#not me finally writing a little about the ending

[copper-16]

Reminds Me That There's A Room To Grow

Alexia had lost her childhood love at the last moment. Or did she?

{a/n: Hello everyone! Fair warning: I make a lot of changes about the “world” in the fics I write. Alexia grew up in Madrid in this and started out at Atlético Madrid (don’t worry she’s still the world’s biggest culer, trust), and the timing, clubs, etc are often somewhat fudged because I am lazy. If you come on here and start correcting me I’m just going to block you because this is a STORY, it’s not supposed to be accurate to real life because it isn’t real life. This starts in March of 2021, but there are a series of flashbacks. Reader is a few months younger than Alexia in this.

This story can either be: just the 1 part with an ambiguous ending if everyone is satisfied with that, 3 parts with a more solid ending, or 10 parts with a longer story structure (and I like the ending better personally but to each their own). Curious as to everyone’s thoughts are, and it’ll probably dictate how much I end up writing! I hope y’all enjoy the read! Title is from Drops of Jupiter and Spotify link can be found here!}

Dahlias. 

Resilient. 

Warm-hearted. 

Protective. 

Optimistic. 

Mysterious. 

Grounded. 

Alexia thought of the intricate flowers often. She even went so far as to plant some in a garden box on the balcony of her apartment, just so that in the warmer months she could go out and trace the petals gently under her fingertips. A reminder of everything wonderful she had been fortunate enough to have in her life, held in her grasp for just a little bit longer out in the warm air. 

She admitted it was a long time ago, but even if she tried to move on she simply couldn’t. 

—

Alexia is grateful she opted to wear pants for the event, if for no other reason than the fact that she has somewhere to put her hands. The event was on the smaller side, not quite intimate but still not overwhelming either. It’s March now in Barcelona, with warmer weather and sunshine, even if the event for this evening is held indoors. 

It was for Spotify, bringing together ambassadors of the brand from around Spain to interact and connect with the team. Naturally, Barcelona has sent Alexia and Robert along with a few of the staff members to represent Barcelona. The midfielder has spent the better part of the event making small talk, trying to be polite and sociable. These events are inherently exhausting for her, but she still understands the importance of them, even if there isn’t quite enough football talk for her liking. 

As grateful as the blonde is for the visibility of the team and women’s football, there are still moments when she has to force herself to remain appreciative. She sometimes misses the days of kicking the football around in the dirt, where the heaviness of expectations never plagued her. She misses cozy nights on the couch laughing until her stomach hurts or having someone pull her from her work, insisting that she take a break. 

The footballer struggles to remember the last time she took a break. Her life is full steam ahead, all of the time. It was rewarding and exhausting all at the same time. Even when she has a day off or a moment of peace, it never quite felt like hers. 

Everyone expects something of her. 

Everyone wants a part of her. 

But nobody wants her in her entirety. Nobody has in a long time. 

When the midfielder finally breaks away from the delegate of Barcelona members under the guise of going to the bathroom, she takes the time to just explore. The event space is lovely and spacious, with high ceilings and a gorgeous conference room 

She is aiming to head toward the restroom, but she wanders aimlessly. The brunette ends up in a hallway with a gorgeous light fixture, and she finds herself looking up at it in vague awe. She catches movement in her peripheral vision, and when she glances down, her breath catches in her throat. 

It can’t be? 

Could it be? 

After all of this time? 

Your head is turned up toward the light fixture as well, your face partially obscured by the angle of your neck tilting upward to admire the beauty of it. The dress you’re wearing is a deep emerald green, a crushed velvet material with a high cut neckline. There are draped sleeves that barely hit your mid bicep, and the cut of the gown is long enough that it hides that you’re wearing loafers over more socially appropriate heels. 

You’ve always claimed that a woman who spent her life stuffing her feet into uncomfortable shoes simply wasn’t doing life right. 

The ceilings are tall, and the hallway is nearly empty, but Alexia is pretty sure that there is a lack of oxygen in the air. 

And then you turn your head down from the lights above you, making direct eye contact with you.

Her heart stops for just a moment, unable to comprehend the reality of the moment. 

But the footballer realizes at that exact moment that it’s really you. 

—

When Alexia is six, her immediate family moves from the Mollet del Valles to Salamanca for her fathers job. Besides her Mami, Papi, and Alba, the rest of her family stays behind in Barcelona, a fact that Alexia both hates and struggles to understand. 

Concepts of a job and moving are a little far out of her realm, but she tries her best to calm Alba when she cries quietly out of homesickness. Alexia is strong and refuses to cause trouble, so she takes the move with a silent despair as she is abruptly pulled from everything she has grown to know and placed in a new environment. 

Her Mami explains to the two girls that they will return to Barcelona in the summer for a few weeks to visit family, and that they can still go to Barcelona games here in Madrid. The little brunette girl struggles to contain the disgust her face twitches with at the thought of Real Madrid, and Eli forces herself to hold in a gentle laugh. 

In Alexia’s second week of living in Madrid, she meets you. 

Your family lives in an apartment down the street, with your Mama and Papi alongside your two younger brothers. There’s an area between your house and Alexia’s for children which could technically be classified as a park because of the pathetic patch of grass inside a ring of concrete. It doesn’t matter for Alexia, who brings a basketball outside to play in the space after growing bored one afternoon. 

You were already out there, sitting in the small grass patch and playing with the flowers, gentle in the way only a young child could be. That precarious edge where you could crush the petals at any moment, but for whatever reason don’t. 

The brunette perks up, her steps quickening at the sight of you. She has yet to make a single friend here considering that school has not yet started, and now would be the perfect time. 

“Hola,” she introduces herself apprehensively, soft spoken but not exactly shy. You look up at her, surprise melting into a small smile that seems to spread through the rest of your body. 

“Hola,” you repeat, and Alexia sets the basketball down before sitting beside you. 

“I’m Alexia, I live over there. I just moved here,” she explains as she points toward her own apartment complex. You nod in recognition, turning to the opposite side of the street to point out your own home. 

“Nice to meet you Alexia,” you state resolutely, but your focus is still on the flowers underneath your hands, the  caléndulas. 

“Are you a big fan of la flores?” She questions, and you nod, tucking some hair behind one ear as you look over at Alexia. 

“Flori loves la flores,” the brunette declares, giving you a nickname that will stay with you as she pulls you up to go play basketball with her. 

—

When Alexia is seven she joins the Atlético Madrid academy, playing alongside boys her age. She also learns that you hate football with a burning passion. 

After that day in the street, the two of you have become fast friends. One could not be found without the other, wandering around the streets playing imaginary games or dancing together. You could even be coaxed into a game of basketball or handball sometimes if you were in a good mood, but never football. 

It’s strange to Alexia, because football comes so naturally to her. It is a part of her family, but it is not a part of your family. While you are light on your feet, graceful in dancing, other sports are not your cup of tea. 

You’re smaller than Alexia is, smaller than the average girl your age, and it shows when you’re trying to play games with everyone. You never complain about it, weathering the storm of fouls and near fatal injuries from competitors twice your size without so much as a spot of negativity. 

But Alexia knows that it is not your favorite, and she only asks you to play sometime. 

“Come on Flori, please? I need to practice before tomorrow?” Alexia begs, and though you threw her some sass, you quickly agreed when you saw the look in her eye. 

The desperate look on her face was enough to convince you that she really did need help. 

While you weren’t terribly skilled at football, you weren’t horrible at it either. You agreed to help Alexia because she is your absolute best friend in the whole entire world, and when she looks at you with that face, you know she really means it. 

It is all worth it when she comes home the next day, dropping her bag at home and sprinting over to your apartment. She barges past your Mama at the door to run to your room, jumping on your bed and telling you every detail of the day with excruciating detail. 

You want to listen to every single minute, filled with warmth from the clear excitement on her face. You’re happy that she is happy, and you know that football brings her peace in the same way dancing does for you.  

Which is why when Eli asks Alexia to stop playing football at school as a result of her joining a team outside of school, you are the one who covers for her. You easily vouch that she was pushed on the playground rather than scraping her knees playing football. 

The look her Mami gives you lets you know she doesn’t believe you, but she lets it slide regardless, much to your relief. 

—

When Alexia is eight, she learns of how fiercely protective you are. 

It had only been a small thing, a disagreement on the football pitch behind the school you all attended. She was playing with some of the other girls, the few ones her age who still wanted to play football. The ones who didn’t mind getting their knees muddied and running until their lungs gave out. 

Not that it mattered how much they tried, because Alexia always beat them anyways. 

You had chosen not to participate, electing to teach Alba how to weave daisy chains and making sure that your little brothers weren’t getting into trouble while they played together. You had just moved Alba’s hand gently to show her how to twist the stem of the plant correctly when you heard the ruckus. 

You lift your head, taking in the scene in front of you with a renewed urgency when you notice that Alexia was on the ground. One of the other girls is practically standing on top of her, she was so close to the brunette. The girl, Isabella, is practically pink in the face with her anger, yelling about some foul or dirty move on Alexia’s part. 

You didn’t care though, standing up in a flash and stomping your way across the football pitch to the two girls. 

Alexia is by no means a shy person, but she usually leaned toward being more reserved. She has a deep sense of justice though, and has always pressed for everything to be fair, even when it was not to her advantage. 

When she played games with Alba, the brunette would hold her dominant hand behind her back or close her eyes to even the playing field. And while she never let Alba win without reason, she was never overly cruel in her celebrations either. Especially not as one would expect a bigger sister to be. 

She did not have a chance to get a word in edgewise today, not when you stuff your body between the two girls and press your finger into Isabella’s chest, all but shoving her back. 

You tilted your head up in defiance, a positively ferocious look on your face. 

“Hey! There is no need to yell,” you argue ardently, your face twisted in complete and utter vexation at Isabella’s tone toward your best friend. 

Isabella just stares down at you for a moment, probably more shocked to see you there than bothered by the words you just said to her. You were smaller than her and Alexia, and it is rare to see you get angry or irate like this. 

“Right…sorry Alexia,” Isabella says after a moment, offering a sheepish smile before she turns away, walking off of the field over to a few of her other friends. 

You let out a small sigh as your body language settles into something more relaxed and calm. When you look back at Alexia behind you, you find her looking up at you with a tilted head and a look of confusion on her face. 

“What?” You question carefully, back to the serene best friend that the Catalan had come to know over the last two years. There is concern pooling in your eyes as she stood, brushing the dirt off her knees. 

“Nothing I…” she pauses for a moment before she shakes her head, a tiny smile gracing her lips as she lets out a chuckle. “Thank you Flori.” 

You smile up at her broadly before you turn and make your way back to your younger siblings, sitting down and going right back to teaching Alba how to make a daisy chain as though nothing ever happened. 

—

When Alexia is nine, the two of you dance together. 

You are both signed up for folk dance classes by your respective mothers, who have become powerless in trying to keep the two of you apart. The pair of you might as well be attached to one another, as if you need the other in your orbit to continue on with life. 

It’s not that you both don’t have other friends, because you do. But the connection between the two of you is strong, not understood by anyone else. 

Dancing with Alexia is different. She makes you laugh in ways you cannot quite understand, and despite being only nine years old, there is a gracefulness to her movements that the other girls do not possess. There’s an ease to your steps when you are partnered with her, almost as though you two can anticipate the movements of the other without speaking about it. 

Perhaps football has helped her dance abilities, you wonder silently, but even that might be a stretch. 

You aren’t sure it matters though, not when she looks at you with that wide smile that she only ever seems to give you. 

—

When Alexia is ten, she finds you on her walk home from football practice. Her Mami had just started letting her walk home alone, alongside another boy from her team who lived in the area. It wasn’t a far walk by any means, but it gave the brunette a feeling of huge independence that only a ten year old could possess. 

She has just turned the corner to head down her street when she hears loud, loathsome voices. 

“Flori, really? That’s a stupid nickname, just like you are a stupid friend. She only hangs out with you because it is an easy option, not because she likes you.” 

Alexia doesn’t even have time to consciously think before she sees red and surges forward, finding you cowering just slightly under the intense gaze of two older boys. They are in the year above you and Alexia in school, but they always hated the brunette because she was better at football than they were. 

It seemed that their response to this embarrassment was to take out their anger on you. 

Alexia could tell you were trying to show minimal fear, but you were a good head smaller than the boys who towered over you. Luckily for you Alexia wasn’t about to let them get away with it, and she came around the corner yelling in anger. 

The boys weren’t expecting her, and they certainly weren’t expecting the vehemently angry words that flew out of her mouth. 

You watched the exchange with a strange sense of detachment. 

Were you a stupid friend for Alexia? She was getting better at football now, getting noticed by people and places much bigger than the little neighborhood you guys lived in. She could be popular, have any friend she wanted. No longer was she beholden to you in any way. 

When Alexia grabs your arm gently, you look up to find that the boys are nowhere to be found anymore. It is just your best friend with you, her eyes scanning over every feature on your face with a furrowed brow. 

You let out a tight breath as you realize that you two were alone, sinking down to sit on the curb. Alexia joins you, taking your hand and holding it tightly in her own. 

“Are you alright?” She asks softly, and you don’t answer her for a long moment. 

“Do you think that I am a stupid friend? Do you wish you had more popular friends?” You counter, not really answering her question. You don’t want to burden your friend with your own emotions, sticking to the facts of the case rather than the maelstrom of unease swirling in your stomach. The brunette all but flinches at the question, shaking her head fiercely. You turned to inspect her face gently, to see that there were no signs of lying in the set of her jaw or the twitch of her eyebrow. 

“Why would you think that?” She prods softly, her voice only loud enough for you to just hear it. Alexia can tell that this is about more than just what the boys said. The crinkle in your brow gave away the depth of your worries, especially to the footballer. 

“I am not like you Alexia. I don’t like sports, or getting dirty, or playing with the boys. I am not talented like you, I will never be the star people think you will be. I hear them whispering about you, certain that you will be great,” you insist, reticent to a fate that you have seemingly already aligned for yourself. 

But then Alexia moves, crouching down in front of you instead of remaining beside you. 

“I don’t care about any of that if you aren’t my best friend,” she confesses with a sharp intonation, and she means every word of it wholeheartedly. 

She never thinks of herself as doing anything with football, because there is no path for a woman like her to play professionally like the men do. Even if there was, she has no clue if it is something she would want for her future. 

She loves football dearly. 

But she also loves you, and she tells you as much. 

“I will always need you in my life, no matter what. Now that you are here, you are stuck with me and I refuse to give that up. You are my best friend, and I don’t care what I do in life or who I become, you will always be my best friend Flori.” 

And despite everything that told you that you probably shouldn’t, you believe her with everything in you. 

—

When Alexia is eleven, she moves in with her aunt and uncle in Barcelona for the year to train at La Masia. 

You miss her terribly, even though life moves on. Your schedule every week is filled with friends and dance and time spent outside, but it’s never quite the same with Alexia. When you receive a little flip phone, your heart leaps at the thought of being able to talk to her even when she is far away. 

The two of you call every day, and patiently you listen to her describe every bit of frustration and excitement about football. It’s a huge opportunity to play in La Masia but there remain huge obstacles, and the program for the girls is unorganized and frustrating at best. 

You listen patiently, and Alexia is reminded all over again of how her life wouldn’t be the same without you. 

Gratitude and a strange swirling feeling twist in her belly, but it fills her with a warmth all over regardless. 

—

When Alexia is twelve, she returns to Madrid. The La Masia program for the girls has fallen apart, and she comes back to Atlético Madrid. 

She comes back home to you. 

You are unsure of when her smile started to make your stomach flutter, or when the brush of her hand against yours made your heart jump. And honestly, you don’t care. It is the most natural thing in the world to you. 

When she holds your hand for the first time and glances over at you shyly, you simply knew that your heart belonged to her, and somehow hers belonged to you too. 

—

When Alexia is thirteen, you ask her to be your girlfriend. 

Perhaps it's silly and juvenile and you two are the only ones who believe in the seriousness of it. 

She is caught by surprise at you asking, and suddenly the footballer finds herself throwing out her elaborate plan she had come up with to ask you in the following weeks. 

Alexia says yes to you, unequivocally and with a soundness she has never felt before. 

The first brush of your lips against hers lasts for a few seconds, but it’s exhilarating in an entirely new way.  

It’s perfect, as is the way her arms wrap securely around you.

—

When Alexia is fourteen, the two of you begin to experiment a little more for the first time. 

It’s awkward and bumbling sometimes, but there's a layer of comfort and ease above it all. Her lips on yours and the feel of her body next to you keeping you grounded and comfortable, ready to stop at any moment. 

When she pulls away, you find yourself giggling at the tickling sensation of her eyelashes against your skin. You bury your head into her chest, holding tightly to her as you feel a laugh rumble in her chest. . 

Even as she gets better at football and you grow into your own intelligence, it’s still the two of you together, taking life at your own pace. 

—

When Alexia is fifteen, she begins to struggle in school. 

You are the first person she talks to because she knows that you will meet her without judgement. You have always been a good student, and don’t mind spending the time patiently tutoring her. Topics that she should probably understand but do not are broken down into easily digestible ways, and for the first time in weeks her arithmetic work begins to make sense. 

She is able to continue playing without any problems, and her marks improve rapidly with her focus and your dedication. 

“Thank you Flori,” she sings as she walks out of the first session, and you can’t help but laugh at the tone of her voice. 

The footballer beams at you when you declare that your payment is a kiss for every correct answer. 

She pays her pension and then some without an ounce of complaint. 

—

When Alexia is sixteen, she makes her first team debut for Atlético Madrid. It’s a proud day for the whole family, and you sit squished between her father and Alba as you watch her race onto the pitch. 

There’s a sharp determination on her face, and though she only plays ten minutes you can tell she is going to be good. You can’t say you’re surprised, and when she turns toward her family and you and beams as the game ends, you know that you wouldn’t be anywhere else other than here. 

—

When Alexia is seventeen, she reminds you of what you mean to her. 

Atlético games are never terribly well attended with how little importance is placed on women’s football. But there is still a steady crowd, and it is beginning to grow more and more. 

Alongside that growth come some…interesting characters. 

You’re a regular in the stands, alternating between reading your book, watching the game, and doing homework. It’s rare for you to miss a match, though you have missed a goal or two when your nose is shoved in a book. Luckily, Eli, Jaume, or Alba will nudge you if Alexia is doing something important. If they aren’t there, then one of the other players' family members will, a fact that you’re extremely grateful for. 

Your commitment is unwavering, but your interest in any sort of PDA or anything is limited. Alexia is much the same, a characteristic you’ve always been grateful for. 

But then a group of girls from your school start to show up at games. There’s four of them, always sitting in the front row of the stands, no matter what. They cheer Alexia on as though she is their best friend, despite the fact that she told you herself she doesn’t really know them. When the footballer comes toward the stands after games, they rush to greet her. They fawn over her easily, throwing their arms around her for hugs and pressing chaste kisses to her cheek. 

You always find yourself standing awkwardly in the background, wishing to talk to your girlfriend but unable to stop staring at the scene in front of you. 

At first, it’s more funny than anything. You and Alexia’s family joke about her fan club and delight in the way her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. 

But they never stopped coming to games. And by the time you figure out that they aren’t going to stop, you realize that perhaps you need to take a step back. Those girls are popular, sweet, they love football and seem to understand everything. You are intelligent and well liked, but nowhere near as popular or well versed in the game Alexia lives and breathes by. Trying to follow along to each whistle or hand signal is impossible for you, and your interest in learning comes and goes like an ocean tide. 

“I don’t think I can come on Saturday, I have a calculus project I need to work on,” is what you tell Alexia one weekend. But the brunette didn’t buy it for a single second, raising her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“You always just do it at the games – I’ve seen you in the stands with a glue stick before you were so determined to be there,” she points out, calling your bluff easily.

“Well…this is important Ale. It’s our final year of school, I need the marks to get into university,” you defend weakly, but it’s a lost cause. Your grades are extremely good, and you’ll have your pick of schools. One calculus project will not make or break that opportunity by a long shot. 

“Is this about those girls from school?” Alexia questions softly, her voice careful. You glance over at her and sigh after a moment, knowing that there's really no use in lying. The brunette could read you like the back of her hand. 

You don’t even need to voice your concern for Alexia to know exactly what you’re thinking, and she moves to sit down next to you on the edge of her bed. 

“I promise you with everything in me that I do not care about those girls. I don’t care if you are certain that they are nicer or popular or more pretty than you are. You are perfect to me, and I don’t care about them at all. I only care about you, and I only want you. You are my peace and my life, not them,” the footballer insists, and you look over at her with a quiet resignation. 

“Even if they understand football better than me?” You ask, your voice impossibly small. Alexia smiles sadly, reaching out to gently cradle your face in her hands. 

“When I look at the stands, it’s you I search for. It’s you who makes my heart skip a beat when I realize that you’re there. It’s you who fills my stomach with butterflies and sets the wind into my sail. How could I even notice them when I have you, Flori?” 

At the next game, Alexia politely smiles at the girls but moves straight past them to charge up the stands, still in her kit and boots. She gently lifts your calculus project off your lap so that she can press a resounding kiss to your lips, smiling into it when you gasp into her mouth with surprise. 

—

When Alexia is eighteen, two things happen. 

Everything somehow falls together, and falls apart all at the same time. 

The first is that her father dies. 

It's not unexpected, though the reality is still jarring. It feels like she is free falling, unable to find a moment of stability or rest. 

She finds herself in her old bedroom in her Uncle’s house in Barcelona, avoiding the mass of people downstairs paying their respects. While the sympathy of others is heartfelt and sincere, it’s heavy. 

She already feels heavy. Any more of it and she might break into a million pieces, that she is sure of. So she escapes up stairs for a moment, leaving Alba with a cousin and her Mami with an old friend. 

A knock at the door pulls her from her thoughts, and she looks over to see that you have poked your head into the room. 

“Ale?” You inquire gently, the question unspoken between the two of you. Four years of dating and endless years of friendship have left you with an innate ability to know when the brunette needs space, and that doesn’t feel like where she is right now. 

You’re nothing if not respectful though, aware that as much as you sympathize, you really might not have the answer here. Nothing this big had ever happened in your relationship before, or in either of your lives before. There was no book or manual to prepare on how to deal with a grief so complete and overwhelming as this.  

Alexia loved her father deeply, and no amount of time to anticipate or process her thoughts of his illness actually prepared her from the shock of him being gone. 

You had loved Jaume too, how he passed out love like it was free to give, how he laughed without inhibition, how he welcomed you into the Putellas family with ease. But it wasn’t the same, and you were aware. You knew that you felt only a slice of what your girlfriend did, and even just this amount of grief was unbearable. 

You didn’t know how the footballer was even standing. 

Alexia’s eye’s silently pleaded with you to come in, so you did. You moved across the room before laying down on the bed next to her until the two of you were laying parallel, staring up at the ceiling together. You’re exhausted as well with all the stress and worry, but your first thought is always her. 

It always has been. 

No words are exchanged between the two of you for a long stretch of time. 

What is there to say? 

Your heart aches for her, and for her loss, for her family. Alexia screws her eyes shut, trying to regulate her own breathing. Everything about her feels erratic and out of control.

The footballer turns to her side, tucking herself into your body. She clutches to your arm tightly, forcing herself to copy your steady, dependable breathing. 

As much as she needs her Mami and Alba in this time, she has to work to be strong for them. She was the person they looked to, the decision maker, the leader. They need her, and she would kill herself before she neglected that need. 

But you are her strength, you always have been. You are the one who protects her, whose only thought is her. You have always been constant and steadfast for her through anything, a pillar of strength. She relies on you, and it scares the hell out of her. 

And yet you’re right there, and you seem to take it with a practiced ease that makes Alexia want to sob with gratitude. 

Loss engulfs her and brings her back, your steady hand in hers the entire time. There is rarely a moment when she needs you and you are not there for her, always attuned to her moods and thoughts. 

But then a huge curveball is thrown in Alexia’s way. 

Two weeks after her father passes away, Barcelona calls her. They are creating a women’s team, and though it is not professionalized, it is a team. 

Alexia accepts the request on the spot, not even stopping to consider the consequences. 

It doesn’t matter, the answer would still be yes. Her Mami and Alba are thrilled, quickly deciding that they all should move back to Barcelona together. It was time, and as much as they had built a community here in Madrid, Barcelona would always be home for them. 

Alexia goes to you that night and asks you to move with her. She explains her plan vividly, how you can go to school, she will play football, and you both can get part time jobs. You’ll get a little apartment together, actually start the beginning of your lives together. 

There was never a world in which you were not together, not with how happy you both were together. It was a no-brainer, an easy solution to a problem that had never existed. Life for her didn’t exist without you in it. 

Alexia would move first, and you would follow her in two months once you had received your university acceptance letter. It was a fool proof plan in the Catalans mind. 

At least, it had been a fool proof plan. 

The night before Alexia was scheduled to leave, you arrived at her door. The surprise and excitement on her face quickly gave way to intense concern when she saw the trepidation on your face. 

“Can I come in?” You asked gingerly, stepping inside as the Catalan made way for you to come into her house. 

“Yes, of course you can,” she replied, following you into her kitchen and taking a seat across from you at the table. For several moments there is silence as you seem to work up the courage to finally choke out the words you need to say. 

“I…I can’t come to Madrid with you Alexia,” you finally stated, your hands folded neatly in your lap

“What?” Alexia isn’t sure she heard you correctly, because certainly you couldn’t be saying what she thought you had said. 

“I have to stay here with my Mama, to help her with the boys and the house and everything. I’ll get a job for a year before going to school, I think,” you explained slowly. 

“I…okay. Are you sure Flori?” You nodded with clear reservation, but the brunette continued forward regardless. 

“Well then…we can call. And take the train to one another when possible, and then maybe when the boys are older you can come to – what is it?” Alexia’s voice grinded to a halt when she finally seemed to notice your despondent expression

“I cannot come Alexia, and I don’t know when I will be able to. I will be very busy, and I am sure you will be as well, so perhaps it’s for the best if–” You were cut off, unsurprisingly. 

“If what?” Alexia challenged, her anger flaring. It’s not really anger, it’s fear, and you see right through her. But still you do not yield, your expression entirely unreadable to the midfielder. 

It only makes her more and more mad that she cannot tell what is going on. 

“Are you just going to give all of this up? I don’t even know what life is like without you, and what – now it gets a little hard and you call it quits? Did you ever even care about me? Did you ever even love me, or has this whole time just been a huge li–”  Alexia yelled from across the table, her hands slamming down to splay on the wood in front of her. 

“Enough!” You yelled, standing suddenly. Alexia seemed surprised at your outburst, but there was nothing other than a quiet resignation across your expression. There was no anger or outrage or fury on your face, but rather a strange form of acceptance mixed with defeat. 

When you spoke again, it was with softness and finality as the footballer looked up at you. 

“I love you Alexia. And I am very excited about this new journey you are going on, even if it is not with me.” 

You walked over to her side of the table before bending down to press a kiss to her temple.  You slipped out the door in a flash. Alexia was so completely thrown off that she didn’t have an answer or a response, she didn’t even have time to stop you. 

She had never sobbed so hard in her entire life than she did at the dining room table that night. Grief had become her shadow, but this was an entirely new kind of grief. It poured over her, consuming her, and she for once found herself completely lost in it. 

When she arrives in Barcelona, it is with red rimmed eyes and a renewed resolve to make something of herself. 

If it meant losing you, it had to be important. 

—

Alexia left Madrid when she was eighteen. 

Barcelona Femeni wasn’t even a professional team, and she was a nobody who had come into the system with promise and drive but nothing to her name. 

