#it was off in one corner by the washing machine

[gretavangroupie]

Bluebird Lane - Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Pining, Sexual Themes, Kissing, Touching.

A/N: Six months later... I am so sorry this took so long, and I promise the next chapter will be coming a lot sooner than this one did. Thanks for sticking it out with me! Also, a gigantic, massive thank you to @gretavanmoon and @builtbybrokenbells for endlessly encouraging me with this one and daydreaming with me. Thanks for reading!

JAKE POV

The sound of the neighbor's lawn mower wakes you from your sleep far earlier than you planned. You roll to your side, pushing your hair out of your face as you tap your sound machine to shut off the white noise. The clock reads 7:51AM and the sun is shining through the slats of your blinds, warming the room despite the best efforts of your ceiling fan. You grab your phone from your nightstand, trying to open your eyes wide enough that face ID will work, blinking away the sleep and stretching out your stiff legs. You scroll through your notifications, looking for anything pressing but feel a wave of relief wash over you when you see that there is nothing on the calendar for you today.

You roll out of your bed, tossing the sheets and duvet over the spot you were laying in before, grabbing your sweats and sliding them over your legs. You drag yourself to the bathroom, seeing that her bedroom door is still closed and no sound is coming from behind it. She’s still asleep. Your mind flashes back to last night and the way she tasted on your lips, the softness of her skin, and the sound of her laugh. 

After brushing your teeth you make your way to the kitchen, digging around in the pantry for the coffee beans and filters so that you can start your day. You dump in the pre-grinded beans and press brew, knowing that in a few minutes the house will fill with the aroma of coffee. You settle on the couch with your phone in hand, scrolling through your socials and replying to a few texts as the coffee pot starts to brew. A few minutes later it beeps, pulling your attention away from your phone as it drags you into the kitchen. You pull a mug from the cabinet and pour in the steaming hot coffee, breathing in deeply the rich smell. This mug is from Arizona, clay colored with a turquoise Kokopelli on the front. You remember the struggle of hauling it around with you on that tour so many years ago, but somehow it made the trip and now several moves.

You hear the soft padding of feet in the hallway and a flutter rises in your chest. You turn to look at her, simultaneously pulling a mug down from the cabinet for her. As she rounds the corner you see her, still in her tiny pajamas and with sleepy eyes. She crosses her arms across her chest as she speaks.

“Do I smell coffee?” she squeaks, her voice still waking up for the day. 

“You do,” you answer, nodding her over. You pour the mug full of coffee and extend it to her, instantly wondering if she likes anything in it. “How do you like your coffee?”

She accepts the mug from your hand, grabbing it with both of hers. “Just creamer. I will pick some up at the store later today,” she pauses, “Thank you for this.”

“Of course,” you urge, “Can’t start my day without it.”

She leans her hip into the edge of the counter, sipping from the edge of the mug as silence falls over the two of you. You know it's now or never, so you take a deep breath and clear your throat. 

“Listen,” you start, leaning on the counter to mimic her position. “I’m– Sorry about last night, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what came over me and I feel as though I overstepped a boundary.”

Her face flushes pink as she listens, biting her lips together as her eyes search yours.  “Oh, it’s…It’s no big deal Jake. It’s fine, you don’t need to apologize. It was a tiny kiss, barely anything.”

You swallow harshly as you remember it differently. “It was just the heat of the moment I suppose. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Just wanted to make sure we are okay, I guess,” you continue. 

“Yeah, absolutely,” she says, “No big deal.” You can see her holding back on what she really wants to say, but you don’t want to push. 

“Yeah, okay, yeah. No big deal.” you confirm. You both stand awkwardly looking at each other, the tension in the room growing larger and larger by the second. Her eyes flick over to the clock hanging on the wall, a wave of panic washing over her.

“I have to go get ready for work…” she pauses, “Thank you for the coffee.” 

You suddenly feel guilty about your late night. “I didn’t know you worked today. I shouldn’t have kept you up so late last night.”

She smiles, a small giggle leaving her lips. “You didn’t keep me up, I chose to stay up. And I only have two clients today. Should be a short day.”

You find yourself wishing you were one of them. To lay on her table and feel her hands on you, working away at the tense muscles in your body. Fuck, it sounds good. You shake your head of the thoughts, refocusing on her as she walks down the hallway, shutting her bedroom door behind her. 

Your mind swirls back to last night as you look out the kitchen window. The sun is shining brightly into the backyard, a few birds chirping in the Oak tree as your neighbor finishes up their lawn. Then, part of the conversation settles within you. Her garden. She wants to plant a garden here. And as you watch the bugs fly around outside the window an idea strikes you. Suddenly your free day is now filled with a plan.

—

HER POV

The drive to work is short, but that doesnt keep your mind from racing with the memories of last night. Every moment, big and small, replaying on the ten minute drive. His lips, his eyes, his touch, his laugh. Everything all at once right in the middle of Saturday morning farmers market traffic. Your heart rate picks up as you let the feeling of his lips on yours take center stage, though, the horn honking from the car behind you pulls you from the daydream.

You make the turn into the parking lot, having your choice of parking space today. After a few minutes you’re unlocking the front door and turning on the lights, bathing the small reception area in warm light. As you wait for the computer to power on, you check your phone, seeing a few missed texts that you take mental note of to respond to later. Quiet music begins to play through the speakers of the building as the booking software opens on the computer screen. You confirm your two appointments for the day, seeing that one is a new customer, and one is a return customer. Though, it's the last name of the return customer that has your heart beating out of your chest. 

It couldn’t be. Right?

Before you can confirm, the front door opens and a woman walks in. Older and gray, she hobbles through the small lobby and up to the reception desk. 

“Mrs. Sandborn?” you ask, confirming it’s your first client and not a walk in. 

“Yes, dear,” she smiles kindly. You can tell she is a sweet woman and that this appointment is going to be a breeze. The session is only thirty minutes long and you find she wants special attention paid to her lumbar area. 

Just as you thought the appointment slipped by in the blink of an eye as you got to know the woman and heard a bit of her life story as you worked on her aching back. She thanks you profusely as she leaves, making a return appointment for a few weeks from now. 

You see it’s not long before your second session with your returning client, and once again your pulse starts to race as you realize this client is likely very related to your new roommate. The thought has your palms sweating as you work to sanitize your work room, laying out new linens and checking the clients preferred diffuser scent for his session. 

The bell on the front door alerts you of his presence, and with a deep breath you shake away your nerves, walking into the lobby to meet him. His long dark hair is tied up at his neck as a beaming smile crosses his face. There is no doubt he is related to Jake, you can see it now clear as day and you know this hour long session will be the longest of your life.

“Hi Mr. Kiszka, great to see you again.”

A smirk pulls his smile to the side as he gives you a subtle nod, “You can call me Sam.”

—

Your mind is still racing as you weave through the midday traffic on your way home. You learned quite a few new things about your new roommate, whether you wanted to or not. You didn’t dare tell him that Jake is your roommate, not wanting to cross the line of professionalism, and honestly because you kind of wanted to hear what he had to say while still under the veil of anonymity. The hour seemed to move at a glacial pace as he told you of life on the road, new projects, and upcoming adventures he had planned with his brothers. But now, finally as you drive home you are able to put it past you, ready to spend the rest of the day at home decompressing, alone.

As you pull up to your house though, you notice Jake is actually still around, and working on something on the side of the house. You feel your pulse quicken as you catch a glimpse of him shoveling dirt, his t-shirt soaked through with sweat as the Tennessee sun beats down on him in the heat of the day. His black sunglasses sit low on his nose as he works, shoveling dirt into a wheelbarrow. His hair is twisted into a knot at the back of his head, a few sweaty strands escaping from his exertion.

Curious as to what exactly he is doing, you find yourself stepping out of your car and walking across the grassy lawn. You’re hesitant at first, still feeling a bit unsure about everything after last night, but you swallow down your anxiety as you step up to the side of the wheelbarrow.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you jut your hip out to the side as you finally speak, “What–What exactly are you doing?”

His head snaps up from his shovel, and he flicks his sunglasses up on his head, surprised to see you. 

“Shit, you’re home earlier than I expected.”

“Huh?” you question. 

“Well, I wanted to get it done before you got home, but, I guess…” he pauses, running his glove covered hand over his dirty face. “Surprise, here’s your garden,” he smirks, “Or what will be your garden.”

“Mine?” you ask, genuinely taken aback.

“Figured it’s the least I could do for you before I leave,” he answers, resting his arm on top of the shovel. 

Shock makes its way through your body, and you’re positive that no one has ever done anything this kind, let alone thoughtful, for you. 

A huge grin spreads across his face as he takes in your look of surprise. “So, you know what you want to plant here?”

You swallow quickly, shaking your head to clear your thoughts, “Yeah, I mean– yeah it’s summer, there’s a lot I can plant right now.” you stammer. “But– I don't have any seeds or–”

“I know,” he interrupts, “I thought…I know of this local plant nursery nearby. I could…take you?” He seems nervous to ask, and continues. “It’s kinda over near my office and I'm sure they have seeds and stuff. I pass it every day.”

“Sure,” you answer all too quickly. “It would need to be soon though, so that they have time to root and everything.”

He looks down to the perfect rectangle of tilled dirt as he smiles to himself, “Yeah. Yeah let me get cleaned up a little bit and we can… go now? If you want?”

“Oh, um, s-sure.” you answer, the initial shock now being replaced by the surprise of his forwardness. 

“Cool, give me a minute. I’ll drive.” he smiles, leaning his shovel against the side of the house before sauntering across the yard and through the front door. 

You stand there staring at this patch of dirt, in the perfect spot for a garden. You didn’t know he knew much about gardening, his brother failing to mention that detail during today's session. You mentally go over your list of summer vegetables, trying to decide what would be best for the space. 

Seconds later you hear the front door closing, and see Jake locking the door behind himself. 

“You ready?” he asks, the past ten minutes a whirlwind of events.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile as you head towards his Jeep. He opens the door for you, helping you inside, his hands still a bit dirty from his work. He joins you seconds later, starting the car and pulling away from the curb. 

“How was work?” he asks, so casual for someone you only just met.

“It was good actually, just a short day, but um, your brother Sam was my last client.” you say nervously. 

“What?” he asks, his head snapping over to the side. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen him once before but I didn’t know you then. I saw his name on my schedule today and figured it had to be your brother, but when I saw him I knew for sure.” you admit.

“Wha–what did he say?” he asks, seemingly nervous. “Did he say anything about me, or?”

“Oh uh, nothing really,” I lie, not ready to disclose some of the things I learned in the hour-long session. “There isn’t a whole lot of talking during the appointments.”

He seems satisfied with that answer, dropping it with the shake of his head and a huff of annoyance.

It’s quiet between the two of you for a few minutes, just the sound of the engine and the faint sound of the radio playing. You decide to break the silence, a question eating you alive. 

“How did you know where to dig? That is the best spot in the whole yard.” you ask. “I had no idea you were into gardening.”

“I mean, I’m not. I did a little bit of research after you told me you wanted a garden here.” he answers, peering over at you beneath his dark lenses. 

“That was just last night…How did you–”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you. Only took a little bit of reading.” he grins, turning his attention back to the road. “Was worth it.”

“Well, thank you. Truly.” you breathe, letting a kind smile turn your lips. 

“Of course,” he answers, his tone the same as yours. Soft. 

—

“How about zucchini?” you ask, “Do you like zucchini?”

“Love it, one of my favorites,” Jake replies, plucking the seed packet from the wooden stand. He has an entire handful of different seeds, insisting you plant them all.

“We can’t do too many! It will be too crowded!” you laugh, scanning the rack of packets.

He shrugs his shoulders and smiles, as he grabs a few more packets of common herbs. Your eyes wander around the quaint nursery spotting a wire rack of plants on their last legs, brown and withering away for a severely reduced price. When you spot the sad looking tomato plant you tilt your head to the side and wander towards it. 

Your fingers graze its sad, wilted leaves, only one lone and tiny tomato bud on its puny stem. The soil is dry, and you can tell it has been neglected in its short life. You feel Jake walk up behind you, taking in the sight just the same as you. 

“I think I’m gonna save it,” you say, turning to meet his eyes. He looks at you like you’re crazy turning to look back at the entire row of strong and healthy tomato plants just behind the two of you. 

“Why that one? There are about a hundred great ones we could get.” he says, gesturing with his head. 

“No, this one is so sad. It needs its underdog story,” you pause, grabbing the frail plant. “I’m saving him.”

A grin pulls across his lips as he gently shakes his head, “Okay. Whatever you want, as long as I get to eat the tomatoes.”

You smile and nod, “So you think I can do it…” you say cheekily. 

“What?” he questions, walking the two of you towards the hose attachments.

“Save him.” you answer.

“Oh, well, yeah. I guess so.” he grins shyly, plucking a new sprayer nozzle from the shelf. “I think I’m going to enjoy watching you try.”

“Oh, well, I thought you knew…” you continue, watching as he shoots you a confused look. “This is a big commitment, you know, becoming tomato parents. It will take the both of us. Are you sure you’re up for that kind of commitment?” you say playfully.

He pretends to be unsure as he taps his fingers against his lips, “Well, I guess I’m gonna have to be, aren’t I? I can’t let you raise him alone.”

“I think so.” you giggle. 

He smiles at you with a brief pause as he looks at the pitiful plant, and then to you, “Then let's pay for him and get him home.”

—

JAKE POV

“Was that the last of the pack?” you ask, watching as Y/N places the last of the cucumber seeds into the ground. The sun is starting to dip below the trees, your daylight nearly gone. You worked all afternoon planting the seeds in the fresh soil, a smile plastered to your face as you talked and laughed at each other's handiwork throughout the process. Her tomato plant, which you named Heinz, was placed in its new home on the front porch, pruned and watered and ready to begin its journey back to full health. 

“Yep, that’s all of ‘em,” she grins, dusting off her dirty hands on her denim shorts. 

You take that as your cue to try out the new spray nozzle you bought for the hose, wanting it to be as easy as possible to water the garden bed. She starts to gently tap her shoe on the dirt, making sure it's packed down as you turn on the spigot and hear the water start to flow. 

You pull the trigger on the nozzle and a few drizzles of water start to flow through the head. You begin to spray the patch of dirt, watering your newly planted herbs and vegetables for the first time. Y/N steps back, crossing her arms across her chest as she watches you. Just as she looks away you aim the spray at her, hitting her arms with the cold faucet water. 

“Jake!” she squeals, your playful action taking her by surprise. She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head and shakes off her wet arms. 

“What?” you ask, a cheeky grin on your face as you spray her again in a different place.

This time her jaw drops as she starts to walk over to you, ready to turn the tables. You back away, holding the water house out of her reach as she tries to wrestle it away from you. She puts up a valiant fight, but it’s just not enough.

“Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. That was my bad.” you lie, waiting for her to retreat just enough, and she does, stepping back and turning her attention back to the water that is now flowing onto the ground. 

But you don’t concede that easily. As soon as she feels safe, you spray her again, knocking her sunglasses off of her head. 

“Jacob!” she shouts, this time running at you full force and ripping the nozzle from your hands before you can stop her. Instantly you are soaked with water from the hose, the two of you fighting each other for the upper hand between sprays of cold water. 

You finally regain control of the water hose as the two of you laugh, now completely soaking wet. You let the spray hit her face, and that is her final straw as she tackles you to the ground in order to end this water war. 

“You are terrible!” she laughs, still doing her best to grab the hose from you. But sadly for her, you are stronger and find yourself rolling her to her back on the muddy grass as you hold the hose out of her reach.

You are both dripping wet and mud covered as you hover over her, your smiles a mirror image of each other as you both breathe heavily trying to catch your breath. It’s then that you take her in, in her most raw, vulnerable state as she lays beneath you. You stare at her for a moment, everything silent between the two of you as the hose continues to run. 

Without warning, your hand moves up to swipe away a muddy drip of water from her cheek, softly and probably far too tenderly for a pair of roommates. Before you can pull your hand from her warm, wet skin, you feel her fingers move to grip at the back of your neck, pulling you down to her as she presses her lips to yours. 

You’re instantly transported back to last night. Back to that first sweet kiss shared between the two of you. Her lips ignite the same feeling as they did then, soft and electric, but this time wet. 

It’s her that initiated this kiss. It’s her that wants this, and so you take that as your green flag to descend deeper into it, kissing her back the way you’ve thought about every second since last night. You let your muddy, wet hand cradle her cheek, your thumb balancing on the curve of her chin. 

You feel yourself relax a bit, really feeling the moment of this kiss. You feel a vibration against your lips as she lets the smallest whine leave her mouth and flow into yours, her tongue beginning to part your lips. Her free hand finds its way to your back, her fist gripping your soaked t-shirt, as her other hand tangles into the hair at the base of your neck.

She tastes how you imagined, stronger than she did last night, and you want more. Your hand slides down her neck as you use your thumb to tilt her chin higher. Your left hand is still supporting your weight above her as she lays in the grass below. You want to get closer, but you don’t want to move too quickly. You’re happy with this, and you’re willing to take whatever she will give you. 

You feel her try to pull you closer, her tongue moving further into your mouth as your own groan leaves your lips. Her wet leg slides against your own and you want nothing more than to feel her naked skin against yours. You almost let yourself settle on top of her, but a passing car pulls you both from the heated moment, placing you both back in your front yard. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, pulling away from her quickly as you realize what exactly had happened. She too, sits up quickly, adjusting her wet clothes and wiping her lips of the taste of you. Yet again you have thrown yourself at this woman, and are left in an awkward situation. 

