#pieces of which keep floating around her

[gauntletqueen]

I'd maybe consider making an Amazing Digital Circus sona if Broadcast Queen wasn't already a perfect fit, both in visual design and personality

[foldingfittedsheets]

It started with cantrips, which is why it took people a while to notice. The first few events were people on the news talking about how they’d been needing a light and then suddenly they’d waved a hand and said words and there was light. No one really believed them but as more reports were verified suddenly more people came forward with even less believable stories of what everyone really didn’t want to call magic. Even though it was pretty obviously magic. Spectral floating hands grabbing things that were out of reach, whispered messages that reached their friend seated too far away to hear them.

An EMT who whispered a word and suddenly saved a dying man.

Then the darker stories started filtering in. 

Words spoken in anger causing explosions. Poison spewing forth from a hand gesture. One person gave a retort so witty that someone was hospitalized. 

Everyone was scared, but the nerds started to figure it out fastest. It sure wasn’t the scientists who were doing the equivalent of crying on the floor in the fetal position in their respective labs while reports poured in globally of these occurrences. A growing movement online started spreading lists. They had all the blessings people might have gotten and regardless of how many people scoffed no one could really deny that every instance of magic correlated to a website listing the cantrips in Dungeons and Dragons. People pooled their collective resources to help quantify what was happening and facts started to emerge.

Everybody got one. You had to be at least thirteen to use the magic. That pretty much summed up the only other common denominators. Otherwise it seemed completely random, the magic didn’t line up with any existing character traits. You just unlocked one piece of magic each. People with aggressive cantrips were almost loaded up into camps for suddenly being so dangerous- however many hit points real humans had it was apparently not a big number. A lot more deaths occurred than anyone could feasibly track and the global population panicked.

The legislation for the camps got struck down. There were riots and confusion and for a while everything was pretty chaotic. Firebolts and Eldritch Blasts went off from sheer exuberance as much as anything else. Amidst the rioting were people just living their lives, not using their cantrips. It took a while for things to settle down, but humans can get used to most anything if given enough time.

Almost everybody scanned the list to figure out which they got, but someone with Chill Touch just enjoyed frostier beverages than most even if it made you think about death more to drink something after the skeleton hand had been wrapped around it. At least it looked cool. Most people didn’t really do anything other than play around. A youtuber who had gotten Shape Water suddenly surged in popularity as she pivoted her channel to creating beautiful patterns with colored water. Other online personalities quickly followed and those with combat focused magic set up backyard target practice to show off. Some fires resulted as well as numerous noise complaints and a law was passed limiting where people could practice magic. It was virtually unenforceable but the people in charge were trying to keep a grip on the situation.

Noticeably the largest subset of the population that used their magic were those who had gotten Spare the Dying. Every government turned out the call that such individuals would receive a generous stipend for taking to the hospitals and stabilizing the sick and injured. Death rates dropped substantially, but it was still only a cantrip. Cancer marched on, but many got to live after miraculous recoveries.

Months passed and things started to become a little more normal. There were still debates about what had caused it and how to regulate magic but day to day life settled down. Speculations over what the long term ramifications would be continued as well as why those cantrips. Wizards of the Coast refused to comment for the first six months, closing its doors to the rioting and keeping them closed. At the end of six months they abruptly published a new line of cantrip cards with all kinds of utility and no combat usage whatsoever. The internet exploded and the government wasn’t pleased, but nothing happened. No one got any new magic. People wondered if those under thirteen would manifest the new stuff, but no one did. They just blew out their thirteenth birthday candles and got handed a cantrip like everyone else. 

A year later a mechanic in rural Canada was peering into the engine of a busted car. He realized he needed some lubricant and instead of reaching for his can he waved a hand and splattered the car with Grease that had burst from his hand. He was a calm sort of fellow so he called up the local news and said there was more magic. They asked first what cantrip he had- folks who received Prestidigitation had made a number of false alarms on receiving additional magic. The mechanic told them his cantrip was Infestation which he’d never had cause to use after figuring it out. 

The press descended and demanded a demonstration. Most people had read up on the basic rules of magic at that point, so everyone understood when the mechanic said they’d have to wait until the next day. A media storm went up the next day with headlines blaring that first level magic had been unlocked after the passing of the lunar new year. 

A wide contingent had been waiting for this opportunity. The spell list went out again amidst less panic but more chaos. There was a rash of identity thefts no could trace and eventually people realized Disguise Self posed a significant challenge to daily life. Celebrities had trouble convincing people they were who they said as random citizens took their faces on numerous joyrides. A scandal broke when it turned out an A list actor had hired someone else to play them while they went on vacation but the details were kept very hush hush.

Hospitals called out desperately for anyone with healing magic and most of those blessed with Cure Wounds and Healing Word answered. People with Goodberry formed community food kitchens and for the first time it seemed like hunger could actually be eliminated. Veterinary offices and zoos made special positions for those who could cast Animal Friendship and Speak with Animals.

A celebrity chef hit the jackpot with Purify Food and Drink and made a whole spinoff series where she went dumpster diving and made five star meals out of rotting leftovers. Several people changed careers entirely to lend their services to study ancient texts with Comprehend Languages. Even one hour a day led to huge leaps in discovery and understanding of ancient civilizations. 

A small murmur of worry followed the new influx of skills and power. What would happen when more magic was unlocked? The amount of people now running around with dangerous combat spells was even greater than before. Would people have to worry about necromancy? New crimes were being invented faster than laws could keep up as magic was put to novel and interesting uses. 

A year passed and everyone waited with bated breath for the lunar new year, but nothing happened. 

But I’m pretty sure I figured it out. We got handed cantrips. And we waited a year for first level spells. I’m pretty sure it’s one more year, and then things will really start to get interesting.

Inspired by this poll. If you enjoyed my writing consider leaving a tip on my Ko-fi!

[yeyinde]

my body sleeps on your boredom

SUGAR DADDY!PRICE X READER

18+ | sugar daddy/baby relationship. age gap. (implied) mafia au. dom!Price. (slight) dubcon breeding. breeding kink one so insane you can hear Mormons applauding in the distance. contraceptive control. implied financial control. rough sex. infidelity*. dad!John Price. cheating (not between reader and John). Old Money Rich.

What you have with Price is entirely transactional.

His job—the nuances of which he keeps out of the bedroom, the bed—eats up the bulk of his time, and you—pretty little tchotchke that warms his sheets, keeping him cradled between soft thighs, head nestled on the enticing swell of your chest (weary heads and all, you suppose); a homecoming he can sink his stress into—lap up the scraps.

It's an arrangement that works for both of you, really.

Your rent is paid. Closet bursting with clothing. Always tripping over more shoes than you know what to do with. Food in the fridge. Financial worries are swallowed down quickly when they arise (along with a whiskey-tinged glob of spit when he grips your throat and tells you to open wide). He takes care of you. And you—

You take care of him, too.

a simple creature, really: he just wants dinner on the table when he comes over (home), a pretty thing to stare at while he eats, humming around a mouthful as you prattle on about your day (non-negotiable—his appetite is archaic, oppressive: the man grunts around a piece of meat his woman cooked for him as her bare feet slide teasingly up and down his leg, and she fills the stifling silence with inane chatter), and at the end of the obligatory meal, he gets to vent his frustrations out on the wet, warm embrace of your cunt as it squeezes his bare cock (also non-negotiable).

It's an effortless synchronicity.

When you need money, you send a picture of yourself in lingerie he bought above a coy pretty please, daddy to soften the grump up, and after a few exchanges of him lamenting the unnecessary purchase (a part of you, wishful, idealistic, clings to the idea that maybe he just wants an excuse to talk to you, to let you lap at more of his time than think he can afford to give), he relents. The money is sent to your account. You walk out of the department store with an ache in your belly that no amount of expensive wine or truffle could ever hope of filling and bags dangling on the crook of your finger, and he gets to thicken in his trousers over the idea of spending his money on a pretty little thing he can bury his cock inside of whenever the mood strikes. A patriarchal sort of preening. Masculine ego stroke. The role of a dutiful provider all wrapped up nice under the hum of ownership, sex.

(Then he really gets his money's worth when he bends you over the settee. Bought and paid for.)

And you're fine with it. It works. It makes sense because this is the only way that the two of you, together, do.

He's older than you are (salt peppers his hairline; wisps of smoke slither out of the tips of wry, umbre curls. No laugh lines, but his eyes crinkle when he smiles). He has a career. A good one. The second bottle of Violet Sapphire he bought on a whim for you after you whined about running out of the first (a gift—sales lady said you'd like it, sweetheart) isn't cheap. Neither are the handbags. The Tuscan leather shoes. The teardrop pearls. A good man, too. Upstanding citizen, and all that—

(the thin line of pale, creamy skin against ripened peach: a married man. a crayon shoved in the pocket of his trousers: a father.

blood under his nails. ghosts in his eyes. the smell of gunfire and madness clinging to his skin: a monster, too.)

—and you barely finished community college. Scraped by with a degree you're almost entirely certain he paid for, too. But you get to float around a meaningless job doing empty, vapid things to fill your days when he isn't around. 

(An ornament doesn't serve a purpose if it isn't being gawked at.)

An imbalance, you suppose. Or a ballad: the timeless tale of a stupid, greedy girl sinking her teeth into a grown man's wallet like a dog with a bone. In his hand, the leash. A tug. Be good.

And you are.

You let him slide inside of you as many times as he wants, and pretend the burnished seaglass staring down at you isn't filled with longing. Kneel on your satin cushion at his feet as he stretches out on his throne, and guides your pretty, empty head to his cock. Good girl.

Always.

Even when you shouldn't be. Even when he's gone for long periods of time. don't wait up, peppering the air as he goes. Nothing but an empty bed. Rumpled sheets. The scent of sex and tobacco. Leather and motor oil. Smoke. Sage and stale sweat on your pillowcase. An ache between your thighs. The tattoo of his teeth seared into your skin. An envelope full of cash (just in case). The card he left behind (anythin' you want).

Little tchotchke put back on the shelf. Tucked away so the reason for that pale strip of skin and the broken crayon in his pocket won't ever see you. A dirty secret. Another skeleton in an overstuffed closet.

Predictable, really.

You know your place in his world even if he doesn't say it.

(until he does—)

Just not in so many words—a paradox considering how much he loves to boss you around, growling commands under his breath (on your knees, open up, suck my cock, pretty girl, want me bad, mm, missed my cock inside your cunt, didn't you? show me how much)—in fact, they don't even come from him.

It comes from the pharmacist when you duck inside to pick up your prescription for birth control, and instead of handing it over, he just shakes his head.

"You don't have any refills for this month."

He's gone for two months.

MayoClinic warns that this is the estimated window needed for the hormones to dissolve from your system. The risk of a pregnancy after this, it reads, is likely.

You ponder that in a penthouse suite, sitting pretty amongst shredded wrapping paper. A Dior Turtleneck Sweater wrapped around your throat instead of his hands. An apology—according to the embroidered card, the tight, messy pen strokes mention something about an unexpected business trip.

The return address on the box is in Liverpool.

It's listed for sale on Zillow. The asking price is just over a million dollars. A family home on a vast plot, it reads. Six bedrooms—five in the main home and an additional inside a detached coach house. A gated driveway. A secluded courtyard with a suntrap. Something called a self-contained annex seems to be the main focal point of the sale. It has five reception rooms and a sprawling garden.

Perfect for a family, it adds.

You thumb the alpaca wool on your knit sweater, and wonder if this is the leash being cut—

Or pulled tighter.

He doesn't bring it up.

And so, neither do you.

It sits like an oafish, gaudy elephant in the background as he walks into the apartment, fingers digging into his tie. Ignored. Dismissed. He grunts when the knot loosens. Shoulders falling lax. Calmed without the clench of something around his neck.

You place his plate on the table when he wanders closer, offering one of those simpering 50s era housewife smiles when his big, bearish hand swallows up your waist. The scent of char and gunsmoke clings to his collar when he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple. Acrid. Metallic. Beneath it, you catch stale sweat. Animalic. Unwashed man, leather.

And nothing else.

There's old, greasy sweat on his nose. His hair is slicker than usual. Darker. Blood under his nails. Smoke between his teeth when he hums, offering a low, rasping missed you, sweetheart that scratches along your skin.

He didn't shower before he came to see you.

You hide the notion of it behind your teeth, letting it grace your smile with something that feels less plastic, rigid. More real. Artless. Clumsy. Like the dress he sent ahead of himself and the matching pair of designer heels that still sit inside their box. You'd never wear shoes in the house, but John Price isn't a man who does things in halves.

(a purse sits on the settee: a complete set.)

His eyes are dark—pelagic: the ocean at night; all dark, no stars, moonless—and when he looks at you (in the clothes he bought, in the penthouse he owns, cooking the dinner he wanted), something ripples across the surface. A frisson. Underwater quake. Deep and dark, and darkly possessive. Hungry. 

You like the look on him right now. Maybe even more than anything else he'd ever bought for you, done to you, because Price is, above all else, fundamentally human.

He has rules. Expectations. It's rare he's ever driven by instinct beyond anger—that thrilling thing you'd only ever glimpsed when he peeled back the curtain, tearing the skin he wore with you kneeling at his feet and growled into the phone at whoever stroke his ire. He's controlled chaos. Gruff and uncompromisable.

But the look on his face right now splits that staunch control down the middle until it falls, shattering into pieces at his feet.

He growls m’hungry, sweetheart, and you barely have a second to push the risotto aside before he lifts you onto the table, barely sparing a minute to swipe his hand across the surface, sending dishware and untouched food tumbling to the ground with that same little growl he gave to the man on the phone who disturbed him from the comfort of keeping his cock warmed on your tongue all day long. 

You're laid over the jacket he'd thrown down—rich with gunsmoke, tobacco, and something sharp and metallic—legs squeezed together, ankles tossed over his right shoulder.

It's messy. Artless. All animal despite the cocoon of finery bracketed around you.

Plates shake from the jarring force of his thrusts. Cups tip, spilling your glass of Roumier across the table. Something shatters when it hits the ground. But he doesn't stop. Doesn't even notice the chaos happening around him—as if the world ceases to exist beyond the sight of you taking his cock like a good girl. Spread out for his leisure. His pleasure.

He certainly looks like a hellish king as he stands above you. Towering. Terrifying. One hand wrapped around your throat, keeping you still as he slides his gaze from the tilt of your thighs to the tears puddling in the corner of your eyes as he stretches you open with the thick of him. The other looped under your knees, holding firm. Fingers digging into your flesh. Tight. Rutting like a beast.

There's sweat on his brow. His chest heaves. The hand around your throat slides down your collarbones in a damp spill of heat that makes your toes curl above his shoulder. Rough. Sticky with sweat. With you from when he pried your cunt open on three thick, scarred fingers, grunting at the sloppy mess he found between your thighs. Always so fuckin' wet for him.

It wasn't enough, but you think he likes that. Indulges in something archaic, sinister, when he catches the wince on your face as his too-big cock notches against your too-tight hole. Forcing himself inside with a grunt that sometimes sounds like a laugh when you whimper. When you cry and claw at the sheets and beg for mercy—just a minute to adjust, a second to get used to the burning stretch. The poignant ache when he slides down to the root—so deep, you sometimes think you can taste him in your throat.

He gives no quarter then, and he doesn't now.

Price likes fucking you rough. Edging on painful, bordering on too much. It's the juxtaposition, you think, from the way he treats you like a spoiled little princess who has daddy wrapped around her finger to the dressed up little whore he lays out on a table, bends over a settee, and brands your throat with the clench of his paw as he pounds into you like a beast. A little mean, a little cruel—just enough to balance out the rasp in his voice when he hands you his credit card and says buy whatever you want, sweetheart.

(and miss you, sweetheart—when he's tired and alone and already four glasses of whiskey deep; voice ground down to ash from the cigars he burned through. As soft as a man like him could ever get. Can't stop thinkin' about you, sweetheart. Need to see you, sweetheart. Need your pussy. Your cunt. Your mouth. That tight little ass. Want to fuck your throat until you can't speak for days, sweetheart.

(Want to push m'self so deep inside of you that you forget yourself, love. Forget who you are without my cock inside of you. Can't—can't live without me—)

Ash and soot. The next morning, another ten grand sits in your account. A knife slides cleanly, neatly, into your guts when the accompanying text says for listenin' to the nonsense of a drunk old man. don't take it to heart.)

Balance, maybe.

the thin strip of skin on his finger. the broken crayon in his pocket.

Maybe tonight was supposed to be the end. A clean break.

It makes you wonder if she found out about the tchotchke he keeps in his closet. The pretty little thing he begs to stay when he's drunk and alone, and then rips into pieces the next morning when money is promptly deposited into your account. A cruel-edged don't forget yourself, sweetheart.

But he's snarling as he peaks, grunting above you as sweat drips down his brow, heaving. Panting. Lips twisted up into a snarl. Eyes furious. Mad. His hand is a brand over your mound, possessive as he holds you in his palm, feels the way his cock splits you apart. Owned.

Bought and paid for.

Another grunt, and his thumb dips down to rub at your clit, barking at you to come—come on my cock, sweetheart, need to feel it—until you howl, clenching up so tight around him that it rips a molten, liquid purr from his chest. A throaty moan that breaks you into pieces. Tears the veneer of flesh and bone from your consciousness until your body liquifies, spilling out over the table, mingling with the Chambolle Musigny Amoureuses soaking into your back. Wrapped tight around him, as he batters into you without any finesse. Clumsy ruts. Sloppy. Animal. And then—

His cock swells. Throbs.

Over the roar in your ears, you hear him groan low in his throat, deep and brutal; the rumbling of a well-fed bear burying its dinner in the dirt. It sounds like mine now. Like ain't you, mm, sweetheart? gonna keep you nice and full. got all those rooms to fill, don't we—

wishful thinking.

But he comes inside of you. Bare. Raw. Your hands untangle from around his wrist, palm still wrapped around your throat, and drop down to your belly.

Price sees it and groans—

"that's it, sweetheart—"

(ain't gonna be empty for long.)

He's always had this little fantasy of knocking you up.

Used to growl in your ear about how badly he wanted to see you swell with his babies. Little broodmare he'd keep chained to his bed like a queen. Giving him five sons and five daughters because he could never seem to make up his mind on what he wanted—only that it was a lot.

(An improbable thing, really—he might yank on the leash, but you easily talked him down to four; two boys and two girls.)

He comes back (home) some days with fire in his eyes and sets on you like a man possessed, starved. Smothering you into the mattress with the thick of his body, grunting into your ear about knocking you up. Getting you fat and needy with his babies until you forget what it felt like not to be nursing, to be pregnant.

A terrifying concept. Something that made you rush a little faster to pick up your contraceptives, comparing the pill in your palm to pictures online just to make sure they were the same. And maybe at some point, it just became a game.

He'd press you into sheets and fuck you all day long, making you keep count. Each time he came inside of you was another baby to this empty house. A crazy thing, really. Midlife crisis, perhaps.

But you indulged.

Let him press his hairy, thick chest against yours as he folded your knees up to your ears and pounded inside of your aching, messy cunt, gasping out a tally into his sweat-slicked jaw. Laughed as he kept your legs bent and your hips tilted up, eyes riveted to the split of your sore, aching cunt. Growling an awful amalgamation of primal, masculine satisfaction at the sight of him spilling out of you and in anger at the fuckin' waste.

("gonna plug you up next time," he seethed, two fingers buried inside your bruised hole to stem the flood. "Wastin' it all, sweetheart.")

But that was before.

When he'd shower before he came to see you. Sometimes waiting days after he landed before he was back in your bed, grunting around the idea of another trip you wanted him to take you on, pretending to think about it despite the tickets to Egypt already booked. When he'd play house with you. I Love Lucy on the television, dinner in the oven. His hand curled over your nape as you bobbed your head up and down his cock. A dutiful wife taking care of her overworked husband.

Making babies in the dead of night. When he'd grunt say it, sweetheart into your ear, and you'd beg him to give you another one. Tears in your eyes, lachrymal, as you tried to convince your husband that the baby you put to bed in the empty room needs a sibling.

His hand on the leash, but your voice in his ear—paper soft—pleading don't make our child grow up as an only child, John.

(two weeks in Portofino booked. First class. Luxury resort. A Wolf & Badger swimsuit laying on your bed, one with a gold zipper on the front that he wears out by the sixth day and has to run to town to buy you a new one.)

But that was before. When it was just a rich, dangerous man's fantasy. When you had birth control to keep the unrepentant baby fever he had just a dream. Never a possibility. Never a reality.

MayoClinic says the possibility of conception is high.

The period tracker you glimpse on his phone one evening warns that you have two days before it comes.

When you swallow around the idea of it, half dizzy, half sick (six bedrooms), he rests his hand over your nape, tugging on the leash. His eyes are dark again. Midnight blue, almost black. Hadal.

He keeps them fixed on you. A ravenous black hole. Calmly closing the app as if nothing was wrong, as if he didn’t have your cycle locked into his phone. Rough, calloused thumb brushing over the soft patch of skin beneath your ear. Steady and soothing. Like calming a skittish mare. 

Unflinching. Unbothered. Entirely unconcerned when he kicks his foot over the line of what's expected, what you want, and fucks you again that night, bare. Raw. Groaning when he comes. Huffing into your ear about how he'll take such good care of you—both of you.

And when he tucks a pillow under your hips, you drag your hand down to your wet, swollen cunt in a clumsy, enticing attempt to keep him inside of you until he fills the empty space with the thick split of his scarred knuckles.

A performance, you think, when he groans like you gutted him. Bought and paid for. 

That's all this is.

But he doesn’t book a trip for this performance.

And he's gone when you wake (business, he says, in a messily scrawled note left on the end table), but there's a gift bag on the dining room table, sitting next to the stain you left when he pulled out of you. Dried come. Slick. Tinged slightly pink because he was rough with you last night. Hurried. 

The black box inside is an apology for hurting you even though you know he likes it when his come is a little pink as it leaks out of you. When you wince when you sit, and have to press a icepack against your sore, swollen cunt.

(it doesn't surprise you to find a pack already left out for you. coffee in a pot. breakfast warm on the stove.)

But the next thing he left is the real gift.

Divorce papers—already signed by him, the gold band he never let you see on top—sits on a stamped envelope, awaiting another signature. It just has to be mailed out. When you sift through them, the cause for the divorce is irreconcilable differences.

Balm to the shame is the little fact that he hasn't lived with his wife for the last year. The date of separation coincides neatly with that drunken phone call when he told you he wanted to bury himself so deep inside of you that you couldn't breathe without him saying you could. 

Domineering. Grossly possessive. 

He has you already, but that's not enough. 

It'll never be enough.

("wanna—mm, wanna give you everything, sweetheart. and I want everything, too. every part of you. wanna change your fuckin' name to mine—")

You tap your nail against the page labeled custody agreement, not even a little surprised that this docket has everything outlined, itemised. The table of contents says you'll find the prenup on page fifty-six and the proposed split of assets on page sixty-seven. It's thorough and every bit as intimidating and uncompromising as the man is wont to be. 

He's serious.

And John wants his kid. Non-negotiable.

That, too, doesn't really surprise you. Even when you were playing house, he'd always been a rather doting father—

("I don't want them to just have a sibling," he'd growl, firm and immutable, adding (intractable as always): "I want them to have a fuckin' team.”)

The address he gives for his primary residence, however, does give you pause. Liverpool. Chestnut Avenue, Moor Park. Six bedrooms. A guesthouse. 

The envelope is filled out, too. All it needs is to be tucked inside and mailed out. 

Already separated, his lawyer says, neat and tidy, like everything else in the pages. This was the most inevitable course of action, and my client, John Price, is ready to move on with his new life. 

Ready to move on. You scrape your tongue against your teeth, hand settling over your belly as you think about that. It's just—

He's always been a rather obstinate man. Stubborn. Once he gets his head around an idea, very little can change his mind. You'd seen it countless times before, but never this cold. Callous. 

Dismissive. 

Not to you, anyway. Not that you can remember. It's always been silk sheets, gifts from stores that would deny you entrance based on your credit score alone. A new wardrobe. A new place to stay. And that's—

That's kind of odd, you think. Maybe. 

He cut your lease the day after you dragged him home from the bar, back when he was just a bad choice after a terrible night out. Had the locks changed. A new lease in your hands—in his name—and a key under the mat beside a housewarming gift. An expensive espresso machine that would be a little too bourgeois in Starbucks. A penthouse that overlooks the ocean. Members only. 

There's a valet. A gym. A swimming pool. He joked one night that you'd feel right at home with the sauna it housed. Jus’ like a lodge, mm. 

You're not sure how he knew. It's one of those things that he just does. Like your name. The real one you grew up hearing before you moved to the city and changed it to fit in. How many siblings you have. Your parents. Their birthdays. A gift always sent out in your name, arriving just on time. 

All of your old things were donated. You didn't need them anymore—not when he ordered a whole new wardrobe from Loro Piana for you. Handed you his card and told you to fill the house up with whatever would make you happy. 

(Fitting, you suppose, since you barely have to think about anything except how to make him happy.)

He turned in your resignation less than three hours after you fell asleep on your lumpy mattress, worn out after a night of drinking. A night of him. More animal than man. Too tired to kick him out before you passed out under the weight of him still burying you into the mattress, hips flexing as he fucked you again for the third time. 

(the fourth, fifth while you were still sleeping. waking up to the sixth: him inside of you, a slow grind as he rocks in and out; he's bigger than you. too big. with your thighs wrapped snug around his hips, the top of your head barely clips the ledge of his shoulder. he wrapped an arm around your upper back, the other reaching out, gripping the pillows above you. panting into the thick bed of curls covering his chest as he threads his hand over your crown and presses you tighter against him. groaning into your ear. ducking his head down to rasp out how badly he wants to feel your messy little pussy squeeze him tight—

before he leaves, he hooks two thick fingers inside, and fucks his come into you. makes you come on his cum-soaked fingers before he wanders off with a small smile, the scent of tobacco and sex pungent in the air.)

And the ring—

You thought he never wore it because of some misguided sense of propriety. Decorum. The Madonna—a thin strip of pale skin, waterlilies and cashmere, a crayon in his pocket; tabloids dressing her up as a modern day Diana; a divot between his brow that grows and grows and—

and the Whore—

A penthouse. Dior sunglasses. Cucinelli heels. Colombo jackets. Loro Piana outfits that cost more than your parents make in a year. His credit cards left on your bedside table. Trips in a snap of a finger. Luxury a phone call away. 

(his voice pitched low. a smoldering rasp. stay, sweetheart, don't go. don't leave—)

—the divot melting into a brooding, heated stare. Desire drenched across his brow; want so thick, so palpable, you can feel his need throbbing between your legs. Dissolving into ash after, when he loops an arm under your body, cradling you close to his sweat-slicked chest as he leans against the headboard, smoking a cigar. Basking in the scent of sex. Satiety. Your finger curling around a thick whorl of damp, coarse hair. Content. 

It’s selfishness. Teeth digging into the man, refusing to let go. But beyond that, you know you’re good for him. 

Better for him, you think, and jog the papers on the table, right above that ugly little stain, to neaten up the pile. 

It takes five minutes to slip them inside the sleeve, peel the adhesive off of the sticky tab, and walk them down to the mailbox just outside of the lobby. Five minutes to initiate a divorce. 

If you had any qualms about falling into bed with a married man—not that he really gave you much room to think about it since he never showed up with his ring, just the mark of her around his neck like a noose; a constant guessing game—it’s put to rest when the metal flap snaps shut. 

Shame feels like an elephant. Something in the background. Ignorable. 

And besides—

(you place your hand over your belly and hum)

—you have other things to think about, to worry over, than a crumbling marriage.

He must have gotten the notice that you mailed the documents because a text comes later that night. Simple. Succinct. 

Good girl. 

The elephant slinks away into the moonless night as you pull open the catalogue of engagement rings he left on his bedside table, and circle a few that catch your eye. 

All of them sapphire. The same blue as the broken crayon in his pocket.

(The period tracker on his phone chimes a few weeks later.

You don't even bother peeking over his shoulder to know you're late.

You have more things to worry about, after all. Like moving to Liverpool next week when his divorce is finalised, and planning a wedding for the spring.)

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the many firsts

a/n: you have no idea how many times while writing this first instalment that i needed to take a break, if you know what i meaannn 🫠

summary: “alright, I’m sorry, geez,” Steve huffed with only a whisper of sincerity, “just come tonight, please? I mean, have you ever even been to a real party before? So how would you know that you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it? Just stop by for a second, and if it’s not for you, then you can just leave, simple as that.” 

warnings: innocent!reader x stepbro!steve rogers, frat!bucky barnes, frat!ari levinson, smut, dark content, college au, move in day at university, frat party, alcohol consumption, kissing, virgin!reader, corruption kink, voyeurism, overstimulation, first orgasm, edging, dirty talk, size kink, masturbation, handjob

word count: 8043

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

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“Thanks for the ride,” you uttered as Steve’s car finally rolled to a stop in the campus parking lot. Cracking open the passenger side door, you slipped out and trailed back to open up the trunk, “but I can do this on my own, you know,” as the lid floated up to reveal the Tetris-like stacks of both of your stuff, you glanced up at Steve as he rounded the corner of the vehicle as well, “you really don’t have to keep up your end of the deal, our parents aren’t here to see.” 

“It’s alright,” his burly arm reached over you to fish out a laundry basket stuffed to the brim with your things, “I know it was just your mom babying you as usual and whispering in my dad’s ear to get him to make me watch after you.” 

“She doesn’t baby me, she just cares, a lot…” you shot back defensively, “and I don’t need anyone to watch out for me. I’m eighteen, not seven.” 

“Oh yeah?” he let out a faint scoff, “so you wanna just haul all this junk around campus, looking for your dorm, which you have no clue where is yet?” 

Your eyes then slowly narrowed in his direction before you muttered, “…well, maybe you could give me just a bit of a hand… just in the name of saving time instead of wasting my first day getting lost.” 

And as you filled your arms with as much stuff as you could carry, Steve noted, “hey, I'm not offering to be your fucking tour guide,” as he slammed the trunk shut behind you, “don’t worry, I won’t now try to make you suddenly like me,” he spoke of the ship that sailed away a long time ago. 

Arms full, you crossed the crowded parking lot till you reached one of the open gates leading into a lush green area where little paths weaved across the lawns and connected all of the towering buildings. 

“Welcome to Highridge University,” Steve breathed as you walked under the gateway, “best fucking years of your life.” 

For so long, you had dreamt of this moment, finally being out on your own, away at college, meeting kindred spirits and sipping from the well of knowledge. Glancing around, your teeth clamped down on the smile that rapidly grew and faintly calmed the jittery nerves that still tensed up your abdomen in nauseating butterflies. 