Throughout the past nine years, so much had happened to her both personally and professionally. Barcelona was not the same team at all, having been professionalized a few years after she arrived. They were taken somewhat seriously now, with titles and dominance in the domestic league. Though the Champions League eluded them, Alexia knew it was coming. 

She was in the prime of her career, playing better football than she had ever expected herself. The brunette was achieving everything that she had wanted, and she remained hungry and focused toward the future. It was never enough for her, and she always thought she could be doing better. 

There were times though…when she stopped and wondered. 

Was it worth it? 

She wanted so badly to say yes instantly. Football was her passion, her purpose, it had always been her goal to be the best she could be. It had driven every decision she had made in her entire life, and she wanted so desperately to believe in it wholeheartedly. 

But there had always been a flicker of doubt. She held it closely to her heart, never sharing it with anyone, not even Alba or Eli. She did not want to seem weak or doubtful of her decision.

Her apartment was empty, devoid of practically any women, and that had been her choice. Even after all of these years, she couldn’t bring herself to commit to anyone long term. 

The brunette wanted to be angry at you for staying behind, but she couldn’t bring herself to really mean it. She loved you far too much, and the ache of missing you only seemed to strengthen as the years bled on. She had other women, she really tried, but never did she feel the same connection that she had with you. 

Alexia had admittedly tried to look for you, when her initial hurt had bled away in an embarrassingly short amount of time. But you were a ghost. 

The footballer wasn’t surprised, considering that you had never been a big social media person. She found some of your relatives online but their accounts were mostly private and rarely were you photographed. When she returned to Madrid for games, your family was gone from the home you had been raised in, and she wasn’t shameless enough to start banging on neighbors doors to find out more. 

Your phone number had seemingly changed by the time she worked up the nerve to call you, and eventually it just seemed wrong. You never reached out to her, at least not that Alexia was aware of. 

She had simply been forced to accept the fact that she had lost you, for reasons she still did not comprehend or understand. All it took was one singular month to lose both her father and her…to lose you, and that thought gnawed away at a piece of her soul relentlessly. 

But suddenly here you were. 

Nine years later, and here you stood right in front of her. 

“Hello Alexia,” you stated, your face a veil of carefully constructed neutrality, even if your heart beat was erratic beneath your dress. The sound of your voice seemed to bring Alexia back from wherever in her mind she had been. 

“Hi…hi there,” the brunette stuttered, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. She couldn’t quite get herself to believe that you were standing in front of her. . 

“I know it’s been awhile but it’s…it's good to see you. Congratulations on your team's success these last few years,” you commented gently, a true smile on your lips. 

“Oh, yes, thank you very much. You…you follow the team?” Alexia inquired, her eyebrow furrowing in confusion. You had always been so apathetic to football, she never could have imagined you sitting in front of the television watching games. 

“Ever since you moved to Barcelona,” you confirmed with a nod of the head. Alexia felt her perplexity only ballon in size. 

If you still cared, why did you let her leave in the first place? Why did you give up so easily? 

A silence lapped over the two of you, but it was filled with so many unsaid words, so much tension that had never existed before. 

Alexia and you both looked the same, and yet somehow completely different. You could tell how much the footballer had grown into herself given the ease at which she stood, her hands tucked in her pants pockets loosely. There was an air of elegance and power to her, hazel eyes piercing into you with purpose. 

She looked at you as though she never wanted to look away again, and selfishly, you felt hope in your heart that perhaps…

“Are you with anyone?” You asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the forwardness. It could be interpreted as for the event specifically, but the potential broader implication suffocated you despite the fact that you were the one to ask the question. 

“No, I am not with anyone Flor–” Alexia cut herself off, seemingly realizing her mistake. 

It didn’t feel like much of a mistake to you, and you longed to hear the word come out of her mouth, just once more. If this was the end for the two of you, you would have sold anything you owned to hear her say it just once more. 

You nodded slowly, before replying that you were here alone as well. 

“Perhaps…perhaps we could go on a walk?” Alexia suggested, and you allowed her to set the pace of whatever you guys did together. After all, it had been you that had left in the first place, a fact that you would never forget. 

You nodded in affirmation, explaining that you needed to grab your clutch before you could meet her at the door. 

It was divine timing as well, considering that your boss had just let you off for the evening and you were planning to go home soon anyways. This was a more welcome surprise than whatever you had been planning in your mind. 

—

There was a wave of relief that rushed through Alexia when you appeared in the door frame a few minutes later, almost as though she was positive you were not going to arrive. But there you were, a light jacket thrown over your dress and a small purse in your hand. 

You both walked out of the event space together, silence lapping between the two of you as you continued forward. Alexia was struggling to organize her thoughts in any sort of productive way. She was so caught off guard by everything. 

She thought she would never see you again. 

“How long are you in Barcelona? Just for the weekend?” She questioned, her voice soft. You shook your head, your posture straight and somewhat tense. 

“No actually, I live here now. I moved a few years back,” you replied, voice unwavering. 

Alexia couldn’t help the stab of hurt that ran through her heart at that piece of information. She had always wondered deep down what she had done to cause all of this, why you had let her go. At first the distance was the only thing in Alexia’s mind to explain the break up, but now she knew you had been here for years. She didn’t understand it, even after nine years. Every piece of logical information told her that you had loved her, and yet here you were. 

Was any of this even salvageable? 

Did she want it to be? 

“Oh…I see,” her voice was flat, but in a way that oozed grief rather than true apathy. 

“I come to your games sometimes, once I moved out here,” you admitted, thinking of all the times you had sat up in the stands watching her play. The brunette glanced at you in clear shock, and you shrugged, unable to conjure an appropriate answer to explain yourself further. 

Things were…things had been so complicated. By the time all of it had cleared and the world made sense to you again, she was gone. You knew you had lost your opportunity to be with her, to be a part of her life. 

As much as it haunted you, it was the reality of your life. You never could have changed what happened, but that didn’t mean it cut you just as deep as it did Alexia. 

But perhaps there was hope for the two of you, here and now. Maybe it would be messy and complicated and painful, but it would be real. There was so much left unsaid between the two of you, and whether the two of you could face it headfirst or not would make or break the whole situation. 

“Where did we go wrong? How did all of this fall apart?” 

The question was sudden, a shock but not a surprise. 

You took a deep breath, stopping and looking back at Alexia. The Catalan had stopped walking when she had spoken, as though she was unable to move forward even an inch. Her hands were balled into fists, and everything about her body language communicated her discomfort. 

“Did I do something to make you stop loving me? Where did I mess up?” She questioned, nearly begged. 

Was her career worth losing this, losing you? 

Had she lost you? 

“Alexia, you did nothing wrong. You were perfect, you are perfect,” you promised, summoning every last bit of strength to imbue into your words. You walked back to her, reaching out carefully to place the backs of your fingers to her cheek, just barely touching the warm skin there. She closed her eyes at the feeling as tears burned in your eyes. 

“I lost you,” she whispered, both startled and settled that you still smelled the same, your perfume unchanged after all these years.

“I know, I know. But I’m right here now, I’m right here,” you vowed, still unsure and desperate of what to say. 

“I know that this is fucked up, and complicated, and it’s been years. I might as well be a stranger to you, but I need you to trust me when I say that nothing that happened was your fault. I made the decisions I did because it was what I had to do, but don’t for a minute think it didn’t kill me inside. Don’t you dare think I didn’t spend the last decade of my life missing you,” implored, almost as if trying to force her to understand the depth of your love, even after all this time. You turned your hand to cradle her cheek gently, your thumb stroking across the skin there as you spoke again. Your voice was barely audible, crackling with emotion. 

“Maybe this is crazy for me to say, but I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. And if I never see you after this, I want you to know how much I loved you. How much I still love you. ”

She reached her hand up to grasp at your wrist, holding your hand in place against her cheek. 

“Please don’t leave,” she murmured, and you nodded insistently. 

“I’m right here. I’m right here Ale.” 

The look of relief on her face at hearing you call her that was palpable. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, lost in one another. It could have been a minute or a year, and you didn’t care. You would have stood there forever, content to ignore the rest of the world if Alexia remained this close to you. 

But eventually the telltale signs of rain began to stir, drops of water falling onto your jacket and in your hair. You pulled back, taking Alexia’s hand and squeezing it before you reached for your clutch. Opening the bag, you pulled out a business card and a pen, writing your personal number on the back of the card. 

“The number on this is my office, but the back is my cell. If you still want to…if you decide you want to talk more, call me,” you insisted lightly, placing the card in her hand. 

“I promise I’ll pick up,” you soothed after a moment, your words gentle. 

Alexia stared down at the card, at your loopy handwriting, for far too long. It reminded her of being fifteen, watching you write equations on the wall for tutoring. It was jarring, and it stirred up emotions she didn’t realize she had buried. 

When she looked up again you were gone, and yet not a single ounce of her felt alone as she stood on the sidewalk. 

She had a new possibility. The chance to return to who she was in her youth and understand the past. Or the option to continue forward in her career, focusing solely on football and her dedication to the sport while leaving the past behind. 

She had no idea what she would do, but at least for once she had the choice to decide.

[hivemuthur]

i have a request for some ✨emotional, pinning smut✨ for viktor x female!reader based on “Crush” by Cigarettes After Sex

like viktor getting so flustered while watching her try on clothes (“i want to watch you as you’re trying on your clothes, and now you’re all i think about when i’m alone”) and him being just so down bad for the reader

and the sexual tension between them is *palpable*

just some good ol friends to lovers pinning, resolved with some smut

please and thank you, i love your writing 🥺🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏🙏

Hi Anon! I loved this request so much you have no idea!

Skin

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! lots of yearning, poor Viktor :v

author’s note: It's exactly what is says in the request. I listened to a lot of Cigarettes After Sex for this and when it began to annoy me switched to Grimes and remembered she had some good stuff going on in 2012, hence her song Skin will fit this as well if you read with music in the background :) @rennethen beta read!

word count: 2,4K

—

Viktor is trying to figure out a way to sink further into your armchair, have it swallow him whole—legs, arms, fingers, every single strand of his hair—before he disintegrates into a puddle. He had no idea it was going to be this bad when you said, "Can we just rest instead of studying for once?"

Sure, he could rest. He’s tried resting before. What could go so especially wrong? Other than, say, you deciding to organise your wardrobe on a whim while he’s trying to read. And then, when he finally gives up on reading—because it is physically impossible to keep his eyes anywhere but on glimpses of you dressing and undressing, tossing clothes around—another thing that could happen is you parading around in a T-shirt long enough to hide your underwear, but not long enough to hide your legs. And it’s just for a moment, just to change a song or take a sip of your tea, but it’s enough for him to sink so deep into the chair that he can feel the springs digging into his ass.

Or, say, you stepping out of the wardrobe in an appallingly microscopic mini skirt, asking, "Is this too short? Am I too old to wear things this short?"

Yes, it’s too goddamn short.

"Hmm, maybe a little?" he offers, trying so hard to make it look like you’ve just interrupted his reading. The same sentence, for about the fifteenth time—but he really is reading. So, just a glimpse. Just one look at your thighs, where they inevitably end and something else begins, and the skirt is so, so short he can almost—

"A little too short, or I’m a little too old?" you chuckle, and—God forsake you—you turn, and your ass cheeks peek from underneath, and now he knows you’re wearing a pair of white knickers. Just plain old cotton, but what it does to him. There is almost no chair left for him to squeeze himself into.

"Uh… both?" he offers weakly, not really knowing what he is saying, and you shoot him a look of mock offense.

"Forgive me, clothes are far from my areas of expertise," Viktor says, finding his voice—and finding some strength to look away and focus on the sentence he’s been trying to read forever. And the voice he’s found is nowhere near dignified enough for him to look you in the eye. It’s exasperated and breathy in a way that makes you pause for a moment before you shrug and retreat to the wardrobe, and he can breathe again.

"Expertise or not, you must have an opinion on something, Viktor," your chant reaches him as you shuffle between hangers, pulling out the next number to reconsider—a dress this time.

"Must I? I will remind you, I was lured into a trap with the promise of a study date, which somehow turned into a fashion show." Viktor mutters, shifting in the armchair—his stomach muscles actually ache from being flexed the whole time. All the forced breaths, all the cramps in his lower belly, are giving him such a hard time.

"Trapped? Excuse me, are you being physically restrained?" you ask, stepping out, your arms folded on your chest, having no idea that he actually is. Having no idea that his legs wouldn’t work, that if he were to stand up and leave, he’d have to crawl out instead.

"I am," he states bravely. "Weighed down by the sheer gravity of this experience." And you smile, thinking that he jests, but he really doesn’t.

Viktor looks at you in your silly dress, his face burning even hotter, lids heavy from all the warmth pooling inside him. He swallows, and you mistake the struggle for restraint as mockery.

"Oh, sod off," you cackle at the look on his face and step back inside, deciding you’ll keep the dress. "You're free to study if you want, you poor soul."

"Thank you, merciful creature," Viktor grits through his teeth, now carefully studying the letters in that one goddamn sentence he’s been trying to read for the past half hour. He’s never felt less free to do anything.

Finally, he admits defeat and puts the book aside. He takes a sip of his tea—now cold—and thank God for something cold in his mouth, because his tongue is a piece of burning coal. Stretching his legs in front of the chair, he surrenders to this slow, exquisite torture: watching you try on skin after skin, none of them particularly vulgar or filthy, but the sheer thought of you being nearly naked just a wall away makes something writhe inside him. Once in a while, he catches vignettes—an arm, a bra strap, a thigh, a little bit of bum as you lean over to pick something up.

And he would have done something a long time ago, but you are such good friends. It would be a real pity to complicate things. So he bears it—all of it. Every accidental touch, every fleeting glance, and allows himself to wonder sometimes, when your face dusts pink around him, if it's really his doing or just circumstantial evidence. If your pupils dilating at his lousy compliments mean something, or if you simply like to be praised. If you invite him over for his exceptional conversational skills. And if yes, he wonders how disappointed you must be today, as all he’s given you are quiet grunts and chuckles to cover how close he is to being absolutely ruined.

His skin is still burning when you step out again, this time wearing just a long sweater, and even that does something to him. You lean over him to press next on the music player, and Viktor catches a whiff of your scent, forcing his eyes not to roll back. He fails, so keeps them clamped shut.

"Is this also undergoing the purge?" he asks, clutching at straws, desperate to redirect his thoughts to any other thing in the universe but your skin under his fingers.

"I don’t know, you tell me." You pause mid-rise, face suddenly close to his. He blinks slowly, and you make nothing of it. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, but you make nothing of it—just wait for him to reply.

"You must have an opinion," you press, and it feels like you are pressing on his chest, forcing the answer out of him.

"I like the sweater," Viktor whispers, taking the sleeve hem between his fingers. His skin brushes yours. "I like all of your clothes, actually." A confession finally escapes him, voice barely there as something sparks between the contact. And suddenly, you're no longer talking about clothes.

You glance at his eyelashes—long and dark, boyish and shy as his eyes move between two points: your wrist and his fingers.

"This one… is nice," he swallows, accent cutting his words into whispers. He can’t help it. He indulges—just once—in the light brush of his thumb across your wrist, where the skin is so thin he can feel the stutter of your heartbeat.

And you are aware of what’s happening in your chest. But you feel less embarrassed once you spot the similar rhythm pulsing through the vein on Viktor’s neck. And you tell yourself you are only checking if his heart is beating equally fast to yours, not staring. You tell yourself that while staring at the column of his throat and imagining how your tongue would fit in there. How Viktor would lean his head back and sigh if you pressed your lips to this tiny point where his heart echoed.

With you frozen, hovering over him, Viktor doesn’t exactly indulge further—but his hand moves outside of the jurisdiction of his will, fingers wrapping around your wrist. Once his suspicion is confirmed, though, he moves with intent. His fingers slip beneath the sleeve, caressing your forearm before sliding back down, memorising the shape of your knuckles. Your hands are so cold against his, burning, but it’s not the hottest thing you’ve felt yet.

Gently, carefully, he lifts your hand and holds it close to his mouth, palm facing him. His lips barely press against your wrist, and you exhale, your breath visible in the movement of his hair. Still frozen, you close your eyes as Viktor’s mouth travels up your palm, your nails grazing beneath his ear, goosebumps rising along his neck in response. Your fingertips catch on the plush of his lips before he sucks them into his mouth—his tongue hot, hotter than even his touch, swirling over your index finger. You can feel the edge of his teeth against your skin, and your forehead presses against his as you pathetically moan out his name.

The moment the silence is broken, he stops, and it takes everything in you not to whine. He chuckles out a nervous sound but doesn’t let go of your hand.

You decide you owe him the next move. Slowly—so painfully slowly—you shift in front of him, sinking onto your knees on either side of his thighs, still hovering just above him as you weigh the moment, wondering if shoving your fingers into his mouth was enough of an invitation.

Viktor’s hands answer for him. They slide up your legs, thumbs hooking over your hips to press you down onto him, and he groans at the contact. He squeezes, despite himself, looking drunk on the sensation of your core pressing against his, both of you sinking into the tight embrace of the chair. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, and Viktor gasps, „Oh, God.” His eyes remain closed.

Your fingers on his scalp are almost enough to have him undone, as his hips buck up and you follow his cry with a less dignified, “Oh, fuck,” catching on his lips.

"Please say something," a plea escapes him on an exhale, eyes still hooded, as if opening them could shatter the moment.

Instead, you press your lips to his—a light, hesitant touch at first. Viktor startles, and for a moment, you both just breathe into each other’s mouths. Then, as if something clicks into place in his mind, Viktor moves his tongue. Licks your upper lip, tentative, before his hands slide up your sides—one wrapping around your waist, the other gripping your neck as he pulls you deeper into the kiss.

His mouth claims yours, firm, almost bruising, and he catches up on breathing through his nose. Thumb stretches out your cheek and when you part, it’s only for an inch. He finally looks at you and you whisper, “Something.”

Faces close to each other, foreheads touching, you wordlessly reach for his belt and Viktor’s eyes follow the movement of your fingers. You tug on his pants to slide them down his hips and take in the vision of his cock, outlined in his boxer briefs, throbbing and leaking, a patch of wet cotton sticking to the head.

He grabs your hips, slides them over himself and you both moan as your wet underwear meets his. Hands everywhere on you, under your sweater, on your ass, as if Viktor can’t decide where he wants to touch you the most. His lips find your neck and your spine arches, your cunt pressing firmer on his cock. You feel his breath coming in hot pants with each movement, his tongue swiping along your neck, lips sucking hickeys into your skin.

He tugs at your jumper and with no words said, you lift your arms to help him rid you of it and do the same with his layers, baring his chest. You kiss his clavicle, and Viktor can’t help but whimper at the feeling of your hot mouth against him.

His fingers hover over your back, a silent question about your bra but before you can nod or say anything, you undo it with one flick and Viktor’s lips are on you immediately. On your breasts, on your nipples, just frantically licking and nipping before his tongue travels back up, tracing a slick line through your sternum, your neck, chin and lands back in your mouth.

He pushes you closer to him, your chests meet, and you sigh at the feeling of his heartbeat next to yours. You kiss him and between kisses Viktor breathes, “God, you are so wet.”

“You are so wet too,” you reply, and he chuckles. You rub against each other, your hips rolling on top of his and he hides his face in your neck, forcing himself not to come before you. You wrap your arms back around him, mouth hanging open against his forehead, his hair tickling your face. One, two more rolls of your hips, two more rubs against his clothed cock and you come twitching, pressing his face into your throat, with a force that could snap his neck, and he both feels the moan vibrating in your larynx and hears it ringing in his ears.

Not letting you go, he ruts into you, sliding his cock between your sore, swollen lips, soon to join you with your name falling from his mouth in a quiet broken whimper, muffled with a bite on your neck and you can feel the wetness spreading between your legs, hot and sticky as your underwear merges into one mess of cum. You both breathe heavily, stay embraced before looking at each other.

When Viktor shivers beneath you, you suddenly remember that you might be crushing him and wince, asking “Am I hurting your leg?”

“No, God, no,” he mutters into the pool between your collar bones and his breath is still so warm. His palm is splayed on the nape of your neck, heavy and firm, other encircles your waist. You comb his hair away from his forehead and look at him firmly. “So… fashions shows. Not so bad in the end, huh?”

He cackles, caught off guard. “Not so bad, no,” he muses, looking you deep in the eyes. Spent, happy, cheeks pink and hair tussled, he looks so pretty it takes everything in you to not smooch him in another kiss. “I might want to frequent those more often,” he says bashfully, and you smile.

“Oh, there is a lot to be seen. I haven’t even begun with the underwear drawer,” you whisper against his lips and kiss him softly and to Viktor it’s abundantly clear, that he will have to crawl out of here were he ever going to leave.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Luke would be the type to keep his private life very private so him having a gf only really his family and friends in michigan know so the devils have no clue and i could see the boys always trying to get luke to hookup with people for like a whole season till next season when they finally learn luke has had a gf the whole time

Oh boy, 100%. He always just politely tells them he's not interested in dating anyone or having a casual hookup or pretends he doesn't notice what they're doing. Jack 100% does not help, he finds it hilarious when any of the guys are trying to get Luke to talk to some random girl in a bar, but he will 100% confirm to you that Luke is the most loyal boyfriend you could ask for. I also see Luke feeling guilty about it even though he hasn't done anything, so every time he gets back to the apartment he's telling you if you live together or phoning you if you don't and basically confessing his 'sins', like 'i'm so sorry, baby, Marky tried to get me to go out with this blonde and she wouldn't stop touching my arm and I told her I wasn't interested and I only love you.' Definitely reaches a point where he breaks and just goes 'STOP! I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND' and all the guys are just like 'why the hell didn't you tell us this sooner?' Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

"Hey, C'mon, Rusty! What about the blonde at the end of the bar?" Curtis points to a young woman around Luke's age, platinum blonde hair, little black dress, who's eyeing Luke like he might be candy. It doesn't flatter him, if anything it sends a sick feeling to his gut, a roiling discomfort because only you're allowed to look at him like that. You can eye fuck him, no one else. He feels objectified.

"Curtis, I've told you I'm not interested. Not my type." Not his type because his girlfriend is his only type and there's only one of you. It doesn't matter if 100 attractive women all tried to get his number right now, he wouldn't care, wouldn't give it out because you're the one he wants. Literally no one compares to you, he's smitten, whipped, absolutely in love.

"C'mon, seriously! You didn't go out with anyone all last season! Not even a hook up, you're celibate, man! You're young, you should be having fun!" Curtis knocks his shoulder with a grin and Luke just grips his beer tighter, feeling a familiar frustration at the situation. He spent all of last season dealing with the boys trying to goad him into hook ups and flings, throwing women at him like it was their duty to get him laid. He hated every minute of it.

"Yeah, Lukey, you were practically celibate, a monk," Jack chimes in, arm thrown over Luke's shoulder with a grin, the irony of his words not lost on either of them because Luke was definitely not celibate last year. He just wasn't hooking up with random strangers, because he'd started dating you, because you were the only person he wanted to see, to kiss, to sleep with and that still stood firm and true.

"Just go talk to her, maybe you'll get lucky and go home with her tonight! C'mon, what's wrong?" It's Dougie that chimes in this time and Luke wants to die. He wants to die. Or alternative go to your apartment and curl up with you in bed because this is the worst.

"Yeah, are you scared, Lukey?" If Jack wasn't his brother he'd have killed him already, killed him for encouraging all of this bullshit for a year, knowing full well that Luke wasn't single. But, he can't because his mom would be upset if Jack died...he rolls his eyes at him instead, shrugging his arm off of his shoulders.

"You're not secretly a virgin or anything, right, Rusty?"

"Fuck off, Lazar." He snaps, not because it would matter if he was, but because it's stupid that that's the only reason people can comprehend he wouldn't want to sleep around. Maybe it's just not his thing to have hook ups? Maybe he's focusing on his career? Maybe he's already in love and anything else would be cheap and insignificant in comparison?

"Oh, that's hit a nerve, some truth in that?" The guys are all grinning at him like they think they've got it all worked out and it just...it makes him snap, slamming the bottle of beer he'd been cradling to the bar top.

"No, y'know why I don't want to go talk to some random fucking blonde in the bar or hook up with whatever girl you throw my way? Because I've got a fucking girlfriend, okay? I'm not virgin! I'm not celibate! I just don't want to fuck a girl that isn't my girlfriend!" Luke's breathing heavy by the end of it, red it the face because it is so fucking annoying to constantly be bugged about it and he just wants everyone to get off his back. He's happily with you, he doesn't need random hook ups and he certainly doesn't need his team mates trying to get him laid like they have some moral duty to do so.

The way they look at him makes him feel stupid because suddenly they're all calling out variations of, "Dude! Why the fuck didn't you tell us this sooner?!" and he realises that maybe he could have solved this all months earlier by just saying he was seeing someone...like a normal person, maybe? But he'd wanted to keep things private...

He flounders for an explanation, mouth opening and closing, running a hand through his mess curls like that might help his brain to function.

"I just...it was new and...we were keeping it private."

It's Marky that turns to look at Jack, "Did you not know about this?"

"Oh, I knew." Jack is all smug enjoyment, leaning back against the bar and winking at the blonde Curtis had been trying to set Luke up with. Satisfaction rolled off him in cocky waves.

"Why they hell did you let us shove girls at your brother then?" Curtis asks, shocked, nay baffled because Jack had just spent an entire season practically encouraging the behaviour all while knowing full well Luke was dating you.

"It was funny," He shrugs with a grin and mentally Luke is considering whether the price he'd pay is worth putting itching powder in Jack's underwear drawer or maybe if cutting his hair in his sleep would be a better punishment since he can't rip another set of braces off him like Quinn did.

"That's messed up, Jack!" "Yeah, man!"

Luke sighs as the guys all ripped into Jack, downing the last of his beer and grabbing his phone off the bar top.

"Fuck this, I'm going to see Y/N."

"Ohh, you're girlfriend!?" And just like that Luke knows...he knows he's not out of the woods, it's just that the woods have changed from teasing and taunting him about hook ups, to doing so about his girlfriend.

Fuck, he hates being a younger brother.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Epilogue

AN: You can blame Mexico and Onyx Storm for my delay on this one. But for those who are curious, here is our sweet little epilogue for Joel and Freckles. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, shared, and encouraged me while writing this story. I love you, and so does Joel and Freckles. XO

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

Five Years Later

“You wanna come,” he practically taunts, “Don’t you, sweet girl?” 

Every muscle in your body is weak, causing the leather cuffs of the St. Andrews Cross to rub at your wrists and ankles. He’s been teasing you for hours, stopping every time you’re about to shatter. 

This night has been a long while in the making. After five years with your firm you were finally given the lead on a big case; a case that your boss handed to you and said this was your chance to earn your partnership. You spent upwards of eighty to ninety hours a week preparing and Joel could not have been more perfect during that time. He’d often show up with food or coffee for you and your team of junior lawyers, interns, and paralegals. He never complained when you’d bring work home; however, every time you said something negative about yourself, Joel would mark it on the fridge. Over the three and a half weeks of prep work thirty ticks ended up on the small piece of paper that was hung with a Berkeley magnet. You didn’t have time to ask Joel what they meant, and truthfully, you didn’t really care; you trusted that whatever he planned to do with those ticks was for your own good. 

During the trial, another twelve ticks were added. When the verdict was announced and you had won your case, Joel was there in the courtroom, smiling warmly at you when you glanced back at him. When you got home that evening, after a celebratory round or two of cocktails, Joel made you kneel in front of him as he explained that each tick, all forty two of them, symbolized a denied orgasm, a punishment meant to remind you not to talk bad about things that Joel owns. Especially brilliant lawyers who win their first big case and secure themselves as partner.  