You stand to your feet and adjust your pants, hoping to conceal the fact that you are hard beneath them. You run your hand over your chin as you look at her, feeling terrible for what happened in the heat of the moment. 

“I’m sorry,” you start, a deeper tone taking over your voice, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” It’s the absolute last thing you want to be saying to her, your attraction to her growing tenfold over the course of the day. 

She stares up at you in shock, or maybe embarrassment, you can’t be too sure. But embarrassment is the last thing she should feel. You haven’t been kissed like that in quite some time. She stands quickly, shielding her hard nipples with crossed arms. She nods and doesn’t say much, and for some reason, it makes you feel worse. 

“We should um, go get cleaned up,” you say, hoping to break the tension. “You can grab the first shower, I’ll clean up out here.”

She nods and starts to walk towards the door, stopping quickly as she calls your name. “Jake?”

“Yeah?” you answer hopefully. 

“Thanks for doing all this.” she says quietly, before disappearing into the shared home. 

—

As you make your way back into the house you notice the quiet. Her bedroom door is shut, and you can’t hear a single sound from behind it. You figured she would be in the shower by now. You walk to the kitchen sink, washing the mud from your hands before attempting to touch anything else in the house. The dirt swirls down the drain as you finally hear her bedroom door open, and the quick closing of the bathroom door. 

You take this as your chance to head to your bedroom, finding your phone laying on the bed, where it has been for the last several hours. Truth be told you forgot about its existence until this exact moment. You strip yourself of your muddy clothes before reaching for it, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as the screen lights up in your hands. 

Missed Call: Sam

You bite your lips together as you decide whether or not to call him back, but eventually decide to fill your mind with something other than the girl in the shower. You hit his contact letting the call ring out as you hold it to your ear. He answers on the second ring. 

“Dude, where have you been?” he asks as he answers the call. 

“Sorry, I was doing some stuff in the yard here. What’s up?” you answer. 

“Nothing too much, thought maybe we could get a drink or something later…”

Fuck yeah, thats exactly what you need. 

“You know what? Yeah, I actually need to speak to you dammit.” you growl out, fully planning to interrogate him about his little session with Y/N earlier. 

“About?” he asks, as if not knowing. 

“I think you know. I’ll see you at Rack Em’ in about an hour?” you confirm.

“See you then.” he says, ending the call. 

A few minutes later you hear her coming out of the bathroom, her figure a blur of blue towel and wet hair as she dashes across the hallway. You let out a deep breath as you pull yourself up off your bed and make your way into the bathroom, ready to shower away the mud and sweat from your skin. 

You grab your towel before stepping into the bathroom, the air still steamy and smelling of her sweet body wash as you enter. You feel yourself start to grow hard just from the smell alone. You start the shower with a growl, pissed at yourself for letting her have this effect on you. For consuming your mind this quickly. 

You cannot do this. She is your roommate.

Your really sexy roommate whose lips were on yours mere minutes ago.

As you step beneath the spray you push all the thoughts of her and everything that happened outside to the back of your mind, showering as quickly as possible, desperate to get out of the house and away from her before you make anything worse.

You dress quickly, pulling a few staple items from your closet and sliding into your boots. You run your fingers through your hair and give yourself a spray of cologne as you pocket your phone, keys and wallet. Your eyes flick over to see her bedroom door is still closed. You briefly consider knocking to let her know you’re leaving, but decide to just let things be and really drive home the point that the two of you are roommates and that's it. No matter if it pains you just a little.

You decide to get to the bar early, giving yourself time to sort out your thoughts before Sam arrives. The last thing you need is for him to catch wind of your feelings that have begun to blossom with Y/N. You throw back a shot of tequila, feeling the burn as it travels down your throat and warms your stomach. You can’t seem to shake the thought of the kiss from your mind, though. Or the feeling of her hands gripping your shirt, or the sounds she made. Fuck. You need another shot.

As the bartender slides you another, you see Sam walking through the door and you wave him down to the corner spot at the bar. 

“You started without me?” he laughs, feigning sadness.

“Couldn’t wait on you all night,” you grin, tossing back the clear liquor. 

“Tequila?” he asks, taking the empty seat next to you.

“The one and only,” you answer, nodding at the bartender as you signal for two more. “Now, why don’t you tell me about your little massage this morning, hm?”

He smiles a cheeky smile, “I wondered if she was going to tell you.”

“She mentioned it. Casually.” you say, tossing back another shot. “The fuck did you say?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he laughs, taking his own shot, but following with a lime wedge. “Just told her your whole life story and every embarrassing fact about you.”

“Fuck you, no you didn’t,” you warn with a deeper voice. 

“No, calm down.” he says as if exhausted. “Just talked about band stuff. She never even mentioned that she was your roommate, but I will say she has magic hands.”

“Fuck off, Sam.”

“Oh, you sound a little jealous there, brother.” he taunts.

“Not jealous. I just– It’s weird. You being her client. That’s all.” you answer. 

“Mhmm.” he hums, giving you a knowing look.

Of course at that exact moment your phone lights up on the bar top, a message from ‘Girlfriend’ displaying across the screen in big bold letters. You try to grab it before Sam notices, but you’re too late as a smile spreads across his face. 

“Huh, is that right?” he taunts, elbowing your side. 

“No. it’s not what you think. I had to put her in my phone like that– Our landlord thinks–Actually I don’t have to explain this to you. It’s not like that. It’s just a lie we are telling the landlord because she is too nice to tell him otherwise.” you ramble. 

“Yeah, uh huh. Sure sounds like it's like that.” he answers, fully unbelieving of your explanation. 

You do decide to spare a glance at her text, opening it as Sam orders another drink.

Girlfriend

8:56PM: Did you leave?

You

8:59PM: Yeah, be back late.

You keep it short and sweet and as neutral as possible, when truth be told, everything in you wants to tell her that you were just out with your brother for drinks and that you would be home soon. But you felt that was too much information for two people who just shared the same house. She didn’t need to know every detail. Right?

Girlfriend

9:01: Oh, okay. I left cookies for you on the stove.

A shock shoots right through your chest. Cookies? You suddenly find yourself wanting to be home, and in her presence, completely negating every other feeling you’ve had tonight. But no. You can’t. You need to make the line clear. Roommates. That's it.

You make it a point to not think about her for the rest of the night, spending time with your brother and making conversation with anyone who came up to you tonight. Sam continues to question you about her, but you shoot him down every single time. You need him to believe it. You even go as far as to accept attention from a girl that has been eyeing you from across the bar. A leggy blonde in a tight black dress.

That seems to shut him up as the two of you share drinks and your mind becomes hazy. The night has grown later and her jokes have become funnier, a kiss is shared between the two of you and in the back of your mind you know it feels wrong. You know that her kiss doesn't even compare to the kiss you shared with Y/N just hours ago. You let her though. You let this nameless woman kiss you in the bar just to prove a point. 

Truth be told she isn’t even your type, quite the opposite actually, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Sam now fully believes you about Y/N. As Sam makes his exit from the bar, you find yourself in the back of an Uber with this woman, Claire, on your way back to your place. His lips are attached to your neck and her hands are in your hair as the Uber driver sends you judgemental looks through the rearview mirror. 

You couldn’t care less though, tipping him as he pulled up at the curb in front of your house. You fumble with the keys as she continues to kiss you, in a drunken state of her own. As the lock breaks free you both stumble inside to find the house dark. You’re both laughing as you push her down the hallway towards your bedroom. You know you’re being too loud but you don’t really care. It’s not that late is it?

“Stay here,” you say, pressing a kiss to her lips before she falls backwards onto your bed. You slip out of the bedroom and shut the door behind you as you make your way into the kitchen, the clock on the stove reading 1:04AM. Shit, maybe it is late. 

You know you’re going to need another shot if you are going to sleep with this girl. You pull a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and twist the lid. You bring the glass straight to your lips and take a long pull. It burns like hell, but you’re already too gone to care. You place the bottle on the counter as you run your hand over your face, unsure if you really want to proceed with Claire.

It’s on the walk back to your bedroom that you get your answer, though. Standing in her bedroom doorway, is Y/N. She’s in the tiniest little shorts and a tank top you’ve ever seen. Her eyes are tired and you can tell you’ve woken her from her sleep. You wonder how long she’s been asleep and what she did tonight, while you left her alone at the house.

“Is everything okay?” her groggy voice asks, it’s quiet and timid. You feel your heart shatter as you realize she is the one you would rather have waiting in your bed. From the moment you kissed her last night, you’ve wanted nothing more.

You don’t want to let her in on this, so you continue with your cold, short demeanor. “Yeah. All good. Great actually.”

Just then, Claire opens your bedroom door, peeking out, revealing her in just her lace bra. “You comin’ Jake?” she asks, and right then you want to disappear into thin air. Claire isn’t the girl you want to be with tonight, and the girl you do want to be with is watching everything happen a foot away from you.

Your eyes shoot to Y/N, who is looking at her before slowly looking back at you. You can tell she is feeling something, but she will never admit it. It’s a similar look to the one she had this afternoon. Right before she kissed you. Right before your wet bodies gave away your intentions with each other. When her lips kissed yours harder than they did last night. Needier and more wanting. 

You know you can’t sleep with Claire. Not when your mind is so consumed by Y/N.

Y/N quickly nods at you, and quietly closes her bedroom door, twisting the lock and retreating back to her bed. 

As if things could get any worse. 

You look to Claire, and a rush of clarity washes over you. You can end this. You can make the right choice. 

This has to stop. You can’t sleep with this girl.

You push your way back into your bedroom and close the door, Claire instantly trying to attach herself to your neck. All you can think of is Y/N and your kiss earlier, it’s as if that is all your brain can process at the moment. You gently push Claire away, shaking your head as you suddenly start to sober up, despite the whiskey traveling through your veins. You can’t use her like this. You won’t.

You shake your head as you look at a very confused and drunken Claire, “Listen, I’m sorry, Claire. We can’t do this. We aren’t in the right state of mind.” you pause, “I will call you an Uber to take you wherever you need to go.”

“You serious?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips, stepping back a bit. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say you, pulling your phone from your pocket. It takes you two minutes to order an Uber, and instantly you begin to feel better. About everything. 

“I really am sorry. I’ll let you get dressed,” you say, slipping out of your bedroom. You feel guilty for bringing her here, but you know this is for the best.

A few minutes later she joins you in the living room, her attitude drastically different than it was ten minutes ago. You feel guilty for leading her on, then shutting her down so quickly but the minute you saw Y/N you knew you were making a bad choice. 

You watch as Claire walks into the kitchen and leans up against a counter as the two of you wait for the Uber to arrive. She grabs a cookie off of the stove and that's when you remember why they are there in the first place. A heat begins to take over your body as you watch her eat the cookie that Y/N left for you. Despite being upset with you, she made and left you these cookies, and all you did is throw another woman in her face. You’ve fucked up, yet again. 

The Uber arrives and you usher her out the front door with haste, praying you never have to see her again, and in a city like this you likely never will. You lock the front door behind yourself and you head back to the kitchen, grabbing a cookie for yourself as you sit in the dark and enjoy what is probably the best chocolate chip cookie you’ve ever tasted. 

As you brush your teeth you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, trying to figure out how you can fix this. If you can fix this. You briefly consider knocking on her door and telling her that you sent her home, but you realize it doesn’t really matter because truth be told you shouldn’t be with her either, no matter how badly you want to be. 

Once again your mind flashes back to this afternoon. All the laughs you shared and the genuine happiness you felt as you planted the tiny seeds in the garden and brought home the sad tomato plant. She has the prettiest laugh, and the best smile. You could stare at her all day. You don’t want to sleep with random women. That’s not who you are. 

You drag yourself into your bed, staring at the ceiling as you replay the kiss over and over in your mind, torturing yourself as you realize it might have been the last one. In a final act of guilt you reach for your phone, pulling it out of the pocket of your jeans and pulling up her contact. 

You

1:38AM: I’m sorry I woke you. Just thought you should know I sent her home. 

You place your phone on your nightstand, wondering if you’d done the right thing, and as your eyes shut you are surprised to hear it buzz with a response. You snatch it off the nightstand far too quickly.

Girlfriend

1:39AM: Why did you do that?

It takes you a minute to figure out the real answer to the question, and if the real answer is the one you should give her. You decide that you’re done lying to her. All it does is get you into more trouble. So, you tell the truth, unknowing of what the future would hold because of it, and praying you were making the right choice. 

You

1:41AM: Because she's not who I want. 

You

1:41AM: Sweet dreams, Y/N.

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[pseudospectre]

A fun fact about me:

When I was little, I loved In A Dark Dark Room but I was so absolutely scared of this image

that I had to cover the page with my hand in order to finish the reading the story.

An additional fact about me:

I was also so scared of the warning sticker on the hot water heater in the basement that I refused to even go near the side of the room it was in.

[raspberryconverse]

You know that you're an adult when you get a new washer and after the first load, you want to wash everything in the house because things came out so clean.

Seriously, you don't realize how shitty your washer was until you get a new one.

[andypantsx3]

LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER

SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.

Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.

The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.

It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.

It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.

Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—

—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.

Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.

“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.

Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”

Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”

Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.

Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.

You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.

You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.

You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.

“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.

He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.

But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.

In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.

His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.

His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.

“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”

Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.

And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.

Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.

“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”

You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.

Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.

You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.

He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.

One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.

He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.

A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.

“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”

Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.

“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.

He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.

Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.

He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.

You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.

“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”

You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.

“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”

Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.

Oh, he really liked that.

You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?

Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”

Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.

Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.

“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”

“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.

“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”

You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—

You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.

He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.

You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.

“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.

Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.

“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.

But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.

You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”

And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.

“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.

Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.

[san8ny]

can you pls write nerdy ellie? it can be sfw or nsfw

HOT! HOT!

?: Ellie is alot of things: She’s well articulated, She’s liked around campus, but for the life of her, she cannot get laid. It’s gotten pretty embarrassing, maybe you can help? - NSFW - Excuse me for any spell checks!

!: My mutuals have really yummy fics about nerd!Ellie so please let me know if you’d like any recommendations. - Thank you for your anon, means sm to me baby

You stare at her with an incredulous expression, the sight alone being one of pure unbridled shock upon this new-found discovery.

“Never?”

“Never.”

She reaffirms after you, running a nervous hand through her auburn tresses to ease the silent tension in the air. Ellie Williams, all around “good at fucking anything,” is a virgin. The thought alone was something that poked curiosity and incredulity. You knew she was quite kept to herself, often times busying with books and videogames, but this was something you didn’t expect. I mean, she was with Dina at one point.

You don’t want to make her make her more uncomfortable than the topic is, so you give her some form of comfort; “It’s quite normal, honestly, I don’t even blame you in this society.”

That earns you a laugh and a slight snort from her, throwing her head slightly back. “Yeah?”

You return a chuckle, shrugging, “Yeah, but you’ve atleast kissed before, right?

She immediately quiets down, olive-toned cheeks flushing with a light wash of embarrassment.

Holy fuck.

If you weren’t shocked before, you were gawking now.

“D-don’t look at me like that, man..” She groans, tossing her glasses onto the coffee table as she buries her face in a nearby decorative throw-pillow. “No, no— I don’t mean in a bad way, just surprised.”

“Surprised?” She murmurs softly, staring at the dim dorm lightbulb that hangs above them, “That’s a first. Dina usually calls me forcibly celibate.”

You want to curse yourself at the noise you let out, eyes watering as you slap your mouth with a cupped palm. Ellie side-eyes you with a scoff as she gets up from her seat, “Yeah, Yeah, Alright—“

“I’ll be serious! I promise.” You call out, reaching for her wrist to sit her back down, to which she does.

“Have you ever, like, considered it, though?”

Her interest piques at this turn, reaching for her glasses back, “What? Having sex?”

Well, duh.

Ellie hums, thinking about it for a second, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it..” She trails off, wiping her lenses with the corner of her graphic-tee, before putting them on. “Only to someone I really like.”

“Aw, that’s actually really sweet, I actually had a friend once who—

“Which is why I want you to fuck me.” She bluntly puts, staring at you four-eyed.

. . .

“Come again?” You cock your head out, “You want me to..?”

She inches forward, nodding like a bobblehead, “Yeah! It makes sense. You’re my friend, and I like you, so it’ll work.” You sigh, shaking your head, “Ells, it doesn’t work like that. What if you regret it?”

“So you’d agree to it if I don’t regret it?” She smiles, tone a bit ecstatic as she sees you entertain the idea.

She really was putting you on the spot, huh?

You stare at her for a bit, studying her face. She seemed enthusiastic about getting the opportunity to even lay hands on your soft skin. Saying you were pretty was an understatement, you were the epitome of wet-dreams; She was head over heels pretty much in-love with you, and the idea of even losing such a prize position like her virginity to you symbolized things she could only dream about.

You roll your eyes as you both kneel on her mattress, her fiddling with your bra like it’s the most complicated thing. “This shit is a death machine, holy smokes.”

Holy smokes?

When she finally succeeds, she’s jittery and giggling to herself, scooting back into the pillows to get a good look at your beautiful breasts. “They’re so fucking hot, ohmygod..” Next thing you know, she’s cupping them softly, kneading the fleshy dough in circular motions, gaze fixed on the way your back arches ever so slightly, eyes fluttering. So she is doing something, right?

She leans her head down, giving your perked areolas experimental licks, opting to suckle them when you give her the green. Your hand finds itself buried in her hair, massaging her tender scalp while she works her tongue on your sensitive buds, closing her own eyes at the pure idea she might be making you feel good.