“Where are you gonna live, again?” his glance briefly drifted to you. 

“Uh…” one-handed, you swiftly scrambled to get out the papers folded up in your pocket, “… Manning Hall, room eight,” you read out loud once you finally found the information on the crumbled piece of paper. 

“Manning, alright,” he exhaled, “I started out in Lichfield myself, but I’ve, uh–, dated a few girls who lived in Manning,” his comment promptly caused your eyes to roll in your skull before your feet began to shuffle after him as he led the way. 

As you tried to keep up with his long stride, you watched as his gaze suddenly dipped to the contents of the laundry basket he carried before something caught his eye. 

“Ah, no way,” he chuckled as he shifted the hamper to free his one arm and snatch up an item, “I can’t believe you brought this with you.” 

Glancing over, fury swiftly began to simmer in your chest as you watched him clutch the brown plush bovine visage of Chocolate Milk, an old stuffed animal of yours. 

“Hey!” you swiftly snatched the soft cow out of his hand. 

But the loss didn’t get to diminish his flame as he only spotted the others buried deeper within the basket, hidden beneath the mass of Chocolate Milk, “oh my god, there’s more!”

“Will you please stop?” you begged as he picked up both an ivory bunny and a caramel-coloured bear, “okay, fine, so I brought a few stuffed animals with me, big whoop!” you screeched in hopes that he would for once show you an ounce of mercy as this was in fact your first time being away from home, so the sense of comfort that those toys brought seemed better than if you’d begged your own mother to stay with you till you settled in. 

But even when Steve let go of the teddy bears and settled them back into the hamper, his laughter still continued to rumble in his chest, “oh, you’re so adorable, fuck…” 

His laughter had thankfully subsided by the time you reached Manning Hall. Once you’d received your key, your feet began to carry you down the long corridors in search of your new home. 

When you found the correct door, it already stood ajar, prompting you to slowly push it open before you peeked your head inside. 

On the floor, next to one of the nightstands, there sat a dark-haired girl your age, haphazardly stuffing the small drawer with some of her things. 

“Hi,” you gently tapped your knuckles against the open door before crossing the threshold. 

Glancing over her shoulder, her eyebrows floated up before she exclaimed, “oh! You must be my roommate!” before she sprang up and rushed towards you, “hey, I’m Kate,” she reached out to shake your hand. 

Setting down enough stuff to free one palm, you grasped hers and offered her a timid smile, “nice to meet you, I’m Y/n.” 

Coming in behind you, Steve bumped against your side as he squeezed his eclipsing form in through the doorway, “where do you want this shit?”

“Oh,” you tried to get out of the way before his stride tumbled you down, “on the bed is fine, I think,” you gestured to the empty one. 

Slipping in past you both, Kate then asked as he placed the hamper down on the small mattress, “is this your boyfriend?”

You nearly choked on your giggle as your wide eyes soared to stare back at her, “him? My boy–, no,” you tried your best to ignore the flutter that tingled deep within your belly at her assumption, “that’s my stepbrother. He’s just already a senior here, so we drove together.” 

“Oh,” she exhaled before her face screwed up in immediate regret, “sorry.” 

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, your stepbrother briefly glanced down at the screen before muttering, “well, I'll let you girls talk. I'm gonna go grab the rest from the car and then be on my way.” 

Offering him a small nod, your gaze shadowed him as he exited the small dorm room, your eyes only ripping away from his fading visage down the hall when Kate soon uttered, “hey, I was about to go get my student ID. You wanna join?”

“Sure,” you nodded, stuffing both of your hands in your pockets, “do you know where it is?”

“Actually, I do,” she cocked her head proudly before sharing, “my girlfriend goes here, so I’ve already been visiting this place for an entire year.” 

“Wait, wait, wait, let me readjust my grip,” the frat bro with a buzzcut wheezed to the other guy carrying the heavy beer keg. They were barely halfway up the steps that led to the fraternity’s porch as you approached. 

“Seriously?” the one that looked like a Norse god halted with a huff, “you can’t keep pausing every five seconds or we won’t get this thing inside till next year!” 

“Hi,” the quiet tone of your voice caused them to drop their squabble as both of their eyes promptly drifted directly towards you, “I’m sorry, is this the Kappa Alpha Nu house?”

“It most certainly is, gorgeous,” the blonde one let his stare take a journey down over your frame, “why? You wanna join?”

“No,” you shook your head, “I'm just looking for someone.”

“Okay,” the other one nodded, “well I'm pretty sure everyone’s inside,” his head invitingly tilted towards the open front door behind them before he added, “except for if you’re looking for Frank or Billy, they haven’t arrived yet.” 

Slipping in behind them, the entryway that met you was generous and wide, with a broad staircase off to the side that stretched up to an open landing where numerous hallways spewed forth and weaved deeper into the house. Peeking around, you first poked your head inside the living room that bloomed off to the left, though the room that met you was completely vacant. 

Though as you twisted to take your search somewhere else, a figure appeared from out of nowhere, curving around the corner, before you blindly bumped directly into the mass. 

“Ow, fuck!” he cursed before you stepped off his toes that your shoes had accidentally stomped down on in the collision.

“Shit, sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going–…” your apology then promptly faded from your lips as you blinked up into the blue eyes of none other than Bucky Barnes. 

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” your stepbrother’s best friend blinked back into your wide eyes before his glance dipped down to the deep neckline of your shirt, “and since when did these stop being mosquito bites?” he teased as a smirk began to bloom on his lips. 

As you then tugged at your shirt to cover up more of your cleavage, Bucky only continued to brashly stare.  

“Do you know where Steve is?” you avoided his inappropriate comment with a roll of your eyes. 

“Yeah, he should be down any second,” his brawny arm curled up before he leaned his weight against the wall behind you, “so, how the hell are you? Taken any showers lately?” he briefly wiggled his brows, recalling the time over the summer when he had come over to hang out with his friend, only to naturally walk into your bathroom right as you were washing shampoo out of your hair. 

“I’m fine,” you sighed as your cheeks began to burn, “glad to finally have a bathroom door with a lock that actually works.” 

But then, before Bucky could torment you any further, three separate pairs of footsteps creaked on the staircase. 

“Hey, Buck,” you heard Steve call out before he reached the bottom of the steps, “did you remember to invite the Delta Phi girls tonight, because–,” his sentence then crumbled as his gaze landed upon you. Stopping in his tracks, he blinked down at you with his eyebrows harshly knitted together before his glare flickered to his friend, “what is she doing here?” 

Crossing the width of the entryway, you dipped your fingers into your pocket and said, “you forgot your phone in my room,” before you fished the device out and stretched it up towards him. 

Finally crossing over the threshold behind you, the two guys hauling the keg perked up, “already trying out the new wares on campus? Nice.”

“What?” you twisted around to glare at them, your heart suddenly thumping in your chest, “I’m his stepsister…”

“Oh…” one of the guys on the staircase beside Steve murmured before turning to utter closer to him, “this is her? Seriously?” though hushed, his voice was still loud enough for each and every person in the room to hear what he said, “that’s your stepsister?” 

The clearly lewd undertones of his cadence flew directly over your head as you then blinked up at Steve and asked, “you told them about me?”

“Oh yeah, he has,” the shaggy-haired one on the other side of your stepbrother eyed you a moment before he shifted down the last steps, “I'm Ari, president of this madhouse,” the towering man leaned against the thick bannister before he pointed out each other fraternity members surrounding him, “this is Marc, Thor, Curtis and I'm guessing you already know Bucky.”

“Yeah,” you briefly entertained Bucky and threw a glare over your shoulder at him, “our paths unfortunately crossed back in high school.” 

As your eyes fluttered back, Ari, still standing tall before you, tilted his head and asked, “you stopping by our annual beginning of the semester bash tonight?” 

“Oh,” you breathed, taken aback by the unexpected invitation, “thanks, but I don’t think I should. I have freshman assembly early tomorrow morning, and anyhow, I’m not really much of a party girl,” your fingers began to fiddle with the hem of your sleeve. 

But then, before you could share any more of your completely valid reasons, Steve spoke up, “oh, come on,” he nearly groaned, “I was told to take you under my wing, so I can’t very well stand around and let you waste away your college years just like you did back in high school.” 

“What’s wrong with how I spent those years?” you scoffed and crossed your arms across your chest. 

“Uh, you had no life, no friends, nothing,” he counted on his fingers, “you were basically a nun.” 

Throwing your hands up into the air, you exclaimed, “oh, well, I’m sorry we can’t all be the fucking prom king and go to parties every weekend without it affecting one’s GPA!” 

“Alright, I’m sorry, geez,” Steve huffed with only a whisper of sincerity, “just come tonight, please? I mean, have you ever even been to a real party before? So how would you know that you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it? Just stop by for a second, and if it’s not for you, then you can just leave, simple as that.” 

“Drinks for the beautiful ladies,” Lloyd winked as he and Bucky slithered into the cluster of sorority girls to hand out some beverages. You were leaning up against the nearby wall, shyly only having one foot into the conversation as your new roommate, who now stood with her arm around her girlfriend, Yelena, encouraged you to join in and meet everybody. 

“Fuck off, Lloyd,” the redheaded ringleader of the girls barked after she’d seized a cup from him, “I can’t deal with you tonight.”

“Still playing hard to get, I see,” Lloyd only smirked back at Natasha’s scowl. 

“Oh, I very much am not,” she uttered coldly. 

“See, every party you tell me that and every party, I don’t care. It’s part of our thing,” he briefly waved a finger between the both of them. 

“It is not part of our thing, we don’t have a thing, we will never have a thing.” 

Though his feet didn’t shift at her warning, as his stare only narrowed to a squint before he concluded, “…so what you’re saying is there’s a chance.” 

“Just leave me alone,” she threw up a hand between them to shield her from any more of his desperate attempts, “go flirt with some sad, lonely freshman.”

Though as you watched from the sidelines, you swiftly felt yourself stiffen up as Lloyd suddenly saddled up next to you and flashed you a dazzling grin, “hello… are you by any chance sad and lonely?” 

Sucking in a breath, you nervously blinked up at him, “not particularly.” 

But before the frat guy could make any other attempts, and make you that much further overwhelmed, Bucky’s palm landed on Lloyd’s shoulder before he offered him a band-aid for the rejections.  

“Hey, I think I saw those twins from Callahan’s class out on the dance floor a bit ago,” he leaned in slightly to utter over the booming music that rattled the entire frat house. 

“Really?” Lloyd gasped, promptly renewed with vigour before he darted off, leaving Bucky alone next to you.  

“He seems… nice,” you tilted your head as your gaze traced him onto the dance floor, briefly flickering to Thor behind them all as he controlled the music and put his own spin on it. 

“Ah, he’s not that bad when he’s sober,” Bucky shrugged before shifting to face you, “here,” he then held out a plastic cup for you to grasp.  

“Oh, I’m not really much of a drinker–,” you tried to protest before Bucky rolled his eyes and shoved the beverage into your hand, “oh, okay, sure,” you blinked back into his steely blue eyes as he then brought the cup up to your lips and guided you to take a large gulp. The searing sting caused you to swiftly tilt your head back down as you then coughed because of how strong it was, “oh my god, what is that?”

“Just drink it, it’ll help, trust me,” he urged as you stared down into the well of what must have been pure liquor. 

Cautiously, you took the older guy’s advice, sipping slowly as you let your gaze wander the space, though as you did, you expected Bucky to leave, but to your surprise, he didn’t shift to move away from your side, which then only caused a timid bubble to ache within your belly as your stare nervously flickered up to him, clueless as to what you should do next.  

“So…” you exhaled tensely as you tried to make conversation, “you guys do this kind of thing a lot? Throw parties here?” 

“Yeah, pretty much every weekend,” Bucky nodded after taking a sip of his own drink, “although this one in particular, the beginning of the year bash, it always gets a bit wild. Probably because we haven’t seen each other all summer long, so some years it gets a bit out of hand.” 

“Oh… like, how wild do you mean? Does it turn into a clue movie?” you half-joked. 

“No, nothing quite like that,” he chuckled at your slight terror, “although Scott did almost drown in the pool one time, so…” he shared, pointing to the man erratically shaking his thing in the centre of the dance floor, “he was fine, woke back up, but just don’t get alarmed if anyone pulls something particularly stupid before the sun comes up.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded faintly, “thanks for the tip.” 

As your gaze continued to flicker across the expansive space and the drunken students letting loose, his own stayed glued to you before you eventually heard him utter, “so, have you gotten the grand tour yet?”

“What?” your neck swiftly twisted in his direction.  

“Of the house,” he faintly gestured to the walls around him. 

“…you wanna show me around?” 

“Sure,” he shrugged, “well, I’m kinda just waiting around for it to become my team’s turn in beer pong, so I’ve got the time to kill.” 

“Oh, alright,” you breathed, your pulse suddenly picking up at the thought of wandering the halls by his side. 

“Cool,” he nodded before shifting his gaze to the room you already stood in, “so, this is the place,” he spread out an arm as if you hadn’t just been standing in this spot for twenty minutes. 

“Yeah, I already figured that one out on my own,” you chuckled briefly before the palm he slid over your lower back caused it to fade away. 

With his hold, he guided you around the corner, into the entryway, “so, the kitchen, dining room and the door to the basement are through there,” he then pointed to the different corners of the abode, “and through there is the living room and this room we use for meetings and shit.” 

He then ushered you upstairs, where barely any partygoers had ventured up. Pointing down the various long hallways, he guided your vision to the different doors all down each of them, “so, Frank, Billy, Curtis and Miguel’s rooms are down that way,” he then gestured to the opposite direction, “Scott, Thor, Lloyd, Ransom and Marc are down there,” before his feet then shifted down the last corridor, “and down here is my room,” he pointed to the closed door that had his name on it, “Steve’s, Andy’s and Ari’s.”

Though as he spoke, your eyes fluttered to the door at the end of the hallway, standing slightly ajar. The movement that caught your eye on the other side caused you to swiftly glance to Bucky with a look of alarm, though he clearly couldn’t spot it from where he was standing as he continued to chat, his voice soon fading and flying over your head as your stare wandered back towards the dark room. 

On a bed in the centre of the room, there was Ari, hovering and grunting above some blonde girl you didn’t recognise. It took a second for you to realise what they were doing, though when it sank in, a small gasp escaped your lips and caused the leader’s eye to snap up from the whimpering girl beneath him and lock with your own stare through the sliver. You wanted to look away, you knew that you should have, but you couldn’t. 

And as you stood there, paralysed and suddenly panting, a wide grin began to bloom upon his lips as he held your eye and began to roll his hips with even more force, causing the chick on the bed to nearly fall off the mattress as each thrust drove her closer and closer to the edge. 

Though as you finally managed to snap out of your trance, you nearly coughed as you scrambled to blink back to Bucky, “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” 

“I said that I’m gonna go take a leak,” Bucky cocked an eyebrow as he watched your chest rise and fall rapidly beneath your shirt, “you good?”

“Yeah,” you breathed foggily, “I think I just need a second before heading back downstairs again…”

“Oh, well, I'm sure you can go hang out in Steve’s room for a bit,” he cracked open the door behind him and gestured for you to slip inside. 

Slowly, your feet shuffled deeper into the room, the plastic cup in your hand soon resting on the windowsill as you momentarily cast your glance outside at the people down in the front yard, playing a rambunctious drinking game. 

Though as your frame sank down with an exhale to sit on the edge of the bed, your head swiftly burying itself in your hands, loud moans seeped through the wall from the other room as they crescendoed in a cacophony that caused your head to spin. 

Or perhaps it wasn’t just the lewd acts that were to blame for why you suddenly felt so dizzy. Ground unsteady beneath your feet, even though you were already sitting down, you noticed how inebriated you truly had become. Not that you had imbibed that much, but as the lightweight that you admittedly were and the minuscule experience your body had with such substances, it didn’t take much to have you feeling more molten than you ever had before. 

“What are you doing up here?” you suddenly heard, causing your face to crawl out of its hiding place in your palms. Glancing up, you saw Steve’s shadow in the doorway.  

“Steve!” you jumped slightly at his unexpected arrival, “you scared me,” you clutched your chest gently as you watched him shut the door behind him. 

Moving over towards the desk in the corner, he briefly dipped down to find a bottle of whisky that rested in the bottom drawer. Casting a glance back at you over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed as he studied your form, “did I just walk in on something?” he asked as he unscrewed the lid, “you waiting for someone to come up here and fuck you on my bed? Kinky.”

“What? N-no! Oh my god, no,” you sputtered, sensing a mortified heat rush up to your cheeks, “I swear, Bucky was just showing me around a bit, and I wasn’t ready to go back to the chaos downstairs yet, that’s all, he was the one who said it was okay for me to take a break in here.”

“Hmm… you’re still sweet on him, aren’t you?” he guessed before tilting the bottle back for a swig, “is that what was happening here? Were you waiting for him to get back? Did I just cockblock you from finally getting that stick fucked out of your ass? If so, then I feel like I have a responsibility to warn you, he is hung like a fucking horse, so don’t be discouraged if you can’t take him.” 

“I–, what?” you panted, blinking back at him wildly, “no, I’m not! I-I don’t like him, I’ve never–, what are you talking about?” 

“Chill! I’m only joking,” Steve swiftly chuckled at your perplexed panic, “I mean, not about his size, both a blessing and a curse, you know,” he cocked his head, “seriously, you don’t gotta freak out like some innocent little virgin,” he laughed, though his words only caused you to freeze up, a reaction he swiftly picked up on, “…unless you–, oh shit,” growing silent, his stare stayed glued on you as he slowly sat the bottle in his hand down upon the desk behind him, “you are, aren’t you?” 

“Well, you don’t gotta say it like that!” you groaned, keeping your eyes averted to the floor, “it’s not some terminal illness.”

“Sorry, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just–… fuck…” he exhaled, “really?” 

“…yeah,” you nervously fiddled with the hem of your skirt as you felt the mattress dip beside you, “you know my mom has never let me date anyone…”

“What about like other stuff?” Steve’s tone tickled your hot skin as he now sat right next to you, “you’ve done that, right?” though you only managed to meekly shake your head as an answer, “really? No one’s ever like touched you before? Or you’ve played with someone else?” he pried, and you once again shook your burning face from side to side, “wow,” he exhaled, “well, then I can’t even begin to imagine how much you must masturbate, damn.”

“I–, I–…” you tried to utter, though the truth of your inexperience seemed too difficult to say out loud, rendering you to once again wobble your head. 

“Wait, seriously?” his eyebrows soared up even higher, “you haven’t that either?”

“Well, I’ve–, sort of–, I don’t know,” you stumbled, your gaze still hazy on the floor. 

“How have you done it?” he then asked, making it that much harder for you to fill up your lungs with oxygen. 

“Oh god,” you jaggedly shifted your vision to the ceiling, “this is so mortifying.”

“No, it’s okay, you can tell me,” he pushed in a gentle tone you didn’t think he had in him. 

Gnawing at your bottom lip till a metallic taste met your tongue, you hesitantly muttered, “…kinda just, I guess, sit on a pillow or a stuffed animal or something and then–…”

“Shit…” a low groan rumbled in his chest, a sound that shot straight down between your thighs and worsened the throbbing already distracting you down there, “that’s the only thing you do? You just hump your pretty little pillow till you cum?”

“Well, I don’t know if I–, uh, reach that per say, I just kind of rock till it builds and then I’ve always stopped because–, I don’t know…” you uttered, mortified that your inebriated state had nudged you to share such matters, especially with him, “it’s stupid, I know. My anatomy knowledge is great, much better than yours, I know where stuff is and how things technically work, but when I was younger, I know it’s dumb, but it all kind of scared me, like what if I did it wrong and ruined something, and I know now that statistically speaking the odds of something like that happening are really, really low, but–, yeah…” 

Steve’s eyes never left you for but a second, merely stared as you shared and eventually, after silence had swept through the room like a crisp breeze, he parted his lips and uttered, “do you want me to teach you?”

Finally, you turned your head to meet his gaze, “…you’re my stepbrother…” 

“Yeah, of a couple of years,” he had the audacity to shrug, “and for most of that time, I’ve been away at school, so like, are we really?” 

A stunned scoff then bubbled out of your throat, “our parents are married, so yes, that makes up stepsiblings.” 

“Well, for now,” he tilted his head slightly, “were you living in the same house as I was over this summer? They clearly aren’t newlyweds anymore…” he stated before leaning in closer, “so, what do you say? Will you let me help you?” your eyes flickered down to your knee as his knuckles slowly inched closer and ghosted against your skin, “I promise, it’ll feel so fucking good, you don’t even know…” he nearly whispered as if he was trying to sell you on a drug you’d instantly get addicted to. 

“I–…” you panted, “but wouldn’t it be weird that it’s you showing me?”

“No, it wouldn’t be weird at all,” his head gently shook from side to side, “unless you want me to go grab Bucky, I'm sure he wouldn’t mind either–”

“No, no!” you swiftly squeaked, “that’s not necessary,” as sharing such a secret with Steve had been bad enough, the thought of repeating the whole ordeal with someone else made you feel as if you might faint. 

“Okay,” he breathed before he slowly began to inch closer, an action you swiftly put a stop to when you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Wait, what if I don’t like it?”

“Then you just tell me, and I’ll stop,” one of his hands floated up to rest on top of your own, still pressed against him, “promise,” he offered you a reassuring smile. Steve’s glance then flickered down to your lips before his eyebrows twitched slightly as he wondered, “so, if you’ve never done any of that stuff before, does that mean you’ve also never been kissed?”

“…well, I've played spin the bottle a few times, many years ago, does that count?” you recalled the awkward pecks in your youth. 

“Not really,” the corners of his lips twitched before he asked you, “can I kiss you?”

“Can you–…” you echoed faintly before whispering, “okay,” utterly spellbound as you stared back at him, “what should I do?”

“Just relax,” he then gently grabbed each side of your face with his wide hands, “and follow my lead.” 

It simultaneously felt like an eternity as well as only the blink of an eye before Steve had closed the gap and pressed his lips to your own. At first, it was soft and slow, his right thumb briefly swiping against your cheekbone as he kissed you, but then you felt his tongue flicker forth, making you gasp, before he seized that opportunity to slip past your guard and let his tongue dance against your own, the sensation of which caused you to positively melt as you relaxed into the kiss and mirrored his efforts. 

You had no clue how much time had passed once you finally parted, and you blinked your dazed eyes back at him. 

And in your haze, he first shifted back deeper onto the bed, before he gently manoeuvred your frame to slot you in between his legs, “here, lean back against me,” he drew you closer till your back was pressed up against his chest. 

Twisting your neck to look up at him, you were still too stunned to speak, only suck in a shaky breath as he then pressed a peck to your temple. 

“You ready?” he murmured against your hairline as his hands slid down atop your own, his fingers swiftly interlocking with your smaller ones. 

“I think so,” you uttered nervously. 

“So, let’s start off with the basics,” his low voice only worsened the tingly sensation that now roared in your body like a roiling flame, “could you tell me what places you’ve explored before and where you haven’t yet?”

“…well, I guess I’ve touched most places before…” you hesitantly began, “my hands usually run all over my body when I–, you know… but I’ve never put anything inside, and I only touched my–, uhm, clit one time, a really long ago,” your confession began to make you feel so dizzy, you feared you might faint at any moment, “and it was just really intense and–, I don’t know, I was scared that it was too much, so I never tried it again, not directly anyway, just–, you know, pillows and such…” 

“Alright,” he uttered, letting go of your hands. 

Your eyes grew as they then traced Steve’s touch, first sweeping up to gently cup both of your boobs. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he briefly brushed his thumbs over the pebbles of your nipples, poking through the thin fabric of your shirt. You found yourself barely breathing when he eventually let his palms roam further south till they were at your hips, and his fingers began to hike up your skirt and let it crumble around your waist. 

“Let me see…” he murmured directly in your ear as he poked at your bent legs to pry them open, “oh my god, look at you…” you felt the deep groan vibrate in his chest as he caught sight of your panties and the embarrassingly soaked patch darkening the cotton, “you are so fucking wet…”

Steve then slowly slid his touch down over your covered core, merely cupping your lightly, though still making it near impossible for you to breathe. But your whole body twitched as he lightly curled up his hand till only the tips of his fingers still grazed you, before he then began to draw a feathery pattern of circles, tickling your deprived centre. 

“How does that feel, huh?” he kept up the ghostly touch. 

“I-it’s–, o-oh my god,” you whimpered, doubtful if you could take whatever else he’d dare to throw at you when even such a light touch managed to make you tremble, “Steve.”

Seizing his teasing, his fingers then hooked in the hem of your underwear before pulling them to the side, sticky strings of your arousal clinging to the cotton, “oh, fuck…” he groaned before his instincts overtook him and his fingers caught the waistband before ripping them down your legs till their rushed journey halted at your ankles, resting around them and loosely trapping them together. 

Pushing your legs further apart, one hand then traced your inner thigh while he hooked his other burly arm across your chest, just beneath the swell of your tits, occasionally squeezing so tightly that your boobs were pushed up even higher as he efficiently strapped you in, impossibly close to his broad chest. 

Painstakingly slow, he slid his touch closer and closer to your glistening core, till he reached the places that you never had the nerve to truly touch on your own.

“Oh, f-fuck!” you gasped as the rough pads of his fingers just lightly dragged through your folds. 

“Christ, you’re sensitive,” he kept on peeking over your shoulder as he drew a slow circle over your clit, “look at you, fucking trembling like a leaf, and I've barely touched you yet.”

“Barely?” you echoed breathlessly, “what do you mean–, how is this barely? I-I don’t know if I can–, it’s–, fuck,” you whimpered against his touch, “it’s too much,” your thighs trembled on either side of his wide palm, “I don’t know if I can take it, I think you might have to stop.” 

“No, no, no, it’s not too much, you can take it, I know you can,” he urged before he bent his strong legs and hooked them over your own, trapping your wiggly limbs and holding you down and open for him, “just trust me, I’ve got you, all you gotta do is just relax, okay? Just give into it.” 

His feathery pressure on your puffy pearl then increased, making your hips buck beneath his touch as a moan rippled out from deep within your lungs.

“Oh, fucking hell, there you go,” he smiled from behind you, “look at that little pussy, fucking crying out now that she’s finally getting some attention.”

Your fingers twitched just beneath his arm, still flexing over your ribs, and a murmur slipped out past your whimpers, “I can’t believe this is actually happening…” 

Though as Steve’s touch drove you mad, his fingers slipped down to catch some of the slick that leaked out of your untouched hole, before he went into autopilot and didn’t sweep back up to bully your glistening clit, but instead began to circle your virginal entrance. 

“No, wait,” you instantly began to freak out, “n-not there!” 

“You sure?” he let himself trace your tight opening one last time, “alright, maybe next time then…” 

Once his fingers had swept back up and focused in on your puffy pearl, rolling it firmly beneath his touch, you felt your body reach the agonising point where you’d always chicken out. 

“Steve, I–”

“Hm?” he hummed in your ear and kept up his efforts, surely feeling your clit throb beneath his fingers, “you getting close?”

“I-I–,” you gasped, trying your best to fight the feeling, “this is usually when I stop.” 

“Oh yeah?” you could plainly hear the smirk on his lips. 

“Mhm,” you nodded, staring down at his efforts that barely even paused. 

“So, this is what you’d do, huh? You’d ride your pillow and then just stop?” as he uttered that last word, he abruptly took his hand away, “just leave yourself all edged and needy?” your hips bucked after his fading touch, “that’s usually something I’d do to my girls just to be a menace and make them all dumb and desperate, but that’s just what you do to yourself all of the time?” your whole frame quivered against him as you weakly tried to grab for his hand, even as he brought it completely out of your reach, “damn, gotta admit, wish I had known that earlier… I could have sneaked into your room afterwards and lent a hand, helped you go all the way. That’s what you needed, wasn’t it? You just needed your big bro to come in and hold your hand through it because you got scared? It’s okay, I’m here now, I’ve got you, big brother’s got you.”

“You’re not my brother–” 

“Damn right, I’m not,” he nearly chuckled before he began to touch you once again, rendering any retort you had lined up to fly straight out of the window as shaky moans instead flowed from your lungs.

Though the cruel pause had given your body enough time to calm down just a tad, it barely took any time at all for Steve to push you back towards that intimidating ledge and hold you there as you peeked over the edge. 

“Steve, I don’t know if I can–, it’s–” 

“Baby, it’s okay, you can do it,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “just trust me, it’ll feel so fucking good, you don’t even know,” the hand he had plastered against your ribs slid up to grasp one of your tits, denting the softness with his long fingers, “just let it happen, relax.” 

Shaking uncontrollably, your face tilted to hide in the bulk of his arm as the most blinding and overwhelming sensation you’d ever felt in your entire life rippled through your form, white-hot pleasure in a dose that you hadn’t thought imaginable.

“Oh, there you go, fuck,” he moaned and tried to draw your very first orgasm out as long as he could, “atta girl, that’s it.” 

When his movements finally stopped, his messy hand slipped down to rest against your twitching thigh, hazy whimpers ever flowing from your lungs as you reeled in the staggering sensation. 

“Holy shit…” you eventually managed to pant shakily. 

“Told you it’d feel good,” he uttered cockily before pressing a kiss to your temple. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as he then began to caress your thigh gently, sweeping his touch up and down the goosebump-ridden flesh till your breathing began to slow. 

But then as you felt yourself relax even further back against him, wiggling slightly to get more comfortable, you noticed something hard poking your back. Assuming that it was something in his pocket, you shifted once again, but still couldn’t escape it, though with each of your squirming attempts, a low groan was conjured deep within Steve’s chest.

“What is that?” you then muttered, “is it your phone? Could you take it out of your pocket?”

“No, it’s not my phone,” he couldn’t help but chuckle at your innocence, swiftly causing you to freeze up, “you got me hard.”

Gasping loudly as if he hadn’t just had his hand on your pussy, you shot up to a sitting position and swiftly crawled around to direct your wide eyes straight at him. Skirt falling down to cover you back up, your panties however still remained around your ankles as you shifted to kneel on the bed before him. 

“Oh my god,” the stunned expression plastered all over your face caused him to melt, “you’re so cute…” 

Blinking back at him, you stammered, “that was–… you’re–…” 

“Hard? Yeah,” he casually uttered, “kinda impossible not to be after what just happened,” he let his hand drift down to palm himself through his pants, guiding your vision to flutter down as well to finally look at the prominent bulge that strained against the zipper of his jeans. And as his touch slowly rubbed against the mouthwatering hardness, teasingly squeezing it for an ounce of relief, his head then cocked as he continued to stare at you, “can I ask you something?”