As he strapped you to the padded X shaped piece of furniture tonight, he said, ‘if you’re the sweet girl I know you to be, then you won’t whine when I stop. Instead, you’ll say “Thank you, Mister Miller” and I’ll count that as two. Forty two orgasms being denied is not going to be easy, so do yourself a favour and don’t whine; you don’t want to know what happens if you do.’

The only response to his teasing that you can muster now is a whimper and a nod. He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Use your words, honey.”

Your voice is almost silent. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He walks behind you, trailing the small vibrator along your skin. “Such a good girl for me tonight. Saying yes to everything. Remind me, how many orgasms have I denied you so far?”

Your pussy throbs with the deep timber of his voice, this is truly torture and your safeword is on the tip of your tongue. “Twenty one,” you mumble.

“Poor, sweet girl,” He says from behind you, leaning in closely to whisper in your ear. “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You swallow the dry lump in your throat.

“Should I let you pick how you want to come?”

He completes his circle around you and the crossing, stepping in close to you. He uses the little vibrator to gently tease your nipples. You can barely form a thought and just let a small ‘yes’ mixed with moans leave your lips as your sweat covered back arches off the padded back of the cross. The heat of Joel’s body this close makes you feel like you’re on fire. 

“Want to come on my fingers?” He asks, then easily slips three of them inside of you. Your gaze shoots to his as a strangled cry fills the room. 

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, please.” You feel your pussy tightening around his digits.

“What about my cock? You love being stuffed full of my thick cock while I strum your clit. Don’t you? My perfect little slut.” He teases you further by pumping his fingers forward once, revelling in the feel of you clenching tighter around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he continues.

“No, I know,” his fingers slip out from your pussy and you gasp, unable to protest in your weakened state. Not that you would protest; you know better than to do that, and he told you not to whine tonight. You are a good girl, you know that what your dom says is best. Plus, you need to come so badly that you think you might actually die if you don’t, and Joel is just sadistic enough to keep you like this for days. 

He gets onto his knees, his warm breath hitting your cunt as he speaks. “What if I put my lips around this swollen little clit? Huh? Suck her into my mouth and drink up every ounce of your cum?”

He uses his thumbs to pull the lips of your pussy further apart. He’s so close that your breath catches in your throat at the promise of relief. He blows cool air along your soaked pussy; you clench your molars together and focus on your breathing. You don’t come until he tells you. 

“Would you like that, my sweet girl?”

The restraints cut at your wrists when you try to push your hips to his mouth. “Yes. Yes. Please, Mister Miller.”

He stands abruptly, hand wrapping around the hair at the nape of your neck before he tugs to bring your gaze up to his. The pull of your hair relaxes the muscles of your neck and upper back and you melt into the padded cross.

His eyes darken as he asks, “You really would say yes to anything, wouldn’t you?” 

“Y-yes. I just need to come. Please.” He releases your hair, stepping back and crossing his arms. The veins on his forearms pop, the sleeves of his rolled black dress shirt tightening under his biceps. Since officially retiring, he’s had a strict exercise regime. He was sexy when you met him almost ten years ago, but like a fine wine, he gets better with each passing year.

The gravel in his voice returns, “But you’d say yes even if I told you we were done for the night and it was time to get dressed. Right?” 

Your eyes clench close, head falling back as the panic of not getting to come tonight races through your mind. You take a calming breath before whispering, “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“Eyes on me, sweet girl.” You peel your eyes open and tilt your chin down to look at him. His hands are now buried in his pockets, and there’s a shift in how he’s looking at you, a slight softness to his dark eyes. 

“And what if I asked you to marry me?” His voice is shy and raspy.

He slowly pulls a ring out of his pocket and holds it up for you. A thin, gold band with a single, albeit very large, solitaire diamond on it sends sparkles all around the room. Tears line your lash line, mirroring his. He clears his throat softly.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, sweet girl. Listen carefully for me,” he pockets the ring and steps closely, wiping the happy tear that rolls down your cheek. The rough whorls on his thumb send goosebumps cascading down your body. “First, I’m going to make you come. Then, I’m going to untie you, get you all cleaned up, and get some sugar into you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch as cups your face. His eyes dart towards the bed as he says, “After that, we are getting to that bed so I can kiss you until neither of us can breathe.”

“And then,” he smiles sweetly, a tear rolling from the corner of his deep brown and honey flecked eye to his greying beard. “And then I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

[zeroseuniverse]

please give haneul's dad a love life 😔🙏 he's miserable, I can hear him sighing all day and night and I don't even live nearby. please help a young nurse be well fed with fluffy warm pancakes in the morning 🥹🥞

please make a silly old anonymous reader happy by writing a part 2 of "My Dad is Single!" ☝️

You ask and you shall receive my darling Asks are my number 1 priority so I typically try to only take 2-3 days in writing them, I enjoy providing what my readers want so I hope this came out in a timely manner for you!

My Dad Is Single II

S.Coups had no idea how he ended up here.

One moment, he was just a devoted single dad trying to survive his six-year-old's chaotic antics. The next, he was standing in his kitchen, flipping pancakes while Nurse Pretty—sat at his dining table, chatting with Haneul like they were old friends.

Haneul had orchestrated this whole thing, obviously. After her legendary text message, she had laughed it off but agreed to come over—"just for pancakes," she had said. But from the way she kept smiling at him over her coffee, he knew she was enjoying his flustered state way too much.

"So, Haneul," she said, resting her chin on her hand. "Tell me—why are you so determined to find your dad a girlfriend?"

Haneul sighed dramatically, like this was a burden only she could bear. "Because Appa is so lonely."

S.Coups groaned from the stove. "I am not—"

"He sighs all the time," Haneul interrupted. "Like, so much. And he watches sad movies at night."

She smirked. "Ah, the sighing. You told me about that before."

"Right?!" Haneul threw her hands up. "It’s a problem."

S.Coups turned around, pointing a spatula at his daughter. "You’re making me sound like a tragic drama lead."

"You are a tragic drama lead," Haneul said, dead serious. "But don’t worry! This is the episode where you find love again."

She burst out laughing while S.Coups slumped against the counter, defeated.

"Unbelievable," he muttered for what felt like the hundredth time.

"You say that a lot," She teased, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Because this keeps happening!" He gestured at Haneul, who was happily munching on a pancake like she hadn’t just thrown him under the bus.

She just smiled. "Well, I have to admit—this is probably the most unique way I’ve ever been asked out."

S.Coups nearly dropped the plate he was holding. "Wait—was this… an ask out?"

she tilted her head, pretending to think. "Well, I was invited to your house. You cooked for me. There’s a cute child who’s very invested in our future. Sounds like a date to me."

S.Coups blinked, completely thrown. "I—uh—what—"

Haneul leaned forward and stage-whispered to her , "He’s shy."

she grinned. "It’s cute."

S.Coups groaned again. "I am not shy!"

"You’re blushing," Haneul pointed out.

He pressed a hand to his face. Oh my God, I am.

She reached for a pancake, her smile softening. "Relax, S.Coups. I’m just teasing. But… I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. If that’s something you’d be open to."

S.Coups stared at her, completely caught off guard. He hadn’t expected this. At all. And yet, with Haneul beaming up at him and her looking at him with those warm, patient eyes, he found himself… considering it.

Slowly, a small smile crept onto his face. "I guess… I wouldn’t mind either."

Haneul exploded into cheers, nearly knocking over her juice. "YES! Finally!"

she laughed, and S.Coups couldn’t help but chuckle too, shaking his head.

"Unbelievable," he muttered one last time—but this time, it felt different. Lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, his little drama lead moment was turning into a rom-com after all.

[themoonlitquill]

Whispers Woven in Shadow. (1/?)

𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝘼𝙧𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧? 𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚? 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚? 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮.

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 ; 𝖠𝗓𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗅 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖮𝖢 (𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅).

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 ; I’m terrible at summaries, so please don’t hate me for that! This is an OC that I’ve been playing around with for literal ages and I finally made the choice to really dive in and develop her, and then the ideas just started flowing in and I couldn’t stop writing! I’m already working on a second chapter for this, but let me know your thoughts if you’d like to see this continued! I don’t post my writing too often, so be kind if you don’t mind!! Oh, && special thanks to @coffeebooksrain18 for the moodboard! 🩵 Enjoy!

𝖳𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ; 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿-𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗺𝗼𝗶𝗹.

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ; 3802.

Everything is different now, Ariadne Archeron blinks as she looks out the window to the clear skies of robin’s egg blue with rays of sunlight streaming through to cast a golden hue that emitted warmth and yet, she had never felt so cold, so empty. Her mind was spinning around in circles, jumping from thought to thought, never settling and making her skin itch with such an intensity that she had to refrain herself from digging her nails in and ripping flesh from bone.

It was all wrong. Every single bit of it. And she couldn’t understand what was going on and why she was feeling this way.

The simple answer was because she had been thrown into a massive pot that stripped her humanity from her without consent and replaced it with immortality, which was something she had only wondered about in the stories that Elain used to show her as a little girl; she never imagined that it would come true and become her life.

Feyre had accepted being Made into High Fae graciously, almost eagerly, while Nesta seethed and resented, focusing her pent up emotions into care and concern for Elain. That left Ariadne to deal with it alone and if she were to be honest with herself, she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

She was broken, lost, and confused, nearly a shell of her former self. How was she to handle this? What was she to do? There wasn’t a set of rules for something like this and there was no one to turn to for advice, not that she could anyway with her inability to speak.

It seemed that magic couldn’t heal everything.

Ariadne had been born deaf and could only communicate through gestures and looks, which made everything that much harder for her compared to her sisters. She couldn’t get her mouth to form the words that ran rampant in her head, not that she didn’t try, and eventually, she gave up, coming to the realization that what she so desperately wanted to say would never be heard by anyone other than herself.

She had never felt sorry about her ailment before, knowing that Nesta understood when she was irritated by the way her eyes narrowed with a hand placed defiantly on her hip and that Elain knew when she needed a moment away from their father when a frustrated huff emitted from her nose, followed with the incessant picking at the skin around her fingernails.

And Feyre, well, she was able to decipher what Ariadne wanted before she even did.

But it was different now. It wasn’t the same and the changes she was going through had to be dealt with, with no help from anyone. It wasn’t fair.

She wanted to scream and yell and cry and throw things, but she couldn’t, and if she could, she wouldn’t want to. That wasn’t who she was and it definitely wasn’t how she acted when life didn’t go the way she wished for it to. Instead, Ariadne kept it hidden away from prying eyes and suffered in silence, because that’s what this all was.

Suffering.

Agony.

Without any end in sight.

Ariadne works to swallow the dry lump that had formed in her throat and she withholds a wince, knowing that she needed something to drink and she was already dreading the fact that she’d have to leave the bit of safety in the room, that was now hers, to go get it.

Unless she wanted to stick her mouth under the faucet again and she most definitely did not.

Downstairs it is, she gnaws on the inside of her lower lip until she tastes the unmistakable tang of copper on her tongue, the nerves already setting in. You can do this, Ari. Just stand up and walk. It isn’t that hard, her fingers clenched into a fist, nails biting into her palm. Get UP! Get up, get up, get up!

Why couldn’t she move? What was wrong with her?

Ariadne sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment, then releases, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to keep herself composed. The tears were right there and there was no way she would allow them to fall; she had to be strong like Feyre would be, not letting anything knock her down, and if it did, she’d get back up to try again. She could do that, couldn’t she?

It’ll be quick. Start with putting your feet on the floor. That’s easy enough to do, she reopens her eyes and stares straight ahead for several minutes, working on keeping each breath steady. On the count of three… One, her skin prickles, but she manages to sit up straight, legs unfolding. Two, sweat forms on her brow as she moves her feet to hover over the carpet. Three!

The distance closes and she freezes when she feels the plush material against her skin, finding that it was kind of… nice. See, not so bad, right? One thing at a time. You can do that no problem.

A small bit of confidence surges through her and she quickly rests her arms on either side of the chair, bracing herself before pushing herself up; her knees wobble and her brow furrows, but Ariadne - more determined than she realized - finds her balance and straightens, taking a deep breath in order to calm down a little.

Hey! Look at that. You did it, there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth, which she dutifully ignores. Now, another deep breath. Start walking, was it too soon to do this? It had only been a week since- Don’t go there, Ari. You’re doing so well. You aren’t there anymore. You’re fine, she lifts her chin and turns towards the door. Go on, she takes a step.

Ariadne keeps going, one foot at a time, and becomes more steady, making her way across the - her - room to the door and stopping to stand in front of it. Her hand wrapped around the handle, halfway turned, but she froze again. Completely immobile. Why was her heart beating so quickly? This wasn’t normal. It made no sense to feel like this and she couldn’t find a way to understand it, which was incredibly frustrating.

It’s good that you want to see something else besides these same four walls. Nothing wrong with that. No one is even going to be out there, she turns it the rest of the way. Nesta is with Elain, and Feyre, her heart clenches painfully. Feyre isn’t here right now, so you’re going to have to do this yourself, she pulls and it opens. There you go.

Ariadne peers out into the hall and looks down both ends, not seeing anything other than the rest of the doors, all closed, and the sconces that emitted a warm light. She slips through and begins to walk, her feet padding softly against the floor and she was hoping that the kitchen was in this direction or else she was going to be wandering around for a while; the House of Wind was huge.

She continues on with her hands clasped together in front of her, the pad of her thumb rubbing soothing circles onto the top and she can’t help but look around, never having seen anything like it before. Not even Archeron Estate. The amount of money that Rhysand had to build something like this? He must’ve grown up rich. Her gaze roams over the intricate carvings on the large columned archways, head tilted in quiet admiration. They were pretty.

The hallway comes to a set of stairs, only four, and Ariadne pauses before taking each one down to find a kitchen to the left that led to what she assumed was the dining room, and held a grand table in the center with multiple high-backed chairs.

Yeah, definitely rich from birth, she walks further in and flicks her eyes over the cabinets, realizing that she had no clue where anything was. Look through all of them. It isn’t going to matter anyway, she reaches up on her tip-toes and her fingertips barely brush against the handle. Oh, great, she sighs. Where’s a ladder when you need one?

She notes the sink only a few inches away and she moves to crouch down in front, beginning to search through and eventually coming up empty. Please don’t tell me I have to climb on a counter, Ariadne stands back up straight. Again, there was really no other way, was there? Of course not.

Her brow furrows as she surveys the correct way to do it without getting hurt, knowing that no one was there to help if things went awry; she finally settles on using the shelf that went across the middle of the bottom cabinet to use to give her a boost and then she’d be able to get her leg up by bracing her weight against the wall.

It seemed simple enough.

After getting into position, Ariadne takes a breath and places her hand to the left as she pushes her foot against the shelf. She grunts from the effort to lift her leg, managing to get her knee onto the counter and use what strength she had to pull the rest of herself on top.

She grasps at the handle on the cabinet to steady herself before she adjusts her knees and leans over a little to open it, only to find plates. An annoyed huff makes her nostrils flare and she carefully shuts it. I should’ve just drank from the faucet again, her arm extends and her fingers wrap around the next handle as she moves over. This is way too much to do for a cup, she keeps her spine straight and prays to whatever higher power hailed over Prythian that this was the right one.

Ariadne pulls, and she doesn’t notice the fabric of her dress shift or when she starts to slide; she peeks inside and her eyes brighten when she sees what she had been hoping for. Yes!

Her body goes to lean like she had done a couple minutes ago and her knees give out from under her, a surprised sound leaving her lips as her other arm flails, unable to find anything to hold onto. No!

Everything went sideways and Ariadne began to fall, the top of her foot hitting the edge of the counter and she hisses through her teeth, eyes squeezing shut and bracing for the impact of her body against the tiled floor. But it never came. There was something looped around her waist, cool and soft, flowing like silk and holding with a gentleness that she had never felt before. What is it? Where did it come from?

Whatever it was had decided to turn her upright and place her down safely, which is when she decided to open her eyes; the first thing noticed were the wings, massive and actually really beautiful, but holding a power that matched that of the one, two, three, four… seven siphons, which reminded her of sapphires, and then it was the deep bronze skin that was littered with dirt, grime, and only the Gods knew what else, followed by a tousle of dark hair, slightly curly.

Though, what Ariadne noticed the most was the golden glow that faded into hazel. There was a mixture of guardedness, curiosity, and worry - maybe? - swirling within the shifting shades of green and brown, but she wasn’t sure if she could trust it. Azriel, I think. The other one is who Nesta can’t stand. Cassian? This is the… Spysinger, her lips pressed together. No, that isn’t right. Oh! Shadowmaster. Yeah, that makes more sense.

She blinks and realizes that she had been staring at him for longer than she should’ve and quickly refocuses to see that he had come around from the other side of the counter to stand a few feet away from her.

It looked like the Shadowmaster had been in a few fights and then slept on the ground afterwards, which was weird to her because she swore Cassian was the aggressive one. Never judge a book, Ari. People look at you and think you’re not capable of anything or that you’re stupid, she lifts her chin and finds that she could now only see his chest when she did that, so she tilts her head back further until she finds his face again.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

Azriel watches in silence as the youngest Archeron sister - Ariadne - nearly breaks her neck in order to meet his gaze, the warm honey of her eyes full of questions, trepidation, and a sadness that was trying to hide itself and he was certain it was much larger than what he already caught. He found himself wishing he could ask her about it, but that was impossible for two important reasons; one, Azriel didn’t do things like that and two, even if he did, Ariadne wouldn’t be able to hear him.

And who was to say that if she could, she would answer?

He resorts to raising a single brow, inclining his head towards the counter as he keeps his sights set on her, surveying her expression for the slightest change; it starts with a flicker of surprise before shifting to neutral and she nods, the smallest of sighs emitting from her parted lips and she glances at the still open cabinet that held the cups, then tapping her fingers at the base of her throat.

Ah, he steps forward and reaches inside to grab one, lowering it down and handing it to her. There’s a moment of hesitation, though it doesn’t seem to be an aversion to him. It was more so of someone unsure how to accept help when they had been doing everything without it for a long time. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?

The ever-present shadows that swirled around Azriel became tense at the thought and he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind to be locked away.

Now wasn’t the time.

Ariadne was staring at the glass and he realized that she had no idea that the House of Wind would provide anything she wanted. After all, how was she going to know anything about a world she had been thrown into? Stories that passed over to the human lands weren’t always accurate.

Will you- He hears a quiet gasp and he cuts himself off, attention snapping back to the small Fae in front of him that was watching as… orange juice filled to the brim. Apparently, she figured it out a lot quicker than he thought she would. The corner of his mouth twitches. Smart girl.

Azriel takes a couple steps back and leans his hip against the counter, arms crossed over his chest with his wings tucked behind. Ariadne turns her head and blinks at him, observing his position before giving a single dip of her chin and he had a feeling that it was her way of saying ‘thank you.’

He returns the gesture and she begins to walk by, more than likely heading back to her room, and that’s when he smells it; cherry blossoms. It was sweet and soft, hints of creamy vanilla bean and almond with a warmth that made him want to reach out and touch her.

It’s his turn to blink now and he waits for Ariadne to pass before he looks over his shoulder, hazel returning to that golden hue as she makes her way back up the steps and disappears down the hall. His shadows begin curling around his neck and ears, whispering to him in cool breaths, some louder than others.

She is special. Yes, special. And alone. Afraid. She is lost. No way to understand. She cannot ask. She wants to understand. Must help her understand. Yes. Help her.

Azriel gives a small tug and they fall silent, though they flick against his skin in protest and to show their evident distaste for his dismissal. He rolls his eyes with a heavy exhale, giving his head a shake before he pushes himself away from the counter and disappears into the same temperamental darkness that matched that of himself.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

Ariadne was unsure how to feel about her brief interaction with Azriel; he understood what she’d been trying to do and had even helped her, which was odd for her, but it made him better than most people she had met. He didn’t invade her personal space either, didn’t try to do anything at all that would make her the slightest bit uncomfortable.

In fact, he seemed to be a fairly decent male. She couldn’t remember a single instance over the few times she had been around him - even as a human - where he had ever acted out or caused any sort of problem. And if he did, she had an inkling that it would have to be over something important.

Her eyes lifted to the window and found that the sun had set, painting the sky in magenta and lavender with bursts of burnt orange and yellow; it reminded her of something that Feyre might like to recreate on canvas. There’s a sharp pang in the center of her heart at the thought of her sister and she winces, reaching up to rub the spot with her hand.

It was hard without Feyre. Yes, Nesta and Elain were there, but they were handling being Made even worse than Ariadne was. At least she had left the room. Granted, it was only once and she wasn’t gone for that long. It was still more than what they were doing.

And that had to count for something, didn’t it?

Ariadne had been the closest with Feyre, in age and in every other way. They were inseparable and a lot of love was shared between the two of them, along with a deep-rooted loyalty and respect for who they each were. And now? She felt like she was missing a vital piece of herself that she didn’t know how to get back and the longer the stretch of days went on, the more painful it got.

She picks at the skin around her nails and shifts her gaze to the floor, not wanting to think about any of this anymore. That was the thing about having no way to talk to someone; she tended to inner-monologue and go too into detail about things, overwhelming herself until she disassociated from it all.

Not the best solution, but it worked for her.

A flicker of movement in the corner catches her attention and she zeroes in on it, eyes narrowing slightly. Don’t tell me this place has ghosts now, Ariadne stands, noting how it was darker than it should’ve been with the way the light was streaming in. Because I will find a way to get out of here. There can’t be that many stairs.

She takes a couple steps forward, head tilted with curiosity and a bit of fear if it was actually a ghost. Whatever you are, I’m not going to hurt you, so that means you can’t hurt me either. That’s how this works.

The unknown something moves again, causing a shift in the air that her new Fae eyes are able to detect; it looked like smoke, though more refined and smooth, shimmering with an iridescence that reminded her of the stars. She reaches out. What are you?

It slithers forward and Ariadne watches as it brushes against one of her fingers, almost as if it were curious about her too, and that’s when she feels that same softness that had been around her waist earlier, silken and surprisingly strong.

You’re one of Azriel’s shadows, it curls around her finger and Ariadne hums. What are you doing here? Did he send you?

The shadow moves further up until it’s wrapped around her wrist, the end curled between her fingers and she feels something push at the back of her skull. It didn’t hurt, but it was strange; it sort of felt like someone was trying to fit the wrong key into a lock.

Ariadne keeps her eye on the shadow and takes a breath. Are you trying to get in? Feyre mentioned that before, but I can’t remember what it’s called. It’s mind reading though, isn’t it? Are you saying I can do it too?

There’s an instantaneous pressure around her wrist and she sucks in another breath. Okay, that’s… Okay, her brow furrows; how did the shadow know before she did? Was it because of Azriel being their master? But then that would mean he would know too, wouldn’t he? And he had never given any inclination that he did, so how?

She wished she knew all of the information that Feyre had given back when she first showed them that she was High Fae. Ariadne could read, some, from the few books Nesta was able to get when they lived in the small cottage and then even more so when their father had suddenly been offered a business deal that made them wealthy again, not that she remembered any of that part of their life, and was given lessons; she didn’t like them and proceeded to have a glare off with her eldest sister until it was made clear that there would be no changing her mind.

Ariadne would teach herself.

And reading turned into writing.

But it had been slow going at first and when Feyre had arrived with Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian, she had only gotten so far and there was some of it that had been written down that she either got mixed up or couldn’t remember at all. It was all bits and pieces.

The tightening around her wrist draws her attention back to the present and she shakes her head. Right. Focus, Ari. If the shadow is trying to tell me what I think it is, I have to try, don’t I?

Ariadne closes her eyes and recedes back into her mind, maneuvering through the jumbled mess of thoughts before she comes across an opalescent wall, shimmering with a moonlight glow and she couldn’t help but think how pretty it was. Why had she never noticed this before? Her head tilts and she probes further, searching for some way to open it.

It brushed softly against her just as the shadow did and she gave an instinctive squeeze in return before the wall of light brightened, beginning to shake and shift, soon revealing a small entryway for a single person to get through. She gasps.

Whoa! How did I do that? Ariadne opens her eyes and looks down to see the little thing was weaving between her fingers. Can you hear me now?

Yes.

[badbihsemiluvr]

hi can you please make a jealous se-mi x fem! reader au like smut+some angst and fluff at the end for it like se-mi gets jealous when she sees reader talking or (whatever you prefer) with other girls but it’s just bcoz reader saw some random girl hitting on se-mi and se-mi didn’t right away turn off them so it ended up like se-mi showing that she only has eyes for reader with kinda rough s3x (but only if you’re comfortable with it!) no pressure at all and thanks in advance! your writing is saurr great!!!

jealousy is a drug 🚬 𖥔 ݁ ˖

semi (player 380) x fem reader

!! cw/tw !! 18+, dom semi x sub reader, flirting with other women, jealous + possessive semi, yelling/fighting, mentions of alcohol + cigarettes, car sex, rough sex, degrading, strap on usage (r! receiving), semi refers to her strap as her dick, semi calls the reader a slut often, reader crys during sex, oral (r! receiving), hickeys (giving + receiving), princess treatment once you get home <3

overview: your gf, semi has always been overprotective of you. especially when you talk to/have encounters with other women. but when she does it, it’s ok? jealousy is a two way street, so you decide to teach semi a lesson in jealousy during your night out at the club.

!! an !! hey guys this is a bit of a long one, so prepare urself. if u love toxic angsty smut this one’s for u. also!! this took me HOURS to write, because the entire smut portion got deleted after i spent 2 hours on it, i had a major crash out moment and got such bad writers block after that. anyways, regardless of that incident i feel like this is one of my best works yet, hopefully you guys enjoy it as much as i do! 🤞🏻

you and your girlfriend, semi, live very stressful lives. you guys are in severe debt so you live paycheck to paycheck. it’s rare the two of you have a night out to forget about all the worries of your world. but tonight, the two of you decided to go out to one of the craziest clubs in seoul, club pentagon.

you put on a white slip dress that looked angelic against your skin tone, and your favorite thigh high boots. semi’s glossy eyes were practically glued to your figure, she stared in awe.

“like what you see?” you say, a slight smirk forming on your lips. “mhmmm” semi hums, eyes still observing every inch of your body.

“isn’t that a little too scandalous to go out in?” semi says with a hint of protectiveness in her tone. “no i don’t think so, it’s a club everyone will be dressed like this.” you say with firmness in your voice, knowing you weren’t gonna change your outfit to make your girlfriend happy.

“let’s get going then.” semi said as she slides her hand behind your waist, leading you out the door. once you arrive to her car, she opens the door for you like the gentle man she is. she gets in the drivers seat shortly after.

semi cranks the engine, and turns on the radio. the two of you yap, and admire the beautiful sights of seoul as you make your way to the club. it’s quite a drive from your shared apartment.

finally, you arrive to the club. semi pulls in the parking lot and finds a spot. “you ready, love?” semi says. you nod with a gleam in your eye, ready to drink away all your problems. you and semi walk hand in hand to the line to enter the club. after what felt like forever waiting in the line, due to the club being the most popular in seoul, the bouncer lets the both of you in.

the second you and semi enter the club, she grabs your wrist, immediately leading you through the haze of neon flashing lights to the bar. she orders the both of you some shots of soju, to start the night off.

the bartender slides the glasses her way, and semi hands you two shots to take. you throw them back in unison, the burn of the alcohol lingered in your throat. you take a moment to look around, taking in the crazy environment of the club. there were girls throwing up in corners, people putting god knows what in their drinks, and a thick smoke filled the air.

you look semis way, and see a gorgeous tall brunette girl approaching her. you didn’t think much of her, until she started flirting with your girlfriend. she slid effortlessly onto the empty seat beside semi, and drunkenly muttered “well aren’t you something.”

semi let out a chuckle, brushing her fingers through her messy black hair. “is that supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing?” she says with a slight smirk on her lips. you felt a fire growing inside of you, how could she be so naive. this woman was clearly flirting with her, and she didn’t even turn her away. she was playing into it, and that made you pissed.