After a while, you pull her off your tits, pushing her down onto the sheets as she looks at you confused. Poor baby doesn’t understand sex is transactional because she’s too busy giving you her all. You smile softly, leaning over her, legs on each side of her torso as you give her a kiss on the lips, the brief ‘smooch’ sound music to her ears as she opens her heavy lidded eyes back again; they’re filled with neediness, a surge of wanting to be touched more.

By the time you’ve readied her for the real thing, littering her body in soft bruising marks, her voice slightly higher pitched with each ‘uhn!’ she lets out, brows scrunched together and lips slightly ajar, coated in a sheen of saliva from how you kiss her with reassurance you’ll take care of her— she’s telling you with pants, no, begging— “P-please, baby? ‘Can’t take it anymore..”

She means her bottoms, fabric cruely soaked and covered in her own arousal from all the attention you’ve been giving her; Ellie feels lightheaded, tears brimming her crinkled eyes when you thumb her through her boxers. However, words cannot explain the feeling that rushes through her when you lean down and lick a fat strip through the cloth, eyes locked on hers. She hiccups a gasp, shuddering as the cold air hits her mound when you pull the elastic band from the side.

“I wanted to eat it through it, but I think you’re a bit impatient for that, so i’ll cut to what you want.” You whisper, warm breath fanning over her sensitive pussy. By the time you dig in, she’s whining at volumes you literally need to reach up her torso and cover her mouth.

“Uhn! Uhn—! F-fuck—?”

What sorcery did you have on her? Genuinely? She can’t believe she’s been withholding herself from such pleasure, your tongue trudging through her gummy folds making her want to die and come back again. She can barely even think straight, letting out muffled wails against your hand, saliva seeping through and rolling down your wrist in dribbles. You’d be disgusted, but the sight alone boosts your ego, you had her whipped.

Was it mentioned she’s already orgasmed before you even went near her cunt? That’s right, she already came once while you two were kissing. You definitely knew she’d atleast finish early, but damn were you surprised when she shook against you, humming against your lips rhythmatically.

“Am I making you feel good, baby? Can you talk f’me?”

She could barely hear you, and here you were, asking damn questions. Nonetheless, she gives you a small huff in response; alluding that she was somewhat conscious.

Once you deliver her to cum, she’s shivering against the sheets, balling her fists up as you rip both a cry, and orgasm out of her. “A-Ahnnnn..?!.”

Rest of the night, you two went at it like animals; Ellie insisting you teach her everything there was to know about sex in a singular sitting— ..fucking? To say you both tired eachother out would be an underemphasis.

You ruined her.

When you both seemingly knock out, well, atleast you, she slowly sits up, biting her bottom lip in anticipation as she gazes around your naked body, you were gonna sleep over..

She seems more excited at the prospect you’ll stay the night than the fact you two have been literally keeping the entire female dormitory quarters up— likely going to be hit with a personal visit by the RA.

Who cares, not Ellie for sure. She’ll happily flaunt the fact she’s (finally) got some, just to show off.

God, was she a geek.

[sombrashe]

period pains

includes 𐙚˙⋆.˚ vi, viktor, sevika

content 𐙚˙⋆.˚ gender neutral reader, chubby reader, your period is putting you through the ringer

note 𐙚˙⋆.˚ i started my period and have been suffering and all i want is to be pampered

Vi inexplicably started her period at the same time.

The only time growing up near the fissures has been a blessing and it's when she can hear your curses from the bathroom. She simply sat still on the sofa, barely spotting. Her eyebrows furrow as she watches the door handle. Once it starts jiggling she jumps up and bundles a blanket into her arms. Acting casually she medium speed turns and feigns surprise at you being in front of her.

"Wow, peach. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

You frown and shake a box at her, two loose tampons shake around. You needed tampons.

"Say please."

"No. You used them for your fucking nosebleeds. I told you only light but you just had to stuff your nose with my supers. How do they even fit up there."

Her face instantaneously falls as she clears her throat. Yeah, she definitely meant to replace those. Apologizing she immediately starts making her way towards the front door. Giving you a wide berth, she maintains eye contact the entire way. Narrowing your eyes, you watch in silent wrath as she grabs her jacket off the hook. Hurrying out the front door she doesn't come back until she's stopped and gotten you more than you need. Kicking open the door, it bounces off the doorstop and closes with a click behind her.

"P, peach?"

She straightens her back and tries to wave the lingering fear at the base of her neck. She watches you come around the corner, your gaze somehow angrier. You were able to shower in the time it took for her to shop which left you bleeding and alone. Walking towards her, you tear your eyes away slowly before settling them on the mini haul she got for you. Opening the bags she explains why she chose each item.

"So first, I got those tampons. I bought myself two packs of that nose stuffing that that academy student created. The one who always got into fights. I don't know how he didn't get kicked out. Next, I got you something from Jericho. You haven't eaten today. I also went to that shop you're always going to. The one that you buy all the face masks from. Yeah, I stopped there and got you one of each flavor. Watermelon said it helps with hydration. I also chose this banana one, good for dull skin. Not that you have dull skin. I think your skin looks great, just a little acne. Wait."

Your eyebrows soften as you listen to her go on. Once she pulls out those masks your face softens completely and you take a tentative step to your left. She continues on. You simply listen to her speak about the twenty or so masks she bought, you stopped counting after strawberry. Reaching forward you grab two masks at random and hand her one of them.

"Thank you."

She smiles a slings an arm over your shoulder. Her smile is wide as she gives you a sloppy temple kiss. You huff and shoulder yourself against her, her laugh infectious.

Viktor was always working.

You storm out, your moisturized hands clutching another ruined pair of underwear. Kicking out your leg, you make contact with the door frame. The noise echoes down the hallway and your partner peaks around the corner. Getting up from his desk, he makes his way towards you. His speed slows as he assesses your anger.

"Can you make a machine that tears my ovaries from my body?"

Poor thing. He closes the space between you and gently takes the blood-soaked underwear from your hands and mumbles to himself. Moving around the dorm he mixes and matches things until he throws them onto the bathroom curtain to dry. You watch him once again move around the kitchen. Washing hands, peeling fruit, boiling water. All steps in his plan of taking care of you. You curl into the armchair taking up a corner of the room. It was worn by nights fallen asleep in it waiting for Viktor to come home. Pulling a fluffy blanket over your lap you get comfortable as you wait. He comes over a little while later holding a plate out for you. Mangos and strawberries litter the place and you happily take the plate from him. Next is a cup of hot tea that he gently sets to the side of you. Thanking him ever so sweetly, you start munching on the fruit as he goes to retrieve more items. A warm water bottle is positioned against your lower back and you blink lazily as heat overtakes the pain. While finishing off the last of your fruit, you get to work sipping on your tea. He offers to spend time with you in the living room, but you shake your head.

"I'm getting tired, anyways. You can go back to work."

Giving him a tired smile he leans down and presses a loving kiss to the top of your head. Squeezing his bicep softly, you let him go with a yawn before settling down to the sounds of pencil against paper.

Sevika was never around when you needed her.

Tears break over your waterline and drip down the fullness of your cheeks. Cramps rack your body in pain as you stay curled on the couch. She never came home last night, council meetings taking over most of her time. A low groan is ripped from your throat as a particularly tight feeling squeezes your abdomen. Hugging a pillow close to your chest, you bury your face into it and hope that the pain reliever takes over soon. Not soon enough you feel your limbs relax as the pain slowly lessens until it finally stops. The sudden relief has your mind stuttering and it takes mere seconds before you're lulled into sleep.

"Rabbit?"

The low drawl of your girlfriend's voice wakes you from your hazy sleep. Blinking, you raise your head and look around. Your eyes land on her and you waste no time in rising to your feet. Letting the blanket fall halfway on the floor you gather yourself into her arm.

"I started."

You're muffled against her chest, feeling comfortable between the raised flesh. She clicks her tongue and soothes her hand down your back.

"You took something? Did you eat?"

You nod into her chest, you had a sandwich and that was more than enough with pain taking over most of the space in your stomach. Now you stand there stomach growling, pain having left to make room for your appetite to come crawling back. Looking up she gives you a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Go lay down, I'll make you something."

You squeeze her waist before pulling away and padding back onto the couch. Curling up, you take some more pain medicine and watch from your warm nest as she gets to work making you something hearty. You can feel yourself start to doze off and before long you're being shaken awake. Blinking you take in the bowl in her hands. Steam wafts in the air and the smell of meat and cream fills your nose. With a watering mouth, you thank her and greedily take the bowl from her. Wasting no time you gulp down some of the broth despite the insane burn that overtakes the grooves of your mouth.

[porcalinecunt]

boothill punishing reader for calling him ‘just a fucktoy’ so he turns them into one :3

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐘!

🪽 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ friendly banter often devolved into mean spirited teasing, but there’s a fine line that you regretfully cross. Or did you?

·˚ ◌༘͙[featuring] ! ˊ 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐗 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

cw — mean dom! boothill. window sex. degradation. overstimulation. humiliation kink. biting. dumbification(?)

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ author’s note! : ignore the fact that i forgot boothill cannot curse SHHHHH. but it’s finally done and im too tired to proofread this ;-;

friendly banter was a given in your relationship with boothill. you couldn’t help yourself to the free entertainment as the cyborg was forced to get creative with the troublesome filtering system that was installed in his mechanical body, much to his annoyance. 

every swear word he spat out, every nasty phrase that’d slip off his tongue would become the polor opposite. it’d make you chuckle a bit hearing him call you the sweetest names with reluctance in his voice. 

you on the other hand, often have a whole field day with it. spewing out sarcastic and maybe creative remarks just to rile him up even more, only to burst out laughing at his failed comebacks. it was a constant spit for spat that would last until one of you gave up and ended it with a soft make out session or cuddling in your shared bedroom. however, there’s an invisible line in the sand, one you wished you could’ve seen. 

another back and forth, like usual. as the more aggressive you got with boothill, so does your language. you teetered on the edge of your own teeth, slowing coming at his little fuck up’s like his heavily filtered system and his obnoxious munching of his own bullets. the ranger would shoot back with his own attempts, only passing off sarcastic and subtle remarks about that mouth of yours. the tension in the air only grew thicker and thicker before your words finally cut it in two. 

“I dunno why you should be talkin’ bootie, after all, you're just a fucktoy! ♡”

a cackle bursted from your lungs, as you tried to catch your breath. while you were stuck in a state of victory from having the last laugh, you didn’t quite catch the sudden silence that washed over the room until a chill shot at the back of your neck. turning your head, you were met with an unamused boothill, jaw clenched and eyes burning holes into your skull. your laugh diminished into tiny nervous sounds as the machine promptly marched his way to you, ignoring your babbles and apologies as your back pressed against the wall. you understood quickly that despite the unhinged nature of your verbal play fights, there’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed. 

a raspy chuckle tickled your eardrums. “me? a fucktoy? now look who’s talkin’ sweet thing..” 

boothill, now wearing a hungry grin on his lips, promptly threw you over his shoulder with a harsh smack! on your ass. before you could protest, you were chucked onto the nearest soft furniture he saw, in this case being the couch. 

the window in front of it showing off a dazzling view of Penacony, the perfect place to show you off. it didn’t take long for your clothes to be torn clean off by his metal fingers and discarded on the floor while you whined loudly. something that warranted a palm over your pouty lips. 

“shh, now now doll..i don’t think fucktoys can speak. Now can they?” 

he spoke with faux sympathy traced in his tone, as you could only lie there helplessly while his cold hands traced your delicate flesh. boothill was an unpredictable man, some nights he takes it easy while the others have his more cynical nature leak through, tonight being the latter. you screwed your eyes shut once pleasure crawled through your skin, the ranger prying and poking at every sensitive corner of your body. from his ice cold fingers pinching your hard nipples, to his shark-like teeth nipping at your neck. 

“a-sll this..over an insul–” 

“shut it.” 

you flinched, unable to prepare yourself for what the machine had in store for you. you nearly forgot how hard he can be, until you felt something poking at your thighs. 

seven rounds, and he had yet to stop.

your jaw went slack so long ago, nothing but incoherent words and pleading coming out of your fucked out mouth. the taste of his spit lingered on your tongue which rolled out and is now pressed against the glass with the rest of your naked body.

“Ah..! B-Boothill! T-They’ll see uh—us!”

you whimpered, unable to string two words together without a sharp thrust ripping another sound out of your throat. through blurred vision, you could see Golden Hour in all its glory, praying that nobody spots your ilicit act with the ranger. your knees buckled, already weak from how long you’ve been standing without a break as boothill snapped his hips against yours while his teeth sunk into your shoulder for what seemed like the upteenth time.

“you think i give a crap doll? now keep that pretty mouth shut like i asked.”

he hissed in your ear, squeezing the plush of your thighs that were littered with teeth marks. you mewled, feeling the knot in your stomach snapping once again and throwing you into another intense orgasm. your hand curled up into a tight fist, almost banging itself against the foggy glass as stars filled your vision. a raspy chuckle was all you could hear, courtesy of an insatiable and spiteful boothill. he watched as you lost balance and fell onto his metal chest, breathing heavily between sobs.

“awee..~ tired already, doll?”

he cooed, you just wanted to sock his stupid smirk off his face. instead, you pouted, letting out an annoyed whine as you squirmed from his cock simply sitting inside you without moving an inch.

“maybe watch that tongue next time, hon’. then i’ll go easy on ya.”

he laughs, before pressing your limp body against the messy glass again and snapping his hips against yours with his relentless pace. feeling your brain melting from the overwhelming amount of cock he’s stuffing into you, you could only hang on for dear life as boothill made you eat your own words.

quite literally too.

© porcalinecunt 🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩ྀི do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[v6quewrlds]

HOMIESEXUAL, BURROW & IOSIVAS.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow/andrei iosivas x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀10.3k.

summary⠀⁎⠀joe burrow comes and goes through your life like the tides. just when you think you've caught him, he slips away from your grasp. just when you think you've finally moved on, he sneaks back in with empty promises. as if things couldn't get any messier, enter andrei iosivas, joe's wide receiver.

author's note⠀⁎⠀huge thank you to @xolilyxo for saving my life with this idea <3 i haaaate writing meet-cutes/first dates so bear with me for the first part of this fic. joe is genuinely horrible in this one sorry lmao but i love toxic!joe and this was so fun to write. will be taking a little bit of a break from this blog so take this as an apology <3 warnings⠀⁎⠀some usage of y/n, vicious cycles, situationships, reader needs to stand up, 18+ mdni, smut, angst, fingering, a singular spank, backshots!, choking, empty promises, joe will say anything for a nut, condoms used as metaphors lollll, no real ending bc i couldn't choose.

You adjusted your earbuds, the pounding bass of your workout playlist keeping pace with your sprints on the treadmill. The burning in your lungs was a familiar sensation, a small price to pay for the endorphin rush that washed over your tense muscles.

Your attention was squarely focused on your sprints and breathing, exhaling sharply as you watched the clock on the treadmill count down to the end of your cardio session. The chime signaling the end of your workout pierced through the music, and you slowed to a jog, taking a moment to catch your breath and lower your heartbeat.

As you lowered the speed and incline to a brisk walk, you felt a presence beside you. You glanced over to find Andrei, the Bengals' wide receiver, hopping onto the treadmill next to you. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and a smile slowly spread across his face in recognition.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice warm and easy. You took in the sight of him, the tattoos on his left arm flexing as he pressed the start button on the machine. “Y/N, right?”

The two of you had met a few times in passing at games and parties, but you never really had a chance to get to know him beyond small talk. “Yeah. You're Yoshi?” you said with a smile, using the nickname you had heard the team float around him.

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Andrei, but Yoshi's cool. I didn't know you came to this gym.” He matched your pace as you walked side by side, your legs moving in unison.

“Yeah, it’s convenient, for when I’m in town for work and don’t want to miss a workout. How about you? How’s your first off-season in the league treating you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you inhaled and exhaled as intentionally as you could.

Andrei’s smile grew. “It’s been intense, but I’m loving every second of it. Gets a little lonely without the team around though. How about you? You work with Sam's fiancee, right?”

“Jess? Yeah. She was my RA during my freshman year. We work in marketing together. She’s the one who talked me into joining her in Cincinnati after I graduated. Best decision I ever made, really,” you replied.

Andrei nodded, his gaze flickering to the screen of his treadmill as he cranked up the speed, long, tanned legs still in a walk despite the speed increase. “I'm still getting used to the city, but the people here are great. And the fans are crazy about football, which is pretty awesome to be a part of.” He took a sip of his water, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to the display in front of him. You couldn't help but notice the way his biceps bulged as he lifted the bottle to his mouth.

“I don't wanna keep you from your workout, but it was nice seeing you, Andrei.” you said, your racing from more than just the cardio. You stepped off the treadmill, your legs feeling like jelly as you headed for the locker room.

“Hold up,” Andrei called after you, his voice filled with a gentle urgency. He quickly followed you, his eyes searching yours. “This is kind of random, but would you be down to grab lunch or something sometime?” His question hung in the air, charged with an undercurrent of hope.

“I’d like that,” you said, a genuine smile playing on your lips. You felt a sudden warmth spread through your body, and you hoped the fluster in your voice wasn’t too obvious. Andrei’s eyes lit up, and he immediately offered to exchange numbers. You swapped phones and tapped in the digits with fingers that trembled slightly from the excitement of the moment.

The next few days, the two of you texted back and forth, coordinating your schedules. It was a delicate dance, considering your busy lives, but somehow, it worked. You found yourselves with a mutually free afternoon and decided to meet at a quiet spot, a hole-in-the-wall burger joint that had been recommended to Andrei by some of his teammates.