Downright hypnotised as you stared down at the overwhelming display of his arousal, you only managed to hum as a reply, “mhm,” as you stayed transfixed on the clothed hardness that somehow both terrified and exhilarated you at the same time. 

“Have you ever seen a cock before?”

Meeting his unwavering gaze, you blinked, “…in textbooks and stuff…”

“How about up close?” he asked and you swiftly shook your hazy head, “you wanna see mine?”

“I–… what?” 

“Do you wanna see mine?” 

“U-uh…” you could barely think as you felt the sore sensitivity between your unsteady thighs somehow blossom back into the same agonising tingles that had taken hold of you before, “okay.” 

A sharp breath filled your lungs as you watched him free his dick. Your eyes swiftly grew even wider as he enveloped the hand, still glistening with your juices, around the fat girth. Slick and sloppy sounds filled the room with every leisurely stroke as he began to slowly jerk himself, your thighs unconsciously squeezing together at the show. 

“You good?” he chuckled lightly at the way your eyes had gone glassy. 

“Mhm…” you foggily nodded, struggling to grasp onto even a single thought, “it’s–… a lot bigger than I imagined…” 

“Have you been imagining what my cock looked like?” he relentlessly teased. 

“No, no, I mean, just in general,” you fumbled over your words as he kept up his silky strokes, “yours is bigger than I imagined them to be in real life.” 

“You wanna touch it?”

“…t-touch?” your eyes fought to blink back up and lock with Steve’s own. 

“Yeah, come on,” he then grabbed your hand and brought it towards his length. At first, he let you just graze your fingertips against his dick, guiding your touch as he slowly dragged it across the velvety skin, all the way from the bulbous head, glistening with shiny precum that beaded at the tip, to the fat base where his heavy balls bloomed beneath. 

“Oh–,” you swallowed as he then wrapped your fingers around his girth before engulfing them with his own broad hand, still shiny from your wetness, “it’s–, really hard.”

“Yeah, well that’s what you do to me, baby,” he smiled as he tightened his fist around your own, though even so, his girth was still too big for your own fingers to meet on the other side, “this is all for you…” 

His free hand then grabbed your chin before he ravenously pressed his lips to your own, kissing you fiercely as he began to move your hand and guide your touch over his throbbing length. 

Eventually, as you broke from the kiss, you peeped down at his cock, tight in your grasp. 

His fingers kept on clutching your chin, holding you close, as he then purred, “here, like this,” his wide hand flexed around your smaller one, “a little tighter, don’t be scared, you won’t hurt me–, yeah,” he then moaned as you obeyed his command, “fuck, that’s it…” briefly letting his eyes flutter closed as he breathed through the pleasure. Though as he blinked his gaze back open, his broad thumb brushed against your knuckles as he asked, “you wanna try on your own?”

“O-okay,” you uttered before his guiding touch faded and you timidly tried to emulate his efforts, “like this?”

“Yeah, that’s good,” he groaned as you slowly slid your careful touch up and down the length of his cock, “shit, you’re a natural, baby,” his fingers that clutched your chin briefly shifted before his thumb poked up to brush the pad against your bottom lip, “keep going like that and I’ll blow in no fucking time.” 

“Oh,” you swiftly ripped your stare away from his dick as you misunderstood his words, “should I stop then?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled before claiming your lips once again, not holding back in the slightest as he let the kiss grow sloppy and desperate. 

Rejoining his touch to your own, he began to speed up your actions, making you stroke his thick girth even faster than before. And as he tilted away from the greedy kiss, a glossy string of saliva still kept you both connected. 

Panting as he neared the finish line, he cast a brief glance down at his fat cock slick in both of your hands, before he threw his head back and moaned loudly as he unravelled at your touch. 

“Fuck…” he panted as he let go of your palm, now sticky with his hot load just as his own hand was as well. Chest still rising and falling rapidly, he caught your frame and tugged you even closer, “come here,” he murmured as he pulled you into a limp hug. 

“Was that okay?” you asked in a small voice as you curled into his chest. 

Catching your jaw, he tilted your head back enough for you to catch his eye before he uttered, “that was fucking perfect,” and he kissed you once again. As he drew back, his gaze lingered, eventually fluttering down towards your lips before he brought his fingers up towards them, still messy with both your nectar as well as his own load, “open up.”

“What?” your brows knit together as you blinked down at the sticky digits he ghosted against your lips, tilting your head back slightly in confusion. 

“Give it a taste.” 

“Why would I do that?” you nearly laughed. 

“Because it’s normal,” the older guy told you, “most people love cleaning up after their messes, so you probably do too.”

“Seriously?” 

“I shit you not,” he said, though you kept on staring back at him in doubt, “what, do you want me to prove it to you? Fine,” he then extended his thumb for him to suck it clean, “there,” he released the dinger from his lips with a pop, “now it’s your turn,” he twisted his hand back down towards your mouth. 

And hesitantly, you found yourself parting your lips for him, “there you go…” he groaned as he slipped two of his long fingers inside your mouth, “see? Tastes good, doesn’t it?” his gaze stayed transfixed upon your lips wrapped around his messy digits as he slowly let himself shift his fingers, greedily fucking your face for a bit, “shit…” he cursed as you licked them clean and he pulled them back out, a murmur swiftly slipping from his lips as he continued to stare, “I can’t wait to train this little mouth to do all sorts of tricks…” 

“What?” you asked as your mind began to scramble for the meaning. 

“Oh, nothing,” he sighed and ignored your naiveté before he pulled you back in for another hug, “nothing at all, sis…”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[endofthelinegang]

sleepy

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ this is literally just how i believe introducing how someone thinks and interpts a character should be done. so i don't send someone into shock when i write for these characters.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ robert "bob" reynolds x fem! reader, james "bucky" barnes x fem! reader, john "stfu" walker x fem!reader, ava starr x fem! reader, yelena belova x fem! reader.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  how the thunderbolts act when they are sleepy.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ i never know what to do put here, i guess curse words?

yelena belova does not believe that she is ever tired. black under the eyes, yawning does not qualify at all. but all of that being said this is exactly what happens:

"I am not tired." Both of you sat on the couch. With a smile, you nodded your head and rolled your eyes, taking off the blue hoodie that had been helping keep you warm all evening. The inside was so fluffy that when you put it in the dryer, pieces would float around onto the other laundry for days. It was perfect bait.

"What are you doing?" Yelena was squinting but not daring to move her head down and forward off the back of the couch to face you as it would most certainly make her dizzy and that would make her yawn even more.

"I'm just a little warm." With a small smile, you place the hoodie on your lap and just let it sit as the TV played some reality tv that the two of you had been spending the late evening judging after dinner.

You closed your eyes and pressed your head back to mimic what she was doing. The moment she could sense you not staring at her, she moved and yawned as silently as she possibly could before taking her boots off with her feet. They thudded to the ground as she slowly dragged the clothing you had taken off closer to her until it was no longer sitting on you at all. Rubbing her eyes with all of her makeup still on she wiped her hands off on her pants before adjusting the hoodie to go over her head and onto her body.

"Fine, we can crash on the couch." Secretly, you did not hate crashing on the couch, but letting her believe that and watching her get all excited was just too cute to pass up.

With some quiet humming, you sat forward while she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and onto the two of you as you stayed sitting up she pulled the hoodie over her head and got ready to lay down.

"Wait. You are not sleeping?" She side eyed you as she held part of the blanket covering her in her hands running her fingers over the plush material.

"No I am, just like this." You propped your feet up on the coffee table and kicked the blanket to cover your socked feet. Putting your head back in place with a nod.

"What? No, that is not comfortable at all." Before she could continue her rant, you lurched in her direction and pulled her down onto your lap, her head resting on your thigh and the length of the couch now hers.

"Goodnight star starfish." You mumbled eyes closed still feeling her tug and pull at your arm and the blanket to get in the optimal sleeping position.

"Starfish?" For a moment, she smiled and thought what a cute nickname, then it hit her, "I DO NOT SLEEP LIKE A STARFISH!"

A moment of silence followed. she had placed your arm so that your hand was touching the opposite side of her jaw. In order to keep this from becoming an entire discussion, you pet her face gently like one would to a baby who was fighting sleep.

"If a starfish loses all its arms, is it just a really confused circle until it grows them back?” Yelena mumbled under her breath as her head finally became heavy against you, and her breathing slowed and deepened. As follows, a leg came off the couch, as did an arm. A starfish.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

bucky barnes will straight up be passing out doing something, he is like all of a sudden on the floor dead asleep, which is great to try and time:

"What? What are you doing?" Slipping the knife from his hand you sat it down on your bedside table with a small clang.

"You're falling asleep with a knife in your hand, or you were anyway." You watched as he sat with his mouth slightly opened looking at you with a deep offense.

"I was not. I was working on something." He tries to reach over you but you put a very gentle hand on his chest.

"Where's the cloth?" You watch as Bucky mumbles and opens his hand to show you nothing. To which he starts fluffing the comforter, hoping that it would float up and he could say he just dropped it. The smell of his cologne wafted in the air, unlike what he was looking for. You laughed at him as he incredibly slowly turned his head to reface you.

"Witch." He glared at you without even having to look, you pulled the cloth from the side of your bed. It dangled in between your fingers as his eyes flickered between you and the damn barely dirty treacherous object.

"Wanna tell me what we were just talking about?" Matching his glare he took in a deep breath that turned into a yawn he tried to hold inside of his mouth.

"It's only nine o'clock." He rubbed his flesh hand over his eyes as he looked over at his old-fashioned alarm clock that you insisted he keep because it was so useful and reliable. Not wanting to possibly be wrong about what was said earlier or what had actually happened.

"So late already, man, I thought it was seven!" You began quickly turning off your lamp and climbing over top of him to turn his off.

"You think I get sleepy at seven?" Bucky's head thudded against his soft pillow as you manhandled him to get him to fully lie down.

"What were we doing at seven?" You placed both hands down on his chest now looking at him as he batted his eyes slowly not even trying to think about what you had just said to him.

"Oh, cmon, I don't need to be tucked in, I'm a grown man." He groaned as you rolled off of him and began bringing the blanket on top of him up to his shoulders.

Bucky let out a puff of air as you trapped him with your body and blankets, basically giving him a go-to-sleep treatment. Truth be told, the second he was warm, he totally passed out flat on his back exactly the way you placed him.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

john walker did not believe in naps or bedtime, let alone possibly resting anywhere that was nice in soft, but even the best need to rest:

"WHAT THE FUCK JOHN!" You jumped back and screamed with your hand clutching at your chest, now looking down at the floor. It was literally four o'clock in the morning, and you had just gotten up to get a damn ice pack for the migraine you had all evening thanks to a storm. But what you had came across was John sitting on a bar stool drinking a cup of coffee in silence.

"What the fuck you." He gestured in your direction, not taking his eyes off of the coffee cup sitting in his hand.

"What are you doing up?" With a roll of your eyes, you walked over to the freezer and slid the door open to grab an ice pack from the deep freeze where you kept the ones you used.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He scoffed and sipped some more. He had to have been sitting there for quite some time. You noticed the coffee pot was freezing cold, and he was in training clothes. He had been wearing earlier.

"Yes, John, that is typically why someone asks what someone is doing." You wrapped the ice pack in a dish towel before pressing it to your temple and leaning forward on the bar.

"You wouldn't understand." He finally looked up at you, not with his whole head, but just his eyes moved. Circles were incredibly dark, and you knew right then he had not yet even tried to sleep.

"Why did we give you a bedroom if you just weren't planning on ever sleeping?" You joked shaking your head the littlest bit you could manage.

"Hilarious." He picked up the cup with the shakiest hand you've ever seen on someone under ninety. The veins in his hands popped out, and his knuckles were white as he brought the cup up to his mouth.

Fuck me I am going to be nice to Walker

"Hey, can I ask a favor since you're up?" You knew he was going to give you shit and bitch and make jokes about it regardless.

"What do you want?" He was now fully looking at you and you took in a deep breath and puffed it back out through your nose.

"My head is killing me, like seriously killing me, and I would really love to get some sleep. I can't hold this ice pack and sleep at the same time because if I lay it on my pillow, even with it wrapped, it will eventually leak and get my pillow all wet." You tried your best to come up with something stupid that made enough sense for him to fall for.

"You want me to sit and watch you sleep while I hold ice on your head?" He summarized what you had just given him before rolling his eyes and getting up off his stool, "You coming?"

"Tell a girl, Walker, tell a girl." You mumbled as you walked to catch up with him as he made his way towards your bedroom.

He opened the door and let you walk through it before closing it behind himself. You handed him the ice pack and jumped in bed, getting all comfortable and curled up before he took off his shoes and got in bed, sitting on top of the bed.

"You can get under the blanket." Waving a corner of the blanket at him he took it roughly and covered himself up to his torso. Holding the ice pack on your head you switched your lamp off and dozed off. Needless to say Walker followed soon after and the ice pack ended up across your face and onto the floor.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

ava starr is happy to get some rest when she can, in fact finding her asleep is not uncommon when there are days she feels she can just be at peace:

You find her in the hallway, slumped against the wall just outside the room you're sharing.

Not ghosted. Not flickering. Not phasing in and out like she does when she's upset or startled or fighting the hum in her chest.

Just still.

Her legs are pulled up like she sat down with the intent to rest for a second and then forgot how to move again. Her head tips to the side when she notices you, a small, exhausted blink like she’s dragging herself back into her body.

“Ava?”

She doesn’t say anything at first.

Then: “Sorry. I meant to come to bed. I just... stopped.”

You crouch beside her, gentle. “Rough day?”

She huffs out a breath—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Rough year. Rough life.”

You don’t push. You just sit, shoulder against the wall, close enough that she can lean in if she wants. You wait.

After a moment, she does. Slowly, her head tilts, coming to rest against your shoulder. She exhales, and it sounds like something deeper than air. Like permission. Like surrender.

“I’m so tired,” she murmurs.

There’s no dramatics in her voice. Just simple truth. She says it like it’s a fact: the sky is blue, water is wet, and I am so tired I could disappear.

You reach over and gently thread your fingers through hers. “Then come to bed.”

“I don’t want to move.” Her voice is smaller now. Not scared, just fragile. “I just want to be... still. For a little while.”

You nod. “Okay. Then we’ll be still.”

So you sit there together, on the floor, in the quiet. Her head against your shoulder. Her hand in yours. The baseboards are cold and the hallway light is too dim, but none of it matters because she’s here and breathing softer now. Less like she’s holding her breath. More like she’s starting to believe she doesn’t have to.

“Do you think it’s stupid,” she whispers, “that I want someone to tell me I can rest?”

You shake your head. “No. I think it’s human.”

She’s quiet again. Then: “Will you say it?”

You squeeze her hand. Thumb brushing her knuckles. The kind of touch you know she can actually feel.

“You’re allowed to rest, Ava.” You feel her lean into you a little more.

Something in her unclenches.

You help her up, slow and easy, no rush. She doesn’t protest when you guide her to bed. She collapses into the mattress like she’s been underwater for years. You settle in beside her. She doesn’t usually like to be held when she’s vulnerable—but tonight, she turns toward you. Finds the crook of your arm. Tucks herself in there like she belongs.

“You’ll stay?” she asks quietly.

“Always.”

She falls asleep with your shirt clutched in one hand and your other arm draped over her back, her breathing finally even. No flickers. No phasing.

Just Ava. Resting.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

bob reynolds was so happy to have a peaceful, safe place to rest that he was happy to use it:

You were fucking exhausted, there was simply no other way to put it. It was a cold and cloudy day that had dragged on; every single hour felt like seven. You had just spent fifteen minutes looking for Robbie when it finally made sense. He’s already in bed, waiting for you, knowing you've had a long day. When you open the door, you see him stretched diagonally across the mattress like he’s trying to occupy every possible dimension of comfort.

One leg hanging off the side. One arm flung dramatically over your pillow. Half the blanket was tangled around his waist, the other half already on the floor. He blinks up at you when you open the door, slow and heavy-lidded like a cat in a sunbeam. His hair is sticking up in five different directions, and there’s a content, sleepy smile tugging at his mouth.

“You look cozy,” you say, amused. Dropping your shoes you had carried in, not wanting to dirty up the floor he had cleaned earlier.

“I am cozy,” he mumbles. “But I’d be cozier if you were here.”

You laugh and climb into bed beside him. He is so warm that you can feel the energy before you even get to touch him. The smell of a slightly salty vanilla was woven into your bed sheets from him lying there. The second you settle under the blanket, Bob instinctively shifts, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, slinging a long arm over your waist like it’s second nature. Which, at this point, it kind of is. His fingers tap at you gently, feeling you breathe.

“Mm. Yep. There it is,” he sighs, already sounding drowsier. “Perfect.”

You run your fingers gently through his soft hair. “Rough day?”

“Not even,” he says. “Just… long. Have you ever gotten that kind of tired where your bones feel floaty?”

You smile. “Only when you talk like that.” His voice sounded deeper and softer than usual like how a cat has a deeper purr when ready for a nap.

“Poetic,” he insists, eyes closed now, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I’m floaty-tired. Just need to melt.”

“You’re halfway there.”

You feel him grin. His hand finds yours under the blankets and laces your fingers together, thumb stroking lazily across your knuckles.

Everything about him in this moment is soft. His body, warm and loose against yours. His breathing slowed to match yours. The weight of his arm, the scratch of his stubble, the little hum he makes when you kiss the top of his head.

“This is my favorite,” he murmurs. “This part. Just you. Just now.”

You press your lips to his hair again. “Mine too.”

And for a few minutes, neither of you says anything.

You just exist there—tangled limbs, warm skin, the quiet comfort of being with someone who doesn’t need anything from you but to be near. Bob’s breath deepens. His grip on your hand loosens just a bit. You think he’s fallen asleep, but then—

“I hope you know I love you,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep.

Your chest tightens, but in the best possible way.

“I know,” you whisper back. “And I love you too.”

And this time, when he melts into sleep, it’s with a smile on his face and your heartbeat under his ear.

[ariestrxsh]

pervy!matt x innocent!reader x pervy!chris

🩷 content warning: smut, mentions of porn, mentions of masturbation, corruption of innocence, oral (f!receiving), praise, daddy kink

🩷 summary: you're an innocent virgin who has fallen into the hands of matt and chris, who decide to have a contest to see who can eat you out the best.

dividers by @/dollywons

Playground Love

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

"Hi, sweetheart. You're glowing," he complimented you, grinning and taking in how pretty you looked. "Thank you," you whispered, smoothing out your sundress and taking your seat. "I'm dying to know. Which video did you cum to, darling?" Matt quietly wondered, fidding with his pencil. "Cum?" You'd never heard that word before, but you had an idea as to what he meant. "It's a fancy word for that really good feeling before all the tension goes away," Matt explained, giggling at your innocence.

The next day, you floated into seventh period, and Matt greeted you by glancing you up and down, giving you a look that said I know what you did last night. You wore your hair in two braids while a few loose pieces framed your bright smile. You were blushing and having a hard time looking into his eyes while you elegantly placed your textbooks on your desk and slung your backpack over your chair.

"Oh! I know what feeling you're talking about," you smirked at him, recalling the way you came all over your fingers the night before. You started to describe the video to him, and he immediately knew which one you were talking about. "Yeah? What was it about that one that you liked so much, princess?" Matt asked, reaching over and stroking your cheek. You bit your lip and peered down. "Well, I loved how gentle the guy was and how much he focused on making the girl feel good for her first time. Plus, I liked that he kind of looked like you," you admitted, looking back up at Matt to study his reaction.

"That's so flattering, darling. Did you notice the girl in the video kind of looked like you?" He asked, biting his lip. You shyly nodded. "That's why I sent you that one, princess. So you could imagine me and you together," he whispered, making really intense eye contact with you. You felt yourself growing wet at his words.

"Matt, you're making me all horny again," you quietly whined, reaching under your dress to soothe the sensation arising. "What are you doing?!" Matt asked in a loud whisper while he watched you starting to rub your clit in circles over your panties. "I'm masturbating," you quietly answered. "Sweetheart, not here," he said, looking at you with wide eyes and an embarrassed smile. "Why not?" You moaned quietly while you continued to touch yourself under the skirt of your dress. "I'm serious. You could get in trouble! Stop that," Matt responded in a hushed voice while he felt his jeans growing tighter around the erection forming in his jeans as he watched you.

"Oh," you naively answered him, stopping what you were doing and discretely removing your hand from under your clothing. "Is it bad?" You asked, wondering if Matt had taught you something he shouldn't have. "No, it's not bad. It's just something you do in private, that's all. Not at school," he explained to you. He was so turned on by your innocence that he almost wanted you to keep going, but more than that, he was looking out for you. "Oh, okay," you said, growing red with embarrassment. "Don't worry. No one saw," he assured you since the two of you sat in the very back corner of the class.

"Hey, are you busy this afternoon? I want you to meet my brother Chris. Do you think we could all go over to your house after school?" Matt hungrily licked his lips while he imagined all the things they were going to do to your sweet, innocent, little pussy. You knew of Matt's brothers. You had a class with Nick the year before, and you'd seen Chris around, but you'd never spoken to him.

"Okay, sure. I'm not busy. What are we gonna do?" You eagerly asked. "Well, Chris and I are gonna hold a contest, and we want you to be the judge," he smirked at you. "What kind of contest?" You wondered. "It's gonna be a surprise, okay, princess?" Matt replied with a mischevious glint in his eye. "Sure. You guys can come over," you eagerly nodded at him. "Okay, sweetheart. Your parents working again today?" Matt inquired. "Yeah, my mom's pulling a double at the hospital, and my dad left town this morning for a business trip," you responded. "Perfect. Let's walk to my car together after class, and I'll have Chris meet us there," he smirked.

"Meet me at my car after school. Her parents are both gone all night.. Operation Tag Team is on," Matt quickly typed out and sent to Chris. "Oh, the things we're gonna do to her.." Chris texted back immediately.

You and Matt walked to his car after class was dismissed. It was another cloudy, spring afternoon, and it wasn't raining today, but the humidity lingered in the air like it could start at any moment. Matt opened the passenger door for you. "We're gonna wait here for Chris," Matt smiled at you once he'd gotten into the driver's seat and started up his car. The faint smell of lemon and gasoline filled your nostrils while you felt the rumbling of the engine beneath your seat. You were starting to grow extremely comfortable and safe with Matt, but you were nervous about meeting Chris. You didn't know what he would be like.

Before you could imagine the qualities of his personality, Chris was pulling on the handle of the backdoor of Matt's car and jumping into the middle seat. "Hi, I'm Chris," he grinned at you breathlessly from having run across the parking lot. "Hi," you smiled back, picking up on his scattered and playful energy. "Matt tells me your parents got a big house," Chris smiled at you. "It's a decent size," you humbly responded. You studied his blue eyes that were the same shade as Matt's, the rosy color in his cheeks from being out of breath, and his sharp jawline. You felt a bit guilty, because you really liked Matt, but you couldn't deny how cute Chris was.

"She's being modest, Chris. It's like a mansion," Matt smiled at Chris through the rearview mirror while he threw the transmission in drive and started to pull away from the school. "Matt tells me you're a good girl. Never get into trouble or nothing," Chris seductively spoke, eyeing you like he was hunting you. You picked up on his dark stare, and it made you feel a bit uneasy, but at the same time, intrigued. His demeanor reminded you of an excited dog, but one whose bite was just as mean as their bark. "I guess you could say that," you responded to Chris, dancing over his lips with your eyes.

"Matt told me he showed you some videos yesterday," he smirked at you. "Chris!" Matt exclaimed, knowing his comment might make you shut down. "He did. I really liked them," you mumbled under your breath, growing nervous at the subject change. "You know what Matt forgot to tell me? How cute you are," Chris cooed while he gently poked your button nose with the tip of his pointer finger, teasing you. You blushed. "Did you touch yourself to them?" Chris deviously smiled at you. Your defenses went up. You became a little more red and hesitantly nodded your head.

"Did you have an orgasm, princess?" Chris inquired, reaching out and gently running his fingers along your braid while you were turned around in your seat looking at him. You nervously shot a look over at Matt, who had just stopped at a stop sign and was turning on his blinker. "Is that the same as cum?" You bit your lip. Chris' cock twitched at how innocent you were, how you didn't even know what the word orgasm meant. "Yes, princess. Good job," Matt praised you.

You turned back to Chris to answer his question. "I did. It was my first one," you replied, your eyes twinkling. "First ever?" Chris raised his brow and his lips fell slightly open while he imagined you experiencing an orgasm for the first time. You nodded at him. "Tell me how it felt, baby. How did your body react?" Chris eagerly asked, leaning in closer to you. You noticed the bulge in his sweatpants while he spoke to you.

"It felt like the end of a firework show, where they have to use up the rest of the fireworks, so it's just a bunch of colorful explosions in the sky," you said getting really excited. "And my whole body was shaking I couldn't control it, and I had to try my best to be really quiet. Then I got this gooey stuff on my fingers. It felt really amazing, and it's all I've been able to think about all day," you smiled at Chris, wondering if maybe you'd overshared, but both Chris and Matt seemed to like the details you gave.

"Wow, princess. That sounds lovely," Matt whispered, glancing back and forth between you and the road. "I'd kill to see you like that," Chris gnawed on his lip. You blushed and let out a nervous giggle. Matt glared at Chris in the rearview to let him know he was coming on too strong.

Finally, the three of you pulled up to the house, and Matt parked in your driveway. "Wow," Chris whispered, taking in the view of your home while he stepped out of the backseat. "Wait until you see the inside," you whispered, dropping the humble manner your parents trained you to speak in for just a moment.

When Chris walked in, he ogled at the high ceilings, the big windows, the spiral staircase, the bookshelf built into the wall in the main room, and the few pieces of expensive art on the walls. "Not bad," Chris replied with a look of disbelief on his face at how gorgeous and fancy your house was. "I'll show you my room," you told them, starting up the spiral staircase. Chris and Matt lagged behind you, eyeing your legs, your curves, and your perfectly-shaped ass as you led the way.

"Wow, princess. Your room is almost as pretty as you," Chris told you once the three of you were standing in front of your bed, and you swooned at his comment. Chris and Matt both soon turned their attention toward you, undressing you with their eyes and hungrily licking their chops like begging dogs. "What was the contest you were talking about earlier, Matt?" You asked, taking a seat on your bed and looking up at the two brothers.

Matt walked up to you and started carressing your face. "We wanted to start by making you feel really good," he whispered, looking down at you. "Really? How?" This sparked your curiosity. Matt and Chris both sat on either side of you. "Well, first, we were gonna get you out of this dress," Matt said, pushing up the hem of your clothing and seductively tracing circles on the inside of your thigh. "And then we were gonna take turns putting our mouths right here," Chris cooed, his voice dripping with lust while he took his pointer finger and placed it on the wet spot on the front of your pink cotton panties. You gasped and bit your lip. Chris and Matt both delighted in how responsive you were to their words and their touch.

"You wanna put your mouth there?" You asked, shocked that anyone would want to do that to you. "Only if you're okay with it, princess," Matt whispered, his hands wandering from your thigh to your perky breasts. You gasped as he flicked his finger over the smooth fabric, stimulating your nipple and making it hard under your soft sundress. "I think I'd like that," you nodded in agreement. You watched the way the girls in the videos reacted when they that done to them, and it made you curious about what it was like.

"So, we're gonna take turns licking your pussy, and then after we both make you cum, you're gonna tell who was better at it, okay?" Chris cooed, rubbing your clit through your panties. You moaned and nodded at their request, dying to know how each of their tongues felt. Their hands all over your body had you in a trance.

Matt tilted your head towards him and locked his eyes on yours before leaning in and passionately kissing you. His lips were smooth and soft, and his kiss was gentle and sensual. He cupped your face and moaned against your bottom lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth. Once he pulled away, you were left with a warm, tingly sensation all over. Matt started to remove your dress. "Lift your arms, pretty girl," Chris whispered as his lips bumped your earlobe and sent goosebumps all over your body. Matt pulled your clothes off over your head and tossed the fabric to the side.

At the same time, they both locked their soft, wet lips onto each of your nipples. You let out a moan while their mouths engulfed the little bumps on your chest. You were pleasantly surprised by how wonderful of a feeling it was. Their tongues swirled around delicately while they each looked up at you, longingly, to see your reaction. "Who do you want to go first, hmm?" Matt cooed, moaning with your sensitive bud between his lips.

"You, please," you responded quietly, still getting to know Chris and not feeling quite as comfortable with him yet. Chris pulled his mouth from your sensitive nipple and started kissing your neck. His kisses were rushed and aggressive, and you felt his teeth gently sink into you, causing you to whine from how nice it felt.

Matt got down on his knees in front of you and started leaving pecks on your knees and the tops of your legs. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, spreading you open and leaving wet kisses on your inner thighs. His eyes flicked up at you, and your breath hitched in your throat while he teased you through your panties with his mouth, making your pussy drool. He motioned for you to lift your hips while he took off your underwear, and he spread open your lips, admiring the way your vulva looked up close.

"You're so wet," he whispered before slowly lowering his mouth onto you. You felt your whole body begin to buzz with pleasure. It was unlike anything you'd ever felt, even better than your fingers the night before. Matt was gentle, and he licked you slowly and tenderly, taking his time and flicking his tongue thoughtfully over your swollen bundle of nerves. He closed his lips around it and hummed. "Oh," you softly moaned while you felt the vibrations against your clit.

While Matt worked his skillfull mouth below your waist, Chris continued running his hands all over your breasts, and he continued leaving sloppy kisses and love bites on your neck, your collar bones, and on your nipples. You were feeling rather shy by sharing such an intimate moment with the two brothers, so you closed your eyes and went to block your face with your hand. "Sweetheart, I wanna see you. Look at me while I lick you. Please," Matt pleaded with you. "Don't get shy on us, darling," Chris hummed against your chest.

Despite how self-conscious you felt, you removed your hand and peered down at Matt while he worked wonders with his tongue. You watched as he made slow circular motions with it while he held intense eye contact. "Good girl," Chris whispered in your ear while he watched Matt. Matt pulled away for a moment and started rubbing you with his fingers.

"How does it feel, baby?" He asked you, his chin glistening with your wetness. It was the best feeling in the world. "I know why the girls in the videos like this so much," you cried out while he went back to work with his mouth. "Mmmmm. Good," he hummed against your folds again. This time, he moved his lips down further while he started to tease your hole, gently prodding it with his tongue. You let out a few less controlled whimpers while Matt slurped up your juices and sensually explored your sex.