“I don’t know wanna find out?” the woman said, eyes black with lust. semi shook her head, with an amused look on her face. “well aren’t you bold?” semi says eyes wide. you roll your eyes at her comment, grabbing semis wrist pulling her back into reality. the reality that she was in a relationship, with you.

semi finally turned the woman down by saying, “sorry, i’m actually in a relationship.” signaling to you. the woman is slightly taken aback when she sees you with a cold look on your face, apologies quickly escape her lips. you brushed off the apology, not necessarily mad at the woman. but more so mad at semi, for leading her on. it made you wonder, does she do this often?

semi turned to you, seemingly unfazed by the encounter and unaware of how mad it really made you. she mutters “i’m gonna step out for a quick cigarette, that ok?” you roll your eyes, wondering if she was gonna go sneak out to hook up with the woman from earlier. it’s not like the club cared if people smoked inside.

as semi slipped away to smoke, you sat at the bar filled with anger and frustration. “can i get another round?” you uttered in a low tone to the bartender. he nodded and slipped you another round of shots. ?you downed the alcohol faster than you could think of all the possibilities of what your girlfriend could be doing.?

as the alcohol from earlier started to kick in, your angry demeanor loosens up. you think of a idea that surely will give semi a taste of her own medicine. a subtle smirk forms on your lips, knowing what you were about to do was slutty, but you didn’t give a fuck.

you get up from the bar, making your way to the dance floor. the air was heavy with with sweat, lust, and smoke. the loud bass of the music and people yelling were so loud you could barely think straight.

you spot a woman in the distance with short black curly hair, slightly covering her face, and a cold composure that reminded you a lot of semi. she looked like she was alone, and could use some company from a pretty girl like you.

you approached the woman, tapping on her shoulder. she turned back to face you, her eyes looking you up and down taking in the sight of your beauty.

“you looked lonely, wanna dance?” you say in a low tone, returning the stares she was giving you. she nods, agreeing to the offer. you grab her by the wrist and pull her closer to the door, making sure semi would see you guys when she came back. the woman shakes her head in confusion at your sudden actions.

she grabs your waist and you wrap your arms around her neck, the two of you start dancing. “you drag me across the club like a maniac, don’t i at least get the privilege of knowing your name?” she whispers in your ear as the two of you sway to the music. you smirk at her words, and mutter “it’s y/n, and why does that matter?” “because i needed a name to put with this pretty face.” the woman says as her rough, calloused hands grazed over your jawline, tucking some loose hairs behind your ear.

as the two of you dance and make meaningless conversation, semi comes back into the club after her smoke break outside. her eyes scan the club, looking for you, clearly no longer at the bar anymore. she finally spots you in the distance, dancing with the mystery woman.

semi couldn’t even form coherent thoughts when she sees the woman all over you, the way you were smiling at her, the hand placement. semi angrily walks over to the two of you. she grabs you tightly, instantly removing you from the woman.

“and who the fuck are you?” she shouts passionately at the woman. “uhh, i’m saebyeok? and who are you.” the woman says with confusion evident in her tone. “i’m your worst nightmare. get the fuck away from my girlfriend” semi curses at her, dragging you outside of the club by the wrists like a kid that’s about to get scolded.

“what the fuck was that about?” she yells at you, her voice filled with intense anger. “just a friend, i was dancing with to pass the time while i waited on my girlfriend to finish doing god know what.” you say, your voice shaky. hearing your words, semi gets more heated.

“excuse me? i told you i needed a smoke, what the hell else did you think i was doing?” she mutters slowly backing you up to a nearby wall. you felt an ounce of fear take over, you’ve never seen semi THIS jealous to the point of physical anger.

tears slowly escape your eyes, smudging your eyeliner as semi continues to yell at you. people on the streets were looking at the encounter as you just stood there and took it, scared of what semi might do next. you knew she would never get physical with you, but with the alcohol in her system, that might change things.

semi noticed the stares, and didn’t want the police called for causing such a disturbance. she grabbed you and whispered “we’ll continue this conversation in the car.” with an annoyed look plastered on her face, acting like the people staring were interrupting something.

you and semi head back to the car, not speaking at all, but a heavy unspoken anger filled the air. the second you got to the car semi unlocked it, this time not opening the door for you. she scoffs and gets in the drivers seat.

the second the two of you are both in the car, the insults continue “you are such a slut, y/n? you know that. i step out for one second and your already over there with a new bitch.” semi practically barks in your face.

you finally snap at the way she’s treating you, practically sobbing you say “why do you think i did it, semi? i don’t have any fucking interest in that saebyeok. i did it to make you jealous.” semi’s demeanor slightly changes when she hears your muffled words. “what? why would you wanna make me jealous?” she says with confusion in her voice, acting naive like she didn’t know what she did to you.

“oh my god semi, don’t be fucking stupid. that woman from the bar earlier, she clearly wanted you and you were feeding into it.” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. when you say that, semis eyes soften. “baby, i had no clue you felt that way about that little encounter. i truly thought it was a meaningless interaction with a drunk girl. i mean i was laughing the whole conversation.” semi says, her demeanor switching from mad to understanding.

“well, it really did hurt me. it made me feel ignored, and worthless. especially when you had to leave the second after talking to that woman.” semis hand locks with yours, the other brushing the loose hairs behind you ears. she gently says “baby, i will always be yours. no other woman could compare to you. and i wouldn’t risk my future with you for some with some stupid drunk whore.” she laughs, eyes glazing over your body.

the heavy breathing and tears stop, as semi comforts you. her fingers ghost over your thigh, and she places a light peck on your lips. “i love you so much, princess.” she whispers, her face inches from yours.

you pull her in for a more passionate kiss, the sympathy in the air quickly turning to lust. semi pulls away from the kiss and whispers in your ear “how about i show you who you really belong to?” you nod, biting your lip. semi signals you to move to the backseat. you immediately crawl to the back, sprawling your body across the seat already needy for your girlfriends touch.

out of the corner of your eye you catch semi shuffling through the passenger seat console. your mind wonders what she could be looking for in this moment. semi finally pulls her 8 inch black strap out of the console, a devilish smirk forming on her lips and she crawls to the backseat to join you.

“you just casually keep a strap in your console?” you laugh. “well you never know, especially with a whore like you.” she utters, while throwing her shirt and pants off. she throws the strap on the floor board, wasting no time to get your clothes off.

“hands up.” semi says pulling your dress over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. semis eyes glaze over the sight of your nearly naked body, only the lacy fabric of your lingerie covering you. she fiddles with your bra straps and says “you wore this for me, huh?” you nod your head at her words, knowing it was true. you loved dressing pretty for semi.

“well you know just what i like, such a pretty girl.” semi says as her long fingers ghost over your body. semi pushes you back down, hovering on top of you, she leaves you feeling trapped due to the size difference.

semi loved the authority she had over you in this moment. her lips make their way to your neck, sucking the sensitive skin. light moans escape your mouth as semi leaves her mark. you feel her teeth every now and then bite the skin on your neck, making you squirm.

you feel semi smirk against your skin as her marks trail down your neck. she pulls away for a moment and you ask if you can mark her up. semi says “of course baby, i want everyone to know exactly what we did in this car.”

your soft, pink lips wrap around semis neck. she lets out low grunts as you suck on her sensitive skin. semis hand trail over all your curves as you mark her up. when your done you pull away, letting semi take control again. “good girl.” semi mutters, making you feel butterflies in your stomach. it was rare semi praised you during sex.

semi wastes no time, unclasping your pretty lace bra with one hand, sliding off your thong or with the other. which by the way, was completely soaked and ruined. she threw your undergarments to the floor board, shortly after taking hers off and sliding the strap onto her waist.

semis dark glossy eyes scan over your body in complete lust as she hovers over you. “i wanna fuck you in missionary, so i can see your tits bounce up and down.” semi says in a raspy low tone. semi positions her strap in between your thighs, her tip teasing your already soaked entrance.

she slowly sinks her strap into you, letting your tight pussy adjust to the size of her big cock. you let out a yelp, due to the suddenness of her entering you. “god, your so tight, you’d think a slut like you would already be stretched out by now.” she mutters as she slowly starts thrusting her cock in and out of you.

her pace is slow and passionate, which shortly would turn into the complete opposite, rough and merciless. a string of moans and curses escape your lips as her speed starts to increase. you want to feel her dick, in every inch, every crevice of your body. you didn’t care how sore you would be the following day, she could put you in a wheelchair and you would thank her.

semi grabs your boobs, and started playing with them as she slammed her cock in and out of your squelching pussy. “mmmm” semi hummed, loving the sight of your boobs bouncing up and down with every thrust. you loved how rough she was with you, you didn’t care if it hurt, you just wanted to feel her, deep inside of you.

your practically screaming in pleasure as semi speeds up her thrusts by the minute, you are a complete mess for her. lewd sounds of your pussy being destroyed and your desperate moans fill the car. semi puts a tight grasp on your waist to create a rhythm with her thrusts. “stop squirming, god why are you so sensitive.” semi says as she cocks her head to the side. you throw your head back in pleasure, and your back arches as her rhythm is hitting you in just the spot you need her most.

your breath hitches, tears can’t help but escape your eyes from the feeling of semis rough pounding into your cervix, repeatedly hitting your spot. semi notices your crying and says sarcastically “that’s what good dick does to a slut like you.” well, what she didn’t know that the tears were a mix of intense pleasure and pain. your eyes roll back into your head at her sarcastic comment, god she’s so hot.

sweat causes semis hair to stick to her forehead as she’s fucking you, mercilessly. she can’t take her eyes off of your boobs and the pretty faces your making, every inch of your body being explored by her.

you feel your body getting weaker at her mercy. semi’s dick was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. you were in complete ecstasy. your a moaning mess, that can barely form coherent sentences, you manage to get out a weak “i-im getting close, semi, don’t stop.” “already? god that’s pathetic.” semi mutters. her pace slows down, and speeds back up leaving you on edge.

you were practially in heat. your jaw hanging open in bliss at the feeling of semis dick deep inside of you, fucking you dumb. you couldn’t manage to get out any words besides loud cries of pleasure. you feel your body tremble, your walls start to clench around semis cock. you arch your back in complete bliss as semi smacks your ass, leaving a slight sting. your vision goes fuzzy and you throw your head back, you scream as you release all over semis cock. she continued thrusting throughout your orgasm to make it last longer. she pulls out and your juices coat her plastic cock.

“suck it.” semi demands you, like your some kind of dog or something. but you obey, you wrap your big pouty lips around her cock. semi pushes your head down, practically making you choke on her dick. not missing a single drop of your cum.

once you’ve sucked her dry, you lay on the sweaty car seat exhausted and absolutely fucked out. feeling lifeless, you look over at semi sat on the seat beside you, her messy black hair sticking to her face, catching her breath after fucking the living shit out of you.

you get up to grab your clothes, and semi grabs your wrist tightly. “we’re not done here, understand me?” she says demandingly, you nod and sit back on the car seat. semi slides the strap off of her waist and throws it in the front seat. she crawls to the front to push the seat forward, providing us with more room. you wonder what she has planned next to do to you.

semi gets on her knees, positioning herself in front of your closed legs. “you really thought we were done here, i haven’t even had my dessert.” semi says a slight smirk playing on her lips, signaling you to spread you legs. you throw your legs over semi, your knees resting on her shoulders. her face inches from your pussy, you can feel hear breath.

“so pretty baby, all mine.” she says as her fingers tease your already wet folds. you are a needy mess for her, all this teasing has you feeling like an absolute whore. after what felt like forever, semis lips attached to your cunt. you let out a loud moan, and throw your head back at the sensation of her cold lip piercing against your pussy.

semi’s tounge began to move at unimaginable speeds, eating you out like she’s an animal. you moan out semis name, barely able to think straight. at this point, the car windows are foggy, lewd sounds of your pussy being ate, curses and moans fill the air.

semi hums “mhmmm.” into your pussy as her tounge motions continue. you feel vibration pulse throughout your body as semi lets out little hums now and again. you are trembling, barely able to keep your legs open “s-semi, baby i’m getting close.” you moan lightly, tilting your head back from the intense pleasure of semis tounge swirling against your clit.

semi didn’t even realize you said anything, she was completely pussy drunk, with her head buried in between your now closing thighs. her strong hands grasping them open. she was eating you out like it was her last meal.

semi pulls away for a second and says “don’t look at the ceiling, look at me. i wanna see your pretty face when i make your cum.” she wasn’t even eating you out anymore yet just her words formed a giant knot in your stomach. she pressed her lips back against your soaked cunt, and picked up where she left off.

her motions slowing down and speeding up, helping you reach your climax. your eyes locked onto hers as you grabbed her hair, trying to resist the urge to tilt your head back. your body can’t stop shaking and loud moans escape your lips.

semi hummed against your pussy, and before you knew it the knot in your stomach broke. you cry out loudly, releasing all over semis face. she licks your fluids off of her lips, and wipes some of the cum off her face onto her fingers. “open up.” she says placing her fingers in your mouth. your eyes widen as you suck your release off of semis slender fingers.

semi places a kiss on your lips afterward, tasting the juices your lips were coated with “your mine, every inch of you. no one will ever fuck you as good as me.” semi says. you let out a light chuckle agreeing with semi as she gently helps you put your clothes back on.

shortly after, she puts her own clothes back on, adjusting herself before crawling into the drivers seat. you follow, crawling into the passenger seat. semi starts the car looks over at you and says “i think we should just go home baby, nothing in that club is more exciting than what we just did.”

you nod in agreement, saying “yea, i’m absolutely exhausted, i wouldn’t mind another night in.” semis face lights up by the light of her phone typing in your apartment address on the navigation app. semi shoots you a soft smile before pulling out of the club parking lot, heading home.

semi places her hand gently on your thigh. you stare out the window, as the radio hums lightly on the lowest volume notch. the two of you are silent the entire car ride, but a comforting warmth fills the air. even though the two of you aren’t physically saying it, you feel very loved in this moment. it’s the little gestures like this that matter, so much.

semi pulls the car into the parking lot of the apartment complex, she gets out of the car and makes her way over to the passenger side. she opens the door for you and picks you up bridal style, you laugh at the sudden gesture. but deep down you found it cute.

once the two of you arrive at your apartment, semi shuffles through her pockets for the keys. at this point, she’s holding you with one hand. you wrap your arms around her neck for extra support, so you don’t go falling flat to the floor. but somehow she manages to hold you in one hand and the other rummaging for the keys.

you wonder how she does that, she’s so strong. finally, semi finds the key, she jiggles it into the lock. she takes you inside, straight to the bedroom. semi places you on the gently on the bed, like you were the most delicate thing in the world.

she places a sweet kiss on your forehead, admiring your flushed face. semi whispers in your ear “how about we get you all cleaned up.” you agree, feeling gross from the club and sex with semi, a bath is just what you needed.

semi swiftly exited the room to start the bath for the both of you. you wait patiently on the bed, slightly tipsy and exhausted. you see semi walking back into the bedroom with a pack of makeup wipes. she says “let’s take this pretty makeup off baby, before we get in the bath.”

semi’s body slightly hovers over yours, gently rubbing the makeup wipe over your smudged eyeliner and mascara. “all done” she utters as she places a soft kiss on your lips. “your even prettier without makeup.” she says. you feel your cheeks glow red at her words.

semi picks your weak body up bridal style, taking you to the bathroom. once you arrive, semi sits you down on the counter, slowly taking off your dress and undergarments. she then lightly places you in the bath, and starts stripping herself.

after semi takes her clothes off, she gets in the bath with you. the two of you sit in the bath in a comforting silence, the only light in the room provided by a singular candle. “do you want me to help clean you up, baby?” semi offers. “yes i would love that.” you say, letting semi know your gratitude for her caring act.

semi takes the shampoo bottle sitting on the side of the tub, and squeezes some out into her rough hands. she then starts massaging the shampoo through your beautiful hair. the feeling of semis long fingers massaging your scalp sent you into an instant relaxation.

you were so thankful for semi taking care of you. even though she showed no mercy on you in the bedroom, she really does treat you like a princess and would do anything for you.

“relaxed, baby?” semi chuckles, noticing your state of bliss as she massaged her fingers into your scalp. “yea haha, your hands are magic.” you softly exclaim. a smile forms on semis lips. she grabs the small pink cup on the side of the tub, and dips it into the water, pouring it into your hair.

once semi has washed all the shampoo out of your hair, she washes her own hair. you sit and relax staring at semi as she washes up. the light glow of the candle, lit up her face. she was so beautiful, even doing the most simple things she was just otherworldly.

once semi finished up, she grabbed the nearby loofah and put some of your vanilla scented body wash on it. she moved your wet hair out of the way, and started washing you up. not making you lift a finger, semi washes your entire body. now and then she would ask you to turn around or sit up. you silently let semi clean you and when she’s done you thank her with a short, but loving peck.

semi washes herself off after. you admire the way her body looked as the soap bubbles covered it, her soft fair skin looked beautiful. semi finished washing herself off and gets up out of the bath. she then grabbed you out of the bath, your naked bodies pressed against each other. she sets you down, and wraps a big fluffy towel around your wet body. “you smell so good.” she mutters softly.

you smile at her sweet remark as the two of you walk to your bedroom. you shuffle through the drawers and ask semi if you can wear one of her oversized t-shirts. “of course baby, you’ll look so cute in it.” semi says. you put on some underwear and semis t-shirt and immediately crawl into bed as semi gets herself dressed.

you stare at your girlfriend as she puts on her grey sweatpants and black t-shirt, such a simple outfit yet she made it look so sexy. you can’t help yourself but stare. she looked in the mirror, brushing her wet messy back beside out of her face.

she noticed your reflection staring at her in the mirror, she didn’t say anything but it warmed her heart. she shortly joined you in bed, wrapping her big arms around you. she placed a gentle peck on your forehead saying “feel better baby? i could tell you needed some time to relax, after the night we’ve had.” you nod and exclaim “yea semi, that was much needed. thank you for pampering me.”

semis cheeks light up crimson red at your words. spoiling and taking care of you just came so naturally to her, but she appreciates it even more knowing it makes you feel loved. “i’m glad, i think we both needed it.” she exclaimed softly.

you feel yourself slowly drifting off, from the extremely emotionally exhausting day. you feel so safe in semis arms. as your nearly asleep, you feel semis hand brushing through your hair, making you open your eyes. “i really love you, y/n you know that.” semi says with pure love and adoration in her voice.

butterflies fly around in your stomach at her words, she said i love you a lot but those 3 words made you feel so secure. “i love you too, semi. and ill never love anyone else.” you say as semi places a soft but passionate kiss on your lips. “good, cause i almost beat a bitch up tonight.” semi chuckles sarcastically. you smile into semis arms, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

semi’s fingers ghost over your lower back, tracing lazy circles as you sleep peacefully in her arms. she knows deep down in her heart, she wants every night to be as sweet as tonight, forever. . . ♡

TYSM FOR READING I REALLY PUT MY HEART AND SOUL INTO THIS!! MORE FICS COMING SOON :p

[whatifitis]

♡ can we start it all over again? - LN 4 ♡

Summary: The person you thought was the love of your life turned out to be a liar. So now you're left with nothing, no love, no home, and no plans for the future. Everything feels awful but as soon as you feel things are getting better, you run into your first love.

Author's Note: After a long ass wait, here's part 3 to 'i wish you would've stayed'. thank you guys for all the support on this little series <3 yall are the reason i write

WC: 3469

CW: cheating, thoughts about not breathing, yearning from Lando, excessive song references

What I thought was for all time turned out to be momentary.

After a long day at work, you were excited to be able to come home and finally see the love of your life.

Even after all this time together, the love between you two was still so exciting and palpable. You were practically running up the steps to your shared home, fumbling with the keys a bit. You opened the door and didn’t find Gabe in his office like he usually is.

You heard some noise coming from your bedroom and booked it down the hallway in excitement, but when you opened the door, you were met with a sight you never thought you’d have to see. Red auburn hair swayed as the figure rode Gabe, covering his face.

You couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your mouth. The two heads turn to face you and shock is drawn all over their bodies.

“Mikayla?!” you question, watching as your cousin climbs off your fiance, failing to cover herself with your bedsheets.

“I-” is all she’s able to voice.

Gabe is scrambling off the bed, “It’s not what it looks like, baby-”

“Don’t “baby” me. You lost that privilege the second you stuck your dick in someone else.”

“No! I didn’t- It’s not-”

“Oh! So you just tripped and it fell into her vagina?!”

Being met with silence, you’re quick with your movements, walking to the closet and packing whatever you can grab in this moment of fury and despair. You can feel heat consuming your face and body. Tears are forming on your waterline but you refuse to let them see you fall.

You zip up your bag and make your way to leave, stopping for a moment to look at the person you thought you knew. “Loving you was the biggest mistake I ever made. Someone will get the rest of my stuff later. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

You don’t even spare a glance at Mikayla. But, as you’re about to close the door, you pause, feeling the band around your finger: “Oh, and I guess you’ll need this for her” - you spat, tossing your engagement ring to Gabe’s feet.

After everything, everything you told him, he still went behind your back and chose someone else. Come one, come all, you guess. It’s happening again. He called you the love of his life. God, how could you be so stupid. You think back on everything, and it’s all making sense now.

Mikayla wasn’t necessarily ecstatic when you’d told her that Gabe had proposed to you. You were disappointed and confused but brushed it off as she had just broken up with her boyfriend at the time.

When you confessed to Gabe that you were disappointed in Mikayla’s reaction, he reassured you and told you he’d talk to her for you.. Gabe was always quick to problem solve and he always enjoyed making you happy, so when he jumped at the chance to speak with Mikayla, you didn’t think anything of it. After her “talk” with Gabe, Mikayla was giddy. She apologized for her initial reaction to your engagement and asked if she could help you with the wedding planning.

Planning the wedding with your cousin by your side was amazing. The two of you had a shared taste in aesthetic so it made everything feel a lot less stressful. Now you realize why she was so excited. Helping you plan the wedding allowed her to invite herself over a lot to “go over details”. It was almost as if she was planning her own wedding.

You are such a fool. You ended up lost inside a memory of someone’s life, it wasn’t yours.

After everything that just happened, you weren’t sure of what to do or where to go. You were driving around in silence, trying to keep from completely breaking. You call a friend of yours, asking if you could spend the night with her and that you could leave in the morning. Pietra, your friend, assured you that you could stay as long as you need.

After a long and dreadful drive, you had arrived at Pietra’s house. She sat you down on the couch and handed you a cup of tea. “Y/n, what happened?”

You took a deep breath and tried to stay composed enough to tell her, but you couldn’t. The words you wanted to say were stuck in a lump in your throat. Your breathing became irregular as you struggled for air. All you could do was break down into tears as Pietra moved closer to you and pulled you into her arms, rubbing her hand up and down your back.

The weight of everything just came crashing down on you now. You lost the love of your life, your cousin, and all your future plans in one day. You don’t have a home. You don’t have love. You don’t have the one person you trusted with your life. You don’t have the person who put you above everything else. You don’t have the person who had the ability to turn your bad days into good days. You don’t have the person who loved you for you.

You don’t even have Olive anymore.

The two of you grew fond of each other after you and Gabe moved in together. Olive became your best friend in a way. As crazy as it seems, she helped you pick your outfits a few times. But she's not yours. Nothing is yours. Was anything ever really yours?

Time passes and you’re able to calm your sobs. Through your hiccups, you tell Pietra about everything. You tell her about Mikayla, about Gabe, about how you feel so lost now.

“I’m sorry, my darling. I didn’t expect this, honestly. But don’t worry about finding a place to stay. Stay here for as long as you want, it’ll be nice to have you around. It’s hard to find time to hangout with you and I miss seeing you.”

“I missed you too. And thank you for letting me stay here, I don’t know how to repay you. I can pay some rent or something.”

“No. Don’t worry about that. Just help me make some brigadeiro when you feel up to it.” she says, offering you a soft smile.

“I’ll try. I think I’m gonna head to bed now. I gotta get to the office early tomorrow.”

“No. What the fuck? You just got your heart broken. Your whole life just fell apart. No offense. Take the day off, matter of fact, take the whole week off. We’re gonna take a break. Okay?”

“I kinda wanna go to work so I can have a distraction from the fact that I’m failing.”

“You’re not failing, y/n. Gabe failed you. Mikayla failed you. None of this is your fault. You did nothing to deserve this.”

“At some point, I have to realize there is something wrong with me. My relationships never work and the common denominator in all of them is me.” you say, shrugging your shoulders and accepting that maybe love isn’t meant for you. You stand to go to your temporary room. “Goodnight, Pietra.”

“Fine. You can go wallow in your sadness but call your boss cause you’re not going to work tomorrow. I will lock you in your room if I have to.”

You shut the door to your room, not having the energy to counter Pietra’s demands. You have to fight every bone in your body to keep from sliding down the door and sobbing. At least make it to the bed, you tell yourself. Your feet heavily drag across the carpet, trying to get you to the edge of the bed and when you do, you collapse onto it and break. You cry and cry as you curl into yourself. It gets harder and harder to breathe, but you won’t be able to feel the relief of ceasing your breath completely. There’s a hole in your gut in the shape of everything you had and lost.

Gabe played you, for years. It was like he was mocking you with everything you ever confided in him. You had told him things that you’d never told anyone else, and now you regret that. You wish you could unrecall how you almost had it all. Everything you’d dreamed of, being loved and wanted.

All those braids of lies. All those “I’ll never leave”’s and “You’re more than enough”’s.

If you could, you’d go back to the night you met Gabe. You’d go back and tell yourself that he wasn’t the one. You wish you’d never met him. You had all of him, then most of him, and now none of him. What the hell are you supposed to do?

Once your sobs subside briefly, you send a text to your boss, letting her know you won’t be in tomorrow, and probably the day after. You won’t be able to get stuff done while in this state. Maybe Pietra is right. It might be best if you take more than a day or two off work to get yourself back up on your feet.

The next week is spent with Pietra glued to your side. The two of you spent everyday either relaxing or going on mini adventures around town and shopping til you dropped. While it’s been nice, spending time with P and just going out, it doesn’t take away the pain or distract you from it too much. There’s still an empty space in your chest that feels like it will keep expanding until it consumes you into nothingness.

It seems as if your soul is disappearing, leaving you to be a ghost. You still don’t know how it ended. Yes, he cheated, probably more than once, but how? Why? Were you not enough? Did you do something to push him away?

You can’t feel it yet, peace and acceptance. But you are waiting. Desperate to feel anything but this, or nothing at all.

Days and weeks pass and you’re slowly coming to. You’re back at work and you’ve been touring some apartments with Pietra. She insisted that if you moved out, you would at least live close by. You agreed to this condition and you just sent an application for the apartment you liked most. It was beautiful with a few big windows to let the sun in, a window nook you could relax in, and a magnificent view of London.

You were on break at work when your phone pinged with a notification. You look down and see his name pop up on the screen. Gabe texted you, letting you know he packed the rest of your stuff so it’ll be an easier and faster process for you to get whatever was left after that night.

Without responding, you text Pietra, asking her if she could go and grab your stuff with her boyfriend, Max. You don’t think you could stomach going back there. Not after knowing what happened in what was your room. Not after you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling questioning how many times it happened. Where it happened.