At first, you didn't recognize the address or the name of the burger joint. But as you pulled up to the nondescript building, the heavenly scent of sizzling meat and the sound of laughter spilling out from inside sent your memory hurtling back to nearly a year ago.

You had come here with Joe once.

Joe was a waxing and waning fixture in your life, coming and going with the tides of the football season. The two of you had first met when Joe was drafted by the Bengals, and you quickly recognized the pull of his charismatic orbit. His charm and easy confidence had drawn you in, and your friendship grew into a passionate, secretive not-quite-relationship that had always been tinged with the bittersweet frustration of knowing it couldn’t last.

The league was unforgiving, and Joe had been clear about his priorities - football, family, and his foundation - none of which included space for you. But as the months went on, you found yourself hoping that maybe he would get his head out of his ass. As if he would suddenly wake up and realize that he did have a little space for you in his very short list of priorities.

But there wasn't space. Joe Burrow was a creature of habit, and football was his first love. He'd told you that himself, more than once. The season had taken precedence over your somewhat casual arrangement, and by the time summer rolled around, it had all but fizzled out like the last whispers of a forgotten promise.

Now, as you sat across from Andrei, the smell of greasy burgers and fries swirling around you two, you felt a pang of guilt. You would have had to be blind to miss the way Andrei's brown eyes lit up when he talked about his day and listened eagerly to your lame office stories. He was so earnest, so present, in a way Joe was incapable of being - not that it was the quarterback's intentional doing.

The two of you talked about everything from your families to your favorite movies, and it was easy, comfortable. Andrei had a way of making you feel heard that you hadn't felt with Joe. He wasn't distracted by the shadow of football, his mind wasn't a million miles away on the field. He was right here with you, in this moment. And when he reached out to steal a fry from your plate with a dimple you hadn't noticed before, you felt a jolt of something you hadn't felt in a long time—true, uncomplicated happiness.

“Yo, earth to Andrei! You okay, man?” Tee Higgins’ teasing voice cut through the air as the team gathered around their lockers post-workout. Andrei had been lost in his thoughts, his eyes glazed over as he replayed the events of the past few days texting with you.

Andrei snapped out of his daze, his cheeks flushed with a mix of exertion and embarrassment. “Yeah, my bad, guys. Just had a good session out there.” The lie rolled off his tongue, but the smirks from his teammates told him they weren’t fooled.

“Oh, I bet you had a good session, alright,” Charlie said, waggling his eyebrows. Their side of the locker room erupted into laughter, and even Andrei couldn’t resist a chuckle despite the roll of his eyes.

“Leave him alone, he’s just got a crush is all,” Chase Brown chimed in, slapping Andrei on the shoulder.

Andrei felt the weight of his words and his cheeks grew even warmer. He knew he was being obvious, but he couldn’t help it. You had consumed his every thought since your first real conversation at the gym. The way you had looked at him, the way your laugh had filled the quiet moments between your words, it was intoxicating. He hadn’t felt this way about someone since high school.

“She's older too, ain't she? Like by two years?” Tee said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Andrei nodded, his face growing hotter by the second.

“Yeah, but that's not a big deal, right?” he managed to get out.

Chase laughed. “Who? Jess' friend? That's cool, she's a catch for sure. But why’re you blushing so hard, man?”

Andrei shrugged it off, trying to keep his cool. “It's nothing. Just met up with her a few days ago, you know how it is.”

“Oh, he's gone,” Charlie exclaimed, grinning as he slapped Andrei's back. “You got it bad, dude.”

“Shut up, man. It's not like that,” Andrei protested, his voice betraying the excitement he felt.

Joe kept his head down, focusing on his own locker, pretending not to hear the jokes at Andrei's expense. But the mention of your name sent a jolt through him. He knew he had no claim on you, he had made that clear when he chose football over you time and time again - he was aware. But the thought of you with Andrei was like a knife twisting in his gut. He felt a strange mix of jealousy and protectiveness, a storm of emotions that left a dark, uncomfortable weight on his chest.

As Joe made his way to the parking lot, he was flanked by Ja'Marr and Sam on either side as they talked about their evening plans. He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the unspoken tension. “Has Jess mentioned anything about...?” he ventured, keeping his voice casual, not completing his thought hoping Sam would catch the unspoken name.

Sam shot him a knowing look, eyes narrowed, lips curled into a smirk. “Do you two get off on playing this weird hot and cold game?” He asked Joe, a disbelieving chuckle bubbling from his chest.

Joe’s face remained impassive. “What are you talking about?” He played dumb, hoping his friends hadn’t noticed the jealousy bubbling beneath the surface.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I haven't heard anything about her seeing anyone, but why don't you just text and ask her? Or better yet, just tell her you fucked up and want her back? I know she hasn’t blocked you yet, Jess reminds me of that every time you two come up in a conversation.”

Joe scoffed, trying to play it cool. “It's not like that. I just want to know she’s good. It’s been a while since I’ve seen or heard anything. That's all.” But the way his heart hammered in his chest, his blue eyes defensively wide told the defensive end it was a lie.

“If you say so,” Ja’Marr spoke up, his voice filled with an unmistakable hint of amusement. “But if I was her, I wouldn't take your ass back.”

Joe shot him a look that could've frozen water. “Thank you for your input, Ja’Marr,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing.

Sam laughed again. “Look, I'm sure she has nothing to hide. If she was seeing someone, she’d tell Jess. And since she hasn’t, then maybe it’s not that serious yet. Just apologize, I’m sure she’ll hear you out.”

Joe nodded, trying to convince himself that it was true. But the gnawing feeling in his gut told him otherwise. He knew he had to see you, to find out for himself what was going on. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, not when he hadn’t even had the urge to officially end things.

After arriving home, Joe found himself pressing your contact name, then the FaceTime button, his heart racing. When you picked up, he could see the surprise in your eyes. You looked beautiful, the soft glow of your bedside lamp highlighting the warm tones of your skin. Your curly hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and you had that look on your face, the one that told him that if he played his cards right, you’d fall right into his lap, just like you used to.

“Hey?” you said, a hint of wariness in your voice.

Joe took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. “What's up?”

Your eyes searched his for a moment, reading the tension in his voice. “Not much, just sitting at home. What’s up with you?” you asked, playing along.

“I was wondering if you’re busy tonight,” Joe said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Thought I could come over, catch up.”

You leaned back into the cushion behind your head, raising an eyebrow. You knew Joe’s moves better than anyone else. At times, you thought you knew him better than he knew himself. “Why? You miss me?”

Joe’s eyes held yours, the intensity in them unmistakable. “Yeah, I did. And I wanna see you. If that’s okay?”

You felt a mix of excitement and annoyance. Why was Joe suddenly interested again? You knew he couldn’t just turn it on and off like that - not matter how much he liked to pretend he was unbothered by the gray area of your situationship. But the temptation was too strong. You missed your connection, the way he made you feel.

“Okay, come over then,” you said with a sigh, unable to completely hide the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.

Joe arrived at your apartment later that evening, and the moment he stepped inside, it was as if you had never stopped seeing each other. He took in the familiar scent of your perfume and the sight of you curled up on the couch. He couldn’t help but feel like he was home. The two of you talked about nothing and everything, the conversation flowing easily like it used to. He told you about the team's new plays and strategies, and you updated him on work and Jess' wedding planning.

But there was an undercurrent of tension, something more than just your unresolved history. Andrei's name hovered in the air, unspoken but present. As the night grew later, Joe's eyes searched yours, looking for answers he knew you wouldn’t just volunteer to give him.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” he finally asked, his voice casual, the rush of blood to his face anything but.

You felt a jolt of nerves. You should’ve known this was coming. “No, I’m not seeing anyone,” you replied, your voice steady despite the guilt of such a lie creeping in. “Not officially, or anything.”

Joe’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the muscles in his jaw tense. He knew you well enough to read between the lines. He knew you were lying to him. “But there’s someone you’re interested in?” he pushed.

You nodded, looking away from him. You felt the guilt press harder on your chest. “Yeah, I guess. It’s new, and I’m trying to figure it out. Figure him out.”

Joe leaned in, his hand falling over the back of the couch as if attempting to surround you without actually touching you. “Is it serious?”

His voice was a mix of curiosity and something else, something that made the guilt in your stomach coil tighter. He had a way of suffocating you, of making you feel like you were drowning in his mere presence, and you hadn’t realized how much you missed that feeling.

You took a deep breath. “No, it’s not serious. Not yet, anyway. We’re just...seeing where it goes.”

Joe nodded, his eyes focused intensely on yours. The silence between the two of you grew heavier, charged with unspoken words and desires. Finally, he leaned in closer, deciding he was tired of playing cold and now wanted the hot.

“Can I kiss you?” Blue eyes bore into yours, plump pink lips parted before his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth.

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew what giving in to him would lead to, but you couldn’t resist. You nodded, and Joe’s mouth was on yours before you had the chance to reconsider. The kiss was familiar and yet somehow new, filled with the same passion you had always shared, but with an urgency that hadn’t been there before. It was as if he was trying to claim you, to remind you of what they had before you were swept up in someone else's tide.

As Joe’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, you felt the weight of the decision you needed to make. Andrei’s sweetness versus Joe’s intensity. The comfort of the known versus the excitement of the unknown. Your thoughts spun like a tornado, threatening to consume you. But for tonight, you decided to let it go, to lose yourself in the feeling of Joe’s hands on your body.

You moaned against his mouth, giving in to the moment. And with that one sound, the two of you were back to where you had left off months ago, your bodies tangling together in a dance as old as time. You stumbled towards the bedroom, hands fumbling with clothes and buttons, eager to reacquaint yourselves with each other's skin.

“Joe,” you whispered breathlessly as your bodies collided in a fiery embrace, the passion igniting like dry grass in a summer field. He kissed you like he owned you, and for a moment, you let yourself believe he did. Your bodies moved in a symphony of desire, every touch a silent declaration of his intent.

“What do you want from me, Joe?” you managed to ask between gasps, your body responding to his touch despite the turmoil in your mind.

“I don’t know what I want,” Joe murmured against your skin, his voice ragged with need. “But I know I can’t stay away from you, no matter how much I try.”

Your head tilted to the side as Joe's lips attached themselves to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made your body tremble. The room was spinning with the weight of his body on top of yours, you felt like you were drowning in his touch. It was all too much, too familiar, too overwhelming.

Joe let out a breathy chuckle against your neck, drawing a confused furrow of your brows in response. Your eyes cracked open in question, his blue eyes staring deeply into yours. “Isn’t this my shirt? You kept it?”

You felt a heat creep up your neck, the fabric of Joe’s shirt you had borrowed one night months ago clinging to your body. It had become embedded in your rotation of casual wear that you had completely forgotten it didn’t truly belong to you. “It’s comfortable,” you murmured, your voice thick with shy lust.

Joe's eyes searched yours, a hint of possessiveness flickering in their depths. “It looks better on you than it ever did on me,” he said, his voice gruff as he pulled the shirt over your head, leaving you in only a pair of panties. The air in the room grew thick with anticipation, your eyes locked as you both knew what was coming next.

With a fierce passion that seemed to have been building for months, Joe's hands explored every inch of your body, relearning the curves and planes he had once known so well. His touch was rough, almost desperate, as if trying to erase any memory of anyone else that had been there since him. And for a moment, you allowed yourself to be lost in it, to be consumed by the fire that was him.

He set you back against the sheets of your bed, eyes hungry as they trailed over every inch of your exposed skin. He settled over you, his frame broad as it obstructed your ability to think - or see - anything but him. His hands slid down your body, caressing your waist, your hips, before slipping into the band of your panties. He tugged them off, tossing them aside with a primal growl that made your stomach flutter.

“Unreal,” Joe hummed under his breath, his eyes roving over your bare form, his fingertips tracing the outline of your thighs, your belly, the swell of your breasts. The word seemed to hang in the air, a declaration of his desire, a claim of ownership.

You felt a shiver of anticipation, your body responding to his touch despite the chaos in your mind. You leaned up, your hands finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest, his muscles flexing in the dim light. Your eyes met again, a silent challenge, a silent question, a silent promise of what was to come.

With a low sound, his hands slid down to your thighs, urging them apart as he settled between your legs. The heat of his skin against yours was almost too much to bear, and you found yourself arching up to meet him, your nails digging into his back as he kissed your neck, your collarbone, and your breasts. His mouth was everywhere, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, and you could feel yourself spiraling out of control. The pads of his fingers traced circles on your inner thighs, moving higher, closer to the center of your need, until you were writhing beneath him.

“Joe, please,” you begged, the words slipping out unbidden. He chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that was almost predatory. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, and it was a power trip he didn’t even bother hiding.

“Gimme me a minute,” he hummed darkly. His thumb grazed your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body, making your back arch off the bed. “I want to make sure you don’t forget who this pussy knows best,” he whispered, his voice thick with arousal.

Your eyes widened, and you bit your lower lip to stifle a gasp. The possessiveness in his tone was something new, something you had never heard from him before. It was raw, primal, and it sent a thrill through you that you couldn’t ignore.

Joe’s fingers teased and prodded with a firm pressure that had your hips moving instinctively. He watched your face, his eyes hooded and intense, as if memorizing every reaction. His free hand slid up your torso to the sides of your neck, giving it a trying squeeze that made you moan. The sound was music to his ears, and his mouth found yours again, his tongue demanding entry as his hand continued its merciless torment.

The sensations were overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but respond to his dominance. Your legs fell open wider, giving him full access, begging for more. And Joe delivered, his fingers slipping into your wetness, his eyes never leaving yours. He watched your face contort with pleasure, his own expression a mix of satisfaction and hunger.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Always so wet, so ready. I love that about you.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head as he worked you over, his thumb pressing down on your clit as his fingers curled inside you. You could feel your orgasm approaching, a storm cloud gathering on the horizon, ready to break at any moment. You didn’t know if you could handle it, didn’t know if you wanted to handle it.

His hand moved faster, his grip on your neck tightening slightly as he watched you writhe and unravel beneath him. Your breaths grew shorter, your moans louder, until you were practically sobbing for release. And when it came, it was like nothing you had ever felt before. It burst through you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Your body spasmed around his hand as you rode out the wave, Joe’s eyes never leaving your face, his thumb pressing down harder on your clit as he watched you come apart.

When the tremors finally subsided, you lay there, panting and boneless, staring up at the ceiling. The room was spinning, and you could feel Joe’s weight on top of you, his cock pressing against your thigh. He kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours, as if trying to claim your mouth the same way he had claimed your body. And for a moment, you let him, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his hardness against you, the scent of his sweat and cologne.

“On your stomach, pretty girl, just like that,” Joe ordered, his voice gruff with need.

You mindlessly complied, rolling onto your stomach with a shiver. The coolness of the sheets against your overheated skin was a stark contrast to the heat of Joe’s touch. You felt his hand glide over your back, tracing the line of your spine before it trailed back down, his thumb rubbing tight circles into the base of your spine as he distracted you from the anticipation as he pulled a condom on. Then, without warning, his hand connected with your ass in a firm slap that made you yelp and jolt forward. You looked over your shoulder at him, eyes wide and questioning.

“Want you to remember me every time you sit down tomorrow,” Joe said with a smirk, his eyes ablaze with possessiveness. He grabbed a pillow and placed it under your hips, shifting your ass a bit higher. You could feel his cock, hot and heavy, pressing against you. The head of it slid against your wetness, teasing you, making your pussy clench with want. He didn’t waste any more time, pushing into you in one swift movement that made you gasp, your head falling forward into the sheets.

You felt filled to the brim with Joe, his size stretching you in a way that was both unavoidable and incredibly satisfying. You could feel him everywhere, his grip on your hips tightening as he started to move. He was relentless, his thrusts deep and demanding, setting a pace that had you panting and moaning into the sheets beneath you. You knew your thighs were going to be sore in the morning, but you didn’t care. This was what you had been craving, this was what you had been missing.

“You feel so good, baby,” Joe murmured against your ear, his teeth grazing your skin as he whispered sweet nothings that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel his breath hot and ragged against your neck, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. It was needed, it was carnally satisfying, and it was everything you had been trying to ignore.

Your eyes squeezed shut, and you bit down on a stray pillow to muffle your moans. You didn’t want to admit it, but Joe had a way of making you feel like no one else ever could. It was infuriating and intoxicating all at once. Your hands clawed at the sheets, trying to find purchase, as Joe’s rhythm grew more intense. You could feel your orgasm building again, a slow burn that was starting at your toes and working its way up.

“Fuck, Joe,” you murmured, your voice muffled by the fabric. He chuckled, the sound sending vibrations through your body.

“Just how you like it, huh?” he said, his voice a low rumble in your ear. You whimpered, unable to form words as he continued to fuck you relentlessly.

Your eyes squeezed shut, the sensation of him inside you was overwhelming. Each thrust was like a declaration of his claim, each slap of skin on skin echoing through the room. He was everywhere, his heat enveloping you, his scent infiltrating your senses. It was too much and not enough all at the same time.

“Mm, that’s right,” Joe encouraged, his voice thick with pleasure as he watched the way you responded to his touch. “You need more from me, don’t you?”

You choked out a strained 'yes', the words trapped in your throat by the intensity of your building climax. You felt him shift behind you, his cock sliding out of you briefly before he turned you onto your back. He hovered over you, his eyes burning with desire. His hand found your chin, tilting your head back as he kissed you again, his tongue plunging deep.