You felt a familiar feeling welling in your lower belly, but before the feeling could build up, Matt pulled away and said, "I want you to sit on my face." You'd seen this in one of the videos Matt sent you, but you didn't think you'd ever be sitting on anyone's face, much less the boy you had a crush on. "Are you sure I'm not going to hurt you?" You nervously asked, worried you'd break his neck or suffocate him. "I promise, princess. I can handle it," he giggled, laying back on the bed.

You put your knees on either side of his head and lowered yourself onto his tastebuds. He enveloped your thighs with his arms, pulling all of your weight onto him while he amorously drank from your center as if you were a sweet piece of fruit. "Oh, Matt!" You cried out while his tongue methodically fluttered all around your most intimate spot. You started to relinquish control of your movements, involuntarily rolling your hips forward and riding Matt's face while his lustful blue eyes peered up at you.

Your eyes began to roll back, and your lips fell open while you lost yourself in a euphoric, climactic sensation that drained all thoughts from your mind and momentarily altered your consciousness. Your pussy throbbed against Matt's tongue as you came undone, every nerve ending sensitive to the highest degree. Matt delighted in the taste of your sweetness, the cute sounds you made while you came, and the way your body jerked against him.

"Good girl," Matt whispered in your left ear after it was over and you were sitting at the edge of your bed drinking a cold glass of water Chris had brought you from downstairs while you caught your breath. Sitting on your right was the other brother, eagerly waiting for his turn. "I can't wait to make you finish all over my tongue, princess," Chris whispered, kissing the side of your face and trailing his lips down to your jaw.

"Look at me," he demanded, and when you did, his lips crashed into yours. His kiss was needy and demanding. Matt took the cup of water from your hands while his brother ventured the inside of your teeth with his tongue. Despite having just had a mind-shattering orgasm, Chris' wet, plump lips engulfing your own sent waves of pleasure throughout your nervous system, and you felt a nagging sensation between your legs, begging to be taken care of once again. "How do you feel, princess?" Chris asked, after pulling back from the kiss and looking at you.

"You're making me all tingly again," you whimpered to him. "Where? Right here?" Chris said, delving between your legs with his hand and gently rubbing your pussy. "Mhmm," you purred. "Tell me what you want, pretty girl," Chris whispered, taunting you with his fingers dancing between your thighs. "Put your mouth on it," you responded in a sultry sigh. "Beg for it," he smirked at you. "Please put your mouth on my pussy," you whined, growing needier by the second. "How bad do you want it?" He murmured into your ear. "More than anything. Please. I need it," you cried out, growing increasingly more impatient. "Of course, princess. Daddy's gonna give you what you need," Chris whispered, descending to his knees.

He pulled your legs apart, grabbed you by your waist and pulled your pussy closer to his face. You let out a squeal as this pulled you from a sitting position to a reclined one. Matt adjusted, so you were leaning up against his chest while you eagerly watched Chris as he started eating you. Matt caressed your arms and whispered into your ear how beautiful you looked. The second Chris' lips wrapped around your clit while he flickered his tongue across it fervently, your head fell back against Matt and you let out a moan. He smirked up at you, admiring your responsiveness, your eagerness, and your innocence.

His velvet-like tongue slithered around your folds, sloppily teasing your clit. "You like when daddy eats your pretty pussy?" Chris cooed, taking your vulva into his mouth once more. He adored the way you couldn't help but nod and bite your lip while you suppressed a whimper. You didn't know why Chris referred to himself like that, but for some reason, you kind of liked it. He devoured you, urgently exploring your heat, tweaking your clit with his tongue at such an incredible rate, it felt like his mouth was vibrating against you. "Oh, Chris," you moaned, bucking your hips and grinding against his tongue.

"You're mad cute when you can't get enough of my tongue," he whispered right before he took your little bundle of nerves between his lips and started sucking on it. The suction sent an electric current throughout all your extremities, causing you to pathetically writhe around while Matt supported you.

"Can you believe we just met an hour ago, and I already have you squirming around, moaning my name while I give you head?" He snickered, delighting in how special he and Matt must have been to you for you to feel safe enough to let them have you in such a way that no one else was worthy of up until now. You shook your head, nibbling on your lower lip and wondering how they'd talked you into this, but extremely thankful they did.

The way he spoke to you and watched you while he did such incredible things to you was almost enough to make you cum, but he drew back and stopped for a second, leaving you craving more. "I want you to turn around and stick your ass in the air for me," he demanded. You scoffed at the absurdity of his request. You weren't sure what he meant or why he wanted that, but you reluctantly followed his direction.

There you were, your face buried in a pillow, your knees beneath your hip points, and your bottom sticking up. Suddenly, you felt his wet mouth attacking you from the back. "Oh my god," you cried out while Chris worked magic with his remarkable tongue, swirling it about your pussy, leaving nothing untouched. He hungrily licked, picking up the pace, drawing faster and tighter circles around your clit while he spread you open with his fingers, causing you to lose all composure. "Chris, I think you're gonna make me cum," you cried as something took over your body. You began to shake, the muscles in your core began to twitch, and you could no longer see or think straight.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, cresting and cascading over you, pulling you under, and leaving you breathless while you drowned in pure satisfaction. Chris cleaned you up with his tongue, slurping up your sweetness and not drawing back until he fully finished you off. "You taste so good, baby girl," Chris whispered, lapping up the last of the mess.

Once you regained your composure, Matt handed you your glass of water again, and they sat on either side of you at the edge of the bed again. "So? What did you think?" Matt questioned, fiddling with your braid and caressing your cheek while he admired your flushed expression and your glazed over eyes from the high you were still riding. "I can't pick who was better. You were both so good for different reasons," you pouted looking between the two of them, knowing they wanted a definitive answer but unable to give it to them.

"What did you like about it, princess?" Matt wondered, dying to hear your answer. "Matt, I loved how you were so slow and gentle, and the way you looked at me the whole time. It was also really fun to sit on your face," you responded, a bit embarrassed to admit that.

"And Chris," you said, turning to the other brother, "I loved the way you talked to me, and the way you moved your tongue so fast.. I didn't even know that was possible. And I really liked it when you called yourself daddy," You bit your lip, also a bit embarrassed to admit that.

"It's okay that you can't choose between the two of us, princess. It's flattering, really. We're just so happy we could make you feel good," Matt smiled at you. "We have a couple more things we want you to judge us on if you're up for it," Chris sneered, giving you a mischevious look. "Yeah, what else?" You eagerly wondered, hoping it would feel as good as what they'd just done.

"Well, we want to know which one of us you think has the prettiest cock."

part three posted here 💖

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[spaghettiposts]

Window Crashin’

WandaNat x Spidey!Reader

Summery: Crashing into the wrong window at night proves to be the best mistake you’ve ever made.

Warnings: Very OBLIVIOUS reader, straight up stupid I can’t lie. Gay panics all around. Fluff

Word count: 1.6k

A/n: my first time officially writing for Nat and I think I’d like to continue so expect separate fics of her sometime soon.

Kraven had become an incessant thorn in your side, his relentless rampage ever since he announced “The Grand Hunt” in the heart of Central Park felt like a never-ending nightmare. One that persistently dragged on as the weeks floated by, each day a new form of tinnitus growing in your eardrums at the echoings of his horn. Falling once again into his endless game of cat and mouse.

Or in your case Kraven and Spider–with Kraven playing predator and you, the elusive Spider, trying to lure him away from innocent civilians roaming the streets of New York. 

Which wasn’t as easy as one would imagine, but you made do with what you had, brains over brawns. Clinging onto the hope that eventually, Kraven would grow tired of chasing and resign for the night, with the promise that he’d return. And so the cycle goes on. 

There were other options you could resort to, but those were last resorts, ones you only used if you were certain you couldn’t handle Kraven or in case of an emergency. In all honesty, you’re avoiding involving the Avengers, it’s really the last thing you want this to come to. A couple of broken ribs wasn’t an Avengers level threat.

You could handle Kraven by yourself perfectly fine, and nobody got hurt at the end of the day—except mainly your sleep schedule.

And now, as you swung through the thick chilling air on route to the compound; you were struggling to stay awake, the bruises littered across your body only making it harder to keep swinging. It wasn’t that sleep had ever been your strong suit, but now, it seemed like a distant luxury. The sacrifice of a hero came in many forms, and sleep deprivation was yours. 

Tony had sacrificed half his company in pursuit of a heroic lifestyle, hell, even Steve froze himself to save humanity. If humanity needed you to suffer from fewer hours in bed, then so be it. 

You fought relentlessly to keep your eyes from drooping and it only took the honking of a truck for you to jolt awake, merely missing out on the experience of being rammed by one. 

Shaking your head, you muttered words of encouragement to yourself, living on a prayer of making it back to the compound - in one piece. 

As the familiar building came into view, you let out a breath of relief you didn’t know you were holding. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you swung around towards the left block and homed in on your window, only to face-plant straight into it with a resounding thud.

You groaned against the pavement, pressing your hands on the wall to steady yourself before you could slide off. Silently thanking that radioactive spider for granting you the ability to stick to surfaces as you adjusted yourself, what the fuck?

A miscalculation on your part—or at least you pictured. Pushing yourself back from the wall, your eyebrows crinkled. Huh.

You always left your window open–had one of your teammates closed it off?

Assuming one of the guys must’ve closed it off, you didn’t question much, missing your bed and running on pure exhaustion to really assess the situation seriously. Gripping the sides of the window, you tried to pry from the outside, and after a couple of difficulties; you managed to unlock it, budging it open with a click. 

Finally, home sweet home. 

Your body toppled into the room first before the rest of your body crashed onto the floor, reaching an arm to shut the window behind you. With a sigh of relief, you picked yourself up, stretching your arms above your head, eliciting a satisfying ‘pop’ from your back, feeling all the pent-up tensions of the day leave your body. 

Pressing the button on your chest, making quick work of discarding your suit. You struggled more than you’d like to admit, having to hop on one foot to wiggle your feet out of the padding. 

Amidst your squirming, you failed to notice the crimson warps seeping from your bed, freezing mid-movement as the lights flickered on by themselves, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You screeched, scrambling up to your feet, firmly clutching your uniform in a poor attempt to cover yourself from the two women on your bed, equally startled.

“Y/n…? What are you doing here?” Natasha says after a beat of silence, her eyes furrowing as she lowers her gun and the arm protectively wrapped around her girlfriend. Wanda mirrored her actions and let the red wisps fall before she turned to you disconcertingly.

You shrunk under their gaze, feeling your heart pick up. It was too late to salvage any attempts at running for it, so you turned away, ignoring how affected you felt by their disheveled appearances.

Instead, you focused on why they were inside your room in the first place. Not that you minded having two beautiful women in your bed but at this hour? 

“What are you doing in my room? I just got back, what’s…” Your voice trailed off, slipping on your suit, as you looked towards your dresser…was it always that color? And why was there a photo of Wanda and Natasha on your nightstand? Sure, you were hopelessly in love with the two but never to this extent.

Barely bordering on those lines. 

“Detka…this is our room,” Wanda said slowly, as to not startle you. 

You cursed under your breath, realizing your mistake. “Aw fuck, I must’ve crashed into the wrong—wall-side thing,” you explained messily, picking yourself up for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. 

“Crashed?” Both of the girls shouted and you winced, scooting off awkwardly to the side, feeling even more like an intrusion. 

“Yeah but it’s okay though, that’s nothing compared to Kraven's fists, trust me.” You meant to reassure them, but judging by the worried looks they exchanged, it had the opposite effect. Taking their silence as an opportunity to leave, you stepped back.

“Anyways, sorry for interrupting your night.” You mumbled apologetically, reaching for the window handle. “I’ll see y'all tomorrow— son of a bitch.” You grunted, banging your head against the glass for the second time this night. You were really starting to resent these things.  

And Wanda bit her bottom lip, “Malysh, it’s late and you’re…not doing well, why don’t you stay here tonight?” She suggested softly, her voice coming out as sweet as honey and you almost dropped dead there.

“Here?” You blurted out, feeling a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. “Like, with you and Nat?”

Natasha and Wanda shared an amused look, before nodding in unison. 

Your face crinkled, not really understanding what the looks were for but you assumed it was all in your head. Sparing one last glance at the two, you confirmed this was okay, searching for even the smallest bits of hesitancy or discomfort only to find nothing but welcoming smiles. 

With a small nod, barely audible, you murmured a hesitant “alright,” as you settled into the chair beside their bed, placing your feet on the small wooly ottoman.

Had your eyes been open, you might’ve noticed the way their faces dropped in disappointment. After months of obvious pining, not-so-subtle flirting thrown your way, you were choosing to sleep…not with them but on a chair.

A brief silence lingered, and you shifted in your seat. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel their eyes piercing and you were starting to sweat.

“Sorry,” You mumble, heat rising up your neck in embarrassment as you removed your feet off the ottoman, fearing you had overstepped. Still, their gazes remained unwavering and you rubbed your arm unsurely, “Is the chair off–limits too? I can take the floor if that’s better.”

“Dorogoy, we’re inviting you into our bed,” Natasha chuckles disbelievingly, fingers tracing the covers as to tempt you with the invitation. 

“Mhmm, yeah no. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You shook your head, stumbling over your words. “I don’t do well in confined spaces with pretty women, I mean— no wait you are, both are super pretty but that’s not—“ 

Thankfully, Wanda interjected before you could embarrass yourself further with a giggle. You swore your stomach flipped. “Cute, but won’t you get cold?” She suggested, Natasha nodding and lifting the covers, adding, “It’s much warmer over here.”

Again, you waved them off and they were starting to get fed up with your excuses. “Oh nah! My suit has thermal heating installed, pretty cool right? Tony helped me insulate it–”

“Y/n, just get in the bed.”

Before you could protest further, you felt those warm red tendrils wrap around you, coaxing you into their bed, and you couldn’t even remember why you were fighting this in the first place when their arms wrapped around you. Not when their sheets were so warm, and their bodies warmer. 

Resistance be damned, as Natasha's hand ran gently through your hair, you relaxed into it, and both girls smiled. This was how things needed to be, always. 

Still, your heart was beyond nervous to even enjoy the moment but they were pushing at your shoulders to tuck you in further, getting settled themselves. They tangled their limbs with your own and it was official; there was definitely no escaping this. 

Pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, Wanda murmured a couple of words and you felt more comfortable clothes encase you. Natasha pressed a tender kiss to the shell of your ear before bidding you a good night.

You repeat her words back and they tighten their grip, closing their eyes. 

With exhaustion finally catching up to you, your eyes drooped helplessly again, fluttering shut, bones begging for sleep, and you finally surrendered to its embrace. Allowing yourself a moment of rest with the two people you treasure most in the world. 

And suddenly, crashing into windows didn’t seem so bad after all.

[1-800-local-slut]

Space Girl

She's out of this world and in his bed! Meet SuperNova, a humanoid alien who loves everything Earth has to offer. And she loves Mark just as much

Mark Grayson x Black! Alien! Reader

Warning: reader and mark break up and get back together, mentions of smut, it's kind of a long one, but all that aside I hope you enjoy and consider sending requests, leaving comments and likes! <3

Note: you're from a planet called Aurelix, it's a peaceful planet but its people are warriors with a gentle temperament. All the people from this planet have glowing eyes, it can be hidden with contacts. It's basically Earth with way better technology and everyone has powers. Also, you can fly and create burst of energy, your powers are cosmic control due to a genetic experiment and yeah that's it, that's all! Eve and Mark don't have feelings for each other here, man stealing is never the move guys

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For as often as he does it, Mark sometimes felt shame for flying. He felt shame for soaring through the air on a regular basis even though it was part of his genetic makeup. Biologically, he should fly. Logically, he should fly with no guilt. He trained to fly, he likes flying. It's more natural to him than walking sometimes. Yet he can never forget why he can fly. Why his body gave him the strength to destroy lives just as easily as he can save them.

At the end of each day, Mark was a Viltrumite. From a race of brutes who use that same flight to take over worlds and murder anyone who objects. No matter how human he was, Mark would always have something evil inside him. A cancer that no amount of treatment could cure.

That shame keeps him human, as much as he wished he didn't feel it. Others from different planet's didn't get it. Full humans definitely wouldn't get it. And you? You didn't even come close to understanding. Not without trying though.

Mark could never forget when he first saw you. It was warm out, nice and airy with just the right amount of breeze flowing. The house next door received new occupants and settled in quickly it seemed. From his bedroom window, which faced your backyard, he saw you.

Flying in a game of tag with your mother and father, chasing each other with water guns. None of that mattered. The sun caught your skin, which seemed to glow under the light and your curly hair was tied into a gorgeous bundle of mini twist that was then wrapped into a ponytail. Pieces escaped on your face, the rest moved behind you with each turn and twist you made against the backdrop of the cotton candy clouds.

Mark wasn't exactly super-duper careful about who saw him flying but he also wasn't flying around in circles with his dad in the backyard. Anyone could've seen but you didn't care. Infact, you laughed as your mother sprayed you in the face with water and you sprayed her back in response. Flying around care free without an ounce of shame or fear for doing something so natural to you. And for a split second he felt a hint of jealousy. You probably weren't from a race of blood thirsty killers.

As your mother and father grew tired, they floated gently back to the ground, and you made your way to the Earth. But not before you glanced his way. Glowing green eyes glanced into his bedroom window, and you smiled curtly before you landed on your feet and skipped inside with your mother and father gleefully chatting about dinner.

That was the first time Mark saw the good in being an alien in a while. He saw the good in flying about carefree, in feeling no shame about being what he is.

The next time he saw you, it was ringing his front doorbell.

It was a relatively quiet day. Mark went for a run, came home, took a nap, even had time to take a shit. His mother called him to get the door from where she was in the house, then he made his way down the steps.

Opening the door, he saw you. You, floating just a bit off the ground with your car keys in hand. You didn't know him. How would you feel if you knew? Knew he was a Viltrumite, knew what atrocities his "people" had committed. Of course you knew, if you were from space. Had they destroyed your home, that's why you came to Earth? Had-

"Hi! Driveway-uh. Your car..." You searched for the next words, still clearly attempting to get a grasp on English. Glancing out behind you, he looked. His mom accidentally blocked you into the driveway.

"Your car is...blocking? Blocking. My car." Despite how you struggled to get the words out, you still beamed with pride at how you were able to get the words out.

"Oh...sorry." He smiled at you, your dark hair made you look like a cherub. No longer in twist but instead manipulated into curls that framed your face and highlighted your beauty. By Earth and space features you were no doubt beautiful.

Awkward silence settled in between you two and you stopped smiling. Tilting your head you floated closer to him and before he knew it your hand was on his shoulder.

"You are sad?" His first instinct was to lie. It was to say no but... What could be the harm in being honest anyways?

"...Just a bit." Looking down at the ground he shrugged and ran his hand over the back of his neck.

"Why?" What, was your planet just filled with nosy Nancy's? But something in his heart pulled. You were from space. You didn't understand the intricacies of humans keeping to themselves yet. And maybe he just needed a listening ear.

"My dad. He did-...he died."

"You lie?"

"What?"

Just then, a woman down the street called your name, followed by speech in a different language. Anyone else would assume it was just a different language from Earth, but Mark knew better. It was of an entirely different language from an entirely different planet. Turning your head, you looked back to your house.

"Goodbye! Oh," You pointed behind you at the driveway and held up your keys. Should you even be driving on Earth?

"Car." You emphasized, shaking at your keys.

"I'll move it." He responded, finishing the thought for you. You smiled, dipped your head like a nod and flew off back to your house.

'You lie?' Your voice replayed in his head. There was no malice, no judging. You just knew. He lied. Someone knew he lied. And as uneasy as it should've made him feel, instead little waves of relief overtook him.

Before long, your English had improved by heaps and bounds. You were fully integrated into human society it seemed, except for your same blunt forward communication but it did little to stop you. For someone so new to Earth, you got hang of a social life pretty easy. Once you started wearing the dark brown contacts gifted to you by your aunt (who Mark later learned had moved to Earth years earlier) and stopped fighting your parents about them every day they finally let you masquerade as a normal girl from Earth.

By your second week at school, you were all anyone talked about. Well, you and...you. More specifically the appearance of the new hero SuperNova. Who was quickly taking over as Chicago's favorite alien superhero.

'Did you see her boots?'

'I need SuperNova to drop her curl routine.'

'She's cute or whatever.'

Flooded the hallways. Unlike most gossip though you flooded his brain. He typically didn't mind gossip. His parents taught him well enough to mind the business that pays him, but you were stuck in his brain. It didn't help that you two were teamed up together so often. And it didn't help that you and Eve were superhero besties. Or that you lived next door to one another, or that your mom and his mom were fast growing friends.

You were a great friend too. You understood him, but part of him was...uncomfortable. You seemed to just know. Everything in his brain, the tight knot of fears and anxieties in his stomach, you were even able to see the weight on his heart. And it made him so uncomfortable that you were more in touch with his feelings than he was.

So, he took to avoiding having actual conversations with you. Maybe not on purpose, perhaps on purpose he isn't fully sure. He knew virtually nothing about you personally. Not your likes, dislikes, foods you avoid and music you loved. Because if he knew, you'd be in his heart too. Along with all those icky feelings that cover him like a wet blanket you would be trapped in his heart. Those types of conversations could only lead to a deeper connection. A deeper friendship and some days Mark knew himself he would need more than that. It wasn't helpful that you were always stuck in his head, he didn't need you in his heart and soul too.

But you knew. Because you always knew. And your people do not believe in hiding feelings.

"Mark?" It was night, you two were flying home after a disturbance downtown.

"Hm?"

"You are scared that if we become closer friends, your true feelings will overtake you. You do not want to let anyone in because of the inherit shame you feel for who you are from and what you are. You are scared because you cannot hide from me. We do not have to be friends if I make you uncomfortable." With such flippancy you read him. Like it didn't matter, like you didn't unravel him with the efficiency of a well-trained therapist.

He literally felt sick. His palms began to sweat under his costume, and chills ran through his entire body. His stomach grumbled and felt like he swallowed a block of ice that was just sitting in his gut. His nervous system didn't know the difference between dealing with his emotions or being held at gunpoint. You kept flying home until you noticed he stopped behind you.

You stopped and slowly floated back to him. Eyes glowing, empty of hurt or malice but there was an underlying kindness. He had rejected you. He rejected getting to know you the way everyone else had, he rejected your friendship because he was afraid. But your eyes were like a door left open. You hadn't shut that door. It was still open for him; all he had to do was open it the rest of the way.

What, did you think you were saving him? That he was helplessly drowning in his own unnecessary shame that he's refusing to deal with while battling his growing crush on you? That he needed saving? Who did you think you were?

"You are fighting yourself. I bear no intention of 'bettering' you. I am saying what I have observed."

...Fuck, could you just get out of his head for two seconds so he could think? You totally didn't just provide him clarity. Definitely not. So why was he flying in the air completely stiff without saying a word?

"I'm hungry. I'm going to go home and eat. We do not have to be friends Mark. The choice is yours. If you are not comfortable with your feelings, then it must be frustrating for someone to try and help you understand before you are ready." You said, patting him lightly on the shoulder before flying away.

Leaving him alone to float over the city while he tried to shove his stupid feelings back down his throat. He wanted to throw them up. To scream out his frustrations and fears and regrets, and how he thinks you're really nice and smart and fun. But he couldn't. And he still couldn't stop thinking about you either.

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How he found himself at your bedroom window he doesn't know. He was in bed one moment, sneaking a glass of wine the next, then floating outside your window watching you slide open the glass and sit on the roof.

Then he was sitting next you on the roof. You were in pajamas, a matching bonnet corresponded with your fluffy robe and was the same color as your pajamas and bed slippers. He sat with you, knees pulled to his chest. The wind ghosted over his exposed feet. Somehow, he felt as if his heart was about to be as naked as his feet considering he didn't put on socks before he flew out of his window like a man possessed.

When would Mark Grayson ever hide from a girl he liked? Not that he only saw you as that. But here you were, kind and accepting. And he was fighting that and holding some fucked up resentment for you in his heart just a bit because he couldn't open up to someone. Not again.

Two aliens sat on the roof of a suburban home on Earth, looking up at the void of space. You were probably looking towards your home planet. Mark was looking for the courage to be honest. Because this wasn't just about you. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he needed to open up to someone. Holding everything in was raising his blood pressure.

You didn't push him to speak. You were just happy he was there, you would've been happy without him. Why did it ease him just a bit to know that you could go on without him? Why was it so nice to not feel like someone is leaning on you with everything they have? More silence until Mark found the courage in one shiny star.

"My dad was actually on Earth in order to conquer it for the Viltrum empire. My entire life I thought Viltrumites were good. But the more I learn, the more I hear about the crimes. The planets they've fucked up, the lives they've destroyed. My dad never even cared about my mom. Since he left it's been up to me to defend Earth. I'm trying to balance everything, and I'm all Earth has left against Viltrum. He destroyed Chicago using my face, and he murdered the Guardians of the Globe, he lied for 20+ years to the entire planet, he tried to get me to join him and I'm just scared that Earth will see me as an extension of him but I'm human and I'm not like him at all I promise, Earth is my home and I just want to keep people safe and I'm not like the other Viltrumites-"

Soft hands covered his. While he talked, he began to spiral and didn't even realize how quickly he was drowning in his own thoughts. Didn't even realize that he was rambling so fast that he hadn't been speaking in sentences but just one long chain of thoughts. You interrupted the long rambling and saved him from sinking down into a dark place in his mind.

"I know."

"What?"

"My planet is not on your peoples list of planets to conquer. It is not possible Mark. We are not scared of Viltrum, we have never hidden or cowered before Viltrum. Our people are long standing enemies by Viltrum's choosing. You do not have to worry about me judging you for what you are. You do not have to explain you are different. I know you are different. If it will ease you, you can continue. But I want to know Mark. Not who you are not."

You did it again. You just swept him clean off his feet also basically just told him Viltrumites weren't shit to you. As if they were so insignificant to your people that Mark being one didn't even matter. Then again there always was a bigger fish.

"How come you aren't ashamed?" It was a genuine question. Mark carries the shame of being a Viltrumite every day that he prefers to keep it to himself. Leaning back on your arms you let out a chuckle and Mark buried his face in his arms that still rested on his knees.

"I have nothing to feel shame for. No matter my race, no matter how people view my species, I am me. I can't change that. I am who I am, I came from where I come from. I know me. And there is beauty in what I am."

A man and woman walked past kissing and giggling while a little girl hopped in front of them playing imaginary hopscotch, and a dog yipped excitedly between them.

You peered over the edge and motioned for Mark to come with you. Together two aliens watched three humans, and a dog partake in what to them was a small unimportant moment, but that little girl may remember this until she dies. In a thousand years would Mark even remember this conversation?

"Humans have such beautiful but short lives. And to them it isn't short, but to us it is. But we are all the same. I like TV, humans like TV. I like living, they like living. I make the most of my life, they make the most of theirs. Do they have time to spend worrying about what those before them of done? Or do they instead live for each day, focusing on what they can do with themselves now? Or do they focus on what they can do with their future knowing they cannot change the past?" Who told you to be so smart.

"A lot of us worry about the past."

"And if that is how you chose to live your lives then that is beautiful! But you do not have to let what other Viltrumites have done define you. You cannot change the past. But you can take steps to better your future. You can take steps to better your people. Or instead, better yourself but you are Mark. You are an...," You search for the word, eyes glancing up to the sky while you searched your brain

"individual! You are an individual and can make whatever choice you want. You can be the Viltrumite who changes things, or you can just be you. But you will be Mark for the next thousands of years you will be living. You do not want to carry shame for something you cannot change." It was like you just flipped on a light switch in his brain. Mark was ashamed over something he could not change. It would take time to go away but still. It can go away. That ugly feeling in his heart was finally able to go away and stop haunting him.

You pulled a blanket out from your bedroom window and tossed it over the two of you after a brush of wind ghosted you two. His feet no longer cold, and you covered his heart and eased his mind like the blanket.

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Having an alien girlfriend was a bit difficult. Mark has been attempting to adjust being open about his feelings, while he taught you the value of allowing him and others the luxury of not needing to talk through every feeling that comes through their heads.

After a few months though, something switched. And while Mark Grayson was flawed, he did know how to be a good boyfriend. But you had made things so easy by making it very clear how you felt at all times.

He knew when you were happy, when you were sad, angry, hungry, horny. You usually just told him. But today you flew into Guardians HQ with a proverbial cloud hovering over you and plopped down beside him with an uncharacteristic scowl. Your eyes were glowing so bright from whatever ailed you that it was like a spotlight beaming from your head, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what was wrong.

Where you hungry? Tired? A headache? Were you perhaps coming down with something? Could you even get sick? Could he even get sick?

When five minutes passed without you even uttering a word to him, instead just scrolling on your phone and quickly sliding past certain post that seemed to increase your foul mood he realized it was probably best to ask.

"Baby?"

"Hm."

Ouch. Had you ever once scowled at him so hard? You've growled at him before; you've even bit him once on your cycle (or your version of it) but you've never made such a face at him. His pride was happy it was just the two of you in HQ after you both returned from separate missions.

You turned away from him on the couch you were seated on and hugged your knees closer to your chest.

"Are you mad at me?" Slowly he put a hand on your balled up form only for it to be shrugged off. You were so pissed you didn't even want him touching you.

More silence. He heard you shuffle then you straightened out and floated off of the couch. His eyes followed you upwards towards the sky. Hands on your hips, your eyes glowing down at him with tears brimming in your eyes.

"Why did you not tell me you wanted to break up?"

"...I don't want to break up!" The moment it sunk in Mark was floating in the air infront of you. You refused to meet his gaze, arms crossed and turning away from him. You went backwards in an attempt to create distance and Mark found himself floating forwards in an attempt to lessen the distance between you two.

"What's going on? Baby?" His nervous system couldn't tell the difference between you saying that and being shot. The air felt cold and heavy and the nerves in his stomach made him have to shit. You were still refusing to look at him as his hands searched for you while you dodged.

"You do not care about me. You do not care about us."

"Of course I care about you. Of course I care about us!"

"You have a very amusing way of showing it." You shoved him back, as if you just noticed how close he had gotten to you despite your avoidance. A streak of light remained as you flew out of one of the open windows. Dammit, why did they always leave windows open for their flying heroes? Although it was helpful Mark, didn't need it when his girlfriend was talking about breaking up with him and using those open windows to escape him.

By the time he flew out of the window to see if he could convince you to talk about this, you were long gone. The telltale streak of color the remains when you fly was even gone from the sky.

By the time he got home, and talked to his mom it was well past dinner time. Usually, you'd be heading home to eat with your family like you always do on a weeknight. Or you'd be flying home together like you often do late at night because that's when evil seems to emerge. Instead, there was no you.

