stand before snatching the glove away. 'It's the wrong hand!' he snapped. ‘And your scarves are all tangled! Why do you insist on wearing two?’ 

'I thought it would help,’ she moaned, allowing him to drag her under the icicled eaves of the nearby Post Office.

‘Wearing two scarves is ridiculous!’ he lectured, slipping her hands into the correct gloves before moving to untie the tangle of wool around her neck. ‘You're going to choke yourself! Wearing one thicker scarf would be a lot more helpful than tangling yourself in two!’

‘I wasn't talking about the scarves!’ she argued back. 

‘What then? If you're so desperate for cake, I'll ask the House Elves to bake you one the size of your head if it'll stop you whining—’

Aurélie stomped her foot in the snow. ‘Ohlala, are you the last baguette in the shop?’ she wailed. ‘I don't want cake, I want my maman!’ 

Well, now he was truly flamboozled. 

‘Your — mother?’ he said. Was a cake? he was glad he didn't add. 

‘I thought that if I did something that reminded me of her, it might make it go away!’

The pain in her voice iced the fire on Sebastian's tongue. ‘Make what go away?’ he asked, gently smoothing the ends of her freshly untangled scarves. 

‘The homesickness…’

Ah, that. The plight of the orphan, doomed to be eternally displaced, burdened with a pain that never went away. Shame wearied Sebastian's shoulders: once again, he'd been too caught up in his own problems to remember that she was suffering, too. For so long he'd been without his home that he'd forgotten how it felt to be newly bereft of it. 

Aurélie looked up at him. 'How stupid am I to think I could actually find her again in a bit of cake?' she said with a small, sad smile. A bit of snow fluttered from her hat and settled in her lashes. Without thinking, Sebastian wiped it gently away with his thumb.

'It's not stupid to look for your parents in familiar places,' he said, his breath curling warmly around their faces. 'Why do you think I read so much?' 

Many a night Sebastian had fallen asleep with his head on a book, some small, lonely part of him hoping his mother might find him and tuck him into bed as she'd done when he was little. She never did, of course — not even in his dreams, but it never stopped him from hoping. 

‘Do you ever find them?’ Aurélie sniffled. ‘In the books?’ 

The lie came out easily. ‘Sometimes,’ he nodded. ‘Sometimes I do, yeah.’

An hour or two later, aptly supplied with cakes from the kitchens and books from Sebastian's secret stash under his bed, the Undercroft offered them a warm reprieve. Side by side they sat, shoulders and legs pressed under a blanket, the old moth-eaten sofa the only soft place to sit. It wasn't the familiar comfort of his childhood home, with his parents in the next room and Anne annoying him relentlessly while he tried to read — and it certainly wasn't the South of France, but in all the years Sebastian had been searching for home, he was learning that traces of it could be found in even the most unlikely places.

SPECIAL THANKS to my wifey @mianeryh for making sure Aurélie's Frenchness is always on point 🤌 (especially when she yells at Sebastian hehehe) love youuu x

[evorlaah]

DARLING HE LIED

Paring: non!idol!Sunghoon x female reader

Synposis: Stuck in a toxic relationship, you seek comfort from your best friend Sunghoon, only to realize he’s been in love with you all along.

Note: finally back, it’s short but I promise I’m coming with comeback! 😳❤️

Disclaimer!: cursing, toxic relationships, crying, a smidge of angst. Genre: fluff, angst, I think that’s it..

@evorlaah

“Fuck, y/n you’re always doing this!” His voice was loud, echoing off the walls of his apartment. His face was twisted in anger, eyes blazing as he stared you down.

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your composure. “Doing what, exactly? Calling you out on your bullshit?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. I was just talking to her. It didn’t mean anything.”

You felt your chest tighten, hurt mingling with fury. “Talking? You had your hands all over her. Do you think I’m stupid?”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed. “You always blow things out of proportion. This is why I can’t stand being around you sometimes.”

The words were a slap to the face, knocking the air out of your lungs. You felt your throat tighten, but you refused to let him see you cry. Not this time. “You can’t stand being around me? Then why are you even with me?”

He hesitated, his jaw clenching. “Maybe I shouldn’t be.”

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence. Your heart sank, the ache spreading through your chest. You’d always known he didn’t love you, not really. But hearing him say it—hearing him confirm your worst fears—it shattered you.

You swallowed hard, refusing to let the tears fall. “Fine. I’m done.”