With a powerful surge, he thrust back inside you, filling you completely. Your nails raked down his back, your legs wrapping around his waist as you tried to hold on to the last shreds of your sanity. The sensation was exquisite, his length stroking you in ways that only he seemed to know how to. You could feel your body responding to him, your inner walls tightening around him as he picked up the pace.

“Love being inside you, always have,” Joe murmured, his eyes locked onto yours as he pushed deeper, his hips moving in a rhythm that had you both racing towards the edge. Your breathing grew more ragged, your breasts heaving with each thrust. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby. Fuckin' made for me.”

Your eyes fluttered shut again, the words playing on repeat in your head, echoing through your body with every stroke. You knew you shouldn’t let his words affect you, but they did. They hit you in a place you thought you had closed off to him through the distance. A place that was still raw and tender, despite the time apart.

“Missed your pretty voice whispering my name. Can you say it again for me?” Joe rasped, his teeth grazing your neck.

“Joe,” you breathed, your voice shaky and needy. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and you felt his cock swell at the sound.

“Say you missed me,” Joe urged, his eyes searching yours as he continued to drive into you. His movements grew more urgent, each thrust more forceful than the last.

“I missed you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. His eyes flared with triumph and need, his strokes becoming more powerful. He slammed into you, pushing you further into the sheets, with such a fervor that made the headboard thump against the wall with every thrust.

“Fuck, yes,” Joe groaned, his voice strained as he pushed into you. The sound of the headboard colliding with the wall grew louder, punctuating the air with a steady rhythm that matched his own. “Missed you too, more than you know,” he murmured against your skin.

Your eyes squeezed shut, the confession sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. You wrapped your legs around him tighter, your heels digging into his ass as you encouraged him to go harder, faster. The feeling of his cock hitting just the right spot inside you was divine, and you knew you were close.

“I'm sorry,” Joe murmured, his breath hot against your neck as he kissed his way across your throat. “I'm sorry I've been an asshole. Did I hurt you?” He didn’t stop moving, his thrusts still deep and demanding.

Your eyes flew open, and you stared up at the ceiling, your heart racing. The tenderness in his voice was unexpected, and it hit you like a punch to the gut. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond verbally or physically, too ashamed to admit the truth out loud. But Joe read you like a book, his gaze searching your expression for confirmation.

“I know I did,” he said, his voice low and remorseful. He slowed his pace, his strokes becoming more deliberate as if trying to convey his regret through every touch. “But I’m not gonna let you go again, baby. I promise you that. You’re mine, and I’ll make it up to you, every single fucking day if I have to.”

Your heart swelled at his words, even though a part of you knew you shouldn’t let them affect you. But here you were, lying beneath him, your body singing with pleasure, and you couldn’t help but believe him.

“Okay.” You whispered, still avoiding his gaze as your lips pouted in thought.

Joe’s expression softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, his hips stilling for a brief moment. When he pulled back, he said, “Gonna make you feel so good, baby. Just hold on for me, okay?”

The look in his eyes was earnest, and for a moment, all the tension between the two of you dissipated. You whispered your approval, your hands moving to his face, your thumbs tracing the sharp line of his jaw. You could feel his muscles tense as he took a deep breath, then his hips began to move again, slow and steady, as if he were savoring every inch of you. His eyes remained fixed on yours as he pushed into you, each stroke sending a new wave of pleasure crashing over you.

Your walls tightened around him, your body responding to his gentle dominance. His hands roamed over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He kissed you with a tenderness that was at odds with the roughness of your fucking, his tongue dancing with yours, tasting every corner of your mouth. It was as if he was trying to claim you all over again, to erase every memory you had of anyone else.

And for a moment, you let yourself believe there was no one else.

Joe’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of lust and something deeper, something that made your stomach flip. His movements grew more calculated, his hips snapping against yours as he drove deeper. You could feel yourself climbing, your body coiling tightly around him, ready to shatter.

“Look at me, baby,” Joe murmured, his voice thick with desire. “I need to see your eyes when you come for me. I need to know it’s all for me.”

Your eyes opened, meeting Joe’s intense gaze. His eyes were like blue flames, burning into your soul. You could feel the pressure building within you, your orgasm threatening to break free. Your moans and whines were strangled as they escaped your throat, your breaths coming in quick pants as you tried to hold on.

He leaned down, whispering in your ear, “Good girl. Let go for me. Take what you need from me, baby. Wanna hear you scream my name when you do it. Give it to me. Give it all to me.”

The words were like a trigger, setting you off into an explosion of sensation. You moaned his name, your body convulsing around him as you shattered into a million pieces. Your nails dug into his skin, your legs tightening around his waist as the most intense orgasm of your life ripped through you. It was as if every nerve ending in your body was on fire, each spark igniting a new wave of pleasure.

His own climax followed closely, his hips jerking as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning out his release as it spilled into the condom preventing his proximity from truly reaching you. Joe's weight pressed you into the mattress, his breathing heavy in your ear. You remained connected for a few moments, your hearts pounding in sync. Slowly, he pulled out, rolling to the side and disposing of the condom before pulling you into his arms.

Your mind raced as you lay there, your body still trembling. You felt Joe's thumb stroking your cheek, wiping away a stream of tears you hadn't even realized had fallen. He kissed the bridge of your nose, his touch gentle and soothing.

“I've got you,” he whispered, pulling you closer. “I'm not going anywhere.”

You curled into him, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. Joe’s arms around you felt like home, and you didn’t want to leave that behind.

You sighed, deflating against him with no energy to question his intentions or the future. For now, all that mattered was the warmth of his embrace. The comforting beat of his heart against your ear lulled you into a sense of peace you hadn't felt in months. The two of you lay there in the afterglow of passion, your breaths slowly syncing as you held each other tightly.

Your head continued to spin over the next few days, the intensity of that night with Joe replaying in your mind like a highlight reel you couldn’t turn off. Each time you saw Andrei at the gym or exchanged texts, you felt that dreadful pang of guilt. The sweetness of his smile and the genuine concern in his eyes made you feel like the worst kind of person for indulging him when you couldn't get Joe off your mind.

“I'm the worst,” you groaned to Jess one evening, a week after Joe’s unexpected visit. You were lounging in Jess and Sam’s living room, a bottle of wine between the two of you.

Jess looked at you, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. “What do you mean, babe?”

You took a deep breath and recounted the evening with Joe, leaving out the explicit details but sharing enough to paint the picture. Jess’ eyes grew wider with every word, until finally, she spoke.

“Yikes. You might be in deeper than you think,” Jess said, her voice a mix of shock and amusement. She took a sip of her wine, her eyes fluttering over to Sam as he took a seat next to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. “Babe, did you know about this?”

Sam looked at you, his expression begging you to play along. “Know what?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, “Samuel, please. Did Joe say anything to you?”

Sam’s eyes darted to his fiancee whose eyebrow arched in challenge before he cleared his throat. “No actually. I told him to talk to you about the Andrei stuff, but he didn’t say anything happened.” He took a sip of his sports drink, the in-season replacement for his usual beer. “He's actually been pretty tight-lipped about everything, to be honest. Did you guys ever talk it out like I told him to?”

You sighed, playing with the stem of your wine glass. “Sort of. He said some stuff that... I don’t know. It just messed with my head. He said he missed me and that he’s not letting me go again. And when we were together... it was like nothing had changed.”

Jess’s eyes searched yours, understanding dawning as she frowned. “In a good way? Or in a...”

“In a way that seriously makes me question my self-respect,” you replied, your voice laced with frustration and self-pity. You took a long sip of your wine. “And now I’ve got Andrei, who’s so sweet and caring, but he’s also... I don’t know. He’s just different.”

Jess leaned in, her expression earnest. “Look, I know Joe’s got that... that pull, you know? And it’s easy to get swept up in it. But you can’t ignore what you have with Andrei either. Maybe you should take a step back from both of them and figure out what you really want.”

You nodded, knowing Jess was right. But the thought of cutting ties with either of them made your stomach twist. You enjoyed the excitement of Joe, the comfort of familiarity, but there was something about Andrei's gentle persistence that was equally intoxicating. You took a deep breath, setting your wine glass aside.

“I know you’re right,” you said, rubbing your temples. “But it’s so complicated. I don’t want to lead Andrei on or hurt him.”

“What about Joe?” Sam asked, breaking the silence. “I know you guys were never officially together, but do you care about potentially hurting him?”

Your gaze drifted to the floor. “Honestly? I don't. Not in the same way. With Joe, it's complicated. He's complicated. I don't even know if he'd ever truly let himself be hurt by me.”

Sam and Jess exchanged a look, the gravity of the situation settling over them. “Maybe you should just talk to them,” Sam suggested, his voice gentle. “You owe them that much, at least.”

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. You knew he was right. It was only fair to be honest with both Joe and Andrei about your feelings. But the thought of that conversation, of potentially losing one or both of them, was worrying.

Andrei felt like he was slowly going insane, his eyes scanning every line of your last text to him over two weeks ago. He had tried calling, but you always seemed to be busy or your phone went straight to voicemail. With the Bengals' season reaching its peak, he had been thrown into a whirlwind of games and practices, leaving him little time to dwell on his feelings. But now, with the team entering their Bye Week, he had nothing to distract him from the hold you had on his thoughts.

On the second day off, unable to stand it any longer, Andrei found himself at your gym again. He hoped to catch you, to talk things through, to understand what was happening. When he saw you, you looked stunning in a sage green workout set that hugged your curves in all the right ways. He approached, his heart racing, his mind a whirlwind of questions and fears.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice calling out softly through the sparsely populated gym. You looked up, your eyes briefly widening before you schooled your expression into something more neutral. He could tell you were surprised to see him, but there was something else there, something that looked suspiciously like anxiety.

You stood from your spot on the floor where you were stretching, casually reaching for your water bottle. “Hey, Andrei,” you greeted him coolly, your eyes avoiding his.

Andrei’s stomach twisted, his mind racing with a thousand things to say. He took a step closer, his eyes searching your features for any sign of your connection. “Can we talk?”

You hesitated, glancing around the gym before nodding. The two of you found a quiet spot in the corner, the clinking of exercise equipment the only soundtrack to your conversation. He watched as you took a sip of water, your eyes desperately trying to find something to focus on other than him. It was clear you were avoiding eye contact, and his heart sank.

“Look, I’m sorry if I misunderstood things and freaked you out,” Andrei began, his voice tentative. “I just... I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t get why you’re avoiding me.”

Your eyes finally met his, and he was taken aback by the sadness in them. You sighed, setting your water bottle down. You began to clear your throat to speak but paused, your hand picking at a piece of lint dusting your top. Andrei felt his heart racing, unsure of what you were about to say.

“If you don’t want to see me anymore, just tell me,” Andrei said, his voice thick with emotion. “But don’t ghost me. That’s not who I thought you were.”

You could only look at him, your chest tightening at his words. The truth was, you didn’t know what you wanted. Your mind was a whirlwind of Joe’s gravity and Andrei’s sweetness. You took a deep breath, your eyes never leaving his. “It’s not that, Andrei. There was a situation that came up and... I just need some space to figure things out. It’s nothing you did, I promise.”

He searched your face, looking for any hint of what you were referring to, but you offered nothing more. Andrei nodded slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing with an unspoken question. “That’s all I’m asking for. Just tell me if you need some time. I’ll wait, I just... I can’t ignore the way I feel about you. And if you don’t feel the same, then I need to know that.”

Your eyes softened, your heart torn in two. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “Andrei, I feel the same. I really do.”

He searched your eyes for any hint of a lie, finding none. The relief visibly washed over him. “So, what’s the deal, then? Why the distance?”

You took a deep breath, your mind racing with the events of the past few weeks. You had been avoiding Joe's calls too, the fear of what you might admit in the heat of the moment too strong to risk. The guilt was eating at you. “It’s complicated. I have some personal things to figure out. And I don’t want to lead you on, Andrei.”

Andrei nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Okay. I can give you space. But, when you’re ready, can we talk again? Maybe go on an actual date?”

You felt a rush of warmth from the earnestness in his voice.

“Sure,” you said, your voice soft. Andrei's smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. All he wanted to do was give in to the hope that filled him at your words, to press his lips to yours and show you just how far gone he was. But he knew you needed space. So, with a nod, he stepped back.

“I’ll give you some time. But just know that I’m not going anywhere, okay?” His words were firm, a declaration that resonated in the quiet corner of the gym.

You nodded. Your throat was tight with the effort of holding back your true turmoil. “Okay,” you whispered.

Andrei’s eyes searched yours, as if trying to read the story behind your guarded expression. He smiled slowly, a mix of hope and pain etched into the lines of his face. “Cool, just text me when you’re up for it. We can keep it casual, no pressure.” His hands buried in his pockets as he took a step back, giving you the space he promised.

You felt a pang of longing as you watched him walk away, his broad shoulders slightly slumped. The reality of your situation was like a heavy weight pressing down on you, and you couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. You needed to talk to Joe, to understand why he had come back into your life so suddenly and what he wanted. But the thought of facing him, of admitting to your feelings and the mess you had created, was terrifying.

Days turned into nights and the week stretched on. Your thoughts consumed you, a tumultuous storm of emotions. You went through the motions of your daily routines, but your mind was elsewhere, replaying every moment with both Joe and Andrei. The intensity of your feelings for Joe was undeniable, but the tenderness Andrei offered was something you hadn’t experienced before.

So with a deep breath, you reached for your phone and typed out a message to Andrei. “Hey, I’m free tomorrow. If you’re still down, maybe we can grab brunch?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you hit send, the gravity of your decision setting in. Andrei’s response was almost instant, his excitement palpable even through the screen as he offered a time and a location for your date.

The next morning, as you sat across the table from him at a cozy bistro, the scent of pastries and fruity drinks mingling in the air, you felt a mix of anxiety and anticipation. The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and the kind of comfort that comes from unguarded openness. But there was a new tension between the two of you, a known thread of desire that hadn’t been there before.

You found yourself leaning in closer to him, drawn to his gentle smile and the way his soft giggles crinkled the corners of his eyes. When he walked you to the door of your apartment, you held on to a half hope that he would kiss you. But when he just gave you a warm, lingering hug before pulling back to look into your eyes, you realized that maybe this was exactly what you needed. A break from the intensity that Joe brought. A chance to explore something new, something that was patiently waiting for you to catch up instead of dragging you along for the ride.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving you in the quiet embrace of your apartment. The scent of Andrei’s cologne lingered on your clothes, a sweet reminder of the date that couldn’t have gone any better. You took a deep breath and leaned against the door, your heart pounding.

Andrei hadn’t stopped smiling since he hugged you close that morning. His cheeks constantly flushed, and his eyes gleamed whenever he thought of you. He felt like he was floating, his every step lighter, his spirits soaring. He had been waiting for this moment since he first met you, the chance to show you that he was more than just a younger teammate of your best friend’s fiance. He wanted to show you the man he was and the love he had to offer.

The other guys immediately picked up on the change in Andrei's mood, his energy at practice the first day back from the Bye unmistakably lighter. Tee and Charlie exchanged knowing glances, and Chase was the first to speak up. “You keep smiling like that, you might be able to start catching with your mouth.”

Andrei chuckled, shaking his head as he took his place for the next drill. He hadn't realized he had been smiling so much, but he couldn't help it. The date with you had been like a breath of fresh air, and he was eager to see you again. You hadn’t stopped texting since that day, lightly flirting and setting up another date. He was trying to keep things casual, trying to moderate his excitement, but it was hard when he felt like he was finally making progress.

On the other side of the field, Joe noticed Andrei’s change in demeanor, his own mood plummeting. You had shown no interest in seeing him again, and the realization that you might have moved on with someone else—someone on his own team—was a bitter pill to swallow. He threw himself into practice, pushing his body to the limit to distract himself from the ache in his chest. But every time he looked over, Andrei’s smile was like a knife twisting in the wound.

“I’m down bad, bro,” Andrei chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he watched Tee and Ja’Marr laugh at the honesty of his admission. “I haven’t even kissed her yet and she’s all I can think about.”

“You haven’t kissed her?” Tee’s eyebrows shot up, incredulous.

Andrei shrugged, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I want to, but I don’t want to rush it. I’ll do it when it feels right.”

Tee nodded, understanding. “Just don’t wait too long, man. Girls like that, they don’t come around often. You gotta let her know what’s up before someone else does.”

“Speakin’ of, I’m surprised Joe was cool with you two hanging out,” Ja’Marr said casually, rolling his shoulders as the words spilled out casually.

Andrei's eyes snapped over to him, his smile fading. “Joe? What do you mean?”

Ja’Marr looked up, catching the shift in Andrei's expression. “You didn’t know?” He paused, realizing he might have just stepped into a minefield of unspoken locker room drama. “My bad, bro. Never mind.”

But it was too late. Tee stepped forward, shaking his head at Ja’Marr’s retraction. “Nah, finish what you were saying. Andrei deserves to know what’s goin’ on.”

Ja’Marr took a deep breath. “Okay, so, they had a thing a while ago. No labels or nothing, but it was definitely more exclusive than just hooking up. They decided to cool it off because Joe was focused on rehabbing his wrist, and she didn’t like feeling like a distraction. But they do this weird hot and cold shit every now and then, it’s toxic as fuck, honestly. But that’s just how they like it, I guess. Sam swears they soulmates but I don’t know about all that.”

“Damn,” Tee breathed out, his eyes wide as saucers as the information sank in. Andrei's heart dropped to his stomach, the revelation hitting him like a sledgehammer. The world around him grew quiet, the laughter and shouts from the other players fading into the background. He stared at the football in his hand, his mind racing.