You weren't cuddled beside him; you weren't conversing with him about the first season of Seance Dog that he was trying not to spoil for you, you two weren't holding hands in a comfortable silence, you weren't there for him to playfully tease or for him to excitedly ramble at.

Once again, he found himself at your window. Well actually your front door. Your window was locked, curtains drawn. A message, telling him to piss off, a saying you enjoyed since you learned it. He thinks your love of swearing is adorable, no matter how many times you say 'motherfucker' in a day. But he couldn't just let you think he didn't care. If he didn't care, he'd be at home fast asleep.

He settled for the old fashioned way. He rang your doorbell and waited with baited breath for someone to open the door. Instead, your mother opened the door and stood towering over Mark. Her eyes glowed nowhere near as intense as yours did hours ago. The glowing eyeballs raked him over, as distaste settled over her features.

"Goodnight, I'm sorry to bother you so late but is-"

"My child does not cry easily."

"Uh, excuse me?"

"My child, was the top warrior in her school. She is ranked across the planet for her skills, she could've become the next leader of our entire planet. She is smart. She is kind, she makes good choices. Most of all she is strong. We left our home planet, she had to start the journey to living amongst humans against her will. Not once did she break. She does not cry easily."

Silence as her eyes began to glow a more intense color.

"You made my child cry." Then the door shut. But for a moment, he saw you. Laying on the couch, your father patted your hooded head. Covered in Mark's hoodie that he gifted you and you hugged yourself close.

He stood there on your porch; through the door he heard your parents comforting you in your own language and he recognized the few words you taught him.

'Mama, what do I do?'

Fuck, what did he even do?

He never realized how much he would miss your honesty. Mark knew it was something he loved about you, but sometimes it could be a bit difficult. You were always in his head. You just always knew and after months of dating, he was still a bit freaked out. You knew him better than he knew himself.

After a year-

The porch was dark, Mark had been in the dark all day about what had you so enraged with him. But finally the light turned on in his brain and he never felt so stupid. A wind blew over him, like the truth that revealed itself to him.

Today had been a year since you two had gotten together. Lifting off, he made his way to his own roof and planted his bottom firmly on the spot he so often sat on. And he thought back over the year.

You helped him sort himself out for a year. You planned your six month anniversary. You planned his birthday party. You reminded him when Valentine's Day was approaching. You helped him plan a birthday party for his mother. You made him dinner the best you could when you got the hang of Earth cooking. You saved him from countless battles, you encouraged him to keep his head up. Even after a devastating loss, you encouraged him to keep his head up. He couldn't remember one day.

You even told him it would be nice if he planned something for once. And he couldn't remember one day.

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His mom tore him a new one, but it was nothing compared to you. You became more like an Earth girl with each passing day, evident by how you'd been giving him the cold shoulder for four days now. Even gossip articles picked up on it.

'Invincible and SuperNova split?'

'SuperNova snubs Invincible after battle!'

Instagram was clowning him. Evident by the comments William was reading out loud to him as they sat in the car with Amber and Eve during lunch. Also, the meme going around of him edited as Art the Clown. They dubbed him 'Invinciclown"

"Oh man this ones funny, 'bro fumbled a baddie', 'SUPERNOVA ONE CHANCE PLEASE!!!', 'Omniman knocked the game out bro', 'The fumble needs to be studied'. Lesbians have also never been happier since you're out of the picture."

"Honestly the entire LGBT community has been praying for your breakup." Amber chimed from the back, scrolling through edits on her phone.

"Look at this."

"NO WAY SOMEONE MADE A BREAKUP EDIT!" Eve yelled, hands dramatically on her head. The internet decided it was over already.

"We aren't broken up. I'm not out of any picture." Mark sulked, head pressed against the glass.

"What's it like being emo and delusional?" Eve snickered, leaning back.

"That's not hot Mark." William added, making dramatic gestures with his hands.

"You're not Paris Hilton. And we aren't broken up. She's mad at me."

"Okay but why is she mad at you? She's been ducking you for almost a week now. She doesn't even duck fades and she's avoiding you." Always sympathetic Eve brought reason back to the car.

"...I forgot our one year anniversary."

....

"The fumble really does need to be studied."

"One year...yeah man she needs to break up with you, that's ghetto as hell."

"I tried saying sorry, but she doesn't want to talk to me! She fought a Kaiju and Doc Seismic on her own before she chose to speak to me. She almost got eaten and literally chose to handle that before talking to me."

"Well, she's tired of spelling everything out for you. What have you actually planned for her that's important? Answer quickly." Amber responded. When was her foot not on Mark's neck?

He couldn't even answer slowly because you typically spell everything out for him.

"Okay but what do I do?"

"Give up?" Eve suggested.

"Accept defeat?" William offered.

"Die because of how bad you dropped the bag?" Amber added her advice.

"Guys I love this girl; can we be serious?" The words came from the depths of his heart. Then silence filled the car again.

"YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HER?"

He was in love with you. He was in love with you and was sitting in a car with his friends while you, the woman he loves, was somewhere. You weren't with him at lunch because he pissed you off so bad you didn't even want to try and communicate.

"I gotta go."

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"Why are you in my bedroom?" You asked, rolling over in your bed and eyeing the man sitting on your bed.

"You haven't been talking to me." Mark figured out pretty quickly where you were when you didn't return back to school. He spent the rest of lunch looking all over the city for you, saw you didn't show up to your trigonometry class and figured you just blew off the rest of the school day. So, he did the only thing his crazy and stupid heart could think of. Because Mark is crazy over you. Even though it took disgustingly long for him to lock in and act like it.

You pulled your covers back up to your chest and rolled back onto your side.

"I do not need to talk to you. You are my ex boyfriend. I do not need to be friends with my ex boyfriend." Did you just stab him and twist the knife? But he had to push on. Because this was not about him. This wasn't about making him feel better, it was time Mark showed you how much he cared.

It was time to be brave, but this was scarier than any battle he'd ever been in.

"...I'm sorry I forgot our anniversary."

"I am sorry that you think that means anything to me four days later."

Okay you were not having it with him.

"You don't want to be with me anymore?"

You tossed the blanket over and sat up. You looked at him and the back of his brain wondered how long you'd been home. You were in a fitted tank top, pajama pants, makeup gone, contacts removed, and your hair gently placed under your bonnet.

"I want to be with someone who cares for me. You do not want to be with me. You have shown me that you do not care for me the way I care for you. I have my struggles. I have my burdens. I have carried your burdens and mine for the past year. I do not put these on you. I ask that you take care of me the way I attempt to take care of you. I asked one thing of you Mark Grayson. You did not do the one thing I asked of you, Mark Grayson." Then you flopped back down on the sheets as if holding eye contact with him was killing you. He cracked, eyes watering and voice cracking.

"I'm sorry. I am sorry baby, I am. I know you needed someone, and I am that someone for you. I didn't mean to let you down. I was so used to you knowing everything already that I forgot that everyone needs someone. And I need you, I can't live without you." He drew closer to you. Mark was absolutely begging. Because you taught him better than to hide his feelings and hiding them right now would only make things worse.

"Things shouldn't come to this extreme for me to realize that and I'm sorry. I...I love you." And with that you shot straight up in the bed. You were staring at him with curious eyes.

"You...love me?"

Mark swallowed thickly, and he blinked away tears. He took his hands in yours, ignoring the way you raised your eyebrow. You didn't yank your hands away, a good sign?

"I love you. I love you. Not just what you do for me, not just how you look. I love you." He breathed. Your eyes filled with tears, and Mark brung his forehead to yours. His heartbeat slowed; the world stopped spinning for a moment. Your heartbeat matched his.

"It is against my customs to forgive you. On my planet, I would be expected to leave you and never look back. You have made a grave error, you have failed to value you me the way I should’ve been all along.”

He swallowed thickly, eyes trained on his hands holding yours.

"But I am not on my planet. And you are sorry. I see your heart, you intend to improve. And I love you. So, against everything I know, I forgive you Mark." It came out in a whisper.

"You forgive me?" His voice was hoarse, from the crying and disbelief.

"I forgive you." Eyes finally met and he saw tears running down your cheeks.

"You love me?" Your lips drew closer to his and he found his knees weakening.

"I love you."

[aimfor-theheart]

to break first

|| mel medarda x reader, jayce talis x reader, viktor x reader || E/18+ || messy dynamics/hurt/comfort || wc: 6k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

Your lovers are strange, demanding types.

a/n: idk man. but this revived my writing so. pls take it. dividers by @/cafekitsune

tags: messy dynamics, light smut/smut mentioned and implied, implied rough/hate sex, some hurt/comfort, ends on a hopeful note. not beta read/edited.

You've never liked Jayce much.

And you might just be the only person he doesn't like, either.

He plays nice, though, especially around Viktor. You think Jayce has teeth that he tries to hide, but you catch the flash of them from time to time. He smiles at you and it doesn't reach his eyes. It's just shy of contempt.

It makes your grin cheshire and sharp. You like watching him squirm. You like watching him wrestle with his distaste for you, try to keep his teeth hidden. Especially here, at this gala, all gold and sparkling and pristine, for all the world to see.

Bubbling rosé is bright and fruity on your tongue. You're shoulder to shoulder with Viktor, the two of you half-miserable together, stuffed into formal wear and ripped from your respective labs and studios. Which is why Jayce lingers; he's hovering in that annoying way of his. Bumbling a little. He's trying to make Viktor feel more at home but—

You have something Jayce doesn't.

Only you can do that.

You're Viktor's childhood friend, thick as thieves and twice as inseparable. You're an artist from the Undercity—a painter, a poet, a musician. An artistic genius, the world claims, an artistic savant. And one of the rare, lucky few who has been exalted and raised above your station to be paraded around Piltover like some trophy of success from their lowest. It's mostly Viktor's fault, you claim—the moment Heimerdinger found him, he also accidentally found you.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the most brilliant and groundbreaking artists of our generation." A smooth, easy voice floats through your thoughts. You turn your head to find Councilor Medarda, swathed in what could be a starry sky of silk and gold.

She's even more beautiful in person somehow; if you were to paint her, she'd be all easy, graceful lines, curved and long. A lily stem. The arch of a tiger.

"Just the person I was looking for." She muses.

"Me?" You balk, at the same time that Jayce gaps, "Them?!"

You swing your gaze to glare at him and even Viktor wrinkles his nose. Jayce tries to clear his throat, clear the mistake.

Councilor Medarda raises a brow at Jayce, but then her eyes flicker to you, honing in on you. Hazel and gold and reflective; a kaleidoscope of color. And with such—intensity. You feel it in her. Thrumming. "Yes, you." She says smoothly and she smiles in the elegant way of royalty; perfect and mysterious.

"Are you sure you have the right person, Councilor Medarda?" You joke, "you know I'm just—"

"I'm certain. And please—call me Mel. I'd love to commission you for several art pieces to be displayed in the council chambers."

Viktor whistles a little, impressed, though you can tell it's a little dry.

(He both rambles and rants about Councilor Medarda from time to time and you can never tell if he adores her or resents her.)

Jayce startles at this, but again, he tries to play it off. He places his hand on her lower back, "I didn't know the council chambers was looking to display art."

Mel allows his hand to remain, but she tilts her chin up and her eyes flash somewhat—quick, sharp. There's a silent conversation there that you can't decipher.

But you can tell there is something more than just coworkers happening between them.

"I'm looking to display art in the council chambers." Mel then says.

Jayce looks away, cowed somewhat, tail tucked between his legs in a way that makes you smile.

Mel drifts from Jayce's hands, offering her arm to you, "will you walk with me? I'd love to discuss what I have in mind."

If only to steal her away from Jayce, you finally peel yourself away from Viktor's side and the wall. Your shoulder, where it was touching his, goes cold. But Mel's arm is warm as you twine it around yours.

She draws you away from the scientists, into the fray of swirling, dazzling people.

You glance over your shoulder only once and catch Jayce's eyes, and let your smile curl into something a little smug, almost vicious; baring your teeth as if to gloat at his own, still tucked behind his lips.

***

"Mel's an artist." You say to Viktor, offhand. "A good one, too. You should see her paintings—"

Viktor sighs heavily, snatching one of the little tools that you'd been fiddling with out of your hands. "You sound like Jayce."

You wrinkle your face in disgust, reaching back for the tool and grappling with him a moment for it. You press all against each other, squabbling, before you win out and take it back from him. He stares at you, almost in some form of a glare and you stare back, watching his eyes, dark in the low light of the lab. He glances at the tool in your hands like he might try to take it back, and when he moves, you move faster, and hold it out of his reach.

"Are they together?" You ask.

He gives up on the tool.

Then, he lifts his shoulders in some form of a crooked shrug, eyes going skyward. "One can only assume."

"She's out of his league." You sigh, throwing your weight back in the chair in despair.

Viktor snorts at that, returning to his work, "I'm sure few are in league with Councilor Medarda."

His voice is dry. A little brittle.

"I don't know what you have against her." You then venture, speaking more to the ceiling, returning to fiddling with the tool. It twists in your fingers, the sound of metal whirling and softly grinding.

"I have nothing against Councilor Medarda." He says too evenly.

"You know, I've never been able to tell if it's contempt or adoration you have for her." You continue, as if he hadn't said anything to contradict you. "But either way, she gets under your skin."

"She does not—"

"Are you jealous? She took your big, dumb partner away?" You press, twisting and twisting away at the tool.

"No—" Viktor says sharply, but it rings with a note of truth. It's not quite that then.

You pause. And then.

You crack your eye open, "I think she likes me."

Viktor pauses now too, metal clinking quietly with the sudden stop of his work again. He knows that tone of your voice. His face pulls; distaste. Frustration.

(Jealousy.)

His speech is slow as he tries to parse through what to say, "Councilor Medarda is charming and—"

"She invited me to dinner." You say and now you're watching him carefully, "at her personal suite. Just us."

Viktor rounds on you, "you're going to get yourself into trouble."

You can't help but smile, slow and amused, "I feel like it's good for the art—fool around with a politician—"

"You know, I have always wondered if you would learn your lesson," Viktor continues over your monologuing about drama and passion and politics, "—maybe this time, you'll finally learn it."

He snatches the tool from your hands and throws it down on his desk.

"I love learning." You chirp innocently and he shakes his head, face flushed with passion.

He looks at you again when he can, shakes his head some more, some of the irritation fading from his features. He never stays mad at you for long; doesn't have it in him. Besides, he causes his own trouble. Doesn't learn his own lessons. And when the dust settles, the two of you are still here, beside each other. The artist and the scientist, making messes, breaking things—all for some higher purpose only the two of you have ever understood.

(You've loved him your whole life. Sometimes, you think you carry half of the other's ribs inside one another. He must have twelve of yours, and you must have twelve of his—)

You lift your foot, nudging his calf beneath the desk with it, then up to place it in his lap. An olive branch, of some kind. Your affection is unsurprising to him and he sighs. He drops his hand to your ankle. He squeezes.

"She's going to eat you alive." Viktor finally warns.

"One can only hope."

A laugh startles out of him, rough and raspy, before it dissolves into coughing.

You lurch up to give him water, sitting near you, and bring the glass to his lips on reflex, like you used to as children. And on reflex, he drinks—he doesn't try to take the glass from your hands right away or push you away. Instinctively, you care for him, and instinctively, he lets you.

(You think you're the only one he'd ever allow to do this, born out of years of pressed side to side in the same bed, listening to him weather the nights. Born out of years of your love and stubborn care for him.)

After a moment, he lifts his hand and slowly replaces yours.

You hover over him. He sets the glass down. The water is almost gone. You'll replace it for him before you leave the lab.

He settles back into his chair, eyes returning to the pieces in front of him; all the odd metal scattered like little silver stars in front of him against a vast, dark sky. He picks up one, and then another, and tries to fit them together.

Then another. And another.

You watch him twist and turn, put the puzzle together.

He says, "Lately, I feel as if—" his fingers are careful, almost shaking, as he tries to create something of the scattered, broken pieces, "everything is quite fragile. And it's all just going to—" he presses a little too hard, and the metal all splinters apart, clattering back to the desk, "break. At any given moment."

After a moment, he looks up at you, still hovering over him, "I fear you're heading towards a breaking point."

You hum a little.

"What is it you scientists say?" You ask, running your fingers through his dark hair, thick and tousled. You twirl a strand around your finger, let it fall;

"It has to break first, before you can discover anything."

***

You'd say Mel Medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't feign anything so harmless or lost as a sheep.

You do think she's—

A little like Jayce, where she hides her teeth. But where Jayce irritates you because he's certainly trying to seem better than he is, or more harmless than he can be, Mel does so with intention. Mel hides her teeth to lure you closer. She doesn't pretend she doesn't have them; she waits until you're in range before you catch a glimpse of them.

And by then, well. It's too late.

You realize this over dinner, as she laments about what art she'd like from you and she's adamant about not censoring you.

(You're known for you controversy; whether in your physical art, your poetry, or music. Once pulled to the light of the Upper City, you refused to let them defang you. Where Jayce pretends he doesn't have teeth, you bare yours proudly, and sometimes wish you could tear the tender parts of Piltover open.

You strive to do it with your art. And while applauded in some vague capacity, you are also kept on a tight leash. Your patrons are warily supportive of you. Your commissions are strict. You're treated the way you think a wild animal is; with utmost care and fear and awe.)

In fact, her only rule for you, is to not hold back.

Which, given the growing tension between the Upper and Lower Cities, you realize this cannot only be from the goodness of her heart or for the integrity of art but—

You tilt your head and consider her.

"Am I a political move, Mel?"

She smiles in that enigmatic way of hers, her teeth flash, "isn't all art?"

You narrow your eyes, "perhaps. I wonder of it's effectiveness when it's employed by the people it often critiques." You lift your chin and pretend to be hurt—or perhaps, mask your hurt within dramatics to make it seem ironic, "and here I thought you really liked me—"

"I do." Mel assures, "I've admired you a great deal from afar. And getting to know you, your mind, it's—" she considers her words, "it's been nothing short of mesmerizing. Astonishing."

She sounds sincere. But you wonder if she always sounds that way.

She can tell she hasn't convinced you because you've never been able to mask your emotions well, so she leans forward and says, "unfortunately, everything I do is a political move, whether I'd like it to be or not. Both can be true—" she says, "I can adore you. And I can also need you to make a public point, wield you like my own elegant weapon."

"Artists make for disobedient weapons, usually." You say.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "True." And then she lowers her voice, looks at you through the fan of her dark lashes in such a way that seizes you—arrests you, holds you right there, caught, in her heady gaze;

"But I don't need you to be obedient."

"I can never tell if you're trying to seduce me or persuade me." You blurt out, the words running from your mouth like a rabbit from a wolf. Your desire bursts from you like frightened birds taking to flight, like most of what you feel does, all of it spilling out of you in a gush of rawness.

She stands gracefully and again, you think of how you'd draw her—how you'd capture her in a poem or a song. The sharp curve of her waist, the predatory grace she carries effortlessly. You think her song is a croon from the deep part of your chest. You think her poem looks like an hourglass on the page and she slips from your fingers as easy as time does, too.

She rounds the small table to your side.

You look up at her. Your heart kicks up into a quick dance.

She brings the back of her knuckle to your jaw and gently—with all the carefulness in the world, strokes you.

(She touches you the way one does a bird, as if they know it's fragile. Perhaps as if they know it might fly away.

Or maybe she touches you the way one does an animal they're not sure of; will you bite? Will you lean into the touch?)

"Both can be true." She finally answers.

When she kisses you, it's fiercer than you're expecting; a lightning strike, a blow to the heart.

Your teeth come up against hers.

She gasps when you drag her further down to you, greedier than she's ever known, meeting her fierceness with your own, like the clashing of blades, or the destruction of stars.

And you think, if you don't want obedience, then I'll show you.

I'll show you.

***

"What are you playing at?"

Jayce's voice is a vicious little hush in the caverns of the council chambers. Mel has just left you after peaking over your shoulder to view the preliminary sketches.

You lift your head and blink up at Jayce slowly, dragging yourself from your sketch; from your world of art.

(It sets his teeth to grinding because Viktor makes that same look, when he's so deep into his work and Jayce disturbs him. It's a face he finds endearing on both of you, unfortunately. He imagines your minds are in heaven and he's selfish enough to drag you both back down to earth.)

"What do you mean? For the art piece?" You ask, glancing down at your lap, at the series of gestures and lines that you've been lost in. Maybe you're feigning innocence a little. But you want him to say it, if he's going to pick this fight.

Jayce's eyes flash like the too-hot part of the flame.

You have to bite back a smile.

Come on, you think wildly, say it. Let's fight. Here in the chambers, where you try so hard to be their golden boy.

"What are you trying to get out of Mel?" He asks and it makes you laugh outright, because he's dancing around what he really wants to ask.

Your laugh echoes in the hall, bouncing off all this marble and gold. It's out of place here, too loud, too free.

"The better question is what she's trying to get out of me." You say, "do you think I have it in me to manipulate the Mel Medarda?"

He goes quiet at that.

"Are you doing this to get back at me?" He asks after a moment and it's so close to what he wants to ask, so close to what he really wants to talk about.

"She kissed me first." You answer. "Have you had this conversation with her?"

You can tell by the shadow of uncertainty that passes over his face that he hasn't. You stand, easily setting your sketches and pencils aside, and drift nearer to him.

"Oh," you hum, "you didn't know. She didn't mention some plan of seduction to you? Maybe she really does like me."

He rounds on you so sharply that you are genuinely surprised. You gasp when your back hits the wall and he's got you caged in, a snarl on his lips and you finally get to see those teeth of his—

"You just always have to push me, don't you? In all the years I've known you, you've only ever tried to get under my skin. I tried so hard, for so long, for Viktor's sake to get along with you." He says lowly and distantly, you think, does he cage in Mel like this? With his big arms and broad chest? Or does she have him on a tight leash, underneath her?

"This time, I didn't mean it. Surely, you understand—" you say slyly, "when she comes onto you like that, all honey-voiced and half-lidded. She's hard to resist, isn't she?"

The grip he has on your biceps tightens to a point of pain—he'll bruise you. You'll be tender there, where his big hands gripped you, and it only makes you smile.

"Stop it." He snaps.

But you can't help yourself now, because once you've got something between your teeth, you've never been able to let it go;

"I just want to know if she kisses me the same way she kisses you? Does she play nice with you? She's quite fierce with me—"

When Jayce kisses you, it's a crush of aggression.

You laugh into his mouth wildly as he shoves you harder against the wall, teeth mean in the tender part of your bottom lip so that your laughter melts into a groan of pain. Of pleasure.

You claw at his back and wonder if Mel does, too.

You fight and hiss and snarl, show him your teeth when he sinks his into the fluttering pulse at your throat. You try to draw blood. You think he tries to bruise.

And well, you always wanted to see his teeth—

Just never thought you'd end up with a ring of their mark on your neck.

***

You're not really sleeping—nights are long. Days are longer. You're in the studio too much. This art piece is strangling you, wrestling with you and you're losing. Your lovers are strange, demanding types. Jayce comes to you at his lowest, and Mel at her highest. She licks the wounds Jayce leaves on you, purrs about how good you're being for her, goads you into putting up more of a fight that she likes to quell. She asks, have I stolen your bite? Are you going soft on me? Until you try to wrestle with her, too.

Mel subdues you the way snakes do—constricts and tightens and puts all that pressure on you until you just burst.

Until you go slack in her grip.

Jayce takes his anger out on you and he's not so cunning or delicate as her. You think Jayce struggles with you the way he must with his hammers, with high heat and all his strength.

Your art is starting to look like pieces of them; brutal and brilliant and cunning and beautiful. Tricky to capture, even more difficult to mesh together.

You're covered in paint when Viktor comes to visit you, frustrated with the canvas in front of you, which you think you'll end up scrapping again.

(This is the fourth one. You've been trying to fit all the components and pieces together but none of it's working, all of it's a mess. Splintered apart on the canvas. It looks like a disaster on the page.)

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asks as he comes to stand behind you. He gazes at the canvas n front of you.

You sigh heavily. "Have you?" You return.

He snorts at that, "No. I'm coming from the lab and thought I'd check on you—Mel mentioned you were here."

He pauses and then, "that you'd been here. For awhile now."

You hear the layers in his voice; the worry, but then the—

Irritation? Disdain?

"Are you asking me to dinner?" You say instead, dashing the canvas with a sudden great, horrible X. It's your meager attempt at some sort of joke or flirting, but your voice is perhaps too thin for it. You stare at your canvas, now dripping with that great X, the paint slipping down and marring it further.

When you turn to look at Viktor, he regards you warily. He glances at the canvas you've just ruined, and then back to your face.

He takes in your appearance; your disheveled hair and the paint all over your clothes and skin. And then his eyes skip down to your throat, to your arms. All marked up and bruised, unhidden and worn proudly here, in the safety of your art studio.

"Should I be concerned?" Viktor asks instead and you've always loved his bluntness. His lack of tact is like coming home. It's a relief, when you're constantly with Mel and Jayce lately, who talk in riddles and niceties and flowered language that hides their intentions or feelings.

There is a bitterness in Viktor's voice that you know well, too.

"About?" You prod.

"I'm no fool." Viktor answers, "I know you're sleeping with Councilor Medarda."

"Is that all you know?" You return, tilting your head.

"Is there more to know?" Viktor asks, eyeing you.

"Jayce hasn't said anything?"

You watch a strange shadow pass over Viktor's face as he slowly comes to the natural conclusion that you've lead him to. He's right, he is no fool. And then you watch his eyes catch fire, catch jealousy.

"I warned you—" he starts, suddenly.

"And I told you, it's good for the art—" You joke.

"Obviously it isn't!" He snaps, gesturing to the canvas behind you, ruined and glaring at your back. And then he heaves out a rough, agitated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think of consequences?" He demands.

"Sure," You say, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know, they are my colleagues. What am I supposed to do if—?!"

You laugh at that, enough that it startles him out of his beginning tirade. He comes up short and his shoulders bunch with tension as he glares at you.

"Is something funny?" He hisses.

"Your colleagues?" You repeat, "that's all they are to you?"

"Well—yes, technically." He stumbles on his words here.

"Are you jealous, Viktor?" You ask. "You don't have to be."

"I'm not jealous—" He refutes, even as his cheeks grow ruddy. And for a moment, you could be twelve with him again, his face flush as he looks at you after you'd kissed him for the first time because he'd never kissed anyone before. Or twenty-two and drunk, kissing one night under the stars when you felt so lost and disorientated in the Upper City—just wanted to feel like yourself again.

Or now, at thirty-two, staring at the man you've loved your entire life and whatever mess you've made out of everything.

You reach out and touch his cheek, glowing with color, and at first he winces away, but when you persist, he relaxes. He presses his cheek to your open palm and looks at you; raw and frank and so Viktor that you can't help the faint smile that touches your lips. Even as he frowns at you.

"What are you meddling with?" Viktor murmurs, turning his face into your cupped hand. You feel the faint brush of his lips, a little dry, and soft. Warm.

"Apparently our political landscape." You respond and that at least gets a laugh from him. You feel it against you and some spark shimmers through you, shudders and opens itself to you.

(Your desire for Viktor is something always with you, ambient, perhaps dormant, that always resurfaces like the great fins of some horrible, huge monster in dark waters. Your desire for Viktor is a symptom of your love. You've never know what to call it except that, except his.)

"Have I upset you?" You ask now as his laughter fades, and with it his amusement.

He sighs deeply and you feel his breath against your skin. You draw nearer. He leans back onto his crutch only slightly, only for a moment, before he allows you further into his space.

"I don't—" He struggles for the words before admitting, "yes, somewhat. For some reason."

"Are you feeling neglected?" You ask and try very hard to keep your amusement out of your voice, lest you irritate him further. He's always had a jealous streak in him, even as kids. If you made another friend, he would pout until you draped yourself over him and showered him in your attention again.

Even your previous relationships had bred some sort of jealousy in him; he's never liked any of your partners.

(It's so endearing to you that you have to tuck your teeth into your own lip and hum a little.)

You lean towards him, ducking your head so that your nose dips to brush against the line of his jaw. You feel his body shudder more than you see it. His breath goes tight. Your eyes flicker, a flash in the sun-spun light of your art studio;

"Do you want me to kiss you the way Jayce kisses me?" You murmur, your lips hovering over his. You watch his face gutter, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath goes shallow.

"Or would you prefer Mel?" You murmur, just before you close the distance and kiss him with a certain fierceness, a meanness that you don't usually have with him. He stumbles back a little with the force of it and your hand that had been holding his cheek, slips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

A groan startles out of him when you tighten your hand into a fist and pull.

You part from the kiss, panting a little, and he looks down at you, eyes molten gold and burning.

You're about to kiss him again, when he murmurs, "I want—" he swallows hard, "I want you to kiss me the way you do—I want—"

You press back into him instantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought, with the notion that his desire, his jealousy—

You kiss him like you always have, overeager and desperate and messy. You urge him backwards, towards your workbench, all cluttered with paints. His crutch clatters against the ground uselessly as you grab for each other. You knock over a jar of brushes half-haphazardly placed on the floor.

You're overwhelmed with the thought that his jealousy might've been for you, too.

When he braces his hand against your work bench, he knocks over a cup of paint. You laugh into his mouth as you paw at his stupid, perfectly buttoned vest. When he touches you again, he stains you blue—and later red and violet. Burnished gold and paint so silver it makes the stars look dull.

A mess, he tsks, impossibly fond, as he looks at you and himself and the work space.

At all that you'd done.

***

"You've been pulling strings," Mel says as you lay in her lap, letting her pet and stroke you. Her fingers dance over the ridge of your brow.

You blink up at her slowly, eyes fluttering. "Shouldn't that be my line?" You ask.

"I'm not naive to the way you've been pulling our strings." She muses, fingers tumbling into your hair. She's gentle here, careful as she cards her way through your hair, her fingers nimble.

"Pulling strings is a far too sophisticated thing to call it." You snort and lean into her touch like a cat, preening a little.

"What would you call it?" Mel asks and the smile she wears is less of a mystery to you now, and you can tell there's a fondness to it.

(She does really like you—she is really being sincere, you've learned.)

You think about this for a long moment; you toy with saying a fucking mess. Or digging my own grave. But neither feel quite so full—while true, in many ways, there leaves little room for—

Well, this.

The way she holds you. The cat's curl of her smile, pleased and mischievous. Her fingers, gentle and coaxing, urging you to unfurl and bloom.

Or Viktor's rasping laugh that you can pull out of him. The fondness you hold for him like a pearl held inside a clam, growing and glowing. The way you drape yourself all over him, and he accepts it as easy as the day accepts the sun, or the night accepts the moon into its skies.

And even Jayce and the strangled back-and-forth that the two of you dance; it's still yours. It's still his. And the way he cups your cheek admist the violence or how he let's no one speak ill of you in front of him.