Without hesitation, Pietra says yes and lets you know that she’ll have your stuff in your room by the time you get home. You’re forever grateful for Pietra for being there for you through all this, for allowing you to live in her home. You would mention Max as well since it’s his home as well, but you found out that he had told Lando about your situation in full detail. So, he’s on probation right now.

The work day wraps up quite late so by the time you’re driving home, it’s dark and cold. You call Pietra and let her know that you were on your way back, asking if she needed you to pick up anything on your way home. She says no but keeps you on the phone to make sure you get home safe. The two of you talk about work and make plans for the weekend.

As you pull into the driveway, Pietra is already waiting for you at the door, dancing around as you hear a one direction song being played from inside the house.

“Welcome home, bestie.” Pietra screams.

You run up to her and hug her so tightly. You had just seen each other this morning but it felt nice to feel appreciated and wanted. In the past few weeks, you two had grown closer and it felt like you were kids again.

You enter the house and drop your stuff onto the couch when you feel something furry run along your ankles. You look down to see Olive.

“Pietra, what the hell?”

You look up to see Pietra with a guilty look plastered on her face, “Well, when I went to get your stuff from that bitch, I was grabbing the last bag and he had Olive in her little crate. He said he wanted you to have her. He said that the two of you had grown close and he wants you to have her. And if it makes you feel better, he said she’s been shitting in his shoes since you left.”

Bending down to pick up Olive, you look at her face and just hug her close. Turns out she is a girl's girl, and you’re grateful for her, even if she is just a cat.

“Thanks, Pietra. For getting my stuff and bringing my little Olive.”

“It’s no problem. I’m glad you got something good out of all this.”

“Me too.” you say, watching as Olive curls into you and purrs as you scratch beside her ear.

The rest of the night is spent cuddling with Olive and listening to Pietra vent about her own work life and personal life. Apparently her manager wants her to do a brand deal with a cheese company? When Pietra is lactose intolerant?

The next morning, you are awoken by birds chirping outside your window as rays of golden sun make their way to warm your body. It’s a beautiful day outside so why let it go to waste?

After kissing the top of Olive’s head, you start getting ready for the day and put on one of your favorite dresses. It’s a beautiful, pink sundress that’s loose and comfortable but hugs your figure nicely. It’d been a while since you’d worn it, having forgotten about it after Mikayla told you that it made you look like one of the twins from ‘Alice in Wonderland’. Maybe you should’ve seen the signs.

You decide to head to your favorite cafe that’s down the street. After moving in with Pietra and Max, you’d ventured to each establishment in the area and just fell in love with the aesthetic and aura of this cafe. It was cozy with cream colored walls, big windows that allowed the warm sun to shine through, and potted plants in every corner and crevice of the place.

After ordering a coffee, you take a seat at a table in the corner where you can read your book in peace. That was until you heard an all too familiar voice. “Y/n.” - Looking up from your book, you’re met with his eyes. The eyes you fell in love with all those years ago.

“Lando.”

With a shaky exhale, he quickly explains himself, “Max told me you were here. Actually, I kind of berated him to tell me where you were and if I could talk to you. I heard what happened with Gabe and I just had to see you. Can I have a seat?”

“I’m not in the mood, Lando. I’m tired and I feel like I’m just starting to get back up on my feet. I don’t want to entertain this.”

He takes a seat in the chair across from you and you watch the pleads that leak from his body. “Please, Y/n. I just want to talk. I’ve thought a lot about what I’ve done to you and I just need you to listen. Please. I don’t expect to get back together or for you to forgive me and all that. I miss having you in my life and I would really like it if we could at least be friends?”

You just sit there with your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him. You know as soon as you see him, you’re gonna wring Max’s neck for telling Lando about what happened and about where you were.

Realizing you weren’t going to speak, Lando continues, “I fucked up, bad. I disrespected you and essentially used you. Like I said the last time we spoke, I didn’t realize what I had til it was gone. I didn’t realize that I actually love you, like a lot.”

With a deep breath, you tell him everything you never said. “Sometimes I can find peace with the fact that you left, accepting that this wasn’t meant for me. Other nights I would bargain with God, asking him what I had to do or give up for him to bring you back. After all of this, I don’t know why I’m holding on to you. There is nothing to hold on to. And I used to be scared of losing you. I think I still am somehow, which is weird. Like if I let you go then I officially lost you. If I just hold on to every little memory, maybe you’ll come back, even if I shouldn’t. And that’s even scarier. It’s scary knowing that after all this time, you still have this hold on me. Like all you have to do is say something, and I'll come back.”

“So why don’t you come back? To me? I’ve grown, Y/n. I’ve changed. And I’m still changing and learning. I love you. And I know that even if I love you wholeheartedly, that’s not enough. I will work everyday to prove to you that I love you. I will work every moment to show you how much I care about you. The day that I left, I lost the love of my life. I lost you.”

“You didn’t lose the love of your life, Lando. You just lost the person you had loved the most so far in your life. You’ll find the love of your life, someday. But it’s not me.”

“Y/n, I don’t know life without you. Everyday that’s passed since I ended things, you’ve always been at the forefront of my mind. I found you then I lost you and looking back is torture. It hurts to know I hurt you. If I could go back and do it all over, I’d do it differently. I would’ve never let you go and I would have treated you better. I would have loved you better.”

“But you can’t. We both need to move on. This whole situation is not healthy for either of us. We can’t keep going around and around. You fucked up and you need to deal with the consequences. I need time and space from anything to do with love. I just got cheated on by someone who was supposed to love and care for me. I have to explain to every person I know why I’m not getting married anymore. I have to tell every single person that I’m not enough and I’ll never be enough. I have to tell everyone that I’m the disappointment they always knew I’d be.”

“You’re not a disappointment, Y/n. You never have been and never will. Let me show you what love really is like. I promise. We can go as slow as you’d like. We can be just friends. I can’t promise sunshine and rainbows 24/7. I can’t promise that there won’t be times where you’re mad at me. I can’t promise that I’ll be perfect. But, I can promise to stay. I promise to love you wholeheartedly, and do it proudly. I will love you loudly, shouting it from every rooftop. I promise to keep you safe. I promise to take care of you. I promise to surround you with love. While I hope you can love me again, I know it’s not easy and not something that has a high chance of happening. I know I don’t deserve it, but can you please let me in again?”

As you sit there looking at this person, this person who you loved with all your heart for so long. This person who took your heart and broke it into pieces. This person who has come back over and over again. This person who hasn’t loved or dated since the last time you two had spoken. This person who claims to love you.

“I don’t know, Lan. Can you?”

—————————————————————————

Tags for pt 3: @leclerc13 @f1fantasys @htpssgavi

I only tagged those who specifically asked to be tagged in pt 3 cause I didn’t know if those tagged in pt 2 wanted to be tagged in this one 😭😭😭

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Okay I'm here and I am ready for the finale of this wonderful series!

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes. “Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

I like this line, because it's what made Dean stop. In my head I feel like this version of Dean has pushed away so many people and the reader is the first person in a long time to genuinely say that she was "worried" about him, and it strikes something in his chest because he couldn't remember the last time it happened. That's the headcanon in my head anyway lol.

Also the spice was.... 😱🌶️🔥. I literally cannot write smut to save my life, but you always write it so well! I also liked that you didn't do it as intense as omegaverse usually is, because we both know how it can be 👀

“It’s too damn late,” he says, breaking the silence. “You realize that right?” You shoot him a frown. “Too late for what?” “For me to let you go,” he says. 

OH MY WORD DEAN SHUT UP! I promise it's okay! She loves you and she can see that you're not a bad person because you literally have been nursing her back to health with her broken ankle 😭 Not to mention you guys are fated! She's not going to let you go no matter what you do.

But again... on brand for Dean to hate himself and to think he's not good enough -sigh- just means that you get to spend more time wrapped up with him trying to convince him 😊😉. I also believe that Dean loves intimac, that he does crave that connection with someone, not to mention I still love what you do in your Midnight Espresso series with Dean being a little touch starved for non-sexual touch. I feel like you've also implied this here and it is marvelous!

His brotherly pride and his humor are tinged with something else though. You think you begin to understand. His losses have weighed him down, leaving him aimless and living in that in between, not unlike the ghosts he used to hunt. You know the feeling.  You thread your fingers with his, earning his attention.  “You can have that too, you know,” you say. “I mean, I don’t want to skip ahead, but I feel like things are going well here, despite the whole busted ankle thing.” 

“It’s beautiful, but my God, how old is this thing?” “She. She’s a she.” “Oh, pardon me,” you say in amusement. “Do I have some competition here?” Dean gives you a teasing smirk. “Well, technically, she’s been with me a lot longer than you.” 

I'm literally cackling. I can hear Dean saying this to his significant other. Meeting Baby for the first time holds the same place in his heart as meeting Sam for the first time 🤣 ALSO, I wasn't ready for the palm kiss. Palm kisses and forehead kisses DESTROY me.

I like that this was an alternate ending to the dumpster fire that was the end of Supernatural. That it's Dean and his girl out on the open road listening to a Led Zeppelin song holding hands in the front seat of Baby was just beautiful in the best way and a perfect ending to this mini-series my wonderful friend!! I am going to miss this couple so much, but it really was a fitting end for them 🥰

Against the Wind - Part 4

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: The grand finale...

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, knotting, claiming, fluff and feels.

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 4: Running to Live

His cold hands are warming on your skin as he slides them underneath your sweater. They move smoothly up your back, bunching up the material. You break from his kiss only to help him get the sweater off you, followed closely by his pants.

Your sweatpants slide down your legs with just a sharp tug, baring most of your body to his gaze. His eyes drag over your exposed neck and shoulders, your breasts cupped in your bra, down to your panties and bare thighs.

A shiver runs through you, both from his heated gaze, and from being exposed to the cooler air. Even with the fire going and the heater running in the cabin, the frigid air outside is unforgiving.

You have no problem with the way Dean guides you down from the chaise to take advantage of your nest on the floor, right in front of the fire. He draws you into a sensuous kiss, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and grazing with teeth.

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return. You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the prickling of his stubble. Your fingers thread into his hair, and you pull him back down for a devouring kiss.

Dean’s brows furrow as he holds you to him, wanting to feel every part of your skin against his. His calloused fingers map their way down your side, and across your back to unhook your bra. His lips veer away from yours to burn a wet, heated trail along your neck. His teeth come out to graze your skin, down your throat, down the lovely valley between your breasts.

“Dean,” you gasp, encouraging him when his hand cups one of your breasts. He explores the other with his mouth, teasing a pebbled nipple with his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your thighs rubbing together between the cage of his knees in the mess of blankets. Already you feel slick forming at the apex of your thighs and slipping down in between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You can’t help but smile. Your face warms either from the fire dancing shadows across your bodies, or from him, his attention, his warmth, and the heat in his eyes when they meet your again. His hand slides down your body, over your hip and squeezing your thigh as he opens you up further for him.

“Tell me what you want, Omega.” While I still have control, his tone implies. His voice is gravel and sin while his hand moves swiftly and smoothly up the inside of your thigh.

“Touch me,” you breathe.

Nodding, he hooks his fingers around the hem of your panties and slides them down. You help him kick them off. Afterward, his thumb brushes over your mound, making you sharply inhale and squeeze his shoulders encouragingly. His fingers dip inside your wet heat, his brows raising with a smirk, as he feels the sheer amount of your slick already coating his digits.

“Fuck. This all for me, baby?” he remarks.

You hold onto the back of his neck with both hands as you nod, biting your lip. Your hips begin to cant against his hand on reflex, urging him to touch you.

“Alpha, please…” you implore, in a ragged whisper. He swallows your plea with a ravaging kiss, but he still gives you what you want. His thumb circles your clit, earning a moan from you into his mouth.

Soon, two of his fingers plunge slowly inside you, working you open, drawing more gasps and shudders of pleasure from your body. His length continues to strain hard against your thigh, but for him, it’s worth it to draw every sound, every time your body writhes and arches against him, craving release.

With a few more purposeful strokes, your inner walls clamp tight on his hand, and a flood of slick coats his knuckles even more. You gasp his name, your hands squeezing his arms just as tight as your pussy around his fingers.

Your skin is beginning to get dewy with sweat, and he kisses some of it off you when he trails down your chest. You stroke down his arms, down his back, whatever you can reach as you catch your breath. But then, his name falls from your lips with a firmer tone.

Dean raises his head, and you gently push at his chest. His brows furrow in confusion, only for it to be replaced with a smile of surprise when you curl a thigh over his hip and guide him onto his back. His head just manages to fall on one of your pillows, but he still utters a small grunt. You giggle down at him, bowing to meet him for a kiss.

He smirks and holds onto your hips, playfully squeezing your ass. “My wily omega.”

“Thought I was your cheeky omega,” you tease.

He snorts. “That too.”

You giggle some more as you treat him to the same path of open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Except this time, you hook a hand behind his neck, and you trail your tongue around his mating gland. You feel his jolt of surprise, as well as his instinctive growl of pleasure in response to his mate. Or at least, not yet…

His heart pounds in his chest.

“Omega,” he says, a warning not to tease as his grip tightens on your hips.

The command in his voice makes you shiver, but you smile and nuzzle his cheek in affection. You kiss your way down his body, playing special attention to his nipples, his stomach, the soft V and the happy trail of light brown fuzz leading you down between his hips.

Your fingers slide down his hardened desire through his underwear, earning a grunt from him, along with a shifting of his body against the blankets. Your lips curve as you nuzzle him there as well, letting your lips drag across his impressive length.

His fingers tangle in your hair when you hook your nails around the waistband and free his cock from its confines. His boxers join the rest of your clothes somewhere, and finally you get to see all of him, as much as he takes in all of you. Your hand wraps around his girth, your thumb circling around the sensitive, weeping head of it. Dean groans, a sound from deep in his chest.

You don’t know this, but it’s been a while since anyone but his own hand has touched him. That’s not the only reason his body has been calling to yours, but it plays a part in how fucking good it feels, and how much more he wants you.

He feels your intentions when your hand moves down his shaft in a teasing caress, your fingers tracing around his knot. A shudder rattles down his spine, makes his desire burn hotter in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t fucking take it anymore. He needs you, needs to be inside you. Needs to take you the way his instincts demand.

He grasps your shoulder before you put your mouth on him. You blink up at him, with a question forming on your lips, but he hefts you up onto his chest by your arms. He cages you there with a kiss filled with abject need.

“I can’t. Can’t wait anymore,” he says. He drags his fingers through your folds and earns another moan from your when he finds your clit. “You ready for me, Omega? Need my knot?”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing against his lips. “Need you, Alpha—”

No sooner had the words escaped your lips, when Dean rolls you back underneath him. But this time, he guides you onto your stomach, then raises up your hips, until you’re on your hands and knees. You catch your breath as you regain your bearings, shooting an incredulous smile over your shoulder at Dean. He smirks back at you, but his gaze is intense, his pupils darkened with the alpha inside him. 

Still, he soothes a hand down your back and steadies you with a hold on your hip. You feel him slot himself behind you, guiding his cock at your entrance. His chest presses hotly against your back.

“Last chance, Omega,” he says, his voice tight with restraint.

You look back at him again over your shoulder, your mouth threatening to frown. You reach back and sink your fingers into his hair with a sharp tug. “Do it.”

He sinks into you with one smooth plunge. It’s a relief for both of you, your mingled moans echoing in the near silence. All that’s left is the sound of your quickening breaths, of skin against sweat-slick skin as you move together.

Dean brushes your hair away from your neck. He kisses and licks his way along your bare shoulder, and finally the back of your neck. You’re trembling by the time his lips find the sensitive flesh of your mating gland. It echoes with the pulsing from your core as he continues to drive into you.

“Alpha,” you gasp on reflex. You squeeze his arm; he has it wrapped tight around your middle. Your pleasure builds ever closer to that crescendo, especially as his thrusts become ragged, at an angle that zips delicious tingles through your core. “Close…just…I need…”

Dean isn’t so far gone. He hears you, and helps you, reaching his hand around to strum his fingers insistently on your clit, along with his final thrusts.

Finally, it tumbles you over. Your inner walls become impossibly tight around him as he draws out your second release—one that triggers his own. Dean groans into your ear; his knot swells and locks into place, and he spends himself deep inside you. He pants hot against your neck, but even though he fastens his lips there, he hesitates, once again making you shudder. 

“Do it,” you repeat, in a coarse whisper. You’re close to tears. “Please. Want you, Alpha. Need you…”

Once again, he hears you.

His teeth sink into the back of your neck, making you cry out. But your pain is quickly overshadowed by a deepest pleasure, thrumming along with his.

 Afterward, Dean holds you in his arms. The warm glow of the fire paints your skin in its light, despite the utter darkness in the rest of the house. 

While you both wait for his knot to subside, you revel in the fact that you know he’s content. You can feel it through the newly formed bond. He traces random shapes in your skin, which still glistens with a fine sheen of sweat. The fire he stoked doesn’t help to cool you down, but you don’t care.

Nothing else matters but this. You turn your head toward him over your shoulder. He meets you there with a gentle kiss, much more gentle than any other you’ve shared before. It feels right. 

When he parts from you, he presses another kiss to your forehead. Then he leans back a little and sighs. You feel his thumb trace the raw flesh around the claiming mark on your neck. A small shiver runs through your body. Maybe on another day, you’ll mark him in return.

“It’s too damn late,” he says, breaking the silence. “You realize that right?”

You shoot him a frown. “Too late for what?”

“For me to let you go,” he says. 

His words both warm you and make you sad. Just how little does he think of himself?

“Dean,” you say, endeavoring to be patient. “You’re my true mate. Do you know how rare it is that we’ve actually found each other?”

Dean remains quiet.

“And after everything you’ve done for me,” you add, “how can I not think you’re a good man? How can I not think this is right?”

He seems to consider your question. His gaze briefly falls, then meets your eyes again.

“You don’t know me that well,” is his answer, with a wry turn of his lips. 

You reach back to caress his cheek. “Then tell me. Tell me about, um…tell me about how you became a hunter. From your dad’s journal, I got the sense that it’s a family thing.”

A vendetta, you wanted to say, but you keep that thought inside.

Dean chuckles, dropping another kiss onto your shoulder. You feel the pleasurable rasp of his stubble.

“Yeah, more like a family business,” he says. 

He tells you why John Winchester started writing in that journal in the first place. Dean explains it in his own words, of what his family was before and after a demon broke into his brother’s nursery. Your heart continues to break for him, over and over, the more story he tells. Your shock can only reach new heights when he tells you about angels and demons and everything in between. 

There are moments where he pauses, needing the time to find his words. He’s talked for so long that his knot finally softens, allowing you to withdraw from him, just to turn in his arms and be able to see his face. He bundles you in the blankets to keep you warm, but he also keeps you close, with a loose arm around your waist as he continues. 

You sense that he’s not telling you everything. How could he? A lifetime of blood and wins and incredible losses; family gained, and family lost, endless saves, and so many near misses. You listen with rapt attention (and a lot of shock) to everything he can share, but your heart twinges when you see how he struggles to talk about his mother’s most recent death. Then his best friend Cas. 

You realize that this man, for all his self-deprecation, is a hero. More so than you already knew.

“After the whole Chuck thing was done, I thought we’d just…go back to status quo. Me and Sam against the world, you know?” Dean says. He gives a rueful smile. “Then Sammy tells me he knocked up his mate.”

You smile. “You’re happy for him though.”

“Course I am,” Dean nods. “He never thought he’d get to have all that. A badass chick who can keep him on his toes, a house, the kid, the whole damn thing. He’s downright respectable again.”

His brotherly pride and his humor are tinged with something else though. You think you begin to understand. His losses have weighed him down, leaving him aimless and living in that in between, not unlike the ghosts he used to hunt. You know the feeling. 

You thread your fingers with his, earning his attention. 

“You can have that too, you know,” you say. “I mean, I don’t want to skip ahead, but I feel like things are going well here, despite the whole busted ankle thing.” 

Dean slowly smiles, shaking his head. He brings your hand up to his lips. 

“Okay, enough about my Hallmark movie life. What about you?” he asks. 

So you tell him. 

You two continue to share and explore, both in words and with your bodies, until morning comes. 

It’s another week in the cabin before Dean insists on helping you down the mountain. Your ankle has gotten a little better, but at this point, you need to see a doctor. It takes a couple of days, going as slow as you need to. He ends up carrying you for most of the way anyway. You tell him over and over that he doesn’t have to, but your alpha is stubborn. 

Once he gets you back to the city, you two take a shuttle to the nearest hospital. X-rays are taken, and you get a new cast for your officially fractured ankle. At the very least, you don’t need surgery. You’re able to call your mom from there and let her know where you’ve been, that you’re all right, and best of all…that you’ve found your mate. 

You cry along with her on the phone, this time for a good reason. The best reason. 

When you’re eventually released from the hospital, Dean picks you up in a sleek, black Chevy that has your eyes wide. 

He grins at the look on your face. “Hey, sweetheart. Come meet my Baby.” 

He parks the car and keeps the heater running while he comes around to you in swift strides. He takes your crutches and slides them into the backseat, then helps you into the passenger seat. 

“It’s beautiful, but my God, how old is this thing?”

“She. She’s a she.”

“Oh, pardon me,” you say in amusement. “Do I have some competition here?”

Dean gives you a teasing smirk. “Well, technically, she’s been with me a lot longer than you.” 

You scoff incredulously. He laughs and takes your hand, pressing a kiss into your palm. You discreetly study him and marvel at how much lighter he seems. You don’t know how much is because of this, what your hand in his symbolizes, and how much is because he’s reunited with something important to him. 

“It’s okay, Omega mine,” he says, with a measure of desire in his eyes. “From now on, you’re my priority.”

Your spine prickles with the same arousal you can feel from him through the bond. You lean across the way and share a thorough kiss. 

Until a horn honks loudly from behind. You both jolt, but Dean’s face falls into annoyance. He shoots up a choice finger at the car behind him in the rearview mirror. You laugh as he begins to peel out of the curved pick-up and drop-off zone in front of the hospital. 

“Where are we going, Dean?” you ask, still smiling in amusement. 

“Wherever we damn well please.” He turns to you with a hint of a smile reforming on his lips. “Want me to take you back home? We can sort out the logistics on, uh…well, this.”

You think about it. He poses a good idea, but at the same time, you’re not quite ready for this part of the adventure to end. 

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Sam?” you ask.

Dean blinks at your question. He whistles lowly. “About a year. Jesus, since my nephew was born.”

You smile and reach over, resting your hand on his thigh. 

“Let’s go see him, then,” you say. “I want to meet your family. Then you can meet mine.”

After that, you two can figure out the rest, like where to live, and how you’ll live. 

Dean raises a brow. “Really? That’s like, a thirteen-hour drive.”

You shrug. “I’ve always wanted to go on a real road trip. Can we get some food first though? I’m starving.” 

He laughs and nods as he stops the car at a red light.

“What do you know? A woman after my own heart,” he says. His amusement eases into a gentler smile the longer he stares at you. You smile back, and you give into the urge to lean in again, meeting your lips with his. He brushes your cheek tenderly with his thumb. 

“I know what this needs,” he says lowly. Your brows draw together in a silent question. 

He pulls away to reach into the side compartment along the driver door. He fishes out a cassette tape labelled Zeppelin IV. You bite your lip and try not to say anything smartassed.

Damn, this man is old school. 

He skips ahead until he finds Track 7, just as the light turns green. A melodious guitar riff fills the car as he turns onto the main road with your hand wrapped in his. 

Made up my mind to make a new start.

Going to California with an aching in my heart…

AN: And that's all, folks! 🥹 I truly hope you enjoyed Against the Wind!

Like I said in a recent update, I have more stories in store for you guys. January 3 will be Part 1 of Outlander -- sequel to The Honorable Choice -- a Western AU with Dean as our resident cowboy! I'll post a sneak peek on that one soon.~

But in the meantime, I hope you'll let me know what you thought of ATW! 💜💜

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[tpwk-formula1]

I saw your Drabble ideas 🥵

What about Lance Stroll ( I know he has like 10 fans but stay with me) with a pregnancy/lactation kink 🥵🥵 he’s really been on my mind lately

AN: I'm ngl Im not really a Lance girlie but I loved writing this so I hope you guys love it too!

TW: MDNI 18+ Lacation/ pregnancy kink. nipple orgams

WC: 950+

Y/N POV

Being 8 months pregnant in the middle of an F1 season is not necessarily ideal but Lance is finally on summer break which means for the next two weeks we get to do nothing but relax in Montreal before he has to go back to work.

"I think I'm starting to produce," I comment while rubbing my sensitive boobs softly.

"Oh, really?" Lance says while walking towards me to meet me in the middle of the room. When he gets close enough he's already rubbing my very swollen belly.

"Ya, Ive leaked through a couple shirts already and it's only 2 in the afternoon," I whine getting frustrated with going through so much laundry.

"Just wear nothing than," Lance smirks while jokingly pulling at the end of the Aston Martin shirt I had thrown on. I jokingly send him a glare but when he leans down and places a soft kiss on my lips I kind of just melt into his touch.

"I'm mostly joking, but what about one of your nursing bras with some breast pads in them," Lance says softly while still rubbing soothing circles on my bump.

"I tried that earlier but the pads where rubbing against my nipples too much and it was making them too sensitive," I respond which only makes Lance look at me with a soft smirk.

"Sensitive huh?" Lance comments which makes me look at him with a raised brow.

"Bet I could make you cum with just a little bit of nipple play," Lance comments with a smirk knowing I've been extra horny since being pregnant and it really doesn't take much to cum for him anymore. But just nipple play? I doubt it plus I was leaking which would make it all too messy, which makes me shake my head at the thought but the thought of it has my pussy slightly throbbing.

"You're thinking about it aren't you?" Lance teases making me look him in the eye and nod softly. Lance takes this as his chance to softly pull my shirt over my head leaving my top half completely bare given I hadn't put a bra on after leaking through the first one.

As soon as the air hits my already sensitive nipples I can feel a bead of my milk pebble out making Lance look at it before gently rubbing his thumb over it making me whimper at the touch.

"Oh I'm gonna have you cumming in the next 10 minutes," Lance smirks when he seems how sensitive they really are. He brings up the thumb that's gently coded in my milk before bringing it up to his mouth and sucking it off making me grow red in embarrassment but when I see Lance close his eyes and enjoy the taste I can't help but grow weak in the knees.

"Tastes so good baby," Lance says softly while pushing me towards the bed and gently laying me down on my back while he climbs into the bed next to me.

"Look so fucking pretty like this," Lance keeps praising while rubbing my swollen bump before slowly bringing his hand up to my slightly leaking nipples.

"Oh fuck," I moan gently when Lance pinches my nipples making more milk leak out. I can feel the pleasure from my nipples going straight to my pussy.

I feel Lance start kissing my shoulder and slowly moving closer and to my nipples where he instantly latched his mouth onto my right nipple while still teasing my lift one.

"Mmmm, so good," Lance mumbles when he gets a weak stream of milk filling his mouth. While Lance is sucking on my right nipple he keeps playing with my left leaving me a whimpering mess under his touch.

"Lance," I moan softly when I feel myself really starting to dampen my panties wanting to touch myself.

"More Lance please," I whine trying to push Lance's hand towards the waistband of my pants but he keeps a firm pinch on my nipples making me whimper at the feeling.

"I said I was making you cum just by playing with your nipples," Lance says before leaning back down and taking my nipples back into his mouth while giving it a small bite knowing how much I love a little pain mixed with my pleasure.

I could tell that I really was gonna be able to cum like this if Lance kept playing with me like this.