Turning on your heel, you stormed out of his apartment, slamming the door behind you. The cold night air bit at your skin as you walked down the street, no destination in mind. You just needed to get away. Away from him, from his lies, from the hurt that seemed to follow you wherever you went.

Your feet moved on their own, carrying you to the one place you knew you’d be safe. Before you realized it, you were standing outside Sunghoon’s door, your fists trembling as you knocked.

The door swung open, and Sunghoon stood there, his eyes widening in surprise. “Y/n? What… what are you doing here?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat, a choked sob escaping instead. His face softened instantly, his arms reaching out to pull you inside, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“What did he do this time?” Sunghoon’s voice was low, a protective edge to his words.

You buried your face in his chest, his familiar scent grounding you as the tears finally fell. “I… I’m so stupid,” you choked out, your body trembling. “I keep going back… I keep letting him hurt me…”

Sunghoon’s arms tightened around you, his chin resting on top of your head. “You’re not stupid, Y/n. You just… you want to be loved.”

Your chest tightened, the words hitting too close to home. “I just… I thought he loved me. I thought… I could be enough for him.”

He pulled back, his hands cupping your face, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own. “You are enough. More than enough. He’s just too blind to see it.”

You looked up at him, his face so close, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears. “Then why does it feel like no one will ever love me?”

His eyes softened, his forehead resting against yours as his voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you, Y/n. I’ve always loved you.”

Your heart stopped, the world falling away as his words sank in. Sunghoon… loved you?

Before you could process it, his lips were on yours—soft, warm, and everything you didn’t know you needed. He kissed you slowly, tenderly, like he was trying to piece you back together, like he was erasing every hurt and lie you’d ever been told.

You kissed him back, your hands gripping his shirt as you melted into him, his touch grounding you, his presence comforting in a way you’d never felt before.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead still pressed against yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret, you found yourself smiling—genuine and real. For the first time in a long time, you felt loved.

And maybe, just maybe, you could learn to love yourself, too.

[bktempted]

“You think you can talk to me like that?” he snarls, his voice rough like gravel. “Maybe. Hit me again if it bothers you so much." You bare your teeth in a half smile, defiant — you know that’ll set him off.

His hand cracks across your cheek, a bright sting blooming under your skin as you stumble back against the wall. Before you can collect yourself he’s already on you, fist twisted in your hair, yanking your head back so your eyes lock with his — dark, blazing, daring you to push him further. You taste copper on your tongue, a faint tang from where your lip split under the slap.

“You know how to make it stop — don’t you, brat?” His grip tightens, forcing a gasp out of you as he pulls your scalp taut.

“Stop? Why, you think I can’t take it?”

“Say it. Now.” His command lands heavy, roughened by impatience and something darker — something that promises consequences.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, letting the words drip out lazy and insolent. Your stomach twists with anticipation, a sick little thrill curling inside you as you watch his jaw tighten.

His hand flies up, flashing across your cheek with a sting that snaps your head to the side. The sound rings out, sharp and brutal, your skin prickling where his palm landed. “No, you’re not,” he scoffs, voice harsh, slicing through the room like a blade. “Say it right — ‘I’m sorry, Sir.’”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you try again, but the lilt’s still there, that spark of mockery you can’t bury — you want him to snap — you need him to. Your defiance is a live wire, buzzing under your skin.

Another slap, harder this time, rocks your face the other way, the force splitting your lip enough for blood to drip down your chin. You gasp, the pain bright and hot, as he grabs your jaw, fingers digging in, forcing your eyes to meet his once again. “Not good enough,” he growls, his free hand tearing at your shirt. Buttons pop and scatter across the floor like gunfire, the fabric ripping under his fingers until you’re bare, exposed, the cool air biting your skin just before he slams you back against the wall. “Try it again. Less attitude.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you spit out, still brassy, still pushing, the sting on your cheeks only fuels you. You brace yourself, knowing what’s coming.

His palm cracks against your face again, this one landing lower, catching the edge of your jaw with a thud that rattles your teeth. Your ears ring, and for a second, the room tilts, but his hands hold you steady, pinning you harder against the wall. “You gonna keep playing?” he snarls, voice thick with warning, eyes boring into you like he’s peeling you open. “Say it right, or I’ll fuck the words out of you.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you say, voice catching as he yanks your jeans down, the denim scraping your thighs. He doesn’t bother with finesse — his belt clanks open, and then he’s forcing himself on you.