(Or the way Jayce and Viktor's minds work together, or how tactical Jayce and Mel can be; sharpened like daggers and twice as pretty. Or the creativity you pull out of Mel, allowing her to see the world like a boundless piece of art. Or the way Viktor's science influences your art; how your art influences his science. The fierceness you bring out in Jayce—the passion he brings out in you.)

It doesn't quite account for all the parts that make you burn and grow and shake out your great, big wings to fly.

Finally, you say, "it feels like I'm trying to find the melodies and harmonies and how they mesh—or the composition of a painting, or the feeling of a poem, but some of the words are still missing. It feels like when I chase art and try to break it open, to reveal what it wants me to learn—or show me."

"Have you figured it out yet?" She asks and she's genuinely curious, almost quiet in her desire to know.

At that, the door creaks open and there are several hushed whispers before Jayce suddenly strides into the room with all the false confidence in the world. Viktor looks sheepish behind him.

You sit up sharply, trying to detangle yourself from Mel.

"I told you they were here—" Viktor hisses to him, "and we shouldn't—we shouldn't be here."

Jayce isn't listening, though, and he's clearly inflating himself to get out, "I've come on important business of the council."

Mel raises her brows and throws you a sideways glance. She then says, "then come in, Councilor, since it's so important that you've come to my personal quarters. Unannounced."

Jayce at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish now, too. You can't help the laugh that springs out of you.

He throws you a dark look before clearing his throat.

"Councilor Haskel and Salo are seeking to strike down the art deal." Jayce announces and your heart drops a little, sinks in your chest.

You look at Mel. She purposefully keeps her face a mask of coolness. She rolls her shoulder briefly, which is your only tell of irritation or concern.

"Come in, Jayce." Mel finally says, "and you, too, Viktor. Shut the door behind you."

Both wander into the space and it's such a surreal moment, all four of you, for once, in the same room, that you can't help but laugh again.

Mel sighs in a way as if to say, I suppose this would happen eventually.

Jayce and Viktor can't quite look anyone in the eye and they both take uneasy seats int he living room.

Again, you feel like laughing—you're not sure what all the trepidation is for. Each of them have you seen you naked; you have seen them naked.

"What's their angle?" Mel asks, ignoring both Jayce and Viktor's shyness.

Jayce clears his throat, "they don't think it's worthwhile to support an artist from the Undercity at this time."

You wince and Jayce adds, "their words, not mine."

"Well, that won't do." Mel tsks and she suddenly moves to stand, graceful as ever, her robes trailing in a wave of silk and the smell of lillies. She likes to pace when she's thinking, and she pads over the window, to look out at the city.

Eventually, she says, "we'll need a grander plan. Something they can't refuse."

"What are you thinking?" Jayce asks.

She turns and all around her, she's doused in gold light, glowing in the evening sun as if she was born to it. "Perhaps combining some science with it." Now she looks at Viktor, "something symbolic to the current advancements with Hextech, perhaps."

Viktor looks at you, then back at Mel, "I can do that."

"Jayce, I need you to talk to the other Councilors and be sure they're not swayed by Haskel or Salo." She then adds, "and I want more publicity around it—and around our artist and scientist."

Our artist.

Our scientist.

"Ah—" Viktor starts, "I don't want to be in the public eye."

Our, our, our.

"It'll put pressure on Haskel and Salo if the people are behind you both, too." Mel presses gently, though her gaze has softened on him; she's sympathetic to his desires.

To assure him, you chirp, "I can do all the talking."

"Not sure that's our best idea." Jayce remarks.

"I am certain I can name several worse ideas of ours." You quip without thinking, and then you toss one of Mel's throw pillows at him; the beautifully embroidered one that's likely far too expensive and made from the rarest threads.

It hits him with a dull thud. And for a moment, he's shocked. The room is silent.

Still, your heart sings our, our, our.

But then Viktor snorts, before breaking out into his low, soft chuckle. And then the twinkle of Mel's giggles, coupled with your own laughter that bursts from your chest like a bird taking to flight.

And Jayce watches a moment, all of you laugh and smile, and if you could paint him in this moment, you would—

A little awe-struck. Tender around the edges, burnished gold. Breath stolen from him.

(Oh, he does really like you, too. All of you.)

But then laughter rumbles from him, too. And the tension slips from all of you, drains from your bodies with each bubbling sound.

And all of them together—finally together—are the melody you've been looking for, the words you couldn't place. The color on the canvas that finally brings it all together.

It's all the broken pieces like a mosaic, finally put together to create something whole.

And it's all ours, you think, the sun a flare of light and beauty bursting through the room, bathing all of your favorite people in it's gold and glory;

It's all ours.

[thatdesigirl17]

sweater weather

bsf!mattheo riddle x fem!reader

based on the song sweater weather by the neighbourhood

warnings: language, smoking, smut, pinv, soft!mattheo

Mattheo led Y/N through the castle's corridors, ‘Matty, where are we going?’ It was way past curfew and her best friend’s persistent knocks on her dorm room disturbed her sleep. Y/N was sleepy and grumpy. ‘You’ll see, just a couple more minutes, Y/N.’, he answered as he turned around a corner. ‘I swear to Merlin Matty, just tell me already. I’m missing my sleep for this!’, she said. ‘Keep your voice down, it’s past curfew. And don’t act like you can’t lose a little sleep over me.’, he said, even his voice was smug which made Y/N roll her eyes. 

After walking out of the castle, to the Black Lake, Mattheo stopped, not letting go of her hand yet. ‘Okay we’re here.’, he said as he turned to face her. ‘What? Care to tell me why the fuck did you bring me out near the black lake in the middle of the night? While I was asleep!’, she said, looking around and not finding anything special. ‘God, you are so grumpy when you are sleepy and oblivious.’, he remarked, smirking, which further annoyed Y/N. She glared at him, tilting her head slightly. Mattheo seemed to get her message as he continued, ‘Okay, look.’ 

She turned to see where he had gestured. On the edge of the lake, a boat was sitting. ‘That’s unusual, they don’t have boats lying around the lake.’, she said, turning again to face him. ‘Come on.’, he said prompting her to follow him to the boat as he got in and then helped her in. As they sat on two separate ledges on the boat, facing each other, Y/N noticed something lying on the floor of the boat in between, ‘What’s this?’

‘Remember last week, when you made me watch that muggle animated film you loved so much?’, Mattheo asked as he set the boat afloat in the waters of the Black Lake. The water shimmering under the light of the full moon, casting a perfect glow. ‘Tangled?’, she asked, nodding. ‘Yeah, and how you’ve always loved the scene with the floating lights?’, he said, his eyes sparkling. ‘No you didn’t!’, she said excitedly, any trace of sleep vanishing from her body. Mattheo shrugged and grinned with pride. Y/N huffed in surprise and quickly took the paper lantern that was on the floor. ‘Oh my god, Matty! It’s perfect!’, she chimed, her eyes widening in excitement. He smiled looking at her reaction as they reached the middle of the lake. He helped her get the lantern ready, as he fished out his lighter from the pocket, ‘Wanna do the honours, love?’ She grinned taking the lighter from his hands and lighting the inflammable piece below the lantern to fill it up with hot air as Mattheo carefully held the rest of the lantern up. Once it was filled, they both slowly let it go. The lantern glided in the night sky, illuminating the both of them further in the warm glow. Y/N looked up, eyes focused on the lantern as it floated in the night sky, the sight enough to make her smile. Mattheo, on the other hand, looked at Y/N the warm glow making her look ethereal in his eyes. 

Y/N looked at him as she smiled and slowly sat beside him, pulling in a hug. ‘Thank you so much, Matty, you didn’t have to do that. But I’m so glad you did. This is the best moment of my life.’, she said, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. ‘I’d do anything for you, Y/N.’, he said, his voice low, as he kissed her forehead. He let one of his arms remain wrapped around her as she leaned in, settling in his comfortable embrace, her eyes returning to the lantern afloat in the sky. 

Mattheo whipped out a joint from his pocket, placing it between his lips and lighting it. He took a drag, exhaling as the smoke surrounded them. He leant back slightly, his eyes looking up and taking in the night sky. He took another drag and passed it on to Y/N. He watched as she placed the joint in between her lips, taking a drag and then exhaling.

They smoked in comfortable silence, the drug slowly starting to take its effect. ‘Y/N?’, Mattheo called out, looking down at her. She turned to look at him, her chin resting on his shoulder. The close proximity made his eyes wander to her lips for a moment, as he continued, ‘I want to tell you something.’ ‘What is it?’, she asks, a lazy smile spreading across her face. Mattheo searches her eyes as he gathers the courage, and just as he’s about to speak, the rain starts pouring down, heavily, drowning them. Y/N squeals as they quickly take the boat back to the edge. They get out of the boat quickly and run towards the castle, holding each other's hands as they giggle. As they reach the covered space, their footsteps click, the water trickling down them. They run a hand through their hair which sticks to their forehead. 

‘Who’s there?’, a voice disturbs them, the soft glow of a wand visible around the corner as Mattheo takes Y/N’s hand and leads them behind a pillar, shielding them from the prefect making their rounds. 

Mattheo turns his head, looking at the light slowly travelling away from them as his back is pressed to the pillar. He sighs and turns his head, looking at Y/N. 

His eyes roam around her, taking in the sight in front of him. Y/N, with her wet hair, her jumper and shorts clinging to her skin and her hand still intertwined with his. His eyes flicker back to her face, the water droplets trickling down her soft skin. He holds her gaze as he takes in what her eyes are trying to say to him. She knows what he’s thinking about. His eyes flicker down to a droplet of water that flows down her lower lip, as she parts them slightly, breathing. The sight along with his high senses makes him lose all the control he has, giving him a newfound courage. In a blink’s time, his hand snakes around her waist as the goosebumps start to raise on their skins and her breath is taken away as he crashes his lips onto hers. 

Their lips move in sync, dancing to a perfect rhythm as they fit against each other perfectly. She pulls him by his neck, deepening the kiss as his other hand goes up to the base of her neck. They pull away breathing heavily, still pressed against each other. ‘My dorm.’, he whispers as she nods. He quickly turns them, his hand resting on her waist as they walk hurriedly to his dorm.

‘What about others?’, she asks as they near his dorm, referring to his dorm mates. ‘Just us, love. They’re out.’, he says as he opens the door and shuts it, locking it and pressing her to the door. He kisses her hungrily and she returns it with just as much fervour. He starts kissing down her jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses on the already wet skin as he trails down her neck, biting and sucking marking her. A shiver runs down her spine as he tastes her skin, the feeling similar to any addiction for the both of them. 

The fire trickles in the fireplace keeping the inside warm while the rain continues to cast down outside. They walk to the bed, kissing any part of the skin they can find. Mattheo slowly pulls back, his fingers toying with the hem of her sweater as he pulls it above her head, revealing more of her. ‘No shirt, good girl.’, he remarks, his eyes drinking the sight of her, standing bare in front of him. His hands slowly rake up her body, exploring the foreign curves, mapping them out. He feels her shudder against him. He pulls her closer, one of his hands tangling in her hair as he leans in closer. ‘You feel cold, love? Lemme help with that.’, he whispers as his thumb traces her lower lip. She parts them giving access to his thumb as she sucks on them. ‘You like the taste of that?’, he teases, a smirk gracing his lips. 

He pulls back, taking off his jumper and pulls her back in. Their skin pressed against each other, providing the warmth they both desperately searched for as their lips met again. Y/N unzips his pants and pulls them down as Mattheo gets rid of them. He lays her down on the bed, his body hovering above hers. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of her shorts and pulls it down, now leaving her completely bare before him. He rests his forehead against her, his eyelashes tickling her skin, ‘Tell me you want this Y/N.’ She brings her hand, cupping his cheek, caressing it, ‘I want this, Mattheo. I want you.’ 

He captures her lips in a bruising kiss, as he slowly enters her, a moan eliciting from her lips. Her warm walls welcome his hard length, engulfing him and squeezing him. ‘Fuck, you feel so much better than imagined.’, he groans as he slowly starts moving. Y/N breathes heavily, moaning and gasping with every thrust as Mattheo splits her apart. She feels so full of him, her mind clouded by the feeling of him. She wraps her legs around his waist, heels digging into his skin, pushing him deeper in her. ‘Fuck, you’re divine.’, he moans as he picks up the pace, fucking her hard. He brought her hand up, intertwining their fingers as he pressed a kiss to the back of it. His movements drive her crazy as she shuts her eyes relishing in the pleasure. Mattheo groans at the sight, redoubling his efforts, craving to increase the noises she makes. His hand moves in between them, rubbing circles on her clit, making her clench around him and moaning even louder. ‘Mattheo, I-‘, she gasps. ‘I know baby, come for me. I’ve got you.’, he encourages her as she moans loudly cumming on him. He continues his ministrations prolonging her high and chasing his release as he buries himself inside her, moaning as he comes in her. He pulls out and lays beside her, pulling her into his embrace, and keeping her warm. ‘That was fucking incredible.’, he says kissing her forehead. ‘You’re fucking incredible.’, she breathes out, smiling up at him. He smiles back, his hand tracing soft patterns on her skin, ‘I love you, Y/N. I have for a while now.’ Her smile widens as a blush creeps up on her cheeks, ‘I love you too, Mattheo.’

[rite-the-wrongs]

*chugs a full half and half Monster Rehab*

So, you know how Darkseid is looking for the Anti-Life Equation? Well, Danny and the other Halfas are kinda Anti-Alive. Idk, my mind is going to how Thanos is trying to impress Lady Death in the weirdest ways possible (like killing half the universe or making her side piece immortal), and changing the names to Darkseid and Danny.

Darkseid attacking the earth was far from a rare occurrence. Usually his attacks were centered on the Justice League, but around every 1 out of 5 times he would just show up on a regular Tuesday with his army pouring through various Boom Tubes in every major city.

This wasn’t even the first time Darkseid had attacked like this since Danny had joined the League. The only difference was that instead of flying to Fawcett City to help Captain Marvel fight the invaders there, Danny had been in Gotham helping Bats and Diana with an artifact smuggling ring. The two of them immediately got in the Bat-Plane and headed towards Metropolis as fast as they could and Danny had been dragged along.

Darkseid was already holding Superman by the neck when they flew overhead. Diana jumped out to help Supergirl fight some messed up guy in a pink robe while the two Superboys were beating up an old lady. Batman gained Darkseid’s attention by firing missiles at the space tyrant which froze him to the ground and knocked the struggling Superman from his grip.

Darkseid’s glare followed the plane as it flew overhead. Then it started actually following as his Omega Beams burst forward.

“Hang on!” Phantom yelled, grabbing ahold of Batman and turning them both intangible just as the beams destroyed the plane around them.

He gently flew Bats on the ground. Bats did his customary grunt of approval he gave out if you saved him from certain death and ran to help the two heroines take out cloak man as Danny flew over to help take down the grandma. A few other heroes were focusing on keeping the Parademons flooding through the portal contained. Danny recognized a few, mainly Steel, Booster Gold, and Black Lightning, but there were even more that he didn’t.

He turned back to his own fight just in time to avoid getting hit by the old lady’s baton.

“Sorry, Grandma!” Phantom smirked, phasing through the attack. “Any chance I can let you pinch my cheeks and we call it a day?”

“Temping, porkchop, but an old lady needs her hobbies. And conquering planets is one of Granny’s favorites,” the old lady laughed swinging at him a few more times, only for each blow to pass through him like the last.

“Well, next time we’ll just invite you to bingo night,” Danny remarked, grabbing her wrist on the last blow and twisting it behind her back. The older Superboy tackled her through the Halfa as the younger one flew up high and plummeted feet first into her head, knocking Granny out.

The fighting seemed to be winding down. Diana had the guy in the pink robe tied up in her lasso while Batman ran over to help the Atom close the Boom Tube and Supergirl flew over to help her cousin fight Darkseid.

The only fight that was still going strong was Superman and Darkseid. Neither Titan was willing to bow to the other. Supergirl flew in between them, snapping Darkseid’s head to the side with a well placed kick. The space tyrant staggered for a moment before grabbing her leg and throwing her at Superman. The two Kryptonians fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs as Darkseid charged up his Omega Beams.

Danny didn’t even think. One second he was floating next to Jon and the next he had teleported in between the ruler of Apokolips and the two Kryptonians. He barely managed to throw up a shield in time. The Omega Beams shook the shield and kicked up dust around it, but Phantom gritted his teeth and managed to keep it steady. He only let the shield finally fall once the dust had settled.

“Impressive, child. Not even a Lantern Ring can shield from my Omega Beams. What are you?”

“You know, just a dead guy who doesn’t really know how to stay dead,” Danny chatted, keeping Darkseid’s attention on him. The portal was directly behind the tyrant. Wonder Woman and the Superboys threw their respective bad guys back through the portal.

“How can you be both dead and alive?” Darkseid asked. If he was confused, he didn’t let it show. Batman gestured at the two Supers behind Danny. They gave him a small nod and looked at the tyrant. Danny raised a hand to stop them.

“Back everyone up and cover your ears,” Danny whispered under his breath at a level only the four supers could hear. The Superboys quickly got everyone away from the portal while Superman and Supergirl gave him looks of confusion, but eventually relented. The entire time Darkseid’s attention was on Danny and Danny alone.

“Guess I’m just that stubborn,” Danny chuckled at the dictator. “I died, it didn’t fully stick, now here I am as a ghost.”

“Breathtaking.”

“You know what else is breathtaking?” Danny sucked in as much air as he could, not that he really needed it, and released a wail.

At once, all windows on the street shattered. Everyone covered their ears and the heart breaking cry sweep through the area. The Supers all collapsed to their knees, the sound even worse for those with super hearing. Tears threatened to spill from everyone’s eyes. Everyone but Darkseid.

The Dictator of Apokolips seemed almost stunned. Blood streamed from his nose and probably his ears, though those were hidden in his helmet. The sound waves slammed into him and he did nothing to fight back as the waves set him careening head over heels back towards the portal.

Darkseid barely managed to grab the edge of the portal and the wail stopped and Danny fell to his knees. White rings flickered around him and started to change him back into Fenton, but he managed to stop them before anyone could who wasn’t already looking could see. And the only one looking was Darkseid.

“Someone close the portal!” Batman yelled. All of the heroes staggered to their feet and tried to run to the Mother Box as Darkseid just stares at Phantom.

“Such beautiful cries of pain,” Darkseid muttered. His gaze never left the exhausted Phantom. He realized almost too late that the heroes were going for the Mother Box. He charged up his Omega Beams and shot them at the closest hero, Wonder Woman. She managed to ricochet them off her bracelets, but the beams kept coming back for her. The other heroes had to back up in fear of getting hit or getting in the Amazonian’s way.

Suddenly, a yellow blur swept through the area, knocking Diana out of the way are replacing her with an unconscious Parademon. A figure, this one white and red, landed on the Mother Box, destroying the device. Finally, a red blur ran in and punched Darkseid in the face, sending the tyrant careening through the closing portal.

“Sorry we’re late.” Flash chuckled, as a frustrated Kid Flash and Impulse stopped behind him. “What’d we miss?”

A series of groans ripped through the heroes as they just sat down and waited for the Javelin to get there for med evac.

—————————————————————————

You’d think Danny’s first time fighting Darkseid would be a bigger deal, but it was honestly not as big of a deal as everyone made it out to be. Danny had been fighting genocidal inter-dimensional tyrants since he was 14. What was one genocidal space tyrant making the list?

Batman apparently didn’t think it no big deal, though, if the worried version of the patented Bat-glare and Bat-grunt were anything to go off of. It had been a few days since the fight and the Bat had finally managed to wrangle everyone who had been involved in the Metropolis fight to the Watchtower for a debrief.

The meeting was supposed to start five minutes ago, but only the Flash was still missing. Danny, Conner, and Kara had been making jokes about it to a groaning Kid Flash and a pouting Impulse when the Boom Tube opened.

Everyone jumped to the ready. Batman pulled out a Batarang. Wonder Woman readied her lasso. Superman, Super girl, and the younger Superboy all started floating while their eyes glowed red. The older Superboy got into a fighting stance that Booster Gold quickly copied. The Atom shrank. Black Lightning’s hands sparked with electricity while Danny’s hands glowed with ectoplasm. The two speedsters vibrated in place.

They were ready for anything to come through. Except for a box of chocolates, a bouquet of roses, and a severed head of a yellow, bald alien. As quickly as it opened, the portal closed again. Kid Flashes summed it up best.

“What the fuck?” The yellow speedster yelled.

“Is that-“ Diana piped up, only for Superman to interrupt.

“It’s Mongul,” the Man of Steel growled.

“Who would send a severed warlord’s head with a bunch of romantic gifts?” The Atom piped up from where he stood on Booster’s shoulder.

“Well if it’s not poisoned, dibs on the chocolate,” Impulse gave a nervous laugh.

Batman and Black Lightning approached the table. Batman took a device of his belt and scanned the head then chocolate, each one coming back clean. Lightning picked up the bouquet and found a note.

“To Phantom,” he read out loud. “Your screams of agony resonated through my very being. You are the answer to my billion year search for the Anti-Life Equation. Join me and together we can enslave the universe to our will. Darkseid.”

The room fell into silence. Everyone had various looks of disgust on their face. The silence was eventually broken by Danny groaning and rubbing his eyes with his palms.

“Why do I only attract fruitloops?” He yelled up to the ceiling.

“GUYS!” A red blur yelled as he burst into the room. Flash had finally arrived. “I saw Desaad buying flowers in central city! And then Granny Goodness showed up with a box of chocolates and they Boom Tubed away! Hey, they actually looked a bit like these. Holy shit! Is that Mongul?”

Black Lightning just handed the Scarlet Speedster the note. Flash summed it up the best.

“What the fuck?”

Idk, let me know if I got to continue.

[makeyoumine69]

Memory Reboot

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

SUMMARY: You work at P&P, and one day you come into Bateman's office and witness his breakdown. Your attempts to comfort him only increase his obsession with you, and without realizing it, you push this man to his limits. The outburst that finds you both in a club called the Tunnel will change your lives forever and irrevocably.

CONTAINS: Smut, angst, obsessive behavior, desperate-touch-starved Patrick, masturbating, oral sex (reader receiving), aggressive foreplay, dirty talk, body worship, teasing, biting, drug usage, pet names.

WORDS: 3k

SONG REC: VØJ, Narvent - Memory Reboot

A/N: This is for my dear @iron-flavored-lipgloss! It was such a pleasure for me to write this for you! Enjoy!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [EDIT]

Patrick Bateman. What kind of a mess was this man? Chaotic, impulsive, pathetic? Or all of the above?

Smirking, you went to his office to deliver some documents you needed him to sign, but when you got there, you noticed that Jean — his lovely blonde assistant — was absent and the door to his office was suspiciously half open. It was strange, to say the least, but you just shrugged your shoulders and stood there for a while when you heard a loud thud coming through the door — the sound almost made you jump in surprise. 'What the hell?' You wondered as you approached the door, turning around to see if Jean was coming, but there was no sign of her. With measured steps you got closer to the hole in the open door and just peeked in out of curiosity, but the scene you saw was not what you expected — Bateman, all flushed and covered in sweat, was storming around his office, his hands desperately fumbling with his tie as if it was choking him.

Your reaction was quick, and you didn't even notice as you opened the door and stepped inside. "Bateman? Are you okay?"

The man stopped shaking the moment he heard your voice and leaned down on his desk. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to get your signature on some of my docs when I heard you crying,” you grinned, watching his face go pale. "What's wrong, Bateman? Did you miss your facial?" The way he balled his hands made you laugh. "But really, did something happen?"

"Yes," Patrick replied, looking at you and running his hand through his disheveled hair. "I mean...no...nothing happened…" You saw his lips tremble a little each time he spoke. "Gimme the docs."

Frowning in confusion, you pulled out a napkin and handed it to him instead, meeting his scornful gaze. "You're sweating…” You placed the white piece of cloth on his desk, only now noticing a small jar that you were sure was full of pills. "Maybe I should ask Jean to bring you some coffee? You look really sick..."

"No!" Bateman suddenly blurted out, pointing his finger at you. "I asked Jean to take the day off..."

"Hey, hey, relax," you raised your hands defensively. "Relax, I was just trying to help."

Slowly, you placed the folder of documents on his wooden desk, which he grabbed almost immediately, and your hands touched for a brief moment, and Bateman didn't flinch, and neither did you. 

"Take a seat." Patrick muttered incoherently.

"What?"

"Sit," he repeated irritably. "And wait."

His tumultuous behavior actually frightened you, but you did as he said and sat down in the chair opposite him. ‘My God, he really is mental, Tim was right.’

"What are these pills? Some vitamins?" You tried to keep the conversation alive, not even knowing why, as you watched his long, thin fingers floating across the pages.

Your question made him stop and look up at you. "That's none of your business, (y/n). I asked you to sit and wait, not ask me stupid questions."

‘Why does he look so cute when he's so angry?’ The thought brought a smile to your face, but then you zipped up your mouth theatrically and Bateman's office went silent for a while. And you used it to admire his perfect jawline, even though his brown hair was messy now, it looked so inviting to touch anyway.

"Is that all?" Bateman asked suddenly, arching his eyebrows and interrupting your train of thought.

"Uh, what?"

A prominent line appeared on Patrick's forehead — a testament to his annoyance. "Are you deaf or something?"

"Lemme see them," you pointed at the documents. "I want to make sure you put your cute sign on every page." Your playful tone made the line between Patrick's eyebrows even more noticeable. "I don't want to come back here."

Bateman didn't even try to jab back, his face still pale and sweaty, his eyes nothing but dark voids — oh, how fucking empty they were. Sighing heavily, Patrick raised his gaze when he heard the chair creak as you got up and walked around his desk. The sudden cut in the distance between the two of you was something Patrick didn't seem to be ready for, as his hands nervously gripped the armrests, but you pretended not to notice.

"We all feel down sometimes," you murmured over his ear, literally sensing the tension radiating from his body. "And that's okay." Placing your hand on his broad shoulder, you leaned down to look at the documents, surreptitiously inhaling the scent of his perfume mixed with his sweat. ‘Fuck, what am I doing?’

"I didn't know you had a part-time job as a therapist," he grumbled, examining your palm, wondering if he was going to kill you here and now, or keep you in here forever. "Listen, I have a reservation at Barcadia..."

"Mmm, Barcadia? Really?"

Bateman nodded and finally removed your hand. "Yes, I'm having lunch with Coutrney." 

"I wonder what Luis thinks of these lunches with his fiancé." You picked up the folder and stepped back from his armchair. "You don't feel guilty about sleeping with Coutrney behind his back, do you?"

Gritting his perfectly white teeth, the brown-haired man abruptly got up from his desk and stormed toward you, surely intending to yell at you or say something rude, but the moment he stopped directly across from you and your eyes met, Bateman's expression suddenly became lost and confused. "Just stop," he finally managed to mutter. "Stop poking around in my fucking head…" As you noticed his pupils widening, things were no longer funny to you. "Understand?"

‘Well, maybe turning it into a joke is not a bad plan,’ you hummed and nodded. "Sure, Bateman," you sneered a little nervously. "I'm just reading this book Timothy gave me," you slowly turned and walked to the door. "The book about Human Psychology." That was surely a joke, but judging by the serious look Patrick gave you, he didn't seem to get it.

"Tim gave you... a book?" He repeated, frowning in confusion and disbelief.

When you opened the door, you paused for a second, wanting to say something smart at the end. "Oh yeah. Why don't you ask him about it? Maybe he can recommend some books about... human relationships or something." And with that, you smiled in satisfaction at seeing Bateman's face quiver with anger before you left his office, leaving him with a raging tempest in his chest.

Later that day, Patrick couldn't sleep because his mind was so full of different thoughts, but the only thing they had in common was that they were all connected to you. You, you, you. The sound of running water echoed off the marble walls of his lavish bathroom as Bateman stood in the shower, enjoying the way the strong streams of cold water hit his back. Huffing, Patrick desperately scrubbed his skin as if it would help him get rid of the thoughts of you that haunted him the day he first met you — you were so cheeky, so sweet, everyone loved you and wanted to hang out with you. How fucking cute. Patrick groaned as he felt a throb at the base of his hard cock, God, he felt like it was hard all the time and no sex could help him with that because all those people, they weren't you. 

"Argh, fuck," he groaned as he finally allowed himself to touch his twitching dick and give it a few strokes. 

"F-fuck..." Bateman pumped his length rhythmically, recoiling at the memories of today, the way you put your hand on his shoulder, the warmth of your breath on the back of his neck. And what would it feel like if you had placed your hand on his chest, or run it over his abdomen and then down? 

"Uh, a-ahhh," the man moaned louder, shaking uncontrollably from the orgasm building at the base of his spine. "(Y/n), your hands feel so good on me, oh-shit…" Patrick had to lean against the shower wall as his legs buckled from the intense waves of ecstasy as he cummed with your name on his trembling lips, the water still running down his sculpted body, washing his cum off, but he was still so hard. 

"Reading books on psychology," Bateman chuckled, tilting his head. "What an idiot." His nervous giggle bounced across the shower, but soon the laughter turned to a low wail. "Pathetic…” 

Time flowed like sand through your fingers, and you couldn't even remember how many days had passed since your visit to Bateman's office, but since then something had changed between the two of you, but you both couldn't understand what exactly had changed, or maybe you didn't want to try to understand. To be fair, it was so fucking annoying that when you found out that Tim, David, Craig and Patrick were going to the Tunnel, you saw it as your chance to dot the T's, no matter how the evening would end.

When you arrived at the club, it was so crowded that it took you a while to find the group of yuppies sitting on the plush couches next to the dance floor, jamming to the music and drinking their cocktails. 

As you approached, Craig was the first to spot you. "Woah, woah, look who it is!" His cheeky remark caused everyone to look at you, including Bateman, whose teeth were visibly clenched around his cigar at that moment. 

"Hey, guys! Enjoying the music I see?" You smiled, fixing your hair briefly from the sudden rush of panic.  ‘Damn it, stay calm! Why am I so nervous?’

Timothy winked at you and raised his glass. "Did you come alone or..." he stopped abruptly when he noticed someone behind your back. "Hey, is that Paul Allen?"

‘Shit, shit, shit. That was so much easier in my head than it is in reality.’ You chewed on your cheek, and while the men were guessing whether they really saw Paul Allen or not, a sudden idea came to your mind, but you hated it before you even started to bring it to life. "Do you have a gram?" You asked without thinking, hoping they would say no.

"I do," Bateman's voice came out of nowhere and you almost screamed in your head, but you had to keep your composure. "But you will owe me." As he said this, you came closer to where he was sitting with a playful smile on your face and took a seat next to him. "Wait, we are not going to do coke here."