"Shit, Lance," I moan when he keeps pinching my left nipple between his fingers making me whimper when he starts pulling at them while pinching.

"Lance," I whine a little louder when I feel myself nearly the edge of my orgasm which quickly has Lance shifting slightly so he can take my left nipple into his mouth and start pinching my right nipple instead making me gasps as I feel the milk in my left milk start to spray out slightly.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I start loudly moaning as I feel myself starting to fall over the edge.

Thats when Lance gently bites down on my nipple and tugs it's between his teeth while pinching and pulling my other nipple helping me ride out one of the more intense orgasms he has given me while pregnant.

"Oh! Lance," I cry as I relax into the waves of my orgasm.

Once I slowly start coming down from my orgasm Lance gently releases me nipples but brings his mouth back towards each one giving it a gently suck to help sooth any pain he might have caused.

"I'm not gonna lie, you taste divine," Lance says with a smile playing on his lips before he leans down and gives me a gently kiss on the lips.

-----------

The end! I hope you enjoyed!

[h-sleepingirl]

Dolly in the Art Gallery: A Charmed 2025 Scene Log/Recap

“Art is how we decorate space, and music is how we decorate time.”

I first heard this Jean-Michel Basquiat quote in a rope class from Barkas, in the context of how we play within both space and time in a kink scene. I think about it frequently, especially as I feel more and more passionately about the brutally human impulse to create art.

I have been coming to hypnosis events since 2013, before Charmed existed -- my first event was packed with my own manic energy, held in a dungeon where people could hypnotize me basically at will. No hotel staff, no sneaking back to a private room. I developed a reputation as an aesthetically pleasing subject, often put on display in subtle and overt ways.

I have grown up in this community. Essentially my entire adult life has been spent involved in going to events and cons. I'm 33 now, and as Charmed celebrates its 10th year I've perhaps been unconsciously influenced to reflect on myself aging.

I feel so much older than that 21 year old exhibitionist. I'm more reserved, quieter, more selective, and certainly smarter. I like who I'm becoming, but I do miss parts of who I used to be -- that confidence, that energy. 

On Friday evening I looked at the schedule and saw there was going to be a Gallery of Living Art -- it's been a staple at Charmed for a number of years, but I'd never done more than peek inside.

I thought to myself: “Why not try to get in touch with that playful younger self? Why not show everyone who I am nowadays? Why not live out a fantasy?” 

Surely I’m not too old. Surely I haven’t grown out of this.

The time comes and I connect with my partner about it. He knows that one of my absolute favorite things is being totally frozen. We decide against anything complicated. No one will touch me or trigger me or anything like that. It’s the most “negotiating” we've maybe ever done, but I still leave all details to him. I tell him: “I was really just thinking this is an opportunity for me to sit blank and still for a long time.”

We walk into the room, and it’s overwhelming. People are setting up intricate exhibits with lots of creative interactions. There is a sheet we need to fill out to describe what our “art” is, which my partner writes on cryptically.

“Dolly can't talk. Duh…”

“Dolly is precious -- don't touch!”

Under “Artist”, where he is meant to put his name, he writes a question mark.

I am so in love with him, watching his mind work on the spot.

We find a place in the loud room and look at each other. We are a fluid force of nature in a bed together, spontaneous and wild. This planning doesn't feel like us. This hypnosis isn't a formality, per se, but it just feels sort of like “We both know how this is going to end on some level -- so how do we spend this time?”

He gingerly removes my name tag and starts murmuring to me. 

Being a dolly is such a luxurious treat that the moment he suggests it, I crumble, gripping his shirt with my weak little fingers, moaning too softly to be heard by anyone but him.

He poses me. He fixes my gaze blank and forward. He lets me practice standing and sitting. This kind of rehearsal is unfamiliar for us, and I almost relish doing something that feels a little awkward.

I am a dolly when he leaves me, frozen and posed, but I know it is going to take a couple minutes to settle in. I am a dolly getting comfortable, a dolly with twinges of self-consciousness. After a couple minutes he walks me over to a different chair, one that is highlighted by empty space around it, and I sit, and I know this is truly where I am supposed to be on display.

Finally, total stillness rushes over me like pure relief. 

I sit, and I stare, and I don’t do anything else. My mind is blank, and sometimes all there is inside my head is “I’m a dolly, I’m a dolly,” in my little dolly voice. It is pure, simple bliss.

People begin to come up to me to look at me. I am a good dolly and I am silent and I do not move even my eyes. They patiently read my sign and then observe me. I cannot change my body position to be any more or less appealing to them, I cannot hide nor flaunt myself.

Some people say things to me, little compliments and appreciations, and I can’t really process their words. The little dolly voice in my head screams in pleasure when I’m spoken to and given attention.

I have ADHD, I’m addicted to my phone, I’m a fidgeter. But there is nothing that carries the unique pleasure of being frozen and still. It reminds me of Quaker meetings, of spiritual silence and meditation that makes one feel time itself as though it has a sensory texture.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel talks about the Jewish sabbath as proof that it is not intuitive for us to sanctify time. But nevertheless as Jews we must learn to do it to make shabbat holy every week. Shabbat is “a cathedral in time,” he says, and I’ve been thinking about how much that applies to my experience of hypnosis. Hypnosis is not a physical object. We may sometimes have props but we cannot touch trance and it leaves no marks. It is time that is the sacred dimension in hypnosis, the time that we set aside (“kadosh” in Hebrew) with another human being.

Heschel says we are slaves to space and material things. And in this moment I feel like I have gotten as close as I can to releasing that. I am not even moving my physical body within the physical world. I am just relishing each passing second of stillness, building my cathedral in time.

Of course, sometimes I think sacred space and objects are very important. After all, I am in a space that is incredibly rare, that only exists very briefly, that I had to travel at length to get to.

And I am an object -- art -- inside of it. I am literally decorating the space, as Basquiat would say.

Am I thinking all of this as I sit there motionless? No, not with any sophistication. I truly feel blank. But I am feeling flashes of this as abstract mental sensations that I will untangle later.

Something else strikes me very quickly that I observe within. When people walk up to look at me, something inside me tenses up. I realize that I am unconsciously preparing myself to talk to them. I have been coming to cons for so long, and especially since beginning to write books I always meet a ton of new people every year who come up to me to talk, which I adore. But right now I am in a space where I literally cannot have a conversation with anyone. I don’t even have my nametag on anymore -- my partner was so clever to remove it.

It is the opposite of vending books, where I sit in a chair and am helpless in the sense that I must engage in conversation with the people who come up to meet me. Now, I literally cannot talk to anyone, and they cannot talk to me, and most people may not even know who I am.

It is a hit of extreme objectification, more real than it has ever felt. I am not sleepingirl -- I am a dolly. “Who” I am doesn’t matter. I am art.

My partner also is not sitting there receiving compliments for me. He is nearby, in eyesight, just watching. But he’s anonymous too. And there is something about this mutual anonymity that makes me feel even prouder about us as a couple. There is no performance of who we are. I don’t know how to describe it, but obviously it feels more authentic than public play usually ever does. Like a little secret we are sharing a corner of.

And he looks ever the artist, sitting back and watching me. I feel very strongly that this little scene isn’t the art -- it’s me. Our relationship is what’s really on display. All the work he’s done over 7 years of brainwashing me, real work on my personality and identity, my wardrobe, every single way I express myself and who I am. The people coming by are seeing his bimbo, his dolly, his [x] -- without necessarily knowing who either of us are.

The rhythm is addicting. My mind babbles my self-given dolly mantra over and over, I luxuriate in the stillness, and I stare. I only can sort of half-see with darkened vision, though my eyes are wide. I love when people notice me sitting there -- their expressions change as they observe me. They step into my metaphorical space, which is eerily silent compared to the revelry of the creative demonstrations that fill the room. They are no longer “being entertained,” and no one can communicate to them what I am doing -- they must engage with me out of their own curiosity.

Sometimes they decide to talk to me. I can’t process most of it, but I remember a few interactions.

Someone says, “What an excellent dolly.”

Someone else notices that I’m wearing a bracelet that says “bimbo,” and says, “Even the details on this one are exquisite.”

Someone else says, “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen sleepingirl play before.”

That last one hits me in the gut with memories of a time now long past: Play in public spaces was universal at cons; I couldn’t move from one place to another without someone dropping me into trance; absolutely everyone knew what I looked like when hypnotized.

Even now as I am on display, I have a mask on, and the people can’t see my gently parted lips.

It is a rush of emotion that is very complex for my simple little dolly head, but it goes away.

For a long while, I just exist as a thing in bliss while the room -- the whole world -- bubbles with activity around me. 

Eventually even as I sit frozen and blank, a little timer starts ticking in my head -- I could sit here for much longer, but I don’t want to make him wait for me, and I have other things I want to do tonight.

Reading Heschel has been helping me release some of that odd panic that bubbles up when I awaken from trance -- the feeling that magic is slipping through my fingers, memories are slipping out of my mind, and I can take no memento from it. I sometimes write, draw, or make music to try to capture the things I feel in hypnosis with my partner. I think it is from that impulse to be able to touch and hold hypnosis, to make it a “thing” in space as opposed to something of time.

But I do think there is something else, just a human drive to create art about this transcendent experience that we engage in together. I need to create art to try to communicate the perfect way I don’t move and my eyes go glassy. I need to express my emotions, my desires, my dreams, my love. I am only human, a human blown away by this very human thing we do that we call hypnosis.

Only my partner sees it, and he does see so much into the soul of it for me. But this is exactly what I have wanted -- a chance to publicly communicate the beauty of what he and I do. To make this art by performing it, living it. To engage in a human act of creativity by having my humanity stripped away from me.

I am a bimbo, a dolly, I am art -- and that doesn’t go away when I get up to tell him I am done sitting here. I am his art. I am a manifestation of his creativity in this world, and he has a beautifully creative mind which I love so dearly.

This is serious for me, this is real for me, this is so highly personal and jealously guarded as my own precious identity.

Ten years ago I laid my head on his lap and he transformed my eyes into dolly eyes and told me that someday he would turn my whole body into a dolly body. And as we laid together in a bed after the Gallery on Friday he talked about how I had those dolly eyes again in that room. But to me, it’s not about being a dolly, or even being a bimbo. It’s about creating art together, art with a power imbalance. And fucking respecting that as sacred and exciting.

I don’t have much else to say except extreme heartfelt gratitude to Mazirian for running the Gallery, and everyone who came by to look at me and said nice things to me and joined me in my world for just a little while. 

(If you’re curious, I was sitting there for about 30 minutes.)

[00valentina-writes00]

Ur take on long distance relationship

(Ellie Williams x Reader)

something soft and sweet!!

Them doing little virtual dates,making each other playlist, playing video games, making funny google slide presentations,then sending each other love letters

But if you wanted to do something with angst and smut.

Ellie or reader has been experiencing major jealousy issues,and because of this they have been distant and annoyed with the other, leading their FaceTime call into an argument over said jealousy issues, and it ending with angsty phone sex.

Gang- the phone sex is just staring at me I’m gonna do it

✞⛧ Ellie with a long distant relationship ✞⛧

(College au ellie btw-)

✞⛧ You and Ellie have a standing virtual date every Friday night. She sets aside time to play video games with you, even though she’s usually buried in textbooks or guitar practice. When she wins, she gloats with a smug “I told you I was better,” but when you win, she makes an exaggerated pouty face and jokes that she let you win.

✞⛧ One of your favorite things is when Ellie sends you surprise playlists. You’ll get a random text from her saying, “Put on this playlist and think of me,” followed by a mix of grunge, indie, and punk that totally fits her chaotic energy. It makes you feel closer to her, even if you’re on opposite sides of the country.

✞⛧ She’s terrible at singing, but she still sends you voice memos of her trying to learn a new song. It’s hilariously off-key, but you can’t help but love how genuine and unbothered she is.

✞⛧ Sometimes, Ellie will FaceTime you with her guitar, strumming along to one of your favorite songs, hoping you’ll sing along. You’ll both end up laughing through the chorus because neither of you can hold a note, but the moment is so sweet, you don’t even care.

✞⛧ Late-night Google slides sessions become your ritual. You both work on silly slideshows, like “The Best Ways to Distract Ellie During Finals Week” or “Top 10 Ways I Would Survive In A Zombie Apocalypse (With Ellie).” Ellie takes it seriously, adding in ridiculous survival tips like “bring snacks” and “find a good Wi-Fi spot.”

✞⛧ Ellie loves sending you random memes, even when they’re not really funny to anyone but the two of you. She’ll say, “I thought you’d appreciate this one” and then give you an in-depth explanation about why it’s funny.

✞⛧ When you both miss each other, Ellie writes little handwritten notes and takes pictures of them to send. They’re simple: “I can’t wait to see you one day,” or “Just thinking about you while I pretend to study.” It’s not much, but it means everything.

✞⛧ When Ellie’s feeling down, she’ll send you one of her old mixtapes she made in high school. It’s a weird mix of angry punk and sappy love songs that she claims “speaks to her soul.” You listen to it and text her back that it’s perfect.

✞⛧ Ellie doesn’t mind being vulnerable with you. She’ll text you long rants about how stressed she is with school and her side hustle, and you’re always there to remind her that she’s doing the best she can.

✞⛧ When she’s really missing you, Ellie takes a picture of her bed with your favorite hoodie on it and texts it to you with a simple message: “Wish you were here.”

✞⛧ Sometimes, you send Ellie a video of you singing along to one of her favorite songs, and she can’t help but tease you about it. “I didn’t know you had that in you,” she’ll say, but you can tell from the way she keeps replaying it that she loves it.

✞⛧ On special occasions, like birthdays or anniversaries, Ellie sends you care packages full of your favorite snacks, a mixtape, and a handwritten letter. She makes it clear that she might not be able to be there in person, but she’s thinking of you constantly.

✞⛧ Ellie can never leave you on “read” for too long. You’ll get a text from her within minutes no matter how busy she is, usually something snarky or sarcastic, but it always shows she’s thinking about you.

✞⛧ You both have inside jokes that only make sense to the two of you. Ellie has this one where she’ll send you a random picture of a cat and caption it with something like “this is the only thing keeping me sane right now,” and you’ll both crack up because it makes zero sense, but it’s hilarious anyway.

✞⛧ You love sending Ellie playlists, too, but you make sure they’re different from hers. You’ll send her one full of songs she’s never heard before, just to get her reaction when she listens to it. It’s always the same: “This is weird… but I love it.”

✞⛧ Every now and then, you’ll both spend an hour just texting each other about your dream life together. You’ll talk about the little things, like where you’d go on your first real vacation or what you’d eat for breakfast when you’re finally living in the same city.

✞⛧ When things get tough, Ellie likes to tell you stories about the worst day she’s ever had in college. It’s mostly funny and full of chaos, but you can hear the tiredness in her voice. You always remind her that it’s okay to feel worn out and that she’s still doing amazing.

✞⛧ She’s not the type to send “I love you” too often, but you always know when it’s coming. It’s in the little things, like when she texts, “I miss you, you dork,” or signs off with “talk to you soon, babe.”

✞⛧ Ellie sometimes sends you little sketches of things she’s working on. Whether it’s a half-finished drawing of a band logo or a quick sketch of the dorm room she’s stuck in, it’s something she’s proud of, and she wants to share it with you

✞⛧ She’ll randomly drop voice memos on you just to say something random. “I just saw a dog that looked exactly like you, and it made me think of you,” or “I wish you were here so I could steal your snacks.” It’s always a little weird, but in a way that only makes you smile.

✞⛧ When you both start to feel disconnected, you make a point to schedule a “real” date. You’ll set up a Zoom call, order food to eat at the same time, and just talk about anything and everything like you’re sitting across from each other at your favorite diner.

✞⛧ She’s a huge fan of sending surprise memes to keep you entertained. The more ridiculous, the better. You both end up spamming each other with stupid, unexplainable memes, and it’s the best part of your day.

✞⛧ The moment Ellie knows she’ll see you again, she starts planning. She’ll text you things like “I’m saving all my good snacks for when you get here,” or “I’m picking the worst movie to show you, I hope you’re ready.” She can’t wait to have you near her again.

✞⛧ Ellie sometimes just calls you to hear your voice, even if there’s no big conversation. You’ll talk for hours about nothing in particular, but the sound of her voice makes you feel safe, even when she’s halfway across the country.

✞⛧ You’re both masters of making the other feel special from afar. Ellie will text you little “good morning” messages even when she’s still half asleep, and you’ll send her little updates about your day that you know will make her laugh.

✞⛧ Ellie finds comfort in the small things, like knowing that you’re there to listen when she needs to vent or that you’ll never judge her for being a little messy.

Dun dun dunnn (knew you dirty animals would be looking for the smut, and I have provided)

The screen flickers slightly, the connection unstable, but Ellie’s face is crystal clear. Her sharp green eyes are narrowed, her freckled cheeks flushed with frustration, and that ever-present smirk of hers is nowhere to be seen. Instead, her lips are pressed into a thin line, her jaw tight. You can practically hear the tension crackling through the air, even through the distance separating you.

“You’re avoiding the question,” she says, her voice low and edged with accusation. Her fingers tap impatiently against the edge of her desk, the sound muffled but insistent. “What’s going on, huh? You’ve been so distant lately. I feel like I’m talking to a ghost.”

You cross your arms, leaning back in your chair. The dorm room around her is a mess—guitar picks scattered on the floor, a half-eaten bag of chips on her bed, and the faint glow of string lights illuminating her chaotic space. But you’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the way she’s looking at you, like she’s already decided you’re guilty of something.

“Distant? Seriously, Ellie?” you shoot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Maybe I’m just busy. Not everyone’s got time to hang out at skate parks or sell weed to freshmen, you know.”

Her eyes flash, and for a moment, she looks like she’s about to snap back. But then she exhales sharply, running a hand through her messy brown hair. It’s a gesture she only makes when she’s really trying to keep her cool.

“That’s not what I meant,” she says, her voice quieter now but still laced with frustration. “I just… I feel like you’re pulling away. Like there’s something you’re not telling me. And I can’t help but wonder if—” She cuts herself off, biting her lip.

“If what?” You lean forward, your heart pounding in your chest. “If I’m cheating on you? Is that what you’re thinking?”

Ellie flinches, her sharp features softening for just a moment before she hardens again. “Well, are you? Because I’m not gonna lie, it’s been on my mind. You’ve been so… off. And it’s not just me. Even your friends are saying you’ve been acting weird.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, that’s rich. Coming from you. The girl who spends half her life ‘delivering product’ to random people. How do I know you’re not the one sneaking around?”

Her eyes widen, and for a second, she looks genuinely hurt. But then that smirk of hers returns, though it’s darker now, more defensive. “Oh, so that’s how it is? You’re gonna turn this around on me? Fine. Let’s do this. You wanna know if I’m cheating? Here.”

Before you can even process what’s happening, she’s standing up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. She reaches for the hem of her hoodie, pulling it off in one swift motion. Her vintage band tee follows, revealing her wiry, athletic frame. Her skin is pale and freckled, the fern tattoo on her forearm standing out starkly against her flesh.

Your breath catches in your throat as she undoes the button of her jeans, sliding them down her legs with a practiced ease. She kicks them aside, standing there in just her boxers and a black sports bra. Her sharp green eyes lock onto yours through the screen, challenging you.

“Go ahead,” she says, her voice steady but tinged with defiance. “Look. No scratches. No hickeys. Nothing. You wanna know where I’ve been? Here. Dealing with your bullshit.”

Your heart is racing now, your mouth dry. But then something in you snaps, something defensive and raw. “Oh, sure. Like you’re the only one who’s allowed to be jealous. You think I haven’t noticed how secretive you’ve been? How you’re always ‘busy’ when I call? Fine. You wanna see? Here.”

You stand up, your chair nearly tipping over in your haste. Your fingers fumble with the buttons of your shirt, but you manage to pull it off, tossing it to the floor. You can feel Ellie’s eyes on you, watching every move. Your jeans come next, sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet. You’re standing there in just your bra and underwear, your chest rising and falling with every breath.

“Happy now?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and vulnerability. “No scratches. No hickeys. Just me. But maybe you should be asking yourself why you’re so quick to accuse me when you’re the one who’s always hiding something.”

Ellie’s smirk falters, and for a moment, she looks almost… guilty. She crosses her arms over her chest, her bare skin glowing in the dim light of her dorm room. “I’m not hiding anything,” she says, but her voice lacks its usual confidence. “I just… I worry, okay? You’re my girl. And I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

The vulnerability in her voice catches you off guard, and suddenly, the anger that’s been simmering between you both feels like it’s starting to dissolve. You sit back down, your legs feeling shaky beneath you.

“Ellie…” you start, but she’s already shaking her head.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice soft now. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I needed to know. And I didn’t know how else to ask.”

You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry too,” you admit. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was pulling away. I just… I’ve been stressed. With school, with work… and yeah, maybe I’ve been a little paranoid. But not because I don’t trust you. Because I… I don’t know. I guess I just needed to hear you say it.”

Ellie’s expression softens, and for the first time since this whole argument started, she looks at you without that guarded edge in her eyes. “Say what?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“That you’re mine,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “That no matter what, you’re mine.”

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Then, slowly, she reaches for the waistband of her boxers, sliding them down her legs. Her sports bra follows, leaving her completely bare. Her skin is smooth, her body wiry and toned, the fern tattoo on her arm seeming to almost dance in the dim light.

“I’m yours,” she says, her voice steady but tinged with something deeper, something raw. “Always.”

Your heart is pounding now, your body responding to her in ways you can’t ignore. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you reach for your own bra, slipping it off and letting it fall to the floor. Your panties follow, leaving you completely exposed to her gaze.

“I’m yours too,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Always.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you, the tension palpable even through the screen. Then, slowly, Ellie reaches down, her fingers brushing against the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her sharp green eyes never leave yours as she spreads her legs slightly, her fingers moving lower, tracing the delicate folds of her pussy.

Your breath catches in your throat, your own hand instinctively moving between your legs. You can feel the wetness there, the ache that’s been building inside you. Ellie’s fingers slip inside her, her sharp intake of breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“Touch yourself,” she says, her voice low and husky. “Let me see you.”

Your fingers move of their own accord, slipping inside you as you watch her do the same. Her movements are slow, deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours. You can hear the soft, breathy moans escaping her lips, the way her body trembles with every touch.

“Ellie…” you moan her name, your fingers moving faster now, the slick sound of your arousal filling the room. Her lips part, a soft gasp escaping them as she watches you, her own fingers moving in rhythm with yours.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “I miss you. I miss touching you. I miss feeling you.”

“I miss you too,” you whimper, your body trembling as the pleasure builds inside you. “So much.”

Her fingers move faster now, her soft, whimpery moans filling your ears. You can see the way her body tenses, the way her hips lift off the bed as she gets closer to the edge. Your own fingers move faster, the slick wetness between your thighs a testament to how much you need her.

“Come for me,” she whispers, her voice raw and desperate. “I wanna see you come.”

Your body obeys her without hesitation, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. You cry out her name, your fingers still moving inside you as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. Ellie’s own orgasm follows moments later, her body trembling as she falls back against the bed, her chest rising and falling with every breath.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you, the only sound the soft hum of the computer fan and the sound of your own breathing. Then, slowly, Ellie reaches for the screen, her fingers brushing against the image of your face.

“I love you,” she whispers, her voice soft and tender. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your heart aching with the need to be close to her. “Always.”

[really-burnt-toast]

Hi! Can you tell us more about your head canons for Fena and the other special followers you drew a bit back?

You don't know how excited I was to answer this! 🙏

Please allow me to ramble a little, because I decided Im going to go through every NPC / OC I made for cotl, specifically my au!

These are them all! I decided to finally get around to drawing Echo, Latra and the concept for Nalen too!

Imma be writing down a brief history of them along with fun facts/head canons (who are technically canon).

(all of that under cut, tw; mentions of abuse and death) (I may have missed something. Also brief mention of fertility struggles.)

Fena

Let's start with Fena first, cuz she's a fan favorite!

Fena was born in Darkwood within a big family that was traditional and mainly worshipped the old faith for protection. Their village was often the target of wolves (who have connections to the teeth in the darkness). During one of these attacks, the Villagers had to evacuate and thus, Fena's family were forcefully split up. Fena and their sibling had to spend days trying to get to another village, but were caught at night once again. Fena managed to get "rescued" by the old faith - only to be offered as a sacrifice to Leshy. Mellia (my Lamb) saved her. Fena is currently the head of disciples and Loyalty enforcement.

Fun facts: Fena is a trans woman. Fena was once married to Thorantre but got divorced. Fena is Mellia's favorite follower. Fena's sibling was later rescued by the Lamb. Fena has Cynophobia (fear of dogs and canines), but it's most aggressive against Wolves. Fena currently thinks Thyma is a spy.

Other hcs: Jumpy, definitely the type to get scared and then act all tough. Loves her body and is a proud lust rite champion (why she wears a flower crown). Unhealthily cautious. Horrible at flirting. Would probably crack someone's rib while attempting to. Kinda like the thought of her getting too obsessed with finding info about Thyma and then eventually she realizes they have lots in common... Like fuck, that guy is kinda funny and cool but also, he's definitely going to kill someone.

Thyma (real name unknown)

Thyma's story, as per they claim, is;

They were raised in Darkwood by their family/pack and one day an "incident" occured which left their family dead. The Lamb rescued them and promised safety. Thyma is not willing to speak any further on it. He is currently Night patrol and trying to dispel any distrust put against him.

Fun facts: Thyma is a Demiboy, born afab. Thyma has Nyctophobia (fear of the dark) and Insomnia. They chose to be a night guard to be alert at night. They also wear the Moon necklace to be awake 24/7. If they sleep, they do so in the day. Thyma has permanent markings on his face that cannot be removed. He is medically noted to suffer from hallucinations.

(More story to be revealed soon)

Other hcs: Sarcasm king. Also King of internal panic. Definitely gets horrible period cramps. Gets sick of seeing blood. Probably tried going vegan to look less suspicious but ended up horribly sick and malnourished. Tucks tail whenever Fena is near. Besties with Agana. Acts cool and stoic but is actually kinda pathetic. Monologues to himself when patrolling. Stares at bright lights, despite being told it could blind them.

Thorantre

Thorantre was also born in Darkwood. During the Genocide, his family were often harmed due to being mistaken for Sheep-kin. After the death of multiple family members, Thorantre decided to protest against the old faith and stand for the protection of Sheep. For his spreading of "propaganda", he was going to be put to the blade but was fortunate to be trialed at the same time as Mellia was beheaded. They rescued him and he became their first ever follower.

Fun facts: Short-fused and dramatic. Has canonically killed another follower during a petty fight. Doesn't really do his job as a disciple and is only still a disciple for Mellia's sake. Often mistaken for a sheep by the Lamb in moments of unclarity - personal gossip girl and somewhat Therapist to them. Close friends with Fena despite being exes.

Other hcs: Girls girl by heart. Shameless flirt but extremely picky with partners. Divorced because he was too high maintenance. Knows of everyone's business and keeps pulling Agana into gossip. Gets annoyed when people ask him for stuff so he makes them pay him to answer. Will say the most gayest thing followed by the most straightest cis-guy take ever. Will just randomly ditch disciple meetings because he's bored. Also suspicious of Thyma but for no particular reason.

Agana

First born in the Cult, raised to become a disciple. As a child they were wild and unruly but settled down with age and is now determined to befriend every cultist.

Fun facts: Is afab genderqueer. Had a huge crush on Fena growing up. Currently has a little crush on Thyma. Is usually the first to know of ANYTHING happening in the cult, even private happenings. Will often share their own savings with children in the cult. Is pretty forgiving with Tax enforcement.