“What the fuck, man?” He looked up at Ja’Marr, his voice low and tight. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Ja’Marr held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, we all knew you had a thing for her, but it’s not my place to stir shit up where there might not be anything. Besides, Joe never talks about what they got going on, you know how he is. You and Joe are cool, and she’s not his girlfriend. You do you, you know?”

But Andrei didn’t know. He had thought he had a shot with you, that the connection was real and genuine. But now, knowing that Joe had been in the picture before - and possibly still lurking in the background - the doubt began to creep in. He couldn’t help but feel like he was just the rebound, the second choice. The easygoing charm that usually filled him was gone, replaced by a storm of confusion and anger.

After practice, Andrei went straight to his locker, avoiding Joe’s gaze as he packed up his gear. His mind was racing, trying to piece together what this meant for him. He shot off a text to you, asking to meet up at your place. He needed to hear it from you, to understand the depth of what had happened between you and Joe.

When he arrived, there was a storm in Andrei's eyes that you had never seen before. You felt a sinking feeling in your gut, knowing that something was wrong. He stepped into your apartment, and you could see the tension coiled in his stiff shoulders. He didn’t bother with pleasantries, his question coming out in a rush. “Did you and Joe have something going on before me?”

Your heart stopped. You hadn’t expected this. You took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “We did. But it’s over. It’s been over for a while.”

Andrei’s eyes searched yours, looking for a lie, for any reason to believe you were just playing games. “Then why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was tight, each word forced through gritted teeth.

You felt the walls closing in on you, the guilt of your omission weighing heavily on your chest. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Andrei. It was a complicated situation, and I didn’t know what to say without messing things up between us. I care about you, and I didn’t want us figuring things out to be tainted by me explaining my past with Joe.”

“I don’t care if you hurt me,” Andrei said, his voice filled with intensity. “I care about being with you, about us. How could you think keeping that from me would be better than letting me decide for myself?” His gaze was unwavering, and you knew he wasn’t going to let this go without a fight.

You looked away, your eyes stinging. You knew you messed up, but you didn’t know how to fix it. “I’m sorry, I just—”

Andrei’s hand on your cheek made you stop. He turned your face back to his, his eyes searching yours. “Don’t apologize. Just tell me if there’s still something between you two. Because if there is, I can’t do this. I can’t compete with him.”

Your heart clenched at the raw honesty in his voice. You took a deep breath and met his gaze. “No, there’s nothing going on. I want to move on.”

Andrei studied your face, the tension in his body slowly uncoiling as he saw the sincerity in your eyes. He took a step closer, his thumb brushing over the stress lines marring your face. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Okay.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the air between you charged with a tension that had shifted from anger to something more complex. Andrei leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. It was a declaration of intent, a promise that he wouldn’t back down. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, and you felt yourself melting into it, your hands curling around his shoulders as if you were holding on for dear life.

When you finally broke apart, panting, Andrei searched your eyes again.

“Fuck it.”

He didn’t need to say more. With a newfound sense of urgency, he scooped you up into his arms and carried you to the bedroom, your kisses growing more frantic with each step. The weight of your confessions and the unspoken tension between you had transformed into a fiery passion that could no longer be contained.

In the dim room, you undressed each other slowly, as if savoring every moment. Your hands explored familiar yet new territories, the heat of your bodies melding together as if you were two puzzle pieces that had finally found their rightful place. The intimacy was intense, a blend of attraction and lust that neither of you had ever experienced together before.

“Are you sure?” Andrei’s voice was a gentle rumble against your skin as he paused, his hand hovering over the clasp of your bra. You nodded, the anticipation in your eyes unmistakable.

The rest of your clothes fell away, and you were left in nothing but the glow of the streetlights filtering through the blackout shades. Andrei took his time, exploring your body with a reverence that made your heart swell. Each touch was deliberate, each kiss a silent promise that he would be different from Joe, that he would treat you as more than an option.

Andrei’s hips moved in a steady rhythm, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he was afraid that if he blinked, you would vanish forever.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me, I don’t want you to slip away from me again,” Andrei whispered against your ear, his breath hot and heavy as your bodies moved together. “Gonna make sure you don’t forget me, no matter what happens with him.”

Your eyes searched his, a mix of want and fear. You nodded, your voice a breathy whisper as your eyes rolled back with a flutter of pleasure. He was so deep, so gentle, so deliciously slow as he pushed into you, making you feel like the most precious thing in the world. Your calves resting against his shoulders, legs parted, giving him full access, and he took it with a groan of pleasure that made your toes curl.

Andrei’s eyes never left yours, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your face in the throes of passion. It was raw and beautiful, and it made your heart ache in a way you didn’t know was possible. You could feel yourself letting go, giving in to the moment.

“I’m all yours,” you murmured, your voice thick with need. Andrei’s response was to kiss you again, hard and demanding, as if he was sealing your fate with every touch of your tongues. The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room, a testament to your connection.

His hips began to pick up their pace, propping himself up on one elbow, his other hand roaming your body, leaving trails of fire wherever it went. Your chest heaved, your breath hitching as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. You were falling, and you hoped you might never get back up again.

“Fuck,” you whimpered as he reached between you, his thumb circling your clit with a precision that made your back arch off the bed. Andrei’s eyes were intense, watching your reaction with a hunger that only fueled your own. The room was a cocoon of desire, the air thick with the scent of your arousal and the sound of your ragged breaths.

“Good girl, takin’ my cock like this,” Andrei groaned, his teeth clenched as he fought to hold back. He knew he had to give you what you needed, what he knew you deserved. He could feel the tension building in your body, the way you tightened around him with every stroke. He leaned in closer, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, his words hot and fast. “You’re so perfect, baby, so fucking perfect.”

“More, please, I need more,” you moaned, your voice shaking. He could feel the desperation in your words, the need for release, and he was more than happy to oblige. His hand found your neck, his thumb gently caressing your pulse point as he picked up his pace, his hips slamming into you with a force that was both gentle and fierce.

“Come for me, baby, come all over my cock,” Andrei urged, his voice low and demanding. And as if on cue, your body obeyed, the tension snapping as you shuddered beneath him, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. He watched as you came undone, the sight of your pleasure etching itself into his soul. He couldn’t hold out much longer, the feel of you tightening around him pushing him over the edge.

With a moan of his own, he came, his release hot and powerful as he filled you. He collapsed next to you, his tanned chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. You blinked slowly, biting back a smile as you felt him shiver against you, his milky white spend slowly leaking out of you.

You turned onto your side, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as a hand came down to brush through Andrei's dark hair, your eyes shining with a newfound fondness for the man beside you. He pulled you closer, your limbs tangled together like vines, and you felt a warmth spread through you and couldn't help the giggle that escaped. Your giggles spurred Andrei on, unable to suppress his own chuckle as you two erupted into laughter at the absurdity of your situation.

The room grew quiet, the only sound was your mingled breathing and the occasional creak of the bed. Andrei’s thumb traced patterns on your bare shoulder, his eyes studying your profile in the soft light. “I meant what I said,” he murmured, his voice serious despite the playfulness of moments before. “I want to be the only one for you. I can handle whatever shit comes up with Joe. I just need you to be honest with me.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a knot in your stomach. The weight of your decision settled on your shoulders like a heavy blanket. “I will,” you said finally, tilting your head up to catch his eye. “I promise.” He responded with a soft, lingering kiss on your swollen lips.

Eventually, Andrei’s grip loosened, and he rolled away from you, smiling as you whined at the sudden loss of his warmth. “I need to use the bathroom. Need me to get something to clean you up?”

“Please,” you replied with a tired smile, watching him stride across the room naked. The confidence in his step was something you hadn’t seen from him before - not off the football field at least - and it made your stomach flutter. He closed the door behind him, humming softly to himself. You settled into the sheets, releasing a sigh of contentment.

But like clockwork, it didn’t last long. It never lasted long.

Your phone lit up on the nightstand, catching your attention with the notification of a new text. You rolled over, reaching for it lazily and your eyes widened as you saw Joe’s contact name on the screen. The message was deviously simple, as it always was. Your heart beat out of your chest as you read it to yourself.

Are you free tomorrow? We should do something. Miss seeing you.

[p0orbaby]

Dancing in the Dark

summary: a tactics coach and a vice captain walk into a bar… have a not so secret relationship

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

a/n: i asked for requests and someone sent me this gem

word count: 3.1k

-

Leah texts you at exactly 12:02 a.m., a time she insists is “late enough to avoid suspicion but early enough that we’re not knackered in the morning.” The precision of it is very Leah—practical, calculated, with just the faintest whisper of rebellion. It’s always the same text—Room 308—as if she’s writing it for a stranger who might need the address for their sat nav. She never adds punctuation. You think that’s intentional, a way of keeping it casual, devoid of any intimacy that could be misconstrued.

You’ve stopped bothering to reply. It’s not that you don’t want to see her—want isn’t the word for what you feel when you see her name flash on your screen, but it’s close enough. It’s that typing on my way feels excessive when the answer’s already obvious. She knows you’ll come. You know she knows. And there’s something about that silent agreement that feels like the only part of this whole arrangement that makes sense.

The desk lamp casts a faint yellow glow across the room as you pack up. Your laptop goes into the bag first, followed by the notepad you’ve been using to scribble ideas for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. You pause to carefully align its corner with the edge of the desk—a habit you’ve had since you were a child, though you’re not sure if it’s a quirk of personality or a learned behaviour from years of Catholic school and its draconian rules about neatness.

Your hoodie is next, slung over the back of the chair like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. It’s an old one from university, the logo cracked and peeling, the sleeves stretched from too many washes. It smells faintly of your laundry detergent—a scent marketed as “ocean breeze,” though you’ve always thought it smells more like cheap fabric softener and an overactive imagination. Nothing about it suggests the ocean, or even a breeze. It’s more akin to the air freshener in a Southend-on-Sea rental cottage, the kind with faded floral curtains and a broken kettle. You wonder, briefly, if Leah would find this thought amusing. Probably. She has a way of laughing at things that don’t seem funny until she does.

The hotel corridor is silent, save for the distant hum of a vending machine and the occasional creak of overused floorboards. You walk quickly, your trainers barely making a sound on the patterned carpet—a gaudy, swirling design in shades of burgundy and gold that seems to scream corporate retreat. You keep your eyes trained forward, as if avoiding eye contact with the carpet will somehow render you invisible to anyone who might happen to step out of their room.

You’ve mapped out every staff member’s room, memorised the most efficient route, and calculated the probability of running into someone based on their known habits. Karen from PR always goes to bed early, probably still jet-lagged from the US tour. The physio, Jamie, is a night owl, but he’s more likely to be glued to Netflix than wandering the halls. Leah finds this level of detail ridiculous.

“You’re acting like MI5 is going to raid the place,” she’d said once, sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her hair was still damp from the shower, a faint halo of gold catching the light as she turned her head to look at you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know”

She’d been peeling off your shirt as she said it, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, her eyes glittering with amusement. You wanted to argue, to tell her that fun is precisely what you’re having, in the only way you know how to have it: meticulously planned, risk-assessed, and executed with the precision of a military operation. But then her hands had moved lower, and the argument had dissolved into something else entirely. Something much harder to put into words.

-

Room 308. You knock twice—firm, precise knocks that betray none of the absurd nervousness bubbling under the surface. The kind that makes your palms clammy and your chest feel like it’s trying to audition for a drum solo. The knocks are part of a ritual now, as familiar as tying your boots before a match or double-checking the pitch markings. Three sharp raps, never four, because three would seem impatient, and two would feel too casual, as though you’re dropping by to borrow sugar or ask for her Netflix password.

The door opens almost instantly, as if she’s been standing on the other side, waiting for you. Leah’s dressed in one of those oversized T-shirts she always wears off the pitch, the kind that blur the line between effortless and lazy. This one is black, or it might have been once, but it’s faded now, the fabric soft and worn thin at the seams. The logo across the chest is barely legible—AC__ME—as though it’s been through the wash one too many times. You can’t tell if it’s a nod to Arsenal, a subtle homage to Wile E. Coyote’s endless misfortunes, or one of those niche designer brands that only appear on people with a six-figure salary and a curated Instagram aesthetic. It’s probably the latter. Leah strikes you as the kind of person who’d know what Vetements is and pretend she doesn’t care about it while secretly owning three pieces.

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. Her voice has this easy warmth to it, like she’s just woken up from the kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is. There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, the faint lilt of someone who’s just thought of something funny but isn’t planning to share it with the group. You’ve always liked that about her—how she can hold a joke in her mouth like a secret, like it’s something she doesn’t owe to anyone else.

“Hi,” you reply, because what else is there to say? Hello feels too formal, like you’ve shown up for a job interview, and anything else—anything softer, more intimate—feels dangerous. Like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff just to see how far you can lean before gravity kicks in.

Her room is a mirror image of yours, down to the garish burgundy carpet and beige curtains that don’t quite close properly. It’s a symphony of stereotypical hotel design, where the furniture all looks like it’s been bolted down as a precaution against theft. But there’s something different about hers, something distinctly Leah. It smells faintly of her perfume, a citrusy Chanel scent you’d once looked for in John Lewis out of curiosity. You’d sprayed it onto one of those paper tester strips, only to feel your lungs contract at the price tag. It smells like sunshine and sharp edges, and now it’s permanently tangled up in your memory of her.

The bed is unmade, the covers thrown haphazardly across the mattress like they’ve been caught mid-escape. One pillow teeters on the edge, a casualty of her apparent inability to sleep neatly. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand, its label peeling from condensation. A pair of socks—crew-length, white with a small Nike tick—lie abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, one inside out. The room is messy in a way that surprises you. Leah, who is precise and meticulous on the pitch, leaves her personal space in a state of mild chaos. And for some reason, it makes you smile. It’s humanising, like finding out that superheroes still get toothpaste on their shirts.

You step inside, careful not to trip over her trainers—Adidas Sambas in a muted beige tone, scuffed at the edges but somehow still immaculate in their coolness. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound punctuating the silence like a full stop. You turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the dresser now, her hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. She’s watching you, her eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of open skies and lost afternoons.

“What?” you ask, because the weight of her gaze always makes you self-conscious, like you’ve walked into a room wearing mismatched socks.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You just look…” She pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air like an unfinished melody.

“What?” you repeat, a little sharper this time, though you’re smiling too.

“Like you’re trying not to smile,” she finishes, pushing off the dresser and moving closer.

And maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying not to give away how much you like this—the quiet intimacy of it, the way she looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who knows what this feels like. Maybe you’re trying not to admit how much you want to reach out and touch her, to close the space between you with a single step. But you don’t. Not yet.

-

The sex is unhurried, languid. Leah moves with the same precision she does on the pitch, her hands mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, like she’s planning her next move three steps in advance. It’s the same deliberation you’ve seen in her during matches—the way she reads the game like it’s written in a language only she understands. But this isn’t a match. There are no spectators, no whistles, no rules, just her and you and the slow, deliberate way she’s undoing you, piece by piece.

Her kisses are deep, focused. They land with intent, the kind that makes you forget your own name, let alone the fragile, tenuous boundaries of this arrangement. Her mouth lingers on yours, then moves to your neck, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. She doesn’t bite, not yet, but you can feel her teeth graze your skin, an unspoken promise that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of the hotel sheets.

Her fingertips press into your skin—not hard enough to hurt but just firm enough to leave the ghost of her touch behind, as though she’s marking her territory. They trace the length of your back, down your spine, to your hips. Her thumbs skim over the waistband of your joggers before she tugs them down with a kind of casual confidence that feels maddeningly unfair. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always does.

“You’re so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing. She presses a kiss to your collarbone, her hands slipping beneath your shirt to push it up, her palms warm against your ribs. “That’s not like you”

“I’m—” You try to respond, but her mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice smug as she moves lower, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, her pace agonisingly slow. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips instinctively, barely registering the soft laugh she lets out, the sound dark and smooth like melted chocolate.

There’s no rush. Leah’s always like this—methodical, unhurried. She knows how to take her time, how to keep you teetering on the edge until your body feels like it’s no longer your own. She kisses her way back up, pausing to nip at your jaw, your shoulder, the place where your pulse beats just beneath your skin. Her hand slips between your thighs, her touch deliberate, controlled. And you’re gone.

It’s like a tidal wave, slow to build but devastating when it crashes over you. You’re not sure when you start begging—if it even counts as begging, the broken sounds spilling from your lips without your consent—but Leah doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems pleased, her smirk pressing against the hollow of your throat as she mutters something you’re too far gone to catch.

At some point, she presses her forehead to yours, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She murmurs something—low, unintelligible, a slurred mix of swear words and your name. Or maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s a prayer. Maybe it’s both. You don’t ask her to repeat it. You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe, your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer like you can merge into her, like you can stop time if you just hold on tightly enough.

By the time you collapse onto the mattress, tangled in the hotel’s suspiciously rough sheets, you’re vaguely aware of how loud you’ve been. The walls are thin. The kind of thing where you can hear your neighbour’s TV murmuring away or the occasional flush of a toilet. It’s almost comedic, really, the way you’d tried so hard to avoid being seen earlier, only to make it painfully obvious now. You half expect a knock on the door, some irate teammate demanding silence.

Leah doesn’t seem to care. Of course she doesn’t. She lies beside you, her face flushed, her hair falling loose from the ponytail she’d barely tried to secure. She’s smirking, the way she always does after these nights, like she’s just scored the winning goal and nobody else on the team noticed. Her arm brushes against yours as she stretches out, her skin warm and damp, her breathing slow and even.