"Hey, why not?" David chuckled and took out his business card holder. "What's wrong with it?

"Oh God, look at that cheeky bastard," Craig pressed a palm to his face. "Van Patten decided to be a bad boy today."

The men laughed and high-fived each other before Bateman whispered in your ear, making you almost jump. "Follow me." Those two simple words made you obey like you were under a spell. 

As the two of you made your way to the bathroom where people in the Tunnel usually did coke, your heart pounded to the heavy beat of the music, or even faster. Patrick went first, his elegant silhouette like a shining star in the midnight sky — so eye-catching and mesmerizing that it wasn't surprising that a lot of people turned around to look at him, but you didn't care as soon you would be alone with him. ‘Just you and me, Bateman.’

The bathroom was surprisingly empty today. The last time you were there, you had to wait almost half an hour to get into the free stall, but now luck seemed to be on your side. As you stepped into one, Patrick pulled out his business card holder and rolled the $100 bill; you did the same, watching as Bateman made lines of coke with his platinum AmEx card.

"I have to say, you look much better." You commented briefly.

The man was about to lean over to snort the white powder, but your words made him freeze. "Huh," he chuckled abruptly and brushed away a stray lock of hair. "I was just reading some books about... relationships," Patrick grimaced, drawing out the last word with a cocky grin. "It changed my mind." Before you could say anything, Patrick was snorting the coke, holding the rolled-up bill to his nostril while holding another down with his thumb.

"Very funny," you mumbled, tapping the rolled note against the inside of your palm. "Where was your wit when I walked into your office a week ago?"

Bateman coughed quietly and threw his head back for a moment to clean his nose. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Rolling your eyes, you moved closer to his business card holder to inhale the white line of powder that had been left there, your mood was already off, and at some point you even began to regret coming to Tunnel tonight. Though it wasn't your first time doing coke, you felt so dizzy as the drug began to intoxicate your system that you almost fell to the floor if you hadn't bumped into Bateman's chest, leaving a white stain on the lapel of his Valentino suit.

"Hey! What the fuck!" Patrick blurted out, ready to push you off, but the way you grabbed his shoulders stirred something strange inside him, something he was fighting all the time. "Have you ever done coke?"

You coughed several times, blinked nervously, and only then did you let him go. "Sorry..." you gasped and leaned against the wall of the stall behind your back. "It's been a while."

"You stained my jacket."

"God! I'm sorry, okay?"

"No," Bateman replied, brushing off. "Not okay."

"What do you mean?" You asked confusedly, batting your eyelashes and breathing heavily.

Patrick dropped his head for a second before looking at you again, your faces dangerously close. "I'm not okay."

You licked your lips nervously. "Why?"

Instead of saying anything, the man pulled you against his massive frame, giving you no time to react as his hot mouth covered yours; it was difficult to call it a kiss, it was more like the act of claiming — his strong arms trapping you between the wall and his muscular body while yours hovered motionlessly like whips. When Bateman released you, he tugged at your lower lip and licked it with a wet, obscene sound. "Because...because of this."

Panting, you stood in shock for a moment before nodding and touching your wet lips. "Yes," you put both hands on his chest, exploring it slowly but boldly, causing him to close his eyes for a second. "I don't think I'm okay either." After whispering it in his ear, you slid your tongue down his bare neck, right over the mole, and when you heard him grunting, you lowered your hand to his belt, playing teasingly with the buckle.

"Lower," Bateman husked, and when you didn't listen, he grabbed your hand and lowered it himself — the outline of his fully erected cock eliciting a muffled moan to break out of your cramped throat. "Ahhh-fuck."

"God, you're so needy," you murmured against his neck, busy undoing his belt. "So touchy."

It only took a few seconds for you to undo his pants and let his taut dick pop out of his underwear. ‘Mmhhm, his cock is so perfect, just as I expected,’ you smiled to yourself, and in the next moment you were stroking his throbbing length, smearing his slick pre-cum around his swollen tip without any shame or fear of getting caught.

"(Y/n)," Patrick hissed as he pressed you against the wall with his weight, his hands sneaking down your back to grope your ass. "Be quiet," the man ordered when he heard your soft moans. "Keep quiet and undo this." Bateman pointed to your bottom and just the thought of what he was about to do to you almost made you cum.

"Why?" You gave him a foxy grin and tightened your grip on his dick, forcing Patrick to hold his breath.

"Just...just do what I say..."

"Okay, honey."

"Don't call me that!" He uttered and squeezed your ass painfully, your bodies grinding against each other, making you hot and sweaty.

"Patrick..." You attempted to kiss him, but he turned away.

In one swift motion, the man reached your neck and aggressively nipped at the throbbing artery. "Shut up! Just shut up and undo this fucking..."

You didn't let him finish his tantrum as you caught his lips with yours, increasing the tempo of the jacking, and you could feel he was so damn close. But since he was so insistent, you undid the lower part of your garment, and everything that happened next was like one of your recent dreams. Bateman, flushed and panting, crouched down, his cock slipping out of your grasp, but the next second his fierce mouth found its way between your legs as he began to suck on your sensitive flesh with sheer greed and passion, not forgetting to pump his dick and growl softly against your skin.

"Ohh, Pat-Patrick," you gasped, tugging at his brown hair, dishevelling it, but neither of you cared. "I'm gonna cum if you don't stop..."

"Mmm-fuck, you taste so sweet," Patrick pressed his face closer to your core, his free hand nailing you to the wall to hold you in place. "You're shaking like a fucking whore."

Chucking, you yanked at his hair a little harder. "And you're devouring me like a starved man, are you starved, Bateman? How long have you been... so fucking s-starved?" You hiccupped as he redoubled his efforts, lapping at your crotch and jerking himself off. "F-fuck, I'm... I'm gonna..."

The loud footsteps made you both stop in your tracks, and when you heard people coming into the bathroom, you stalled completely, only to quickly fix your clothes and then pretend nothing had happened as you left the stall. Later, as you were washing your hands, Patrick stood behind you and you met his eyes in the mirror. "Are you leaving or..." You asked briefly as he handed you your twisted bill.

"Yeah," Bateman straightened his jacket and wiped his mouth with a paper towel before opening the door. "You better forget about it. Believe me."

‘And now I feel like I need a memory reboot.’

Chapter 2 is here! 💗✌

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[motorsportbarbie13]

Forbidden - Part 4

In which your heart shatters into a million pieces.

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of a panic attack, charles being a dick.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x LeClercSister!Reader word count: 2.3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Master List

Summer break. Four blissful weeks of no racing talk, no work for Max, and nothing to do but spend the day in bed. Of course, you had work to do but considering half of Europe was also on summer holiday at the moment, your inbox was fairly empty and you didn’t have much going on. The first week of the summer vacation passed with you spending nearly all your time with Max, holed up in either your new apartment that you finally found and rented four weeks ago or in his apartment across town. The uninterrupted time you had spent with him so far had been one of the best weeks of your entire life. 

And Max felt the same way. It was so nice being out of the spotlight for a while, able to hide away and focus solely on you. Things between the two of you were becoming…serious, he supposed. It was still a secret from everyone and Max was beginning to chafe under that shroud of secrecy. You were still insistent on keeping it private, still confident that Charles would have an absolute fit if he found out. 

But you also were wary of what the media and fans would do if they found out. Just a few weeks ago, there had been a rumor about Oscar’s girlfriend Lily being pregnant and Oscar had been accused of hiding her pregnancy to save his career. It was all false, of course. You had seen Lily with your own eyes the other night when you ran into her and Oscar while you were at dinner with your mother and Charlie and she was very not pregnant. But you could see the toll it had taken on the both of them. The way Lily looked a little more on edge than normal, and Oscar a little more distant than usual had you nervous of what would happen if Max and you ever decided to go public. 

For now though, you were content setting up house and pretending the outside world didn’t exist. In another week, you would go on a trip with your family to Croatia for a week, spending time on a yacht Charlie had rented to island hop. While you didn’t want to leave Max, who would be leaving to spend some time with his family first in Belgium, where his mother was from and then in Italy. You hated how much your heart hurt when you thought about how much you’d miss him while he was gone for the two weeks, but the first race back would be Max’s home race in the Netherlands which would be such a good weekend. 

You were in the shower that morning when everything crashed and burned. Your phone had been set to Do Not Disturb for various reasons, so you missed the warning signs. Max was in your kitchen, the picture of domestic bliss, as he flipped pancake after pancake, wanting to surprise you with breakfast after you had finished getting cleaned up from this mornings romp in the sheets with him. His shirt was off as he stood barefoot in only a pair of running shorts in front of the stove, whistling along to the upbeat jazz that floated out from the speakers connected to the bluetooth on his phone. 

The smell of the freshly made pancakes, sticky with syrup, wafted through the small apartment, drawing you out of your bathroom in only one of Max’s shirts. “Something smells good.” You crooned, padding into the kitchen in bare feet, hair still damp from your shower. 

Max hums in response, pointing to the pile of pancakes waiting for you on the counter. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you rest your head on his shoulder, pressing your lips to the bare skin there. He always tasted so good, you could never resist the chance to taste him. 

“There’s fruit on the table, juice in the fridge. You really need to go to the grocery store, liefje.” 

Your heart fluttered at the new pet name he’d begun to call you in the last few weeks. You hadn’t known what it meant and when you asked Max, he shyly told you it was Dutch for ‘baby’ or ‘love’. You had always been a sucker for pet names but pet names in a different language than your native French and English? That did something extra to your heart. 

“I know, I know. I can’t help it if there’s a hot Formula 1 driver that refuses to let me out of bed for longer than a few moments though, can I?” 

Max raps you on the ass with the spatula as you scamper away, giggling at the grin he tosses over his shoulder at you. 

“What the actual FUCK am I looking at right now?” 

You spin around, the bowl of fruit in your hands clattering to the ground at the sound of your brother’s voice. 

Oh fuck. 

Your eyes bounce from your brother’s face, a mask of rage to Max’s horrified expression. 

“And here we thought you were hurt or something, but no!” Charles stalks towards you, the key to your apartment dangling from his fingertip. “No, you’re just playing house with my biggest fucking rival! Of all the people you could choose to fuck, it had to be HIM?” 

“Charlie.” You whisper, tears burning the back of your eyes at the look of pure anger and more horrifying, sadness, etched on your brother’s face. “It’s not what you think. This isn’t…”

“Save it. I don’t want to hear you justify whoring yourself out to fucking Max Verstappen.” 

“Do not speak to my girlfriend like that, Charles.” Max grits out, the muscles in his jaw twitching from how tightly he’s grinding his molars together.

You turn slowly, along with Charles, at his words and blink at him. Girlfriend? 

Max ignores the look of panic on your face and continues, voice measured and deathly calm. “I know this might be,” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Upsetting and a surprise but this is not a fling, I swear.” 

If it had been any other time, you would have melted at his words. And you were still reeling from Max calling you his girlfriend. But you had bigger things to focus on. Charles practically shook with anger as he tore his gaze away from Max, fury fully settling on you now. “How long? How long have you been lying to me? To everyone? You’ve been traveling with us under the guise of spending more time with me, living in Monaco to be closer to the family but all this time, you’ve been with him?” 

The disgust in your brother’s voice turns your stomach, acid creeping it’s way up your throat. “Since Austria.” You whisper, wincing when Charles throws your key across the room in a fit of rage. 

“I fucking knew it. I knew something was up when you suddenly had that migraine in Belgium but didn’t answer your door when I came to check on you after dinner. You lied to me! You never lie to me. We never keep secrets and this is the first one you choose to keep from me? My sister fucking the man that has taken everything from me my entire career? What kind of fucking joke it this?” 

“It’s not a joke, Charles.” Max murmurs from where he now stands beside you, fingers laced tightly with yours. Maybe if he showed your brother that this wasn’t some random fling, he’s calm down. 

“Shut your fucking mouth Verstappen.” He growls, furious gaze swinging back to you. “This obviously can’t continue.” 

“Wh-what?” You stutter, absolutely floored that your bother would think that he could make you choose. 

“You left the family for six god damned years because you couldn’t handle being the sister of someone famous! What do you think it’s going to be like as Max Verstappen’s fucking girlfriend! You’re not strong enough.” 

Pain lances through your entire body at the venom in your brother’s voice. “Charlie.” You choke, unable to believe that your best friend, your twin, just said something that awful to you.

“Enough.” Max shouts, stepping in between the pair of you, shielding you from Charles’ view. “You need to leave, right fucking now.”

Charles scoffs, still completely floored by what he walked in on. “You know what, you two deserve each other. Both fucking liars. Don’t bother worrying about coming to Croatia with us, you’re not wanted there anymore. I’m sure you’d have more fun with your new boy toy anyway.” 

Charles turns on his heel and stalks out of your apartment, slamming the door shut behind him so hard you flinch. A haunted silence falls over you and Max, panic and anguish flooding your body as you begin to tremble from the scene that just unfolded before you. 

“Fuck.” Max breaths, turning to you. “I’m so sorry liefje.” He reaches out to take you into his arms but to his surprise, you step out of his reach. Panic shoots through him, you’ve never turned down affection from him, especially when you’re upset. He’s been the one you go to for comfort for months now and not being able to do anything about how distraught you are sets his teeth on edge. “Liefje?” 

“He’s right, you know.” You whisper, not sure if you’re talking to yourself of Max. 

“What?” All Max wants to do is hold you, to get his arms wrapped around you and stop your shaking. 

Tears stream down your face as your brother’s words echo in your head. How you weren’t strong enough. You were whoring yourself out. The vile words repeated over and over until the buzz of his venom was all you could hear. Your breath comes quicker, panic squeezing itself around your heart as you fight for a breath that just won’t come. You know what’s coming and are helpless to fend it off. Having Max see you so weak sends you even further down the road towards the panic attack you can’t keep at bay. 

“You need to leave.” You choke out, desperately needing to be alone to work this out by yourself. It’s how you’ve always done it, gathered yourself together on your own without anyone else seeing you so weak. You couldn’t let Max see you like this. How could you when the only other person you’ve ever allowed in just threw everything in your face. No, you couldn’t stand if Max turned on you too. 

Max comes to stand beside you, concern etched on his handsome face. “What? No, schatje absolutely not. I can’t. Leave you right now, you need me. You can’t be alone now.” 

“That’s exactly what I need. Charles was right, I’m not strong enough to be your girlfriend.” You choke on the word, having wanted to be claimed by him for months now and when you finally get what you want, it hurts too much to even enjoy it. 

His arms reach out to circle your waist, pulling you to him. Strength completely depleted, you allow him to crush you to his chest, the heat of his skin like a warm blanket settling over you. “Baby, I can’t do that. I just can’t.” 

“You have to. Charlie was right.” You repeat again, still listening to his words on a loop in your head. “I need some time to process what just happened and I need to do it alone. Please, Max.” He winces, you never call him just ‘Max’.

His arms drop away from you then and despite your begging him to leave, you instantly miss his warmth. “Is this the end?” Emotion claws at his throat, unable to process what is happening. You’re simply the best thing that’s ever happened to him and now? Now you’re pushing him away. 

“I don’t know.” You choke out on a sob. 

“Fine. I’ll go but I don’t want to. You call me the moment you change your mind, okay? And this isn’t over, not for me. It won’t ever be over for me, liefje.” 

Max retreats to the bedroom for a moment, leaving you standing cold and alone in the kitchen. When he returns, he’s got a shirt on. He doesn’t have his bag that he brought with him though, he refuses to bring it with him. It’s too final, taking that bag out of the house. He wants, no needs, an excuse to come back and he wants you to know that he’s not leaving without a fight. He’ll respect your wishes for now because he knows you think you need the space but if he knows you, and he’s betting everything that he does, you won’t run away from what the two of you have. 

You’re balled up on the couch, faraway gaze staring at nothing when he comes to stand in front of you. “I’m going now but if you need me, you can call me. Any time of day, no matter what.” He crouches down in front of you, fingers snagging your chin so you’re forced to look at him instead of at some unknown point over his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you, liefje. So fucking much.” 

The sob that escapes your throat shatters his heart in a million pieces. He doesn’t know if that was the right thing to do, to tell you what’s bene on his mind for weeks now. It was the truth though. He’d been fighting it for what felt like forever now, terrified to scare you off with those words that felt like they were coming too early but now? Now it was different. He needed you to know that he wasn’t going to give up this easily. He needed you to know that he had fallen head over heels for you and that he’d never leave, no matter how hard you pushed him away. 

Your silence ripped him even further in two but he accepted it, knowing that there was too much emotion swirling around in that head of yours to properly respond. Maybe that made him selfish, taking this time to tell you how he felt but he needed you to know. 

Dropping a kiss on your head, Max stands and does the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He walks out of your apartment not knowing when he’ll see you again. 

Tag List: @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo

[starsinthesky5]

What’re our favs joe and songbird up to during Memorial Day weekend?

a/n: this is longer than intended LMAO

wc: 4k

warnings: SMUT, mdni, fluff, lots of down-badness

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

it’s late afternoon and the sun’s still strong, glinting off the water as they laze around in the backyard of a friend’s lake house—the kind of place tucked away in the trees, all bright umbrellas and glass pitchers of pomegranate margs on teakwood tables, music floating low from a speaker tucked in the corner. the scent of grilled burgers and sunscreen hangs in the air. red, white, and blue towels drape across every chair, paper lanterns dangle overhead, and someone’s dog keeps shaking water onto whoever’s closest.

the group’s sprawled across every surface, a mix of couples, teammates, and old friends, laughing over card games, tossing a frisbee barefoot across the lawn, or passing beers down the line. there’s a girl braiding hair on the dock, one of joe’s buddies setting up a cornhole tournament like it’s the olympics, and another trying to climb onto a unicorn float too small for him while everyone cheers him on.

joe’s at the edge of the pool, legs in the water, cartier glasses low on his nose. he’s got a drink in one hand and a lazy smile tugging at his lips, eyes locked on her as she floats by on an inflatable lounger—orange bikini-clad and glowing, skin kissed gold from the sun and glittering with droplets. she’s wearing one of his old LSU caps backward to keep the sun out of her eyes, the same one she stole weeks ago and refuses to give back—and he swears nothing has ever looked sexier. not the bikini, not the way her legs dangle off the float, not even the smirk she gives him when she catches him staring. just the hat. his girl, in his hat.

someone lobs a beach ball across the pool, and it bounces off her float with a soft thump, making her laugh as she bats it away toward one of the guys, trevor, probably, who nearly topples off his own float trying to catch it. she glides over to joe and splashes him with a lazy kick, laughing when he groans and flops a hand dramatically over his face.

“you’re a menace,” he says, but his smile’s soft and lovesick.

they snack on watermelon and pineapple chunks between dips in the water. she tries to feed him a piece of mango and misses, getting sticky juice on his chest, which turns into her licking it off with a sly grin. he nearly falls off the lounger trying to drag her into the pool after that, all laughter and gasping and legs wrapped around his waist as they sink under, surfacing with matching smiles and breathless little kisses.

there’s a moment later when they’re wading waist-deep, arms around each other, and quinn swims by and says, “jesus christ, get a room,” to which she just flips him off without even looking. joe grins against her temple. “we do plan to,” he thinks.

he can’t keep his hands off her. his fingers trace slow, delicate patterns along the curve of her ribs, palms settling possessively on her hips, the heat of his touch grounding her every time she tries to swim away, pulling her back with gentle but insistent tugs. she finds herself constantly reaching for his curls—slick, damp, and tangled from the pool—twisting the strands between her fingers like a secret comfort, flicking droplets of water at him whenever he pouts in mock offense, making him grin wide and teasing her right back.

the day stretches out before them in honeyed slowness, each moment melting into the next, endless, warm, and perfect. the sun hangs lazily in the sky, casting golden light that shimmers on the water’s surface, while the air is thick with laughter and the faint scent of sunscreen and summer blooms. when the sun dips lower and the light softens to a peachy glow, they finally break from the pool. she wraps herself in a soft, oversized towel, the fabric still warm from the sun, and settles with her legs draped across his lap as they sink into a cushioned chair near the water’s edge. joe nurses a cold high noon, the ice clinking softly in the glass, his sunglasses sliding back onto his nose as he relaxes into the moment. she’s tucked comfortably under his arm, a bowl of frozen grapes resting in her lap—sweet, cold bites melting on her tongue.

someone brings out a speaker, and summery pop hits start spilling through the yard, the upbeat melodies mixing with the hum of conversation. she hums softly along, head resting on joe’s shoulder, feeling the slow, lazy rhythm of his fingers tracing random, soothing shapes into her thigh—circles, lines, little hearts—each stroke a gentle reminder of his presence and his care.

across the yard, max and his girlfriend are fumbling with sparklers, their excited chatter punctuated by groans when they nearly set the bag on fire with their premature attempts. someone starts clapping, a slow grin spreading through the group as the evening stretches on, warm and full of quiet joy.

she leans in slowly, lips barely grazing his, a teasing brush that sends a shiver straight down joe’s spine. the warmth of her breath mingles with the humid air as her teeth catch his bottom lip, tugging it gently, claiming it like she owns it, and in that moment, he thinks maybe she does. maybe she always has. his breath hitches, chest tightening with need as she deepens the kiss, tongue slipping inside to dance with his, swirling, teasing, demanding. the world shrinks until all he can feel is her; soft, wet, insistent, urgent.

his hand slides down her side, fingers spreading wide on the warm curve of her hip, pulling her impossibly closer, the heat of their bodies crashing like a wildfire no one can stop. the slick stickiness of sunscreen mixed with pool water makes every touch electric, skin sliding deliciously against skin. “if you keep lookin’ at me like that,” joe’s voice drops lowly, ragged with want, “i’m not gonna last till sunset,”.

her eyes flash with a wicked glint, that familiar teasing spark that always gets him undone. “then why don’t we just forget the sunset?”,

their bodies press tighter, the tension coiling in his chest, the ache between his legs growing unbearable. “come inside with me,” he murmurs, voice husky, lips grazing her ear. it’s not an order—it’s a promise, a need, a plea.

inside the lake house, the shift is immediate and electric. the bright, golden sunlight spilling through the windows softens into a gentle, muted glow as dusk begins to settle outside. the cozy scent of cedar wood mingles with the smoky remnants of grilled food, wrapping around them like a warm, familiar blanket. faint laughter floats in from the porch, slow and carefree, but inside the bathroom, everything tightens, the air thickens with something darker, more urgent, raw and alive between them.

the bathroom door clicks shut behind them, a small but decisive sound that seals off the outside world. her towel slips off her shoulders like water, sliding down her body and pooling silently at her feet, revealing smooth, glistening skin catching the soft overhead light. joe’s swim trunks follow next, falling free as his body presses close, sun-kissed and flushed, every muscle defined and gleaming. his chest, sticky with the sweet remnants of mango juice and the sharp tang of pool water, rises and falls with slow, steady breaths, heat radiating off him.

the shower roars to life, warm water cascading down in thick, hot sheets that turn their skin into slick, shining silk. she steps fully under the spray, water streaming over her like liquid fire, and joe’s hands find her back, pressing her firm against the cool tile. the sharp contrast between the heated water and the cold surface beneath her sends jolts through her body, heightening every nerve. his palms flatten over her breasts, thumbs circling and brushing the tight, swollen nipples that peak beneath the water’s touch. his fingers trail down the sides of her ribs, teasing the soft, sensitive skin, before slipping lower to grip the curve of her hips with possessive, demanding strength, anchoring her to him as if daring her to try and pull away.

his mouth follows the path his hands have traced with a deliberate, reverent hunger. first, soft, feather-light kisses trail from the curve of her neck down to the hollow just above her collarbone, each touch slow and worshipful. the skin there is warm and delicate, flushed from the sun and the heat of the shower. his lips part slightly as his tongue flicks out to tease, wet and slick, tracing tiny, tantalizing circles that send unpredictable shivers rippling through her body. then, his teeth nip—gentle but firm—at the tender skin just beneath her jaw, a sweet sting that makes her breath hitch and pulse quicken.

“you smell like sunscreen,” he murmurs against her skin, voice low and thick with need, “pool water…and me.” the words are a promise, rough and intimate, as if claiming her scent is as much his as hers.

she laughs—a breathy, shaky sound full of raw desire—as her fingers snake into the damp curls at the nape of his neck. her touch is possessive, pulling him closer until the heat of his body presses against hers. under her palm, she feels the rapid thud of his heartbeat, a fierce rhythm matching the heat pooling between them. “i want you, joe,” she whispers, voice soft but trembling with urgency, “right here. right now,”.

his fingers slide lower, slick with her wetness and the shower water, moving with slow, calculated precision. they explore her folds, tracing the swollen, sensitive skin with expert care, mapping out every curve and crease as if memorizing her. his thumb circles her clit lightly at first, teasing the delicate bundle until she gasps, arching into his touch. the wet slickness between them deepens, and his touch grows bolder, pressing and swirling just right to unravel her control.

she parts her legs a fraction more, inviting him deeper, breath catching in her throat as his thumb finds that sweet, aching spot beneath her folds. the sensation sends warmth flooding through her, a delicious fire spreading low in her belly. “look at you,” joe’s voice drops to a rough growl, heavy with lust and reverence, “so fucking wet. dripping just for me,”.

“yes,” she pants, words ragged, voice thick with want and surrender, “please don’t stop. don’t ever stop,”.

his fingers slip inside her, slow and teasing at first, curling and pressing just so against her walls, coaxing soft, desperate moans from her parted lips. each movement is careful but insistent, driving her higher. his thumb never falters, rubbing slow, languid circles over her clit, stoking a fire that burns hotter with every stroke. she trembles beneath his touch, hips rocking on their own, seeking more, needing more. “you gonna come for me, baby?” joe’s voice is rough, soaked with lust and promise, each word a spark igniting the air between them.

her body tightens involuntarily, legs shaking as waves of pleasure build with crushing force. “joe…i’m gonna—,”.

her hands clutch at his broad shoulders, nails digging into the taut muscle as a shudder rips through her. she gasps his name—raw, breathless—voice breaking into desperate, pleading sobs, the heat and release overwhelming her senses. joe cradles her firmly, steadying her with his strength as his lips trail a scorching path from her neck to her jawline, whispering filthy promises that make her skin burn and pulse with need.

with a low groan, he lifts her thigh high, fingers digging into her soft skin as he presses his hard, slick cock against her glistening folds. the friction is electric, sending delicious shocks through her body that make her gasp. then, slow and agonizingly intended, he slides deep inside her, filling her completely with every inch, stretching her in the most exquisite way. the fullness steals her breath, making her head fall back against the cold tile.

their bodies move together in a wild, desperate rhythm—raw and primal, perfectly matched. joe’s hands hold her tight, one wrapped possessively around her raised thigh, the other braced against the slippery tile wall as he thrusts with steady, urgent power. the slick slap of skin against wet tile echoes all around them, a hypnotic, frantic soundtrack to their lovemaking. the hot water sprays over them, mixing with their uneven breaths and wet, needy moans, washing away the world until only the two of them remain.

“fucking amazing, baby,” joe growls, voice thick with possessive hunger as he thrusts deeper, harder, each movement claiming her more fiercely. “this pussy’s fucking perfect. made for me,”.

she gasps, tightening around him instinctively, breath coming in wild, jagged gasps. “all for you. always yours, joey,”.

joe groans, lifting her even higher, pounding harder with every stroke. the pressure builds, driving her closer and closer to the edge until she’s crying out his name, thighs trembling and nails raking down his back, voice breaking into desperate, beautiful sobs of release.

and then joe follows, body shuddering violently as he spills deep inside her, every muscle clenching as he holds her close. his breath is heavy and ragged, chest rising and falling against hers as he carries her through the aftershocks. their skin glistens, slick with water and sweat, the heat of the shower wrapping around them like a cocoon.

they collapse together, tangled and trembling, hearts pounding in perfect sync, every nerve raw and alive. the moment stretches on, messy, breathless, achingly beautiful, and they stay there, wrapped in each other, lost in the warmth of the afterglow.

—

later that night, the house hums with a warm, lazy buzz. the lingering scent of cold beer and charred burgers still hanging thick in the air, mingling with the faint trace of citronella candles flickering softly on the porch outside. the night wraps around the lake like a velvet cloak, broken only by the distant crackle of fireworks. bursts of pink and silver flare across the sky, casting a shifting glow that dances on the water’s surface, painting everything in fleeting color.

the party’s winding down; friends are scattered like sleepy shadows between porch swings swaying gently in the warm breeze and the dock where the water laps quietly below. some of the girls are curled in hoodies and blankets, their laughter low and breathy, drifting through the night like a lullaby. someone passes around sparklers, the tiny flames sputtering and glowing bright. ryland waves his sparkler with exaggerated care, drawing hearts and squiggles in the air, while trevor films it all on his phone, narrating like some late-night documentary filmmaker.

from across the kitchen, where people are rifling through the fridge for leftover snacks, she catches joe’s eye. he lifts one eyebrow just the slightest bit, that familiar mischievous glint sparking in his gaze. she answers with a grin—a slow, confident smile that says more than words ever could. barely a nod, barely a glance, but it’s all he needs.

their hands find each other in the quiet chaos, fingers intertwining with a light, electric touch. they slip away together, sneaking down the hall like kids trying not to get caught, giggles muffled behind cupped hands, hearts racing with that delicious thrill of stolen moments. the guest bedroom door clicks shut softly behind them, the window cracked open just enough to invite in the cool summer air.

he pins her gently beneath him on the cool guest bed, lit only by moonlight and the wild flashes of fireworks through the window. the sheets rustle beneath them—crisp and cool, scented faintly with cedar and fresh detergent—grounding them in this private, perfect moment. her skin is still dewy from the shower, glowing with a soft, warm sheen, lips swollen and kiss-bitten. he presses his mouth to hers again, slower now, dragging his lips over hers like he’s savoring every second, every taste, every breath.

“god,” he murmurs against her lips, his voice low and thick, heavy with need. one hand slides down her thigh, fingers hooking around it to pull her closer, deeper against him. “can’t get enough of you. never could,”.

she shivers at the sound of his voice, the warmth of his palm trailing along the inside of her leg, fingers teasing the slick heat waiting just for him. “joey,” she breathes, voice soft and trembling, hips arching up greedily, desperate to feel him again. “need you to fuck me. again,”.

he groans deep in his chest, forehead dropping to rest against hers, breath hot and ragged. “i got you,” he promises, voice thick and reverent. “this time i’m gonna take my time. just for you,”.

and he does.

slow, steady strokes that make her body arch and stretch beneath him, arms tightening around his neck, nails dragging faint red trails down his broad back. he holds her like she’s fragile, like she’s the most precious thing in the world. his hands wander everywhere, stroking up the soft ribs, tracing the line of her jaw, brushing damp hair back from her forehead, thumbs pressing softly into the dimples at her hips as he sinks deeper and deeper into her, again and again.

his hand then rests low on her belly, warm and wide, splayed across the soft curve just below her navel. it lingers there, his thumb stroking gently over the skin already kissed pink from his touch and the sun from earlier. her breath stutters when he presses down just slightly—not hard, just enough to make her feel the way he fills her, deep and heavy and so achingly present.