“Again,” he demands, ripping the last shred of fabric aside. His fingers dig into your hips, bruising, holding you still as he lines himself up.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you choke out, and then he’s inside you, slamming in with one brutal thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. You cry out, hands scrabbling against the wall for purchase, but there’s nothing to hold onto — just him, filling you, stretching you, punishing you with every inch.

“Still doesn’t sound right,” he grits through clenched teeth, his pace relentless, hips snapping against yours so hard the sound echoes — flesh on flesh, obscene and unrelenting. He’s massive, overwhelming, each thrust driving deeper, splitting you open until you’re trembling, your body caught between pain and a jagged, filthy pleasure you can’t deny. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m sorry, SIR!” you shout, voice raw now, collapsing under the force of him. He shifts, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat — choking you, pinning you there as he fucks you harder, the wall scraping your spine with every brutal push. Your legs shake, barely holding you up, but he doesn’t care — this is your penance and his prize all at once.

“Better,” he rasps, but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t soften. His other hand slips between your legs, fingers finding that slick, swollen spot, rubbing circles that make your vision blur. “You love this, don’t you? You fucking begged for it with that dirty mouth.”

“Yes—Sir—” you whimper, half a sob. The pressure builds, coiling tight and unbearable, and he feels it — his grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your head spin.

“Then take it,” he says, driving into you one last time, deep and punishing, until you shatter around him, a broken scream tearing from your throat. He follows right after, a guttural sound rumbling out of him as his cum spills inside you, claiming you, his body pinning yours to the wall until you've accepted every drop of his seed.

You're both spent, shaking, sweat slicked and gasping, but he doesn’t pull away yet. He stays pressed against you as his hands slide down your sides, tracing the damage he’s done. The silence stretches, heavy with the weight of what just happened, until he shifts, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“Learned your lesson?” he asks, gentler now, his thumb brushing over the split in your lip.

You meet his gaze, unflinching, and let the words slip out with a coy smile. “Yes, Sir. I learned I can take a lot more than you thought.”

[b4tteryaciid]

I'm in a pissy mood rn so you get an angsty breakup 👍 I'll write something cute and cozy to make up for it I promise

[This doesn't really have an ending it just kinda abruptly stops but you get the idea.]

It had been a screaming match from the moment they set foot into Ghost's barracks. They both had piss poor communicating skills and couldn't ever just talk about their feelings. They'd been skirting around eachother for weeks and Soap was sick of it. Sick that after they fucked Ghost would leave and wouldn't stay with him. They were dating for fucks sake. He was being distant and his temper was worse, snapping at Soap for seemingly nothing. Soap had recently messed up on the field and Ghost was pissed, screaming in his face instead of just listening to Soap and letting him explain his feelings.

Soap saw it before he felt it, heard it even. Saw Ghost pull his arm back and swing at him. The sound of the slap of skin on skin shook the room and forced his head to the side. Everything was silent. Ghost was deathly quiet. The sting started to creep over his face, sizzling pins and needles spread over the area like static. He tweaked his jaw and slowly turned to look at Ghost. His eyes wide behind the balaclava. "Johnny I-"

"Were done." Ghost froze, stairing deep into Johnny's eyes. They were black more than blue and he could physically see the rage seeping through them. Soap tensed and clenched his fists stepping into Ghosts space. "Johnny please I'm sorr-" Soap roughly pushed past him towards the door "We're over Simon, ya dinnae give a fuck about me and willnae even let me speak! Just devolving inta screamin' at me!" He yelled turning around and glaring at Ghost with tears in his eyes. "Wait please I'm sorry I was just angry, Johnny please." He reached out towards Soap but recoiled when he saw him flinch slightly. Soap sighed roughly and glared through red teary eyes "Ah willnae jus let ye slap me because yer angry Simon. We'll talk aboot this later." He quickly turned the door knob and threw the door open slamming it on his way out.

Ghost stood frozen looking at the door Soap had slammed on his way out. What was wrong with him? They hadn't been dating that long and to do something like that? To slap him in the heat of an argument that was surely his fault? He was turning into his father wasn't he? An abusive asshole who couldn't care less about his partners feelings and only his own? Would Johnny ever forgive him? He wouldn't blame him if he didn't. He wouldn't forgive himself either. He looked down at his own hand, tingling and red from the force of the impact. What the fuck was his problem. Tears started to well in his eyes as he clenched his fist, another sting coursing through his palm. It was bad enough that he'd laid his hands on him but to slap him with all his strength? He'd watched as Johnny's head had snapped to the side and he stumbled backwards. He watched the shock and horror overtake his face as he turned to look at him. Watched as all the colour drained from his face and was replaced with a stony expression. Watched as his eyes dulled and filled with a dark murkey blue rage. He cradled his hand softly and kissed his palm as his tears started to sink into the fabric of his balaclava. It was all his fault. Is all his fault. He never deserved Johnny and this is why, because he's violent and that's all he's good for, he's not capable of loving someone as soft and warm and loving as Johnny. It's all his fault he made Johnny cry.