-

The next morning, you arrive at breakfast twenty minutes late, a record even for you. You’ve spent the better part of that time in front of the mirror, tilting your head at impossible angles to assess the carnage Leah left on your neck. Hickeys, in various stages of bruise-like blossoming, dot your skin like a battlefield casualty report. You try concealer—two layers, then three—but it only makes you look like you’ve dipped your neck in cake batter. After an extensive wardrobe evaluation, you settle on a jumper with a collar just high enough to obscure the worst of it, but not so high that it screams I’ve made several poor life choices and am now concealing the evidence.

You enter the dining area cautiously, your eyes scanning for witnesses like you’re in the opening sequence of Casino Royale. The room is loud with the sound of clinking cutlery, chairs scraping against linoleum, and conversations overlapping in a way that is both chaotic and oddly comforting. You spot Katie McCabe first, standing by the buffet with a bowl of cereal that is more milk than anything resembling a solid. Her spoon hovers mid-air as she glances at you, then swivels her head in Leah’s direction, who is seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone like she has never made a suspicious noise in her life.

Katie’s eyes narrow, and her mouth stretches into a grin so wicked it should be trademarked. She sets her cereal down and makes a beeline for you, walking with the kind of determination that belongs exclusively to people with too much time on their hands and absolutely no regard for personal boundaries.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes dart to your neck, then back up to your face. “Someone had a busy night.”

You freeze. Instinctively, your hand twitches toward the collar of your jumper, but you stop yourself. Guilty behaviour. Act normal. Be cool. You shrug in what you hope is a convincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, don’t play dumb,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. “What’s that, then? Tactical bruising? Working on a new game plan?”

“I slipped in the shower,” you deadpan. It’s a lie so bad it physically hurts to say, but the alternative is giving Katie McCabe ammunition, and you’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.

She snorts. “Jesus, you’ve got to at least try with these excuses”

You glare at her, but it’s useless. Katie is like a shark in open water—she can smell blood, and she’s circling. She follows you to the table, sliding into the chair next to yours without so much as an invitation. Her cereal sloshes precariously in her bowl, milk dripping onto the edge of the table. She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

Leah, of course, is completely unbothered. She’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone like she’s reading the football section of The Guardian and not actively trying to avoid eye contact with you. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie that looks suspiciously like yours. Katie clocks the hoodie immediately and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Not yet.

“Just to clarify,” Katie says, her voice loud enough to carry to the next table, “are we calling this a team-building exercise or…?”

Leah doesn’t even flinch. Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Mind your business, McCabe”

Katie lets out a delighted laugh, stealing a slice of toast from your plate like she’s earned it. “Oh, it is my business,” she says, buttering the toast with an enthusiasm that borders on offensive. “You lot kept me up all night. Thought someone was being murdered in the next room. Turns out it was just—”

“Katie,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. Your face is burning, your ears hot enough to fry an egg on.

Katie leans back in her chair, utterly unrepentant. “Relax,” she says, taking a bite of the toast she stole. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now”

She winks at you, a gesture so insufferable you consider lobbing a teaspoon at her head. Instead, you glance at Leah, whose lips are twitching at the edges, betraying the smirk she’s desperately trying to suppress.

You shoot her a glare that you hope translates to I will kill you later, but she only raises an eyebrow, as if to say go ahead, make my day.

Katie’s still watching you, her grin as infuriating as ever. “You’re lucky it was me who heard you,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Imagine if it had been Beth. She’d have the whole squad doing impressions by now”

Leah finally looks up from her phone, her expression cool, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “You done?”

Katie holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, try keeping it down. Or don’t. Makes for great entertainment”

You slump in your chair, burying your face in your hands. You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, and when you finally peek through your fingers, she’s smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, but actually smiling, like this is the most fun she’s had in weeks.

You make a mental note to kill her later. Or maybe kiss her. You haven’t decided yet.

[fxstpace]

how you get the girl; teaser

summary: when you lose a bet against your brother and he forces you to go on a blind date, the last thing you expect is to find your ex-boyfriend at your doorstep, with a bouquet in his hand and a confession on his lips.

⇢ pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader ⇢ genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers au, brother’s best friend au (ft. brother!joshua hong) ⇢ teaser word count: 0.6k ⇢ warnings: profanity (full warnings tba)

“Hi,” he says. “Thanks for the shower.”

“No problem.” You swallow the hitch in your voice, gripping the chopsticks in your hand tightly. “I hope the water was warm.”

“It was.” Jeonghan hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering all across your kitchen before finally meeting your gaze. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh, uh, no. I’m just making ramen. Couldn’t find anything else, sorry.” 

You hate the way your throat dries and your mouth clams up. You rest your hip on the counter, keeping your body angled sideways so you can keep one eye on the stove without appearing rude. All these weeks, and Jeonghan still manages to render you speechless. It’s almost ridiculous.

He jerks, a movement bordering a shrug and a grimace. It’s rare to see Jeonghan so awkward, rarer still to see him floundering for words. If there’s one thing Jeonghan is, it’s a smooth talker. He can charm his way into anything, putting that honey-rich timbre and smooth baritone of his voice to good use. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but,” he finally says, “I put my jacket to dry by the washing machine. The rest of my stuff is in the hamper.”

“Oh. Okay.” You nod. Of course he remembers the exact layout of your apartment—he had been there when you went house-hunting, after all—but it still serves as a sharp reminder to what you used to have and everything you couldn’t salvage. You give the ramen a small stir.

“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk.” Jeonghan sounds casual, but you know better than anyone it’s just feigned. “Because of the rain, and all.”

“...Right.” You turn off the stove and carefully tip the ramen into two bowls. 

“How have you been?”

You force out a chuckle. “That’s redundant, Jeonghan.”

“Just being polite.” He is still calm, and it irritates you.

“Why did you want to meet me?”

Jeonghan lets his head drop, his long bangs falling onto his forehead. He’s let his hair grow out; it almost brushes against his shoulders. He still has the same lean, lithe figure he’s always had, though. It’s slightly disconcerting—familiar yet foreign at the same time.

He moves to lean on the counter opposite you, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t meet up with an old friend?”

“We both know your only friend is Joshua.”

“Ouch.” The laugh he barks out is dry. “I have lots of new friends now.”

Your fingers curl into your palm, nails digging into your skin. A tense silence fills the space between you both. Mechanically, you hand him a bowl of ramen and a pair of chopsticks. He takes them wordlessly, nodding his thanks. 

You pick up your own bowl and walk towards your small dining table. You don’t gesture for Jeonghan to follow—you know he will, anyway, just like how he walked into your life with no warning. Your first bite of ramen nearly burns your tongue. You bite back a yelp. 

“Careful, it’s hot,” Jeonghan warns, a hint of a smile on his lips. You glare at him and it vanishes immediately. “Sorry. But I’m serious—how have you been? We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“I wonder why that is.”

“Still the same, I see,” he says, chewing around a mouthful. “I’ve been good too, thanks for asking.”

“You’re an asshole, Jeonghan.” Your grip on the chopsticks falters. They clatter onto the table, but neither of you pay any mind to it. 

Jeonghan rubs some broth off the corner of his mouth, finally averting his gaze to his bowl of ramen instead of looking at you. You sigh, fighting the urge to crawl back into your room and pretend this isn’t happening.

⇢ a/n: thanks for reading! please send an ask/reply if you would like to be added to the tag list :)

[thefreakandthehair]

unplug it (please)

written for ‘plug’ | wc: 437 | rated: m | tags: hospital setting, post-canon fix-it, mutual pining, love confession, requited feelings, fluff, humor, confident steve harrington, eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington (and the machines he’s hooked up to blow his secret) @steddiemicrofic

When Eddie woke up a week after becoming demobat bait, he thought the worst was behind him.

He thought wrong.

It was easy enough early in his recovery to pass his rapid pulse off as a reaction to, well, everything, but that excuse didn't work anymore. At least not on Steve, who happens to be the reason for his humiliating problem.

Like clockwork, Steve entered Eddie’s room with a warm smile.

“Back already?” Eddie asked.

“Not getting rid of me that easy,” Steve teased and plopped down into the hard chair with nothing but a skinny blue cushion for comfort.

I could do better than that chair, he thought. I’d give Steve a great place to sit.

Bee-beep. Bee-bee-beep. Beep.

If he was able to bend down, he’d unplug the fucking machine. It’s embarrassing.

“Your heart’s still doing that? I told Laura!”

Laura’s the worst, but Eddie can’t jeopardize someone else's job just because he’s a coward. Maybe that’s why he said what he said next.

“It's because of you,” he muttered, realizing belatedly how that sounded when he saw Steve’s smile fall.

“Not like that! Fuck. Steve, I’m a weak man and you’re… you. You threatened to have your mom pull her funding from the hospital if they didn’t really try to save me. You carried me out of Mordor! How was I supposed to not fall in love with you after that? I hate that monitor, blowing all of my secrets.”

Eddie’s confession hung heavy in the silence, broken only by the erratic beeping of the monitor, as Steve sat forward with his elbows on his knees. He cleared his throat, and scratched the tip of his nose.

“Did I hear that right?”

“Yep.” Eddie could lie. He could walk it all back, but he didn’t want to be a runner anymore.

“Great, so do you wanna wait until you get out of here for a first date, or should I bring the first date to you?” Steve muses. “I think Laura might give me shit for trying to light a candle in here with the sprinklers.”

“Are you serious?”

“You think you’re the only weak man in this room? You bled through my jacket and I had to wash your blood off my shoulders.” Steve shrugged, one corner of lips just barely upturned. “I almost lost you. I’m not taking that chance again.”

“When you put it like that, I don’t wanna wait.”

“Good."

Eddie’s heart monitor skipped beats, racing as Steve leaned closer, his lips just barely touching his cheek in a soft, innocent kiss.

"Get ready to be wined and dined, Munson.”

[0omillo0]

Han x Reader … Hurt/Comfort

this is a vent post

꒰ 🗯️ ꒱

The argument had started over something trivial—maybe the dishes, or a canceled plan. You couldn’t even remember. But now it had escalated, words flying between you and Han like daggers, sharper than intended. The tension had been simmering for days, both of you stressed from work, from life, from everything that felt like it was pulling you in opposite directions.

Han stood a few feet away from you, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. You could see the frustration etched into his features, the way his brows furrowed in anger, and it made your chest tighten. The air felt heavy, oppressive, and the weight of it was pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

“I don’t get it, y/n. Why can’t you just—”

“Just what, Han?!” you cut him off, your voice rising in defense, tired of feeling like you were constantly falling short. “I’m trying! I’ve been trying, but nothing’s ever good enough, is it?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s not what I’m saying! You’re twisting my words.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline mixing with anxiety as you felt yourself being cornered. You had been here before. This exact feeling. You’d grown up in this kind of chaos, in the shouting, the accusations. In a home where every argument turned into a battlefield, and you had always been the one caught in the crossfire.

“I’m not twisting anything,” you shot back, but your voice trembled, betraying the fear you were trying to bury.

Han’s face was strained, his eyes dark with emotion. And then it happened—the moment he raised his voice, the moment his tone shifted. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even directed at you, but it was enough.

“Goddamn it, just listen to me for once!”

His words echoed in the room, louder than they needed to be, and in an instant, everything inside you collapsed. You froze. Your breath caught in your throat, and it was like you were transported back to a time when every raised voice had meant danger, meant pain.

Han saw it—saw the way your entire body went rigid, the way your eyes widened in fear. His face softened, his mouth opening as if to apologize, but it was too late. The damage was done.

You couldn’t be here. You needed to get out. Now.

“Y/n, wait—”

But you were already grabbing your jacket, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the zipper. Without another word, you turned on your heel and bolted for the door, your heart hammering in your chest. You barely heard Han calling after you, his voice muffled by the roaring in your ears as you sprinted down the street, the rain hitting your skin like icy needles.

---

You didn’t know how far you’d walked or how long it had been. The rain was relentless, coming down in heavy sheets that soaked through your clothes, plastering your hair to your face. You couldn’t feel the cold anymore; you were numb. Numb to everything except the pounding of your heart and the ringing of Han’s raised voice in your ears.

Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of a Seven-Eleven, the neon sign flickering like a dying heartbeat. It wasn’t much, but it was shelter. You pushed the door open, the warmth of the fluorescent lights washing over you as you stepped inside, dripping wet and shivering.

The clerk glanced at you with mild concern, but you ignored it, heading to the back of the store where the windows overlooked the storm outside. You sat down on a bench by the vending machines, curling into yourself, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees as you stared blankly at the rain pounding against the glass.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you ignored it, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You felt stupid. Why had you run? Why had you let yourself fall apart over something so small? But it wasn’t small. It had never been small. The years of trauma, of living in a household that was a constant war zone—it had left you fragile in ways you hadn’t even realized until now.

Your phone buzzed again. And again. The screen lit up with Han’s name—ten missed calls, and the eleventh one ringing through.

On the twelfth, you finally answered, your voice barely a whisper. “What do you want, Han?”

His voice was breathless on the other end, tinged with desperation. “Y/n… thank God. I’ve been calling you. I was so worried. Please, just tell me where you are.”

You sniffed, wiping at your eyes though they were already wet from the rain. “I—I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. I know you’re not. Please, y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice, I swear. I—fuck, I didn’t realize… Please, let me come get you.”

Your throat tightened, the tears finally spilling over as you choked out a sob. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Tell me where you are. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“I’m at the Seven-Eleven on 4th Street.”

“I’m coming. Don’t move.”

---

He arrived quicker than you thought he would, his car screeching to a stop outside the store. You watched through the glass as he jumped out, his hair and clothes instantly drenched in the rain, but he didn’t seem to care. The moment he walked inside and saw you sitting there, his entire face crumbled with guilt.

He rushed over to you, kneeling in front of you, his hands hovering near your arms but not touching you, as if he was afraid you’d pull away. “Y/n… I’m so, so sorry.”

You couldn’t even look at him, your gaze fixed on the wet floor beneath you. “Why did you yell at me, Han?”

His breath hitched, his voice low and raw with emotion. “I didn’t mean to. I swear, I wasn’t thinking. I—God, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t realize how much that would hurt you. I never wanted to scare you.”

The sincerity in his voice made you look up, and when you saw the anguish in his eyes, something in you softened, despite the pain still lingering in your chest.

“You don’t get it,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I grew up with yelling. It wasn’t just yelling—it was—”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently, his hand finally reaching for yours. “I should’ve known. I should’ve been better for you, y/n. I never want to be like them. Please believe me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching with the weight of it all. You didn’t want to be afraid of him. You didn’t want to run from him.

“I was scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to be, but I was.”

His face crumbled, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes. Just… please don’t shut me out.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the rain still beating against the windows like the storm between you was fading. Slowly, tentatively, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his cheek. He closed his eyes at the contact, leaning into your touch, as if it was the only thing grounding him.

“I don’t want to run from you,” you whispered.

He opened his eyes, locking onto yours. “Then don’t. Let me be your safe place.”

Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. It wasn’t rushed, or desperate—it was an apology, a promise. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered, his fingers entwined with yours.

For the first time that night, you nodded, knowing that home wasn’t a place—it was him.

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 1.5 - Before

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending. (Standalone series - not related to any other of my stories/characters)

Hello! I know I said this would be a 2 part series but this part of chapter 2 felt like it's own section, so I've created a mini chapter to bridge the two parts and keep us fed - this is a flashback. Part 2 still to come! Thank you all for the love and engagement you've given this story, as always reblogs and comments are appreciated!

💔

Around 18 months earlier…

This was the shift from Hell.

You must’ve accidentally cursed yourself; it was the only explanation for the non-stop chaos the day had wrought. Apologies to any magical being you may have offended.

The kitchen were somehow out of both maple syrup and hash browns. Roscoe must’ve messed up the inventory order again. The customers affected by this egregious error were certainly making themselves known when you broke the news, while Roscoe sheepishly hid back at the grill. You understood their anger, what kind of diner doesn’t have hash browns or maple syrup?! Sure, you shared their pain – but throwing a spoon at your head seemed unnecessary.

The soda machine had leaked all over your arm an hour into your shift and you couldn’t shake the sticky, goopy feeling no matter how many times you had washed your hands. Your shoe broke, the sole flapping against the floor with every step. A table who had spent their entire two hours there demanding an array of elaborate substitutions and ‘softer napkins’ stiffed you on the tip, despite you bending over backwards to help them out. You found yourself counting the minutes until you could clock out, go back to your shoebox apartment, and bury yourself in bed. Not long to go.

“Hon’, sorry…” Lou called out to you, in that tone he always used when he was breaking bad news, “I know you’re swamped – but can you take care of the gentleman in the corner booth? Marcy just went on break and I gotta cover her other tables and whip that jack-off in the kitchen into shape…”

You sighed wearily, you were due to clock off soon and were closing out your section. But you took a deep breath and nodded over at him, “alright, Lou, but only cos it’s you…”

“Thank-you Hon’,” he beamed at you gratefully, disappearing into the kitchen to go yell at Roscoe.

You wandered over to the corner booth Lou had pointed to, swallowing your frustration and fatigue. There was a man sitting by himself, his face obscured by the menu he held up to read. His fingers curled over the sides of the paper, littered with gold rings and scars. One of his hands seemed to be…metal? A strange glove, perhaps? You could see from the sleeves alone that the dark suit he wore was expensive. Not to mention what appeared to be diamond encrusted cufflinks…

Huh. You at least hoped you’d get a good tip out of him.

“Good afternoon, Sir, I’ll be taking care of you today,” you said sunnily as you pulled your notepad and pen from your apron. “What can I get you started with? Some coffee maybe?”