Other hcs: Chronic simp. Fandom girlie, probably. She's the type to ship people unironically. Probably saw the tension between Thyma and Fena and misinterpreted it. Says "hello fellow kids" but is actually up to date with trends. Has been trying to integrate Thyma more into the group. Probably gets the most affected by sin.

Latra

Born in Silkcradle to a family of Shamura's worshippers. Latra ran away and got married on the outskirts of the domain. Her marriage was cruel and abusive, fueled by her husband's growing rage of her infertility. Despite praying daily, no one had come to save her and so she took matters into her own hands. One night she plotted to kill her husband but was caught, resulting in a fight to the death where she was the victor. Latra dragged herself away with two of her limbs damaged beyond repair and managed to run into the Lamb. She was taken into the cult and became a Missionary, as her knowledge from Silkcradle aided her skills. She has been in the cult since the first crusade through Silkcradle and has been resurrected multiple times. Currently she is in retirement again.

Fun facts: Latra was offered a position as disciple but declined. She is known to delay retirement until physically impossible to work. She originally didn't worship the Lamb, but ended up doing so after many years of staying. Latra was one of the people to dissent from Shamura's curse. Currently engaged to Echo.

Other hcs: Has had rumors go around about her past. Has been working with children and has been helping rehabilitate rescues. Has babysat a few times before. Actually great at flirting but prefers pulling dad jokes and bad flirts. Wanted children but gave up on it due to her age. Actually best friends with the Lamb. Only didn't accept discipleship because she is worried about her own reputation straining Mellia's reputation.

Echo

Born in Anchordeep before it had that name and before Kallamar had the crown. Experienced first hand his climb for power and the subsequent events that shaped the downfall of the old faith. Was also a disciple for a short while before becoming a field medic during the genocide of Sheep kind. Echo married the general of their group and the two along with a troop were sent to patrol Anchordeep. That continued even after Mellia was resurrected and started killing the bishops. Once Kallamar started growing paranoid and cowardly, Echo started to question the strength of their god. That was met with backlash and after a huge fight in the group, Echo stayed back a bit. Eventually they found their group having been attacked by the Lamb and Echo mercy killed whoever was still alive. Echo dissented against Kallamar and was later found by Latra during a Mission. Echo was indoctrinated and became the cult nurse.

Fun facts: Echo is intersex. Echo is considered to be mute, but has the ability to talk. They only talk to Latra, Mellia and Kallamar (to screw with him). Echo is widely known to be an asshole, but is the most respected nurse in the cult. Echo suffers from mild PTSD. Is currently Latra's personal caretaker and has been trying to convince her to accept the golden skull necklace Mellia offered her (which is included in discipleship).

Other hcs: Fell in love after having to pull an arrow from Latra's shoulder. Has to go in evacuation after being flirted with because they are worried they'll explode (they won't). Academically smart but Interpersonally stupid. Can communicate with sign language but rather uses their expressions to communicate their opinions. Had begged multiple times for Mellia to resurrect Latra whenever she died. Has been secretly trying to figure out an early form of Fertility treatments in order to grant Latra the wish of having children. Also has been looking into adopting.

Nalen (real name unknown)

(This character is currently still a character concept and might change with time.)

Born and raised in the Lands of the old faith after the Bishops had already died. He was raised as a pup to become a spy that would sneak into the Red crowns cult to find any special information that could allow the old faith to overthrow them. He managed to sneak in during a time where the cult was facing a hectic time - entering with a group of people who were starving and asking to be indoctrinated. Able to avoid detection for a full two years now due to building trust and reliability, building relationships and faking worship. His mind hasn't even been read once yet due to Mellia struggling with their new godhood. Perfect time, perfect alibi.

Fun facts: I don't really have any yet, so I'll offer the description of the concept; I wanted a spy character that looks like they could just be any other cultist and who's a species that's both unassuming but reliable and easily trainable. So the golden retriever it was. And while all followers of the Lamb have a red base, his base colour was dark purple.

(same with hcs, but you know the stories of band kids just pretending to play the instrument all year? Kinda that. Him praying and just mumbling the words bc he has no clue what's going on. It's a miracle he made it this far.)

(Also, sorry for the lack of pictures but I got too impatient and wanted to answer as quickly as possible LOL)

[seoups]

close as strangers - y. itadori

yuji thought everything would be the same when he came back. cw: angst w a bittersweet ending song: close as strangers by 5sos a/n: if i have an opportunity to write angst, i will take it.

"TELLING YOU I HAVENT SEEN YOUR FACE IN AGES. FEELS LIKE WE'RE AS CLOSE AS STRANGERS."

Yuji spent an entire month picturing this moment.

In every spare moment- between training in the basement, laughing with Gojo, and going on missions with Nanami- he thought about you.

He daydreamed about seeing your face again. About wrapping you in one of the tightest hugs he could manage and spinning you around until you laughed and smacked his shoulder as hard as you could, so he’d put you down.

He thought about sitting next to you at lunch and stealing bites from your food, sending you stupid TikTok’s that made you giggle at late hours, walking you back to your dorm room after missions just to talk to you a little longer.

And when he finally saw you standing there with Megumi and Nobara, he thought- Finally.

“Hey! Didja miss me?” He grinned, expecting a dramatic reaction. “You absolute dumbass,” Nobara scoffed, slamming a fist into his shoulder that was a touch too hard to be playful. Megumi let out a sigh of exasperation, “Welcome back.” Yuji laughed, rubbing his arm where Nobara had punched him, and turned to you, “And you? I bet you were devastated without me!” You blinked at him, lips parting, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, after a second too long, you smiled, “Yeah, I missed you a lot.”

It wasn’t what you said. It was how you said it. Like you were forcing the words out. Like you weren’t sure if they were true.

For the first time since he’d come back from the dead, Yuji felt uneasy.

He told himself things would go back to normal. You just needed time. You were probably still in shock. Afterall, he had died. That was a lot to deal with.

So, he gave you space. He didn’t want to push you further than you were ready. But after a few days of dry texts and halfhearted smiles, he decided enough was enough.

“Let’s go out.” You looked up from your textbook, brows knit together, “What?” “On a date! Y’know. Movies, snacks, maybe the arcade? Classic,” He grinned, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Come on, it’ll be fun! It’s been forever since we hung out. Plus, I heard human earthworm 4 is in theatres.”

You hesitated.

And that hesitation hit him harder than any curse ever could.

“Yuji…” you sighed, closing your book. “I don’t know if-” “Oh, nope- none of that!” He wagged a finger at you. “No excuses! You need a break. I need to make up for lost time. And I want to spend time with you, so… let’s go!”

There was an ounce of desperation in his voice that he hoped you couldn’t hear.

You stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally you agreed.

Relief flooded his chest so fast it made him lightheaded. Maybe things could go back to normal.

They couldn’t.

Yuji had tried everything. Everything he’d done with you before. New things. None of it was working.

He took you to a movie and cracked jokes through the trailers, but you had barely laughed. He won you a stuffed dog from a claw machine but you didn’t tease him for going all out like you normally would.

He filled the silence with endless conversation- jumping from one random topic to the next- but your answers were always short, your laughter never quite reaching your eyes.

It was like trying to hold onto something that was slipping through his fingers.

But Yuji was good at ignoring things. He could push down the sting in his chest and drown it out with more conversation, more jokes, more desperate attempts at being normal. But when he walked you back to your dorm room and reached for your hand, you pulled away.

It wasn’t dramatic. Not like you were disgusted or unhappy with it. Just… instinctively. Like you didn’t even realize you were doing it. Yuji felt his heart shatter.

He didn’t bring it up.

Instead, he tried harder. He called you every night, sent you stupid tiktoks, and went out of his way to be around you.

And at first, you humored him. You answered his calls, texted back, and sat with him at lunch.

But it was different.

And deep down, he knew that too.

He just couldn’t admit it.

Because if he admitted it, then he’d have to face it. And he wasn’t prepared for that.

The night he finally let himself say it out loud, it was raining.

You sat across from him in a tiny ramen shop that Yuji had sworn was amazing, your hands curled around a steaming bowl, looking exhausted. Not just physically- but in the way you held yourself, in the way you looked at him, like this conversation had been waiting to happen for a long time.

Yuji gripped his chopsticks a little too tightly, feeling the developing indent on his fingers, “You’re different.” You exhaled slowly, staring down at your food, “So are you.” His chest tightened, “I don’t want to be.” For the first time that night, you looked him in the eyes, “Neither do I.”

Silence.

The rain pattered against the windows, the hum of ongoing conversations around them buzzing like static.

Finally, Yuji spoke, his voice quieter than usual, “We’re not us anymore, are we?” You swallowed hard, “No, I don’t think we are.”

He should have seen this coming. Maybe he had seen it coming and had just been in denial.

“I really wanted this to work,” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. You nodded, “Me too.”

Another long pause.

Then, you reached across the table, reading your hand in his, “You’re still my favorite person, Yuji.”

His breath hitched.

Yuji forced a small smile on his face, not allowing this to end on a heavy note, “Yeah?” You smiled, tired but real, “yeah.” He flipped his hand, curling his fingers around yours, “You’re mine too.”

You squeezed his hand, just once. And then, slowly, you let go.

And this time, Yuji let you.

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

Suites & Sweets

freshman year at Jujutsu University Tokyo seems like it will be uneventful. and, well, that's true... until you meet the boys in the suite across the hall, and one in particular piques your interest.

satoru gojo x reader | jjk college au | no curse au | fem! reader | fluff, angst, & slow burn | SMAU & writing <3

introduction | previous | next *this chapter contains smut ;) dirty talk, oral (both m and f receiving), p in v sex*

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

ˋ°•*⁀➷˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 32. 𝓘𝓝 𝓗𝓔𝓐𝓥𝓔𝓝 ⍣ ೋ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ... wc: 7.7k (sorry oops)

The bass vibrates through the floor, rattling your bones as the neon lights flicker in sync with the beat. You're dancing with your friends, and right now, life couldn't be better. Bodies press together, the air thick with heat and the scent of overpriced drinks. You sway, the liquor making everything feel a little lighter, a little less real.

"Angel, you're killing me."

Satoru’s voice is warm against your ear, half-laughing, half-breathless, as his fingers graze the small of your back. The nickname, the way he says it, sends a slow shiver down your spine. You turn to face him, heart thudding in time with the bass, the neon glow casting shifting shades of blue and violet over his sharp features.

He looks good - too good, really, in his usual effortless way. White hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it all night, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he has something else to say but wants you to speak first.

The way his eyes lock onto yours makes the crowd feel like a distant hum, the music fading into the background as you stand there, caught in the pull between your own uncertainty and the tension hanging between you. His gaze drifts lower, lingering for a moment longer than necessary on your lips before meeting your eyes again.

You take a step closer, your breath catching as you feel the heat of his body against yours. The smile playing at the corners of his lips tells you he knows exactly what he's doing. "What?" you ask, voice teasing but laced with a bit of vulnerability that you can’t quite hide.

Satoru’s hand moves to your waist, fingers grazing just below the edge of your shirt. "You always look like you’re about to say something," he murmurs, his voice low, almost as if he's trying to coax something out of you. "But you never do."

You swallow hard, a strange mixture of excitement and nerves settling in your chest. You want to say something - want to finally lay everything out there, make it real between you two. But the words are stuck, caught in a web of what-ifs and could-bes.

Suddenly, you hear Mei's voice call your name from behind, and a hand grab your arm. "Let's play Pong! C'mon, you promised me!" she slurs, and you're being pulled away from your devilish counterpart before you can even realize.

You glance back at Satoru over your shoulder, catching the glint in his eyes as he watches you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. His lips curl into a soft, almost wistful smile, but his eyes linger on you, like he's waiting for you to come back, to finish what was left hanging in the air between you two.

You take your place at the table, joining Mei’s team against Shoko and Utahime. As the game begins, you start to lose yourself in the fun, teasing Mei about her questionable aim while throwing playful jabs at the other players. But despite the laughter and the friendly competition, your thoughts still dart back to Satoru.

You can feel his presence across the room, like a magnetic pull you can’t escape. Every time you catch a glimpse of him, standing there leaning casually against the bar, your heart does a little flip. He’s watching you. You can tell. The way his eyes flicker with that knowing look, the way he watches your every move, it makes something inside you tighten.

The game is nearing its end when you throw a perfect shot, sinking the ball into one of the cups with ease. You grin triumphantly, only to hear Mei groan beside you. “That’s what I’m talking about!” she cheers, and you bask in the moment.

You laugh, basking in your victory as Mei gives you a playful shove. "The legend herself, ladies and gentlewomen!" she jokes, her words a bit slurred but filled with genuine admiration. Shoko and Utahime groan dramatically, pretending to be offended at the loss, but the atmosphere is light and full of easy laughter.

But your gaze drifts back to the bar, where Satoru talks to Toji and Suguru, and blue eyes are fixated on you. You catch the smirk tugging at his lips, and your heart beats a little faster. It's almost like he knows exactly what you're feeling, like he's waiting for you to make the next move. The thought makes your cheeks warm, but you don’t look away.

You meet his gaze without hesitation, the intensity between you two suddenly becoming undeniable. His smirk deepens, like he’s savoring the moment, watching you across the room with that familiar, cocky confidence. You can tell he's aware of the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air between you two, and something in his posture relaxes, like he's content to let you figure it out on your own.

But you're done with playing games, because suddenly, this fraternity is the last place you want to be.

You turn back to the table, your friends still joking around, but your focus shifts. Mei's cheer fades into the background as your mind races, the weight of your feelings pressing down. You know you can’t just keep avoiding the inevitable.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” you announce suddenly without any other explanation, surprising even yourself with the firmness in your voice. You don’t give the girls a chance to react as you push through the crowd.

The rhythm of your heartbeat matches the pounding bass beneath your feet, quickening as you approach him. The crowd blurs away, and you find yourself navigating through the neon haze with a single thought in mind: no more hesitation. You push forward, each step bringing you closer to Satoru, the space between you shrinking with every passing moment.

"Will you go outside with me?" you ask once you approach him. "I need some air."

Satoru’s eyebrow arches, his gaze flickering with surprise before he nods, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "Of course, angel," he says, his voice low and teasing, but there’s a softness in the way he says it that makes your heart race a little faster. Without hesitation, he steps away from the bar, his hand finding the small of your back again as he gently guides you toward the exit.

The cool night air hits you both like a rush of clarity as soon as you step outside. The frat house's noise is swallowed by the streets, the quiet of the night a stark contrast to the pulsating music and energy inside. The only sounds are the distant hum of cars and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. You stand there for a moment, letting the coolness settle into your skin, the nervous flutter in your chest only growing stronger now that you're outside, alone with him.

Satoru leans casually against the brick wall of the building, his arms crossing loosely in front of him as he watches you. "So," he says, his tone more serious than it’s been all night, "What’s going on, huh? You’re not the type to just drag me out here without a reason."

You feel a mixture of vulnerability and certainty rise in your chest. You’ve danced around this for so long - avoided it, questioned it, even tried to suppress it. This might be harder than you thought.

You take a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs as you step a little closer to him, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down. The words are almost there, hanging on the tip of your tongue. You meet his gaze, feeling that familiar intensity between you two, like a spark waiting to ignite.

"I…" you start, but the words falter for a second. It's been so long coming, this moment, but still, you're not sure how to say it without all the unspoken things flooding your mind. You shake your head slightly, trying to push the hesitation away. "Sorry, this is difficult for me."

"Hm?" Satoru hums, moving closer to you as his face twists into one of concern. "Why? What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing," you say shaking your head. "Everything's perfect, actually."

Satoru’s eyes soften as he steps even closer, his presence pulling you in like gravity. He studies your face, the curve of your lips, the way your eyes dance with something between excitement and uncertainty. He knows you almost better than anyone at this point, and yet, this moment feels new, filled with an intensity that both scares and excites you.

He lifts a hand to gently touch your chin, tilting your head just slightly as if to say, Look at me. Trust me. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, just enough to make your pulse hitch. “If everything’s perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety, “then why do you look like you're holding something back?”

You swallow, feeling the heat rising in your chest. There’s no more room for doubt, no more hiding behind the layers of playful teasing and casual glances. You’ve been running from this for long enough, and now there’s nowhere left to hide. The world around you feels distant, like the only thing that matters is the space between you and Satoru.

“I think I'm ready, Satoru,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “For us. I want to be with you.”

Satoru’s breath catches, and for a moment, everything stills. The world seems to hold its breath along with you, as if the air itself is suspended in the gravity of your words. He doesn’t say anything right away, but his gaze never leaves yours, deep and searching, as if he’s trying to read every inch of your soul, to make sure you mean it.

Then, just as suddenly, that familiar smirk reappears on his lips, softer, warmer, like a sunrise breaking through the haze. He steps closer until there’s barely any space between you, his chest brushing lightly against yours. The warmth of his body sends a jolt of electricity through you, and the gentle breeze swirling around you feels like a distant echo compared to the fire building between you two.

Satoru lifts his hand again, this time cupping your cheek gently, his thumb grazing over your skin in a slow, almost reverent motion. His eyes flicker to your lips, and that familiar tension tightens once more. “You’re ready?” he asks, his voice softer now, more intimate, and the words carry more weight than you realize.

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away from his. The rawness in your chest, the vulnerability, it’s all there, exposed and unguarded. But it doesn’t feel scary, not with him.

He leans in slowly, his forehead resting against yours for just a moment, grounding you both in the quiet of the night. His breath mingles with yours, soft and steady. “Fuck, you don't know how long I've been wanting to hear that,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks.

"Hm?" you hum, and you're unsure if the tingly feeling in your body is from the alcohol or his touch. "How long?"

"Since the moment I first saw you," Satoru says, eyes turning a deeper shade of blue than you've ever seen from him. "It's all I've ever wanted, really."

"Then show me," you dare him.

His lips hover above yours, breath hot against your skin. You tilt your head up slightly, meeting him halfway, and that’s all the permission he needs.

The kiss is gentle at first, a tender exploration of softness and warmth. His lips press against yours with a careful intensity, as if he’s afraid to break the fragile thread of connection between you two. The world around you fades, the only reality now the feel of his lips moving against yours, the gentle pressure of his hand on your cheek, the slow rhythm of your heartbeat syncing with his.

Then, slowly, the kiss deepens, and everything inside you shifts. You can feel the weight of every moment that led to this, the teasing, the endless conversations, the quiet understanding that’s always existed between you two. The kiss turns passionate, urgent, as if both of you have been waiting for this for far too long to hold back any longer.

Satoru pulls you closer, his hands threading into your hair, his fingers gently tugging you even closer to him, as though he can’t get enough. You let yourself melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your fingers threading through his messy hair, feeling the wild, unrestrained connection between you two.

Your heart races, every nerve in your body alive and electric, as his hands travel down your back, pulling you even closer, as if trying to bridge the small gap between your bodies. There’s nothing in the world but him, nothing but the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath catches in the cool night air, the way you feel his heart pounding just as fast as yours.

He pulls back for just a breath, his lips hovering over yours, his forehead resting against yours again as he pants softly.

"I don't wanna go back to the party," you say, looking up at Satoru through your lashes.

He chuckles. "Why not?"

"I dunno," you smirk. "Kinda wanna get out of here. Anyone you know who'd go back with me?"

Satoru’s chuckle deepens, a low, throaty sound that vibrates against your skin. His eyes darken with a playful glint, but there's a genuine warmth there that makes your chest tighten. “I think I know a guy,” he says, voice dripping with teasing confidence, as if he’s already got plans, as if he's already made up his mind. His lips curl into that familiar smirk, the one that never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

Before you can respond, he leans in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s full of promise - gentle but insistent, like he’s marking this moment as his. Your hands slide into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the heat radiating from his body, and your mind whirls with the need to be closer, to erase the distance between you.

When you pull back, breathless, your eyes lock onto his, and you see something there, something deeper than the playful banter that’s usually between you two. There’s raw sincerity in his gaze, and it makes your heart beat faster.

Satoru chuckles, a low, warm sound that sends a shiver down your spine. His hand slides around your waist, pulling you even closer. "You're dangerous, you know that?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. There's no teasing in his voice now - just a softness, an intensity that makes your heart race.

"You've known that since the moment you met me," you reply with a playful smirk, but there's an undeniable edge of seriousness in your words. Everything feels charged between you two, like the moment is hanging by the thinnest thread, ready to unravel into something more.

Satoru pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes soft but full of fire. "Maybe you’ve got a point." His thumb brushes across your lips, the action slow and deliberate. "But if you really want to leave, we can. Anywhere you want to go, angel." His words hang in the cool night air, offering you something more than just an escape from the party. It’s an invitation to something deeper, something entirely yours.

You hesitate, the decision pressing down on you, but it feels like the weight of everything - your feelings for him, the unspoken tension, the pull that’s been there for so long - finally has a direction. You don’t want to go back inside, back to the noise and the chaos. Not when you’ve finally found this moment with him.

You take a deep breath, letting it settle into your chest as you look up at Satoru, your hand finding his. “Let’s get out of here,” you say softly, but there’s an undeniable certainty in your voice.

His smirk widens, and he nods, giving you a look that promises everything and nothing all at once. "As you wish."

-----

Satoru barely has his suite door open before his lips are back on yours. In one swift movement, he hoists you up and wraps your legs around his waist, pushing your back against the door. You respond instantly, hands roaming over his shoulders, down his chest, pulling him tighter as you deepen the kiss. His lips are insistent, hungry, and you can’t get enough of it all.

His mouth detaches from yours, moving to your neck. He sucks on the soft skin, nipping at the sensitive area. A shiver runs down your spine as his lips leave a wet trail, the sensation sending waves of heat rushing down your body. You tilt your head back, giving him more access, your fingers threading into his hair as you gasp, the feeling of his lips on your skin overwhelming in the best way possible. He lingers over your pulse point, kissing and sucking hungrily.

The moment is intoxicating, the air thick with heat and desire as you lose yourself in his touch. His hands endeavor on a slow, deliberate exploration of you, sending waves of want racing through you with every move. You feel your heart pounding in your chest, every beat syncing with the rhythm of his hands and lips.

Satoru's mouth grows more urgent, as if he's unable to hold back any longer, his lips leaving a trail of fire on your skin as he shifts to your collarbone. His fingers dip lower, brushing the waistband of your pants, sending a wave of warmth in between your legs. You grind your hips against him in response, and he groans as he abandons your neck for your lips once more, even more aggressive than before.

Suddenly, he pulls back, tone serious as he looks in your eyes and asks, "You're sure about this, sweets?"

"Yes. I'm sure," you say without hesitation, and Satoru doesn't waste a second to carry you into his bedroom, locking the door behind him as you unbutton his shirt. You pull the straps of the wings you're wearing off of your back, abandoning the prop to the hallway, and with it removing yourself from the angel status you had adorned for the night.

He all but throws you onto his bed, eyes hungry as he looks down at you and tosses his shirt across the room. With you laying on his sheets, Satoru leans over you, his hands caging your head as he lowers his lips to yours - but this time slower and more deliberate. His kiss is deep, almost reverent, as if savoring this moment. You respond with equal intensity, your hands tracing the lines of his abs, feeling the tension in his muscles beneath your fingertips.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with desire. His hands slide down your sides, making your breath hitch as he brushes over your skin.

He follows the trail of his hands, his touch reaching your bare skin as his fingers curl around the edge of your dress. He lifts the hem to see your red, lace panties with a cute black bow in the middle.

"Fuck, baby," he growls at the sight, tugging at the thin fabric. "Thought I was s'posed to be the devil tonight. Really gotta steal my thunder?"

You meet his gaze, eyes dark and filled with a mixture of mischief and something deeper. "You don't mind, do you?" you tease, your voice barely above a whisper, the playful tone covering the ache that’s building inside you.

Satoru’s smirk returns, but this time, there's a hint of something more primal in his eyes. His gaze locks onto yours, burning with intensity, before he responds in a low growl, “Not at all.”

His lips find your neck once more, this time with more urgency and need, and your body responds in kind. The heat between you both grows, swirling like an unstoppable storm. His hands work quickly, but gently, as he eases the lace from your hips, the fabric slipping from your body making you all the more needy.

Satoru puts his hands on the insides of your knees, spreading them just enough so he can get a good look at your glistening folds. An almost guttural moan escapes from deep in his chest as he commits the view to memory - your dripping cunt, so aroused that you're leaking everywhere.

"Fuck," he says, leaning close enough to your dripping core that you can feel his breath on you. He dips a finger into your slit, the wetness covering his finger in a slimy sheen, and you whine at the touch. "So wet f'me, hm? Sensitive, too."

Your back arches in desperation, trying anything to get closer to his touch as he gently toys with your pussy. He's right - you are so sensitive. You've imagined this moment so many times, even dreamed about it, but it actually happening is an entirely different story, and your senses are on high alert.

"Mm," he hums. "Needy girl. Want me to help you, baby?" You nod, but he shakes his head. "Use your words, angel."

"Please, Toru," you whine, and as pathetic as your neediness makes you, you don't care in the moment.

You watch his face dive into where you need him most and instinctively tangle your hands in messy white hair. You take the devil horns he's still wearing, tearing them from his head and tossing them away.

He chuckles as he licks a long stripe up your slit, taking his time before landing on your bundle of nerves, and the pleasure overwhelms you. He groans with his mouth against your pussy, inserting one of his fingers into your wet hole, your natural lubricant allowing them to slip in smoothly. "Tastes s'good," he practically sings against you. "So sweet."

"Fuck," you moan against him, throwing your head back at the vibrations from his voice. Your back arches into his mouth trying to get his fingers deeper inside you, so desperate for more.

At your whining, Satoru inserts another digit. He curls them inside you to hit the spongy spot deep inside you so perfectly. At the same time, he's suckling at your clit, tongue warm and wet against the bud. With his free hand, he pulls you even closer to him, and you practically see stars with how deeply his fingers are pumping in and out of you.

"T-Toru!" you shout, and he takes that as a sign to slip a third finger in as he continues to flick his tongue back and forth. Your hand tugs at the strands of hair in your grasp, pushing him even closer to you. The squelching noises from his fingers going in and out of you get louder and louder, making your toes curl. His fingers are abusing your cunt, lips wrapping around his knuckles with every time he drives them in.

"S'close, Toru," you manage to say. Your entire body feels like it's melting, the combination of his fingers and tongue dissolving you into putty. You're not sure how he brought you to this point so quickly, but you're not one to complain about it.

Satoru takes his mouth from your clit, backing away to look in your eyes at your face twisted in pleasure. "Come f'me, baby. Let go."

With his permission, you let go. He feels your walls twitch around his fingers as you ride out your high, your pussy leaking with all of your juices. Your moans sound pornographic as your body climaxes with pleasure, and Satoru's dick twitches in his pants at the sounds you're making.

When he's sure you've finished, he drags his fingers out of your sticky cunt, putting them in his mouth and sucking you off of them. "Mmm. So fucking sweet. Like candy," he groans, lifting your thighs off of his shoulders to move closer to you. Once again, you're caged by Satoru, your glassy doe eyes staring up at his cerulean ones. "Here, try how sweet you taste. Open up."

You do as told, opening your mouth and letting him stick his fingers in your mouth, your tastebuds sensing the flavor of your release. His fingers reach the back of your throat, and you circle your tongue around them, sucking at his pruney digits. His eyes are dark as he watches you, eyes never leaving your mouth. A shimmering thread of saliva clings between you, breaking slowly as he withdraws his fingers.

"Good girl. Now, let’s see how much more you can take, yeah?" he says, voice gruff and raw.