--

The sting in his face worsened as did the one in his stomach. His eyes burned as he tried to hold his tears at bay. He stormed down the hallway the second the door had clicked. The sound of it slamming had shook the walls and reverberated down the long hallway. He barreled down the hallway, fisting the sides of his pants as he went. He wouldnt lie, he thought about punching that asshole right back and the thought made him feel guilty. He still loved Simon even through all his actions these past weeks. He could tell something had been wrong and when he'd tried to ask he just exploded at him. Tears were seeping there way out and he could barely see through his blurred vision. How could he? How could he just slap him like that? He was a soldier and was used to pain but God damn that hurt. He was sure his handprint was still plastered on his cheek as he rushed down the hall. He begged and prayed that nobody would notice him or be in the hallway. As always, nothing in his life could go right. Gaz was standing infrount of his door looking down at his phone, distracted. Maybe if he went the other way he wouldn't notice him. Too late. Gaz turned to look up at him with a smile. It instantly faded once he noticed Soaps face.

"You alright Suds?" He asked delicately, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Aye s'fine Gaz dinnae worry" He sniffled and rubbed at his nose. He could feel his tears forcing there way out of the corners of his eyes. "No your not c'mon tell me what's wrong." He slowly reached out to Soap and he nodded tears spilling out, ignoring his protests. Gaz opened his door again and ushered him in. Once the door was closed the dam broke. Soap reached up to his cheek which was now hot to the touch as he blinked harshly, letting lose all the tears he'd been holding back. Gaz carefully pulled him into a hug and Soap clutched onto his back and he sobbed into his shoulder. "Ahm so sorry-" He sniffled between sobs. "Aye no it's okay shhh don't worry" Gaz soothed, rubbing circles into Soaps back.

--

Gaz had never seen Soap cry like that before. He'd seen him stalking down the hallway with red puffy eyes and what looked like a red hand mark slowly forming on his cheek. He had a suspicion of what happened but didn't want to believe Ghost had hit him. It must've been something else. Possibly a fight with another enlisted. He'd led him into his room and gave him a hug. Now his best friend was ugly crying into his shirt. He soothed him and led him to sit down on the side of his bed with him, rubbing soothing shapes into his back. "Think you can tell me what happened?" He asked quietly, not wanting to upset him any more. Soap nodded and tried to speak but he only managed gasps and stutters. "It's okay mate take as much time as you need" Soap nodded again and rubbed his arm across his face. Gaz stood up and went to grab an old camo shirt out of the little closet in his room, it was more like a locker but it still functioned. He would've grabbed tissues but he didn't have any and a shirt was softer than a towel. "Here" he returned, holding out the shirt for him to grab. Soap hesitated and he added "As a tissue, its soft and don't worry about running it, doesn't fit anyways" he assured nudging it closer to the mess of a man in his room. Soap gave a slight smile and wiped his face and nose with it, carefully avoiding his red cheek, patting it dry instead of scrubbing it.

He sat back down and rubbed Soaps back as he did breathing exercises. Once he could speak again he croaked out, "Ghost, we were- we were fightin' an e-" he sniffled again jesturing towards his face "slapped me." Soap looked ashamed but Gaz could only see red. That big bastard had the gaul to lay his hands on his best friend? Soap was his boyfriend for God's sake! He was pissed and he could feel the rage boiling in his gut. He was going to kill that man. "Dinnae do anythin' rash-" Soap sniffled wiping his nose with the shirt and glancing up at Gaz with a miserable expression. He looked like a kicked puppy. "Aye okay, for you Suds." He definitely was gonna give Ghost a piece of his mind later, but for now Soap needed him and he was going to help him.

"Ah broke up wif em" Soap supplied after he'd cried all his sadness out. "I'm sorry Suds" Gaz replied, trying to be comforting but not really knowing how. "Aye aits nawt yer fault, es a bastart who doesnae ken ow to talk to people. Been avoidin' me fer weeks, jus' refusin' ta talk.-" He paused with a sigh- "then e starts yellin' at me fer no reason an then." He jestured again. His accent was thickening and he was getting harder to understand as he went on. The night was getting late so Gaz suggested Soap stay in his room with him and Gaz would take the floor or the chair. Soap tried to argue but Gaz insisted so he relented. Once he was sure Soap was asleep he knew what he had to do. He was pissed at Ghost, and while it probably wasn't the right decision, he really didn't care. He wanted the man to know what he did.