The man didn’t move. The menu remained upright. He was so still it wasn’t almost eerie. You briefly had a crazy thought that he may have died and nobody had noticed, then dismissing your silliness as quickly as it arrived. Besides, dealing with a corpse in the diner was the last thing you needed today.

A few beats passed, but he still didn’t respond. You cleared your throat and tapped your foot to alert him to your presence. Still nothing. You frowned, maybe he didn’t hear you. Maybe he had airbuds in or something.

“Sir…? Would you like to order?” you asked again, your tone a little more strained this time.

Silence. But you saw one of his fingers twitch so you knew he was still alive, at least.

You were used to rude customers, the ones who were outright hostile towards you, and the ones who treated you as if you weren’t there. This was nothing new. But the stress of your shift with the combined fuckery of everything that had gone wrong meant you were hanging on by a thread. Your usual hardiness and thick skin were weakened, and your customer service mask slipped.

“Look buddy…it’s incredibly rude to just ignore your waitress you know…” you snarkily told the hovering menu, “are you gonna order or what?”

You realised what you’d said too late, clapping your hand over your mouth as an amused chuckle came from behind the menu shield. Just as you went to apologise, the paper dropped to the table, revealing the mystery man behind it.

You blinked, a little stunned at the sight of him.

His chestnut brown hair was slicked back into a perfect bun, complimenting the light dusting of stubble on his cut-glass jawline. Pouty pink lips curled into a smirk as his large, bulky frame manoeuvred in the booth to get a better look at you. But you were most struck by his eyes, so blue and piercing that you could drown in them. Better women than you probably had.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I-” you flustered.

“Don’t be,” replied the man commandingly, his voice low but soft, “you were right. That was rude of me, I’m very sorry. I was lost in my own world there for a moment. I hope you can accept my apology”.

You gawped at him, surprised at his reaction. You felt your face flush with embarrassment. “Uh…yeah. Sure. Sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you; it’s just been a long day…” you admitted sheepishly.

He nodded and studied you carefully, his gaze sweeping you from tip to toe. It felt exposing to be looked at like that, but you couldn’t deny the hint of a thrill it gave you too.

“Well, I’m sorry to have added to it,” he smiled at you.

And what a smile. A knee-weakening smile. All white teeth and warmth. And maybe something…darker?

“My name is Bucky. Bucky Barnes…” he extended a hand towards you to shake, his smile dangerous yet enticing, “Doll, I’d love to hear yours…”

💔

[katsu28]

comfort

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: bad days are inevitable. luckily, you've got george to come home to, who always knows just what to do to make those days a little bit better. (2k)

warnings: george is the sweetest boyfriend to ever exist, an ungodly amount of fluff. literally just pure fluff. i think i got a cavity writing this actually!

a/n: this one's for the lovely @postracehair, who has successfully converted me into a george girl <3

You should’ve known the kind of day you’d have when you slept right through your alarm this morning. 

From then on, the hits just kept on coming. No time for breakfast, morning rush hour traffic adding forty five minutes to your usual twenty minute commute, upcoming deadlines at work with projects nowhere near done and coworkers who can’t tell apples from oranges. 

By the time you manage to clock out of work and head home, you’re dead on your feet.

You drive home in complete silence, knuckles tight on the wheel, teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep the tears threatening to fall at bay. All you need to do is make it home in one piece, and then you can break down, if that’s what it’ll take to put the horrors of today behind you. 

The first thing you notice as you push open the front door when you finally get home is a pair of shoes tucked off to the side in the entryway, a set of keys in the bowl on the little table.

George is home early. 

Relief washes over you at the realization. After the shit day you’ve had, seeing George sooner than you thought you’d get to is your saving grace. 

You trudge further into the flat, towards the living room where you can hear something on TV.

Your boyfriend is sprawled out across the couch watching a rerun of some old football match, but pauses it to focus his attention on you as soon as he hears you moving around behind him. You toss your bag onto the floor, your phone on top of that, rounding the couch slowly. 

“Hey, you’re home!” He exclaims, smiling warmly. “I was just thinking of starting dinner, what d’you think of—” You flop on top of him before he can finish his sentence, face planting directly into his chest without a word. “Oh! Hello there.” 

Despite his surprise, George’s arms wrap around you without hesitation, cocooning you nicely in his warmth. 

He smells like the fancy fabric softener you keep on the top shelf of the laundry room, and body wash you think might be yours rather than his, fresh and clean and so achingly familiar it brings you some much needed comfort right now. You inhale deeply, letting yourself melt against George’s sturdy frame. 

“Bad day?” He asks, rubbing a hand up and down your back. 

You huff out a humorless chuckle. “The worst.” 

“Sorry to hear that, my love,” He murmurs. “What can I do to help?” 

“Build a time machine?” 

George’s chuckle vibrates through his chest. “I’m afraid that’s one thing I can’t do. But what I can do is make dinner while you wash up and change into something comfier. Sound good?” 

“Sounds perfect,” You mutter with a sigh. “In five minutes.” 

He laughs again and you scoot yourself a little higher up, finding that perfect cozy spot between the hard plane of his shoulder and the side of his neck for your chin to nestle in. George curls an ankle around yours, patting around for the remote to resume the match he has on. 

He’ll do his thing while you soak in his presence, that’s usually how things go on nights when you’re both home. 

Five minutes ends up turning into a lot longer, because by the time you manage to muster the energy to even think about getting up, the match is long over and the TV is off. George still lies perfectly content underneath you, long fingers stroking down your spine gently. 

“I stink,” You say bluntly. George snorts. 

“Do you? I didn’t even notice,” He muses, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s such a lie.” 

He has the audacity to look completely and overdramatically bewildered. “What? I would never lie to you. You smell wonderful.” 

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’m going to go shower now.” On your way up off him, you dot a kiss to his lips that takes him by surprise and makes him follow after you, chasing to keep that contact until you push him back down onto the couch with a gentle hand. Even then, he wraps his fingers around your wrist loosely to stop you leaving. “Try not to miss me too much?” 

“Darling, you’re asking the impossible of me,” He chides, letting his head tilt to the side. He looks up at you through his lashes, ocean eyes twinkling in a very enticing invitation for you to stay. 

As appealing as having another cuddle with your boyfriend sounds, a hot shower calls your name even more. You kiss his cheek this time. “Do your best, darling.” 

You don’t catch whatever George grumbles after you on your way to the bathroom, but knowing him, it isn’t anything outrageous. 

George’s self care collection sits meticulously organized on one side of the sink in the bathroom, a total juxtaposition to the mess of yours over on the other. In a way, you suppose it does well to describe the way you both are in real life. 

The stream of nearly scalding water does a wonderful job at starting to soothe the ache in your tense shoulders the moment you step under it, raining down on you like something heaven sent. You could stay in here forever if you wanted to. 

The bathroom door swings open while you’re washing the conditioner out of your hair, then you hear George’s voice. “Not looking! Not peeping in on you, just wanted to drop off a fresh towel.” 

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” You say from behind the wall of hot steam fogging up the glass doors. Through it, you can vaguely make out him with a hand over his eyes, blindly navigating where to put the towel with the other hand. It makes you laugh. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before!” 

George lets out something between an approving hum and a click of his tongue. Finally, his searching hand finds the bar of the door, carefully draping the fluffy material over it. “I popped it in the dryer for a bit. Should still be warm when you finish.” 

Something warm thrums in your chest at the thought of George taking enough care to go that one step further and make sure you have a warm, fresh towel waiting for you. 

“Love you!” You say gratefully. You can almost picture the happy little smile on his face at your words. 

“Love you. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything else.” He’s gone soon after that, but still lingers in your mind as you finish up. George is always on your mind. 

Once you’re out of the shower and wrapped in the toasty towel, you wander to find some clothes, beelining straight for George’s side of the closet to find your favorite jumper of his, the soft one he usually wears on long flights. It still smells like him when you put it on. 

You pull the sleeves over your hands on your way out to join him in the kitchen. Soft music pours from the speaker next to his phone, filling the flat with his easy listening playlist. He likes to play that one on flights too, sometimes so often that you’ve come to associate the songs with him. 

George hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the opportunity to just watch him do his thing. 

He has that ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron you’d gotten him as a joke a few years ago tied around his waist, kitchen towel draped over his shoulder as he scoops whatever food he’s made into two bowls. His shoulders do a little shimmy along to the beat of the song like an absolute fool, and it makes you smile, because he’s your fool. 

You get to love him and all the things he does—big and small. Doing the most to make you feel better after a terrible day, and dancing terribly in the kitchen when nobody is watching. Both describe loving George Russell perfectly. 

It isn’t until he does a half turn for his big finish at the end of the song that he spots you leaned up against the wall and nearly jumps a foot into the air in surprise. 

“Blimey!” He exclaims, pressing a hand over his heart. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” 

“I wasn’t sneaking! You just didn’t see me.” 

“I ought to put a bell on you one of these days.” 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Eh, food for thought.” George shrugs, shedding his apron. “Speaking of food, dinner’s ready.” He pushes one of the bowls towards you.

At first, you’re not sure what you’re looking at. Then, slowly, realization dawns on you. 

He’s made your favorite meal from your childhood, the dish your mum used to make every time you needed that extra bit of comfort after a not so great day. 

There’s that feeling in your chest again, that gooey warmth spreading from behind your ribcage up your neck and to your cheeks at the thought of just how much George cares. About you, about the little things he can do to make you feel better.

He always takes care of you, even if you don't ask. You don't need to ask. George knows what you need without you even having to say a word. 

“Georgie, how…” You trail off, at a loss for words. “How’d you know?” 

“I got the recipe from your mum the last time we had dinner with your parents,” He admits sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She said it was your favorite. That it always made you feel better when you were a kid. I thought it might come in handy for days like these.” 

“You asked my mum how to make my favorite meal.” It isn’t a question so much as a statement that confirms what’s already been said. It takes a second time for it to really sink in. 

“I did, yeah. It might not be exactly the way she makes it, but I gave it my best go. Give it a try, maybe? Tell me if I did good?” 

He watches you carefully as you take a bite, smiling hopefully as you chew. It tastes exactly the same as you remember, and for some reason, it draws up a lump in your throat.

“It’s perfect,” You say softly. 

George beams, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself. “Thought maybe we could eat and watch the sunset. I know how much you love the pretty ones.” He juts his chin over towards where your dining room table overlooks the Monte Carlo cityscape, and you follow his line of sight to see it already set up with place settings and candles. 

The sun is just starting to go down, blues and pinks and oranges all swirling together into a beautiful view over the water. George is right. You’re a total sucker for a good sunset, and this one is absolutely gorgeous. 

You don’t even notice the tears welling in your eyes until George does. 

“Oh goodness! Are you crying?” He asks, borderline frantic. He’s quick to fold you into another hug just in case he’s upset you, when in reality the opposite is true. These are happy tears, grateful tears, what did I ever do to deserve you tears. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” 

“No. No, it’s perfect,” You say again, smoothing your palms over his shoulders. He lets out a visible sigh of relief. “George Russell, you are such a cheesy romantic.” 

George laughs, something clear and bright, your favorite sound in the world. “What can I say? You just bring it out in me.” 

“I love you,” You murmur, voice muffled into the fabric of his sweater. His lips press into your hairline to drop a kiss there. “Thank you for all this.” 

“It’s the least I could do to put a smile back on that lovely face of yours.” 

“What, this old thing?” You joke, beaming up at him. You’re not looking for a kiss, but he gives you one anyway, and hey—who are you to deny either of yourselves the pleasure? 

“Prettiest face I’ve ever had the privilege of making smile again.” 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new fic :)

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

🧠🪱Wiggly Wednesday🧠🪱

Happy hump day, let's unleash those brainworms!

Recent high school graduate Steve, freshly disowned, moving into his first very own apartment. The place is dark and smells funny, the wallpaper is peeling off in places, and the property management firm has a shitty reputation, but beggars can’t be choosers. Anything’s preferable to sticking his feet under his dad’s stupid mahogany table and listening to his bigoted bullshit for another day, right? 

After a long and tiresome moving day involving a broken elevator and lugging all of his boxes up three flights of stairs, Steve has just hit the shower to wash off the sweat when a pipe bursts, cutting off his hot water supply and flooding his ugly, puke-colored floor tiles. Cursing, naked and soapy-haired, Steve slips his way over to the telephone to call the landlord's office. A bored-sounding lady tells him that they’ll send someone over, then hangs up without waiting for a reply. 

Steve has barely even slipped a pair of boxers over his wet ass when the doorbell rings. He opens, only find himself face to face with a long-haired, tattooed guy about his own age. He's clad in a tank top and overalls, carrying a toolbox in one hand and holding a burning cigarette in the other. 

“Hi,” says the guy, dark eyes raking up and down Steve's bare chest. ‘I'm here about the leaky pipe?” 

“Oh,” Steve says, surprised, because damn, that's a swift response time. “Sure, come on in.” 

The guy does, shuffling into the apartment and on to the bathroom without waiting for directions. Steve is left loitering uncertainly in his own hallway. He doesn't need to loiter long, fortunately, because not five minutes later, the guy shuffles back out, drying his hands on one of Steve’s towels, cigarette now dangling from the corner of his mouth. 

“There you go,” he grins, tossing the towel at Steve. “Enjoy your shower.” 

“Thanks,” says Steve, patting his back pocket for his wallet until he remembers that, one, he's not wearing pants, and two, he spent the last of his cash on a vending machine drink earlier because he was fucking parched from carrying all those boxes. “Erm, I'd tip you, but-” 

“Nah, leave it,” says the guy, and wiggles his eyebrows. “The view is more than enough for compensation.” 

Several hours later, Steve is just on his way to bed, the door rings again. It's a grumpy older dude who says he's come to fix the shower. 

“No, it's okay,” Steve says. “Your colleague was here earlier and took care of it.” 

The man laughs. “Colleague? Ha, I wish. There's just me, why d’you think it took me so long?” 

He trudges off, grumbling something under his breath about wasted time, leaving behind a dumbstruck Steve. 

If that was the repair guy … who fixed his shower?

(His name is Eddie. He's a mechanic and lives in the apartment under Steve’s. He's well familiar with the leaky pipes, and when he saw the water running down from his own bathroom ceiling, he immediately knew what the problem was. He also now knows what Steve looks like half naked. They're off to a great start.) 

Tagging some friends to share their own:

@postmodernau @steddie-island @sparkle-fiend @sidekick-hero @slippy-slip

@xgumiho @stevesbipanic @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @pearynice @thefreakandthehair

[shotmrmiller]

currently doing one of my most hated chores which is laundry and it got me thinking.

It's bloody laundry day again. You've got no extra clothes to really wear apart from a loose, grey, too thin pajama shirt and the shorts it came with.

Tragic, but not the end of the world. No one goes to wash their clothes looking like they're right off the runway. And it's also far too early for the laundromat to be packed.

You'll survive.

Slamming your trunk closed, you straighten and wipe the sweat that's beaded on your forehead. Damn muggy air. Even at this hour, the weather chooses violence.

Pulling the door open, you step inside and hiss out a breath through your teeth. In here it's not any better. And there's only one big fan on, out of the many that are in here.

God you hate laundry day.

At least it looks empty.

Tucking your hair away in a makeshift, sloppy bun, you drag your dirty clothes basket to a washer and throw them in.

Next is your detergent and when you pick up the fabric softener, it's almost empty.

God fucking damnit.

And the person that sells stuff isn't in behind the desk.

Slamming the lid closed, you kick your hamper into against the washer and walk toward the cursed fan that probably only circulates the hot ass air in here. But with the way your pathetic shirt is turning damp and sheer from the sweat, and short strands of hair that are starting to glue themselves to the back of your neck, worse is nothing.

And then you're standing in the corner of the laundromat, getting hot air weakly blown into your flushed face. "Goddamn it's hot. Useless fucking fan is just here for decor, i think."

"Ah think so too."

You choke back a scream and spin on the balls of your feet to the deep, accented voice behind you.

A muscular pretty boy with hair the color of damp soil and blue eyes that sparkle brightly, even under the dim light of the place sits with his back to a washer that's currently going.

Devastatingly handsome. And you've been throwing a hissy fit for the past half hour, only to appear in front of him resembling a drowned rat.

Flatlining right now would be great.

"Damned hot in here, alrigh'. Isnae tha' so, Simon?"

Who? Oh no.

How you missed that behemoth is beyond you, but he rises from the ground like a slumbering giant. Ash brown choppy hair and dark, sharp eyes with the rest of his face covered by a black cloth mask. 6'4 at least, and built like bloody fridge.

Someone kill you now.

"Johnny."

His piercing eyes cut to you before flicking back to the man on the floor.

"Get the detergent."

"Aye." Scottish, it sounds like.

You briskly walk away from them two, face burning with embarrassment, back to the washer you're using.

Today of all days, you come across these two. You could cry, honestly.

They're there for as long as you are, and you've long since gotten past your self-consciousness. If you have to melt in this stifling heat for one more second, you just might scream.

You grab your clothes from the dryer with haste, haphazardly throwing them in your basket and with a quick, 'Have a good day!', you're out the door.

As you're about to get in your car, the scot comes bustling out the front door of the laundromat.

"Lass! Ah think these're yers."

What he holds in his hands has tears springing into your eyes.

Undergarments. Why the hell is he-

You can see the tall brit leaning on a machine, with his arms crossed and he's looking right at you.

The walk of shame to the pretty one is almost unbearable. Your trembling hand reaches for your garment. "Thank you."

He chuckles under his breath. "Anytime. See ye around."

How mortifying.