You smirk, finally having regained enough of your senses now. You push yourself up, pushing Satoru's shoulder so he lays flat on his back. You crawl over top of him and say, "I can handle more than you think, y'know."

Satoru's eyes darken as you slowly unbutton his pants, revealing his impressive length. He helps you pull the black slacks down along with his boxers, freeing his throbbing cock from its confines. "Let's test that, then."

It's even bigger than you thought from the glimpses of it's imprint on his sweatpants or the feeling underneath when you've sat on his lap. In front of you, standing tall and thick, veins pulsing with need, it's intimidating. You reach out a hand to touch it, feeling the warmth and silkiness of it's soft skin in your palm.

Satoru watches you touch him with an arm bent, palm resting on the back of his head and keeping his head up. He groans at the contact, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "Fuck, baby," he growls, his voice husky with desire. Satoru lets out a shaky exhale, his head tipping back slightly before his gaze locks back onto yours, filled with something dark and insatiable.

His hand wraps around yours, guiding your touch along his length, letting you feel just how hard he is for you. His lips part as he watches you, his breathing uneven. You rub your thumb over his tip, watching as his dick twitches in your hold, his breath catching with the motion.

"Look what you do to me, angel," he rasps, voice thick with need. "Bet that pretty little mouth of yours would feel so good around me."

You grin up at him, your eyes filled with challenge. "We'll see about that."

You lick your lips slowly, taking your time as you wrap your hand around his cock, stroking him slowly. He groans, hips jerking forward, and you smirk, knowing you have him right where you want him. You lean in, your lips brushing against the head of his cock before you take him into your mouth, sucking gently at first, getting used to the taste and size. He's so big, and you're unsure if he can fully fit in your mouth, but you've never been one to back down from a challenge.

He groans, hands fisting in your hair as you take more of him in, bobbing your head up and down on his cock as you get adjusted. His hips move in time with your motions, his cock sliding in and out of your throat as you begin to deepthroat him.

"F-Fuck," he stutters as you start to speed up. "So fuckin' hot."

You feel him swell, filling you up completely, and you moan around him, eyes meeting his as you look up at him, challenging him to last.

"You look s'pretty like this, baby," he coos, voice a little slurred from the pleasure he's feeling.

You bob your head faster and faster, taking him in as much as you can. He growls, his hips moving faster, harder, as he fucks your mouth. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling you closer to him as he thrusts into your throat, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each thrust.

"Fuck- m’gonna fill your mouth up so good, baby- fuckin’ take it-" he moans. You gag, eyes watering, but you don't stop, instead sucking harder, taking as much of him in as you physically can, and then some. You twirl your tongue around him, sucking at the skin, choking on his dick to the point you're struggling to breathe, but you don't even care.

"Shit- mm, yeah, baby. Just like tha- fuck!" he cries, thrusting harder into your mouth. "So fuckin- ah - hot!"

You bob your head faster, working in rhythm with his hips as you take him. His eyelids are hooded as he tries to watch you, but the pleasure is just so much for him. All of the times he thought of you late at night and pretended his hand was yours were nothing compared to this - and this is just head?

"S'close, shit. Don't- mm - don't slow down," he says, placing his free hand on your head, helping you keep pace with him.

You make eye contact with him, looking at him through your lashes, swollen lips around his fat cock, and that's what finally gets him. His breath hitches, and you feel him pulsing in your mouth, cum spurting down your throat as he cries out your name. The taste of him is sweet on your tongue as you swallow it, sugary like a bag of candy.

You give his dick one last suck for good luck, then take him out of your mouth. Satoru's chest heaves as he catches his breath, his eyes still glazed over from the intense pleasure he just experienced. He's still looking at you, his gaze intense and almost primal, as if he's trying to burn the image of you with his cock in your mouth into his memory forever.

You sit up, your back arching as you try to catch your breath. Your eyes are still glassy from the orgasm you had earlier, and your mouth is wet from sucking his cock. Still, his fingers are in your hair, and his hand is on your head, guiding you as you pull away from his cock. You look at him, your gaze meeting his, and you can see the hunger in his eyes.

"Fuck, you're makin' me lose my mind," Satoru groans, reaching for the strap of your dress. "Lemme take this off f'ya, mkay?"

You lift your arm so he can slip the dress over your head, tossing it to the side away from the bed. Your lacy red bra, matching the panties he saw earlier, cup your boobs perfectly. He'd obviously looked at your cleavage before, especially tonight, but now, he's practically drooling at the sight of them.

Satoru pauses for a moment, his gaze shifting from your bra to your eyes, his breath hitching as he takes in the sight of you. He bites his lip, an almost animalistic glint in his eyes, before he leans in, voice dropping low with desire.

“God, you're perfect," he mutters, his fingers gently grazing the lace, as if he’s savoring the moment. “Can't get enough of you. You're driving me fuckin' insane.”

His hands move with a slow, deliberate pace, undoing the clasp of your bra as his gaze remains locked on you, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. He leans in close, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of your neck before whispering in your ear, “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

His lips still on your neck, he lightly suckles as he wraps his arms around your torso to the clasp of your bra. In one motion, it's halfway across the room, and he's making his way down your collarbone.

He takes your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it sloppily as he massages the other with his hand. You let out a soft moan, your back arching as Satoru continues to suck and lick at your nipples. His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and dip as if he's trying to memorize you. You can feel his erection growing against your thigh, and you can't help but grind against him, wanting more.

"Still so needy? How cute," he coos, switching which breast he's sucking on. "So desperate f'me."

"Need you in me, Toru," you whimper needily.

A smug smirk forms on Satoru's face, the plead giving his dick it's own heartbeat. A hand moves to your head and plucks the headband you forgot you have on. "Better take the halo off, then, hm?"

You take it from his hands and throw it to the side with the rest of your discarded clothes. "Oops!"

Before you even know it, Satoru has flipped you around pressed your hand onto the pillow, your back arched a pressed against his hard cock.

"How d'ya want it, huh?" he huffs into your ear. "Slow?" His hand reaches your folds, smacking your cunt, the unexpectedness of it making you jump.. "Soft?" He slips two fingers inside you, curling them right where he knows you're the most sensitive. He pumps them in and out and a loud moan escapes you as you move with them. "You're actin' like a lil' devil, huh? So greedy. Guessin' you'll want it rough, hm?"

You look back at him with a pleasured look, face half-smushed into the pillow. Trying your hardest to think straight, you smirk back at him and say, "M-make me scream your name."

Lust flood his eyes, becoming less of a sky blue and more of a stormy sea, and after a few pumps of his throbbing cock, he lines up with the entrance he had for dessert earlier. He moves it up and down your slit, teasing you as he puts just the tip in. He moves it in and out, up and down your soaking cunt.

"More, please," you cry, the teasing not enough for you.

"Well, since you asked so nicely!" exclaims the man from behind. In one swift movement, he pushes his dick into your sopping cunt, slowly pushing it in as your walls adjust to his size. Satoru's eyes widen as he feels your walls clench around him, the sensation almost too much for him to handle. He grits his teeth, trying to maintain control as he slowly begins to move in and out of you, the sound of your moans and the wetness of your pussy driving him crazy.

"F-fuck, baby," he struggles out. "So t-hnn - tight."

"So b-mph! - big!" you moan at the foreign feeling.

"Mhm," he hums. "More where tha' came from." He thrusts his hips forward, pushing the second half of his length into you. You hiss as the pressure deep inside you fills you completely. Satoru bends down, one hand on the side of you and another on your tit, putting his lips on your neck as he gives you as second to get used to his sheer size. He kisses up to your ear and asks, "Ready, angel?"

You nod, and Satoru presses a quick kiss to the side of your mouth before thrusting his dick in and out of you. His hips stutter for a moment at how overwhelming the feeling of you is, but it only takes a second for him to recover and find his pace. His cock hits every right spot as he begins to fuck you from behind. The sounds of him so deep inside you is like a drug to you, his hand on your tit roughly toying with your nipple only adding to the high.

"F-feels so-fuck- so fuckin' good, m'baby," he slurs. "Takin' my cock like- mph - like a good girl."

"Ahh- fuck- r-right there-" you whine, the squelching of you moving in sync with one another turning you on even more.

He's smirking, chuckling, whispering "Damn, baby, y-you sound so pretty for me," he rasps right against your ear just to hear you moan even louder. "Yeah- nngh - fuckin’ take it- ahh!" As he starts to quicken his pace, he throws his head back and wails loudly. "Haaah- gonna fuckin’ ruin you- fuck!"

"S-Satoru- ahh-" you yelp. His name falls from your lips again in between wrecked moans, his hips rocking into you at a demanding pace. The warm, shaky breath at your ear hitches as he hears you cry out his name, and he fucking growls at how fucking hot you are.

"Bet if I put my hand right here-" he pants, and his hand that once teased your nipple moves to your stomach, "-I’d feel myself wreckin’ you from the inside, huh?"

He presses down, and you feel him grin against you as you whine. His thrusts are intentional as he feels for himself on the other side. He laughs breathily at the confirmation from the bulge in your belly, making you whimper. "Aww, poor thing," he coos. "Thought you were t-tough? Th-thought you could handle me? Yeah? Then- shit - why the fuck are you whimpering like this?"

His hand leaves your stomach as he pulls back, grabbing your hips with such force you just know you'll have marks there in the morning. He pulls you up against him, never slowing down his pace, ramming into you without any mercy.

"Look at that, fuckin’ takin’ me so deep- so fuckin' hot," he barks, smacking your ass with his palm. You yelp and jump away from him on instinct, and he laughs, pulling you back close to him. His hand massages the fat of your ass, gripping it with no remorse, nails digging into the plush skin. "You w-wanted it rough, yeah? Then take it."

His hand meets the round of your ass once more, and he groans as he feels you twitch around him. "Tell me how bad you want it, sweets - c’mon, let me hear that pretty mouth."

"Ugh- hah, so good- so f-fucking good," you whimper, face flushed and twisted in pleasure.

Just the sound of you being so responsive to him is enough to make him go absolutely feral.

The hands on your hips flip you onto your back, throwing your legs over his shoulders like earlier. He wraps his hand around your neck and uses you to support his weight, the other hand palming your tit once more. Satoru lines his cock up with your entrance, rubbing circles at your clit before finally diving back into you.

Quickly, he's back at his intense pace. His abs are glistening with sweat, and at the new angle, you can ogle him all you want as his dick hits your cervix again and again. You reach your hands up to grab his shoulders, giving you an outlet to dig your nails into his back, an aid for the immense pressure you feel from your core. His eyes are wide as they watch you, in tune with every little reaction he gets out of you. Every gasp, every moan - he sees it all.

"Hnn, look at you - fuckin’ ruined, all because of me. F-feels good, huh?" he teases, his words mixing together with how euphoric everything feels. He truly thinks your pussy might be his favorite drug. "Fuck- hah, look at you. You’re takin’ it so well- nrgh- almost like you were made for me."

You cry as his hand leaves your tit and hovers at your swollen clit. You try to say his name, but it comes out more as broken cries. The heat at your core is growing and growing, leading you closer to your peak. Satoru's well aware - you're practically convulsing around him.

"Nngh- shit! T-tell me, baby-tell me who you belong to," he says with hooded eyes.

"You," you wail. "A-all yours."

"N-not good enough, baby," he teases, drilling into you. "Gotta h-hear you scream my name, r'member?"

"Toru!" you shout, loud enough you assume the entire building will hear through the dormitory's thin walls. You’re a crying, moaning, incoherent mess, clinging onto him for dear life as you're being fucked ruthlessly into his mattress. You're so close to falling apart. "Yours, Toru!"

"I'm- ngh - I'm seein' the pearly gates, angel- mm - fuck," he groans. "This what heaven's like?"

"S'close," you manage to say, and you feel Satoru's pace become faster, harder as he rams into you. His hand on your neck tightens, making you all the more sensitive to every touch.

"Mmph- love the way you sound- shit- love the way you- you break for me, baby," he spits, voice low and rough. "Where d'ya want me?"

“I-inside,” you tell him, your pussy desperately throbbing, begging for release. “Please.”

“As you wish, angel,” he says, rubbing at your sensitive bundle of nerves, pace more and more erratic. “C-come w’me, 'kay? Lemme watch you.”

Satoru’s fingers work their magic on your clit, and you feel the tension building to an unbearable peak. Your body trembles, and you let out a cry as the wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your walls tighten around him as your nails draw blood from his back, pulling him deeper as he groans in response.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growls, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more erratic. “So good f'me.”

His words are like a trigger for you. A wave of warmth floods your senses, vision going spotty as you reach the most intense orgasm of your life. A wave of pure pleasure wipes over your body and mind as Satoru fucks you stupid. You’re lost in the sensation, barely aware of anything but the overwhelming ecstasy. The grip on your neck tightens just enough to make your head spin, and with a final thrust, Satoru spills inside you with a moan from deep inside him, raw and raspy and utterly pussydrunk.

Once he's drained himself, he collapses onto you, both of you panting heavily as you come down from the high. His lips find yours in a lazy kiss, and you can’t help but smile against his mouth. The room is quiet, save for the soft rustling of sheets and the faint hum of the air conditioning. The weight of the moment hangs in the air - so much has been said, so much has been shared, and now, after all the intensity, there’s a lull in the atmosphere.

Satoru’s breathing is slow, deep, as his fingers trail lazily up and down the valley between your breasts, the touch almost absentminded. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, pulling you close to him as his body relaxes into the bed.

You lay against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It’s steady now, calm. The rapid pace from earlier replaced by a slow, comforting rhythm. His arm wraps around you protectively, his hand gently rubbing up and down your arm. His fingers glide over your skin, tracing invisible patterns as if grounding you both in this shared, intimate space.

"Hey," Satoru whispers softly, voice just above a murmur. "You okay?"

You nod, pressing your cheek against his bare chest. There’s a softness to your eyes that matches his own, a shared moment of peace in the aftermath. “Yeah, just… catching my breath."

He smirks. "Does that mean it was worth the wait?"

You laugh softly, the sound a little breathless but full of affection. “I think you know the answer to that.”

Satoru’s hand stills for a moment, his chest rumbling with a low chuckle. He tilts his head back slightly to get a better look at your face, his eyes soft yet filled with mischief. “Oh, I do, but I just wanted to hear you say it.”

You roll your eyes, playfully nudging him with your elbow. "I guess it was worth it."

"I knew it!" Satoru’s goofy grin appears, lighting up his face as he shifts slightly, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at you. “You’re sure you're okay? I didn’t break you, did I?” he teases, his voice a playful mix of concern and mischief. He runs a finger gently over your cheek, like he’s inspecting you for any signs of damage.

You can’t help but chuckle at his antics, shaking your head. “I’m fine, Toru. I’m more than fine,” you reply, voice laced with the exhaustion of everything that just happened, but also with a warmth you can’t hide.

He raises an eyebrow, as if he’s considering your words, then nods seriously - too seriously, almost. “You’re lucky,” he says with a dramatic sigh, his hand going to his chest in mock heartache. “I was this close to making you into a puddle, but you somehow survived. Good job, baby. You get a gold star.” He gives a playful salute before flopping back down beside you, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

You snort, rolling your eyes at his antics. “Gold star, huh? I don’t know if I can handle that level of praise.”

He turns his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You should’ve seen how I was looking at you when you were takin' me from the back, though,” he says, nudging you with his shoulder. “Like a hungry lion eyeing a steak.” He pauses, his grin widening. “A really delicious steak. Mmm, steak.”

It’s almost too easy to laugh at his nonsense. You nudge him back, the playful energy between you both almost palpable as he keeps joking. "Steak, huh? You might just have a thing for food more than you do for me," you tease, smiling as you lift your head slightly, catching a glimpse of his exaggerated, pouty expression.

“Oh, don't even,” Satoru huffs, though the grin doesn’t leave his face. “I’m just saying, you’re the best thing on the menu. Can't deny that.” His finger taps your nose, almost like a silent promise. “You’ve been top-tier since I first saw you. But I can’t be the only one with taste around here.”

You chuckle, the back-and-forth banter still light, even after everything. But beneath the playful jabs, there’s a deeper warmth that settles in your chest. You’re not sure where it came from - whether it’s the raw vulnerability you shared earlier or the gentle way he’s holding you, or maybe it’s all of it - but whatever it is, it feels like the most solid thing you’ve experienced in a while.

"Let's get us cleaned up," Satoru smiles.

You nod, still feeling the warmth between you two, a quiet understanding lingering in the air. Satoru’s hand gently slides down your arm, his thumb grazing your skin in a way that makes the moment feel even more intimate, even in its casualness.

"Yeah, probably a good idea," you say, but your voice is a little softer now, the playful edge fading as you shift to sit up. The sheets rustle beneath you, the coolness of the air conditioning kissing your bare skin. You feel a strange mix of contentment and peace, as if the world outside this moment doesn’t even exist.

It's just you and him, right here, right now, and you couldn't be any happier.

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guys dw i didnt forget about ino and naoya... jsyk ;)

rly nervous abt this one so sorry if it sucks </3

[le0n-ardo]

What it's like dating 💙 Rise!Leonardo 💙 - Headcanons and ficlet pt 2

x f!reader. CW for slight angst and for some suggestive headcanons. The ficlet is entirely self-indulgent hurt-comfort my soul needed. Read part 1 here!

Disclaimer: all my writings contemplate the turtles aged up at about their late 20s, with the reader at the same age range. Your media consumption is your own responsibility ✨ dividers by @/cafekitsune

More Ninja Turtle headcanons in my masterlist!

Leonardo surprised you one day with his singing voice. It started off with him just singing a silly tune about how happy he was to finally eat something (he was hungry that day) but he noticed the effect his singing had on you.

Since then, Leon will sing fragments of your favorite songs to you. He mostly does it when you're alone, but it doesn't stop him from dedicating song after song to you on the occasional karaoke night. Sometimes, you'll even duet with him.

Leon behaves similarly when he finds out the effect he has on you when he whispers something only you can hear. He'll of course take advantage from time to time and whisper something spicy, foreshadowing something he wants to do with you later when you're alone.

Other times he'll whisper something completely goofy in your ear. You giggle, but you still get all airy and flustered at his proximity. Leonardo loves seeing your reaction no matter what it was he whispered.

Sometimes, you forget Leonardo actually knows how to play guitar. How he does it with only three fingers is beyond you, but he's quite good. He doesn't play and sing at the same time, though. Usually it's either-or, but music has become a big part of your relationship with Leo.

He also loves when you scratch his shell. If he's feeling cheeky enough, he'll ask you to do it and he'll have the biggest, cutest smile on.

Leonardo loves his alone time with you, but when you're deeper in the relationship and your dates become calm nights spent at home, he doesn't mind letting Donnie or even Mikey tag along (so longs as you're okay with it, and obviously so long as you two aren't planning on being intimate).

If Mikey's tagging along, the date will be goofiness galore and you can be sure there's going to be some sort of physical competition involved. You love watching Leonardo compete with Mikey - Leon will always show off to impress you as if he were still courting you, but he'll also balance it with cutting his little brother some slack just to see him happy.

If Donnie's tagging along, it's similar, but with video games. You and Donnie become great friends very quickly, and most times, the date consists of you and Donnie teasing and picking on Leon.

Leonardo, of course, makes sure you'll make up for teasing him afterwards 😉

For a while, you spend every night with him in his room. Cuddling, talking, telling jokes, making out, taking it one step further, you name it. Not every night is the same, and sometimes you're both so tired that you only cuddle for a bit before falling asleep, but they're still nights spent in Leonardo's arms and you love all of them.

Leonardo will go out of his way to show you how great you are, from giving you a flower or a thingamabob he found that made him think of you to actually telling you you're amazing, usually in the form of him bragging about you to one of his brothers.

There was, however, one time when Donatello (albeit jokingly) asked you, "What do you see in this guy?"

Leonardo acted all nonchalant about it, flexing and highlighting every single awesome thing about himself, but when the laughter died down and the subject changed, you could tell he was quieter and he was making just a little less eye contact with you.

Why is she with me?

That night, you got a pizza just for you and him to share in his room and you spoiled him with his favorite Jupiter Jim movie, which you watched in bed while eating and afterwards cuddling and making out during the boring scenes. When the movie ended, you both lay in Leonardo's bed and nearly fell asleep when you heard him speak.

"I know why you're doing all this," he said.

You simply turned around and gave him a light kiss on the lips, telling him how much you love him, and you also told him not to forget that. It seemed to reassure him, and you could tell his spirits were back to their usual level the next few days.

But after some weeks, you notice Leon is a lot busier with his brothers. They train a lot harder and they go on more missions. Leonardo lets you sleep in his room and tells you not to wait up for him if he knows he'll be out with his brothers - he hates the idea of you losing sleep and being all groggy the next day all because of him.

But Leonardo also hates the idea of you wanting to spend time with him and not being there with you.

If you fall asleep while he's still out in the city, you'll eventually be woken up by the sound of him arriving at his room and lying down next to you. You never know how late it is or what happened out there, but all you hear is a heavy sigh leaving him before he falls asleep.

The following morning, you usually wake up with Leonardo clinging to you, still asleep. When he does that, you gently stroke the top of his head and hold him closer, kissing him soft enough to not wake him up.

For as long as that goes on, Leonardo wakes up and acts as if nothing were wrong. He greets you lovingly, kisses you until you're both breathless, and behaves like his usual, charming, witty self. Still, you could swear that whenever his brothers make mention of the next upcoming mission or any reference to him being the one leading the squad now, you see a hint of dread flashing through Leon's eyes just for a moment.

You always figure Leonardo will talk to you about whatever bothers him when he's ready, and in the meantime, you keep showing him affection and support in whatever ways you can. Sometimes you leave food out for him for when he returns late from a mission, other times you'll get him little gifts or cheer him on during training or while he's working out.

Leonardo never verbally thanks you for this, but you do notice how tightly he holds you after one of your gestures - and how long it takes for him to let you go.

But the time goes by and you see him becoming more tense about his position as a leader. You try to cheer him up, but all Leonardo really wants is your comfort and your warmth.

If he's too shaken up about everything, he'll sometimes try and seek respite through intimacy. Those nights are particularly passionate, but it breaks your heart to see the weight returning to his eyes when he comes down from his high.

Eventually, you verbally let Leonardo know he has your full support no matter what, and that you believe in him as a leader. When you do this, Leonardo falls silent, and though it seems he won't react at all for a few moments, he then hugs you close and you both stay there a good long while.

The first months of his leadership were hardest for him, but a string of successful missions soon help Leon build his confidence, and eventually his vibrant personality returns. It's a whole new look on him - witty and brave, charming and stoic. He will bring laughter to his loved ones and doom to his enemies.

You love that duality in Leonardo. Dammit, you love all of him.

Leonardo having a free night to spend with you instead of being off on a mission felt like a rarity and a luxury, one that you would cherish. You could tell he would too, as was obvious by the fact that you weren't getting obscene amounts of food or planning for a move marathon in his room. He'd simply told you to follow him, and in a blur, you'd greeted Hueso in his restaurant and made your way with Leon past the back - one of the many perks of his lingering friendship with Hueso - climbing up the stairs until you reached the rooftop and took the door out. It was a decently sized building, one where you'd have both a magnificent view of the city and a decent view of whatever stars could survive all the light reflecting from below.

All Leonardo carried was a couple of blankets and a thermos with some warm liquid you still had yet to discover, and two plastic cups. He had told you to dress warm, and he was wearing a coat over his shell too. With all that, you knew you were in for a calm night, despite clinging to him as he led you through the mildly sketchy mutant restaurant where you were the sore thumb sticking out. It didn't matter; you felt safe so long as you were with your Leon. There was no one you'd trust more for that.

Leonardo swiftly set the blankets down and made a comfy makeshift mattress for you both, and you both lied down on it in silence. Neither of you rushed to pour any warm beverages yet. It seemed like for the time being, all you needed was to be there in silence with each other. You could have arguably done the same in his bedroom, but you'd noticed Leonardo's silence the past few nights. You knew what he'd never say out loud, you could see it in his eyes, hear it between the words he actually spoke. Leadership was a heavy burden, one that could put pressure even on the hardest shell, no matter how much he wanted to coop himself up inside it to protect himself from all he had to face.

You shifted onto your side and looked at Leonardo as he gazed up at the night sky. "Wanna tell me what's bothering you?"

He smiled softly, and the sight made you smile too - not only was he handsome with a gorgeous smile, but for some reason, his side profile was perfectly pleasing to look at.

"I knew you'd ask," he said.

"You wouldn't have brought me out here if you didn't want me to," you said. "So... is it anything I can help with?"

Leonardo sighed. "I don't even want to think about getting you in the crossfire."

"Has it been that bad?" Your brows dropped in worry. If you'd had any idea of the missions being too dangerous, you would have reached out sooner.

"Not... bad, just..." Leonardo's voice was smooth and only slightly higher pitched, as though draped with some sort of sadness. With another sigh, he sat up and crossed his legs in front of him letting his gaze fall to the city. "Don't tell anyone, but I don't know how Raph did it. Especially back then, when we were all a mess. I was..."

"Hey," you sat up and gently rested your hand on his coated shell. "None of us were our best when we were that age."

"Raph was," Leonardo replied. "He always seemed to be. I want to ask him how he got us through so much, but..."

"It wouldn't be admitting you can't do what he did, if that's what's stopping you," you said. "Raph has faith in you, I know it."

Leonardo gave a soft exhale and let his facial features soften in a way he'd only ever let you see. "I hope it's not misplaced."

"Are you worried they'll get hurt on your watch?" You said the words like ripping off a bandaid.

In response, Leonardo looked at you with a brief fear in his eyes, a result of hearing you say out loud what he dreaded every time he led his brothers into whatever mission they had.

"It's okay," you said, rubbing your hand over his shell for comfort. "It's a valid fear. But Leon... I look at you and know that you were meant to lead this family. This team."

"They didn't choose me, Splinter did," he retaliated.

"Because Splinter sees all that you're capable of, and so do your brothers," you comforted. "And so do I."

Leonardo looked at you with a soft smile. "Really?"

"You're my champion, Leonardo," you smiled at him.

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. He wasn't beaming with pride - his aura was that of gratitude.

"Leon, I know it sucks to doubt yourself," you said softly. "I do it too. I always like to think I'm wise for my years and really smart and then I go and mess something up and when I do, it haunts me..."

"No, don't go there," Leonardo said. "I don't want you doing this to yourself too."

"Well, I don't want you doing that to yourself either," you reached for his hand and squeezed it. "We're in this together."

As he squeezed your hand in return, Leonardo chuckled softly. "We're a little messed up, aren't we?"

You nodded with a smile. "Yeah. I guess it comes with having grown up."

Leonardo laughed more fully. "Damn right."

You looked at him again and leaned your head on his shoulder. "I mean it. You're my champion. You always will be."

He looked at you with soft eyes. "And no amount of mistakes you make will ever make me love you less."

You fought the urge to tear up at his words. "Ditto, Leon."

You both leaned in close rubbed your noses together in the sweetest manner before you locked lips for a soft kiss. When you pulled apart, your gaze drifted over to the thermos that rested next to Leonardo on the ground. "So what's in there?"

He chuckled. "Your favorite."

Your whole gaze lit up. "Beer?"

He laughed. "Your favorite warm beverage." Leonardo reached for the thermos and one of the cups. "It's decaf."

You reached for the cup of coffee and inhaled the rich scent of coffee, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "That's why you're my hero."

Sorry the fic was so self-indulgent. I hope you enjoyed it and the headcanons too! You can see my masterlist for more if you want!

Reblogs are appreciated! 💙