He quietly left to room and headed towards Ghost's. He knocked on the door with a heavy hand and waited for him to open it. He looked like shit, his clothes all rumpled and his hair was sticking out of the eye holes of a lightweight balaclava. It looked like he'd shucked it on just to open the door. He looked tense already. Good. "Lieutenant, can I come in?" His voice was deep and he was sure he sounded angry. Ghost paused, tensing before relaxing again and stepping aside for Gaz to step in. "Sure you know why I'm here yeah?" He asked stepping into his personal space. "Because of Soap innit?" He asked. Ghost looked hard and calculated and he spoke, leaning heavy into the 'Lieutenant Ghost' persona. "Yeah. Care to explain why your boyfriend was just sobbing in my room Simon?" He spat his name like venom, crowding into his personal space. "We got into an argument and it got heated." He deadpanned. "Sure you've heard it from him haven't you?" Ghost crossed him arms. Gaz ground his teeth, seething. "Yeah I head that you fuckin' slapped him! Some fuckin' excuse for a boyfriend you are." Every word was dripping with poison. He wanted to beat ever syllable into his thick skull. "Sargent." He warned, voice dark. "Nah Ghost don't 'Sargent' me. Don't pretend to be a good Lieutenant now! You're the biggest asshole I've ever seen. Can't just have a civil conversation with someone! Devolvin' into a screaming match yeah!? How d'you think Price'll feel about all this? How do you think Soap feels being slapped by someone who's spose'to love im!?" Gaz roared, Stabbing into Ghost's chest with his finger. Ghost quickly snatched Gaz's hand away and pulled him close so he could whisper menacingly. "Might want to watch yourself Sargent." Gaz snatched his hand away. "Your fucking tough guy act isn't gonna work on me. I'm leaving. You should consider watching yourself." Gaz turned to leave, even more furious then when he walked in, slamming the door as hard as he could. He would've ripped it off the damn hinges if he could. Ghost had the gaul the slap Soap and then pretend to be all high and mighty and act like he did no wrong.

[W this is the ending. I'll make a part two or something if you guys really want it I just wanted to write drama and people yelling at eachother :)]

[mistress-skywalker]

sub ani pls pls he’s a little bratty bitch i need him

I’m living for your requests zapz ughhhhhhh forehead kiss for yew

Warnings: aotc ani (he deserves his own warning) || sub Anakin || afab anatomy || unprotected sex

“Can I touch you, please?” Anakin asks quietly, barely above a whisper, his cock buried in your pussy as you roll your hips at an agonizingly slow pace. His hands reach for your hips despite not giving him permission.

You slap them away and he whines. “Didn’t say yes.” You breathe out.

“Why not?? Please??” He whines, fighting his urge to reach back out again.

“Because I said so.”

He huffs like a petulant child. “It’s not fair.” He protests, as if the way your walls were squeezing his dick wasn’t enough.

“Don’t care.”

You close your eyes, getting lost in the pleasure as your hips work at a faster pace. He sees his opportunity and takes advantage of it, gripping your hips and roughly fucking up into you.

Your eyes pop open and immediately you regain control, “You ungrateful little brat.”

Taking his hands off your hips you pin them down above his head. He cries out loudly in protest again. “Please just let me-“

“No. You didn’t earn it. In fact,” you slow to a stop and pull off his aching cock. He whines at the loss of contact, eyebrows pulled together in frustration. “You don’t wanna listen? You just get to watch.”

“Huh?” He blinks at you, looking almost innocent in his confusion.

You keep your legs spread, staying off his dick as you bring a hand down to your clit, swirling your fingers around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You throw your head back in a moan, playing with yourself in front of him.

Anakin lets out a shaky exhale, watching in awe and frustration. “Please I just wanna-“

“Keep your eyes on me then maybe after I’m done you get to cum,” you say locking eyes with him again, moaning before you continue, “but only if you’re a good boy for me. Can you be a good boy, Ani?”

With his pouty bottom lip caught between his teeth, he nods meekly, “I-..yes..I promise I’ll be good.”

You nod once satisfied, moving your finger faster over your clit, “Atta boy.”

[psilliguykai]

Boy why you [all] so white

Anyways! Uhhhh yeah William’s Wanton Weary Wiles designs. Or Something. I debated giving them each their own post but none of them deserve it. I couldn’t figure out how to make it Not A Total Mess lol soooo here we are! Individuals with some more info under the cut.

Ooohhh they gross me out so bad. Both in the /aff way but also in the “oooohh I really don’t like how this turned out” way lmao- but! I finished the lineart before I started disliking it and promised myself I wouldn’t keep waffling on the sketch so they’re. They’re DONE alright they’re DONE [<- still trying to convince himself]

All the colors [especially the skin tones because oof I really. Don’t know how to handle that apparently. I mean like they’re meant to be white but I’m not sure if they should be That white lol ANYWAYS] aren’t too strict and I’ll probably fuck around w them depending on the mood of the post, etc. just a loose guide ig :]

If their designs ever get updated, this post will be updated as well ^^ i was gonna hyperlink the master doc but tumblr is kinda hating me rn and Not Letting Me Do That so uhhh . Look up wwww au in my blog and scroll to the bottom for background I guess [I’m so sorry] 😭😭😭

Ok ok here they are

Jimmy

- you can tell I take this very seriously /silly

- The shortest/smallest, but arguably the strongest of the trio [just by a little].

- Patterns and striped parts are based on the EIAL cover + the tapeworm.

Al

- what it says in the ref tbh. Just kinda a normal guy [in appearance anyways] who dresses way too formally and doesn’t get enough sunlight or sleep. :]

- I feel like he’s kind of very fucking ugly but I’ve given up on trying to fix it 😭

- Tallest by a little and best posture by a lot.

- essentially just the outfit from the TNA cover if it was blue lol

- sorryyy no automaton freak :((( big fan of robot Mind designs, but Al is just. Different to me

Mr. Capgras

- He gets scissors in place of a trident because I thought that could be neat :] when he pulls them out of the halo they get noteably larger and sharper. Tbh it mostly just uses them for normal scissor stuff + violent threats sometimes.

- Patterns depicted here are based on the body paint from the Self-ish album cover. In this ref they’re the hmsw colors, but could technically kinda be anything. They’re super inconsistent, both in canon and also because. Trying to keep up the same patterns every time I draw him would be torture :’]

- Most intimidating/strongest-looking. Middle in height, and worst in posture. Sleep deprived, somewhat empty and bitter but still hopeful and surprisingly optimistic.

- I’d like to think if his socks are ever shown, they’d have the same patterns as his gloves n stuff :3

- This isn’t a design thing at all but I’ll probably be referring to him more as Cotard as I feel it fits best. However, he’s formally known as Mr. Capgras since it would make the official acronym for these three “JAM”, which I think is a neat and completely accidental reference to Jamface :)) completely arbitrary yeahhh but it’s my AU and I’ll include all the obscure references I want in it >:3

- dw about the oversized Cotard’s Solution doodle it’s just there as another ref for how the scissors work lol

Fanart is super duper appreciated but absolutely not needed !! Asks either directly to [<- in this case I’d respond in character{s} depending on the ask] or about these characters/this AU are also always very welcome ^^

William Racheal McSprout Himself will be getting his own post when he’s completed :]

[couriersiccs]

if i had a nickel for every time a morally grey character whose main motivation for the catastrophic betrayal he committed was initially described as being in the name of his people and his culture and then, in the next installment, was retconned to actually be because a woman he loved got murdered and he got real upset about it, i'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

[keferon]

Monster hunter au part 9

I wanted to cook a bit more fluff before I get back to drama hehe

Previous Next

[faaun]

the ultimate goalpost-mover says she loves you very much.

[six-improbable-things]

I had to open the ship combat rules doc I made for Rook's campaign the other day, and man, that thing was (and still is tbh) my fucking magnum opus. I put so much effort into creating rules for a type of combat that dnd doesn't naturally support, and it was SUCH a fun challenge. I'll admit it's not perfect, but it works for our campaign, and everyone seemed to like it during our one test so far, so that's good enough for me.

I think between the stat blocks, the rules themselves, and the maps of the ships, I spent easily 48 hours total on making this sailing arc happen. (No, I'm not the DM, I just like homebrewing shit, and also happen to be the one who decided to play a pirate and make that involved in the story.)

[quietwingsinthesky]

there’s a progression in there, somewhere, of even going from ‘the master might kill me any day now :(‘ to ‘the master is going to kill me :) she’s not going to let someone else do it after all this time’