“you..you feel that?” he whispers, voice slipping, like he’s barely holding it together. it’s not cocky—it’s heated. in awe. “feel how deep you let me in?”.

she nods, lips parting around a soundless gasp. his other arm curls beneath her back, holding her close while his hips rock slow and deep, letting her feel every inch, every unspoken word he can’t say with anything but his body. the imprint of him presses against her belly from the inside, and he watches with a kind of obsession as his hand flattens against the spot, in love with the way her body stretches around him, takes him so well, like she was made to.

“look at you,” he breathes, his forehead resting against hers. “you’re perfect like this. i’m so deep, baby—right here,” he murmurs, pressing just a little more firmly over that faint bulge. “i can feel myself inside you,”.

she whimpers at the pressure, overwhelmed by how full she is, how tender he’s being even as her whole body tightens around him. he kisses her then—slow, messy, tasting of worship and want—like he’s trying to memorize how it feels to be this deep, this close, this completely inside her heart.

her breath catches, a sharp gasp escaping as she nods, fingers digging into his arms, holding on tight. he grinds in deeper, rocking the bed gently against the wall with each slow, powerful thrust. outside, fireworks continue to pop and boom like heartbeats in the distance, their rhythm syncing perfectly with his motion. the shifting bursts of light paint his golden skin, sweat sparkling at his temples, eyelashes fluttering as he watches her with pure, worshipful devotion.

“so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, voice rough, catching as he picks up the pace just a notch. “this pussy’s mine, yeah?”.

“yours,” she pants, breathless, “just yours,”. his hand slips lower, sliding between them to press fingers gently to her swollen clit, circling in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. she clenches around him, moaning softly into his neck, and he pulls her tighter against his chest, whispering filthy praise right into her ear.

“you take me so good, baby,” he groans, “so tight around me. fuck, you’re perfect. never gonna get over how good you make me feel,”.

she spirals fast, heat and pleasure crashing through her, his name falling from her lips like a prayer, soft and desperate. he never breaks eye contact, never stops murmuring how good she is, how much he loves her, how wrecked she makes him feel. “cum for me, sweetheart,” he begs, hips stuttering as she tightens around him once more. “let me feel it,”.

she shatters beneath him, a trembling cry, clutching him close, thighs trembling as the waves of pleasure roll through her in unstoppable tides. he keeps moving, slower now, tender, coaxing her through it until he follows, guttural groan tearing from deep in his chest as he spills inside her, hips pressed hard, body shaking with the force of release.

they collapse together, his weight warm and steady draped over her, their chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm, breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. the soft murmur of the lake and distant noises wrap around them like a gentle lullaby, the world outside fading into a hushed glow. the warmth of his body pressed against hers feels like an anchor, grounding her in the moment, making everything else slip away. before words can find their way, his lips brush hers again—slow, tender, grateful—each kiss carrying the weight of everything they feel but can’t say, exhaustion and devotion folding into one another.

“you okay?” he murmurs softly, pulling back just enough to search her eyes with his own—vulnerable, sincere. she smiles, sleepy and content, arms tightening around him as if to hold onto the moment forever. “perfect. you?”.

his grin is boyish, soft, the kind that makes her heart ache with how much he belongs to her. “i’m in heaven, sweetheart,”.

they lie tangled there for a while, the heat of their skin mingling, fingers tracing lazy patterns along shoulders and arms, small touches full of quiet love. his hand slips under her hair, fingers threading through the damp strands, brushing gently over her scalp as she lets out a soft sigh. she presses closer, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath her ear—a steady rhythm that makes her feel safe, loved.

“you’re still warm,” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep and satisfaction.

“only because you are,” he replies, voice raspy from his post-orgasmic state, but still tender for her. his thumb brushes over her cheek, careful and slow, memorizing the soft curve of her jaw. “i want to hold onto you like this forever, baby,”.

her lips twitch into a sleepy smile. “you’re such a cheeseball,” she teases, her fingers poking lightly at his ribs. he laughs, the sound rumbling against her chest, and she presses a kiss there, right over his heart. “only for you, i swear,”.

the fireworks continue their distant celebration, soft bursts of pink and gold painting the sky in slow, rhythmic waves. they lie side by side, the night air cool against their skin, the faint scent of summer lingering like a memory. the flickering light spills through the cracked window, casting dancing shadows that play across their bodies—highlighting the curve of his jaw, the delicate line of her collarbone, the soft rise and fall of their chests as they breathe in sync.

she wiggles her fingers teasingly against his chest, light and playful, tracing lazy patterns over his skin. her voice breaks the comfortable silence, quiet but full of mischief. “so…you think anyone heard us?”.

he shrugs casually, but there’s a sly curl to his lips that tells her he’s already enjoying this. leaning down, he presses a sluggish, tender kiss to her temple, the warmth of his lips sending a soft shiver down her spine. “let ‘em,” he says softly, “honestly, you sounded way too good to be quiet. everyone knows you have the voice of an angel…guess that applies to the bedroom, too,”.

she snorts, flicking a finger to poke him sharply in the ribs. he squints, mock offended, twisting away just enough to make her laugh. “you’re the worst,” she says with a grin, eyes sparkling with affection.

he grins back, all warmth and love wrapped in that mischievous expression. “and you’re mine. all mine,:.

her fingers keep drifting, tracing slow, idle circles on his chest—fingertips soft and searching like she’s soaking in every inch of him. her voice drops into a husky whisper, thick with teasing and something more tender. “so, what now, mr. heaven? gonna cuddle me until i fall asleep?”.

“only if you promise to keep stealing my hoodies and stealing my heart,”.

she smiles, eyes fluttering closed as she leans into him, but not before she steals one last kiss—lazy, soft, the kind that lingers just long enough to make her breath hitch. “you’re impossible,” she murmurs against his lips.

he chuckles quietly, tightening his arms around her as if he could never get enough. “and you’re worth every second of it,”.

outside, the night stretches on, fireworks blooming like wildflowers across the expansive sky. but inside this quiet room, beneath the gentle glow of moonlight and the lingering warmth of their bodies, the world feels still, perfect. wrapped up in each other, they drift slowly into dreams, hearts full and souls intertwined, safe in the quiet, tender afterglow of their love.

[finelinefae]

the final [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n and harry reach the final in the academy slam

word count: 12.2k

contains: fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, tennis rivals, smut (oral f-receiving, first time for h and yn, size kink, mostly just soft), travel anxiety, brief medical talk

a/n: extremely sorry for the wait but i hope this is worth it. thank you for being here and reading this little series. it means the world and I'm obsessed with all of u <33

this is the final part of the game, read part 3 here

. . .

In any relationship, Y/N had always believed she was the dominant, reliable, independent partner. In all of her friendships, family dynamics and even teamwork, the people around her looked to her for something that sometimes she couldn’t even give. Y/N was constantly pulling pieces of herself apart to give to those around her and at the end of the day she found herself with nothing left for herself.  She was constantly burnt out, running on little energy to make it through to the end of the week. 

But with Harry, her whole world felt like a sanctuary, a blue sky hidden from everybody else by grey clouds. 

When she thought she knew all there was to know about herself, she was learning so much more through her relationship. 

She learnt that it was important to share things, that just because Harry could read her face better than most people doesn’t mean he could read her mind. She hadn’t realised how closed off she was about her problems until Harry had found her panicking outside her classroom before an exam. It was that moment when he told her he needed her to communicate these things so he could help her in any way he could. 

She learnt to accept that her love language was physical touch. She couldn’t keep her hands off of her boyfriend. No matter what they were doing or where they were standing, she was desperate to touch Harry in some way and he was obsessed with it. He loved how much she wanted him to hold her and how often she’d gravitate towards him to put her hand on his arm or hook their pinkies together. It was probably the reason why her lips were constantly chapped because she was always desperate to kiss him whenever they were near each other. Harry had told her once that our love languages developed from what we didn’t receive so much of as children, which made sense because Y/N couldn’t remember the first or last time her parents had held her. 

She learned that arguments were healthy, even when they didn't feel like it in the moment. Just because Harry was her boyfriend and their feelings for each other were strong, they still ended up bickering over little things. It usually happened when one of them was having a bad day; they were both people who felt things very strongly, and sometimes that clashed. But they made a promise that, no matter what they were arguing about, big or small, they'd never go to bed angry with each other.

The biggest lesson Y/N was learning was something that she had yet to come to terms with. Having feelings for somebody was already a new thing for her, especially feelings as strong as the ones she had for Harry. She’d never been so attached to somebody in her whole life.  Sometimes when she looked at him she felt like her heart was going to explode from how much it ached to be right by him. Y/N had always believed that she couldn’t feel much more than what she felt already, that this was how good it would get- and she was okay with that. But with every passing day, Y/N found herself floating higher and higher above ground as her heart began to inflate with such an intense emotion. Every morning, she felt like she was levitating right out of bed at the thought of seeing Harry. 

It wasn’t until one particular day that she realised she was in love with her boyfriend. 

She had woken up before him for once. Harry had always been an early bird, and so was she before him, but she loved staying in bed with him, basking in his warmth as he cradled her to him like he was cocooning her from the rest of the world and keeping her to himself for those brief few hours in the early morning. 

She was going to wake him up to get ready for school but she stopped herself. Y/N had seen many versions of Harry her entire life but this was the first time when she looked at him and saw the person who had carved a nook into her heart for himself looking so peaceful and relaxed. She’d never really thought too hard into it before, willing to let herself fall into this relationship and see where she ended up, but that morning when she looked at him - really looked at him- she realised there was only one person in this entire world who could make her feel like she was still dreaming and that was the person she loved. 

Of course, she hadn’t told him that. Never. Y/N felt genuine fear at the thought of having to tell him how she felt because everything she had ever truly loved she’d had to either work for or it had never loved her back as much. Surely loving someone as much as she loved Harry couldn’t be this easy. 

“Hey,” Sarah beamed, leaning against the lockers as Y/N replaced her books for her next classes. 

“Hey,” Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she glanced at her shirt, “What are you wearing?”

“Do you like them?” Sarah grinned, proudly. 

It was a white t-shirt with a tennis racket and a cut out of Y/N’s head plastered onto a tennis ball. The words ‘Y/N 4 court queen’ were written in red. 

“Please tell me you only got one of these?” Y/N begged, feeling embarrassed.

“Well they’re prototypes so there’s only four,” Sarah explained and as she did Mitch walked towards them wearing the exact same shirt. 

He put a hand around Sarah’s shoulders and kissed the side of her head before looking at Y/N, “How do you like the shirts? Me and Sarah spent all week designing them?”

“You designed these together? Aren’t you meant to be like horny teenagers or something?” Y/N tried not to laugh at their matching shirts as they stood side by side. 

“We can be both,” Mitch shrugs. 

“Who else is wearing these?” A throat cleared from behind them and Y/N turned around to find her boyfriend wearing his white school shirt unbuttoned to reveal the same t-shirt underneath. 

“Hi baby,” Harry grinned, walking towards her and kissing her lips. Y/N’s hands went to his waist as he pushed her up against the lockers. 

“And I thought we were bad,” Mitch said, “C’mon babe, I’ve got a few ideas for some more items we could sell.” 

Harry pulled away as Mitch and Sarah walked away. Y/N looked up at him as he loomed over her, he was just so goddamn tall. “Missed you,” He murmured, kissing her quickly. 

“You saw me this morning,” Y/N giggled.

“Hmmm,” He hooked his finger around her necklace and pulled her closer, “Do y’ like my shirt?” 

Y/N laughed, “I can’t believe you actually wore it.”

“Anything to support my girlfriend,” He winks. She’d never get tired of hearing him call her that. “Did you hear anything about the Academy?”

Y/N shook her head. After winning against Astrid, she was now onto the final where she would play Courtney Avalon the only girl in the competition who had been picked to compete in a Junior Slam at fourteen. Y/N wondered who thought it fair for her to compete but she wouldn’t let it ruin her chances of winning, she’d just train even harder than she already was. 

Unlike the previous games, the final wouldn’t be hosted at one of the academies instead it would be hosted elsewhere at a tennis club where professionals would play. There was no way of knowing where they’d be going, it could be in a different country for all they knew, but the final was a little under a month away and she still hadn’t heard anything about it. 

“S okay,” Harry knew she was overthinking the situation as he traced his thumb over her pulse the way he always did when she was nervous about something, “We just train the way we always have,”

“Do you think I’ll win?” Y/N asked.

“I know you will,” Harry replied. 

That same afternoon, Y/N was sitting in the library after school to finish her English essay on her computer when a notification appeared in her email. Her heartbeat hastened as she clicked on the email with ‘Academy Slam Final Location’ written in big bold letters as the subject headline. 

She clicked on it and her eyes flicked through the long-winded introduction before they landed on the location. 

Paris, France. 

She was going to Paris. 

With Harry. 

She tried to keep her excitement at bay as she threw all her belongings into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She made a quick exit out of the library and ran towards the parking lot where she knew Harry would be. 

Her eyes landed on him and she couldn’t help but laugh before running over to him and leaping into his open arms. “Paris,” She said and his eyes lit up. 

“We’re going to Paris?” Harry asked, seeking confirmation. 

Y/N nodded, “The same place they play the French Open.”

Realisation dawned on both of their faces as they understood the significance of this moment. Y/N would be playing at the same club where Harry was supposed to play before his injury. She waited to see his reaction, and a small grin formed on his face before he leaned in to kiss her.

“You are going to win this,” He says like a promise. 

She nods, the weight of the moment sinking in deeper. The pressure now felt even greater than before, driven by a desire to win not just for herself, but for Harry too. 

. . . 

Y/N sat on the bonnet of her boyfriend’s Audi with her boyfriend standing between her dangling legs as they made out, “Are you actually going to teach me anything?” Y/N laughed, pushing him away. 

Harry pretended to check the invisible watch on his wrist before shrugging, “We have time,” He leaned in to kiss her again but she playfully pushed his face away and slid off the bonnet. 

They walked hand in hand to the court where Y/N put her bag down on the ground and pulled out her racket. Her eyes caught sight of Harry taking a bucket of tennis balls out of the storage shed. He looked particularly cosy today in his navy sweater and white shorts he was wearing, his hair was a little dishevelled mainly due to the fact that she had run her fingers through them for the past thirty minutes. 

“Okay, so should we do a few drills?” Harry posed the question.

Y/N shook her head, “I wanna try something different today,” Harry frowned as she passed him a racket, “I want to play against you.”

She could tell Harry seemed unsettled as soon as the words left her mouth, “Y/N, you already know about my injury,”

“Just a little back and forth, if it hurts too much we can stop straight away,” She tried, hoping he would say yes. 

Harry took one look at his girlfriend, seeing the pleading look on her face. Even though he knew she wasn’t forcing him, he couldn’t find it in himself to say no. “Fine, one game.”

Y/N squealed and ran to the end of the court she always played on, getting into position. She watched as Harry rolled his ankles and bounced up and down to get used to the feeling of his feet on the court. He took a tennis ball out of his pocket and bounced it on the ground. 

With a playful chuckle, Harry tossed the ball into the air and served. Y/N lunged for it, returning it with a swift swing of her racket. The rally began, and each shot was met with cheers and laughter from them both.

Despite Harry's injury, he moved across the court with surprising agility, his competitive spirit shining through. Y/N knew he was at a disadvantage but still, she was in awe of how quickly he responded to her hits. Every time Harry would run for the ball, she’d find herself distracted by the muscles in his calves and thighs and the concentration on his face when the ball would go to her end of the court. 

In the end, Y/N came out on top with one score above Harry’s when they decided on the last round as Harry could tell the pain was beginning to stir in his leg. She walked over to him and put out his hand to shake his, “Great game,”

Harry rolled his eyes, taking her hand and pulling her into him, “You’re too pretty, you distracted me.”

“I’ve heard that one too many times before,” Y/N smirked.

“From who?” Harry frowned.

“Oh just people,” She began to walk away but Harry quickly ran up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning her around. 

“Harry,” Y/N laughed, loudly, both of them ignoring the watchful eyes of passing students leaving school late. 

He placed her back down on the ground and she looked up at him again, biting her lip, “Get back to those drills,” He shook his head. 

“Yes sir,” She saluted but Harry stilled.

“I didn’t know you were into that,” 

“What?” Y/N frowned before realising, “Ew don’t be so gross Harry,” She hit him on the arm and stormed away. 

“What else am I supposed to think?” Harry threw his arms up in the air, biting back a laugh. She turned around and threw a tennis ball at him before grabbing another one and doing the same again, “Oh c’mon baby, I can live out your coach/student fantasies if that’s what you're asking,”

“You’re an animal!” She hissed.

Harry laughed and jogged towards her, kissing her quickly and running through their usual training. 

. . .

Two weeks had passed until Y/N and Harry were finally on their way to Paris. Mitch and Sarah had dropped them off at the airport in the early hours of the morning with sleep still in their eyes. Y/N would be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t nervous about playing without her best friend cheering for her in the stands. But Sarah promised she would watch every second of the live stream from their dorm room and cheer her on from there. 

She’d also tried to call and text her parents to tell them she had made it to the final and she’d be going to Paris, inviting them to come along even though she already knew they would decide not to. She hadn’t spoken to them since the dinner and even though she was the happiest she’d ever been, part of her ached, wishing her parents cared enough to see her that way. 

Harry stood beside her as they waited in line to board the aeroplane. They had originally booked economy flights but Harry was insistent they upgrade even though the flight was only an hour long. 

They were both dressed rather comfortably for the flight. It was Y/N’s first time wearing a piece of his clothing, a brown knitted sweatshirt he offered her to wear this morning. She couldn’t deny the rush of excitement she felt when he tugged it over her head and kissed her forehead, “Pretty,” He said and smiled. 

But despite their comfy attire, Y/N couldn’t seem to stop fiddling with Harry’s fingers as they stood in line. She was nervous, biting the inside of her cheek and trying to ignore the sounds of the planes taking off outside. It was her first time flying and even though she was excited about going away to Paris, she hadn’t considered the prospect of flying and how nerve-wracking it would be. 

“Harry,” Y/N tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him. He was holding both of their carry-ons, his black bag in his hand and her duffle on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, sensing her nerves. 

“Will we be okay?” She blushes, feeling embarrassed at her question, “On the plane I mean?”

Harry’s eyes soften, “Of course,” He assures, “It’s the safest way to travel.”

“Okay,” She nods, before saying his name again, “Harry?”

“Yes baby?” 

“You promise we’ll be okay?”

He smiles, putting their bags on the floor and taking both of her hands in his. He squeezes her fingers when he feels how cold they are, “Promise, promise.” 

“Okay well if you’re lying I’ll probably never speak to you again.” 

Harry chuckles, “I mean if I’m lying and the plan crashes then that’s probably true.”

Y/N frowns, “Don’t talk about crashing,” 

“What? You bought it up.”

When they finally board the plane, Y/N immediately feels claustrophobic when she realises how small it is, “They’re loading us into a sardine can,” She mutters to herself and hears Harry laugh as he walks in front of her. 

They finally reach their seats with Y/N right by the window and Harry in the seat next to her. Harry places their bags under the seats in front and moves to buckle his belt. “Harry?” Y/N says his name again. He glances at her and sees how pale her face is, “I’m really nervous.”

He felt his heart clench, it wasn’t often that Y/N admitted to feeling nervous or afraid of something. Hearing the shake in her voice made him consider getting off the plane and taking her back home again. 

“Hey,” Harry cupped the side of her cheek, “Y’ got nothing to be afraid of sweet girl, everything’s gonna be fine. Might feel a little strange when the plane takes off but we’re safe and I’m right here with you.”

“I don’t know about this Harry,” Her eyes dart around and he knows she’s getting into a panic the more she thinks about it too much.

“Y/N,” Harry says her name gently, “Look at me baby,” His thumb rubs the skin under her eye and her eyes dart to him, “Can you feel this?” He gently wraps his fingers around her wrist and moves her hand to wrap around his own wrist until the pads of her fingers find his pulse. 

Y/N nods, her eyes glistening, “Can you feel that?” He hopes the feel of his pulse will calm her down, “That’s it, just breathe and calm down everything’s gonna be fine.”

“It’s going to be fine,” She echoes his words as though trying to inscribe them into her own mind. 

“M right here,” He comforts her, “You think I’d let anything happen to you after I just got you?”

Y/N smiles at that, “No,” She whispers, “You’re too stubborn.”

Harry grins, “Only when it comes to you.”

Y/N’s nerves were overwhelming as the plane began to move. She glanced out the window, watching the ground blur as they gained speed. Harry noticed her unease and reached for her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“What the fuck!” Y/N blurted when the plane lifted off the ground, loud enough for everyone to hear, “This is so not normal.”

Harry snorted a laugh, “Y’ doing just fine baby,” He rubbed soothing circles on the back of her hand.

Y/N’s eyes squeezed shut as the plane tilted, a whimper escaping past her lips when she took one peek out the window to see the clouds in the sky. “Isn’t it pretty?” Harry asked, ignoring how tightly she was squeezing his fingers until the point of turning blue.

“It’s a lot prettier with my feet on the ground,” Y/N responds, refusing to relax until the plane landed.

. . .

Y/N was in awe as they stood in the hotel lobby of the hotel they would be staying in for the next week or so. Harry had insisted he be in charge of choosing where they were staying as he had been to Paris plenty of times and knew all the best spots. Y/N didn’t argue with him, it gave her one less thing to stress about and she was never any good at making decisions anyway. 

The receptionist handed him two key cards and Harry rolled both of their suitcases into the elevator as Y/N followed closely behind. “Are our rooms next to each other?” Y/N wondered, admiring the lights in the elevator as they went up to the seventh floor. 

Harry’s eyes widened for a second but then they twinkled with mischief. She noticed him biting the inside of his cheek like he was trying not to laugh. “Is that what you want two rooms?” He asked and Y/N’s cheeks flushed. 

“W-well I d-didn’t want to assume,” She stuttered, feeling embarrassed. 

Harry handed her both room keys, “Room 764,” He motioned her out of the elevator when it reached their floor and she walked ahead, scanning the numbers on the doors as she did.

Eventually, she got to room 764 and stopped. Harry was still rounding the corner with both of their suitcases so she waved the key over the scanner and saw the light turn green but instead of opening the door, she waited for it to lock again. Switching to the other key, she repeated the action of waving it over the lock only to see it flash green again. 

This time she did walk through the door, putting both their bags on the ground as soon as she stepped inside. Her mouth fell open when she saw the room they’d be staying in. 

Y/N had stayed in fancy hotels before thanks to her parents but this was something she had never seen before in her life. It had a high ceiling and a chandelier hanging in the middle. White curtains hung from the windows with a view of Paris right outside their window. She walked into the bathroom to see marble countertops and a deep bathtub with a separate glass-enclosed shower. 

After taking everything in, she walked back into the bedroom where her eyes landed on the king-sized bed - one bed for two people. 

The sight of it made Y/N’s mouth dry. It was her first time sharing a space with any boy, let alone her boyfriend, for longer than one night. Although she’d been spending a lot of time together, this was the first time Y/N would be sleeping beside him, waking up next to him, and getting ready with him. In fact, this whole trip they were all each other had. 

“Do you like it?” Harry came up behind her and squeezed her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. 

Y/N spun round and clung to him, “Thank you,” She whispered, hoping he couldn’t feel the nerves radiating from her. 

“I was thinking we go out and get something to eat and then maybe walk by the river. We’ll be training for the next few days so,” She sighed, longing to just stay in the room with him holding her the entire time. 

“I’d like that,” She sighs, eyes closing. 

Harry chuckles lowly, she feels the vibrations from his chest, “Y sure?” 

“Mhm,” 

Harry smiles even though she can’t see, “Or we can order room service and stay here?”

Y/N seems to melt against him as he rubs circles on her back, “I like that idea a lot more.”

She was pretty sure Harry had ordered everything off the menu in the time it took her to unpack her suitcase. She smiled to herself when she saw their shoes side by side at the door when she went to put her trainers beside them. 

It wasn’t long before hours passed and Y/N was wrapped up in a plush, white bathrobe with Harry’s shirt and her pyjama shirt on underneath. A cart with empty plates of what once was full of an array of desserts and sides was cast off to one side as Y/N lay on top of Harry with a full belly. The TV played lowly in the back, Harry's hands playing with the ends of her long, loose hair. The sky had turned dark with the lights of Paris lighting the city. 

“Y’ sleepy baby?” Harry murmured, cupping her cheek and lifting her head like she was a little kitten so he could see her face. 

Y/N hummed, nuzzling her cheek against his hand and curling into his side. Her hand slid up his torso to fiddle with the cross necklace around her neck. “Go to sleep,” He kisses the top of her head, “Got a long day tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow they’d be off to the tennis club to train for the final at the end of the week. Harry had picked a hotel that was a ten-minute drive away just in case they ended up spending long hours into the night working on Y/N’s technique like they did when they were at Crestwood. 

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as Harry rubbed soothing circles on her hip to try and lull her to sleep. The outside world seemed irrelevant in that moment, he felt as though he could lay there forever in this comforting bubble they had created together. 

“Goodnight Harry,” Y/N mumbled, clutching his t-shirt. 

“Goodnight baby,” He whispered, feeling the happiest he had ever been.

. . .

“Somebody pinch me, I feel like I’m dreaming,” Y/N gaped as they walked through the tennis club. She felt Harry pinch the skin above her elbow, “Not literally,” She huffed. 

After a blissful night's sleep, Y/N awoke to her face buried in the crook of Harry’s neck as both of his arms held her tightly to him throughout the night. Sleep had always been Y/N’s worst enemy but she genuinely considered calling off today and just laying there with him. 

They booked a cab before getting ready which would take them to the tennis club. They had planned a morning session of training so they could spend the remainder of the afternoon exploring Paris properly this time instead of looking out the window of the back of a taxi or from their hotel room where they had spent yesterday afternoon lounging around. 

Harry smirked, “You haven’t even seen the best part yet,” He leads her to a big glass window in the lobby. 

Y/N immediately gasps, pressing her nose against the glass wanting it to disappear so she could walk straight through it and across to the Roland Garros which just so happened to be right next door. 

“I’m going to be there one day Harry,” Y/N says with the upmost determination in her voice. 

Harry nods in agreement, “You will,” He says and that makes her believe it even more. 

They walk hand in hand to the courts, Y/N in a white tennis dress and matching visor and Harry wearing a white polo shirt and white shorts. They were both wearing black sunglasses to cover their eyes, Harry snaked his arm around her shoulders, Y/N’s fingers automatically threading through his, as they walked outside. 

They seemed to pause at the same time when they saw one of the courts already occupied. The sound of the ball speeding through the air and hitting the racket of the girl running to hit it in time broke through the air. 

Y/N watched as the girl moved with such agility and force, meeting every hit made by her coach with her own. It was like nothing she had ever seen before, no one she had ever played against. 

With one final hit across, the ball landed somewhere past her opponent and the game ended. The girl grabbed a towel and wiped it across her forehead, smiling as she took a waterbottle from the cooler. Her head raised, Y/N’s eyes casting away in hopes she wouldn’t come over but it was too late and she was already walking towards them. 

Harry gave Y/N’s hand a gentle squeeze as if to say "be nice," already familiar with her temper. However, she had put up a guard, uncertain whether to trust this girl or not.

“Hi,” She said, “I’m Courtney,” She held a hand out to which Y/N slowly responded, “You must be Y/N, I’ve been watching your games. You’re good.”

Y/N felt her jaw tick at the tone she used in trying to compliment her like she didn’t think she was a good player at all but she was trying to be nice about it. 

“Thank you,” Y/N decided to not act out and instead remained civil.

Courtney flashed a pearly white grin, “Yes well my coach thought this whole Academy competition would be good training for the Junior Slam next year. It’s not often something I would participate in but no one can deny the glory of winning something no matter how easy it is.”

Y/N forced a smile, “You’re right, it seems every game just gets easier and easier. I’m sure this next one will be a walk in the park.”

Courtney smirked, her eyes drifting up to see Harry, “Harry,” She acknowledged, “I haven’t seen you since your injury? How is it?”

“Good,” Harry nodded, “Besides the fact I can’t play anymore, I’d say it’s going pretty well.” 

Courtney’s smirk deepens, “Is that why you’re doing this? Since you can’t play you’ve got a little pitbull to carry the torch for you.”

Y/N’s fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms, “You know, I’ve been watching you too Courtney.”

Courtney’s expression turned smug as she crossed her arms, “Oh really?”

Y/N nodded, her eyes narrowing as she looked at her nose like she was inspecting it, “Your nose is looking a little crooked after last season. My mother knows a doctor who can fix that if you want their number?”

Courtney scowled and spun on her heel to storm away from them after being reminded of her embarrassing moment from last season where she hit herself in the face with her tennis racket and broke her nose. 

Harry chuckled from beside her, “I’m sorry, I know I’m not meant to but she pissed me off when she started talking about your injury like that.”

“It’s okay, if I didn’t think you had it covered I would have said something myself.” Harry began to walk to their side of the courts, “Now c’mon my little pitbull, let’s get to work.” 

Y/N scowled at his choice of words but followed him anyway. 

. . .

Throughout the entire week whenever they weren’t training - which was less often than they had hoped for but also the reason they were here in the first place - Y/N and Harry spent their evenings exploring the city. 

Y/N was thankful Harry had been to Paris plenty of times before, enough to show her around and take her to some of his favourite spots. 

Together they went to Harry’s favourite cafe each morning to pick up croissants and pastries to eat outside on the little tables and chairs. They visited the Eiffel Tower where they attempted to take photographs of each other holding it in the palms of their hands. They walked over to the Louvre where Harry paid for them to have a private tour in the evening and they would spend most of their evenings walking hand in hand as they strolled along the Seine. 

This must be what being a kid feels like. Y/N thought to herself as Harry lay in between her legs as they sat on the grass right in front of the Eiffel Tower. He was reading a book he had bought from a small, indie bookstore they had come across as they walked through the streets. 

Everything in her life had always been meticulously planned or she had to work hard for it, even at the age of eighteen. Both Y/N and Harry had been made to grow up quickly because their parents had raised them that way but together it felt like they had regressed back into their simplest forms. Life felt easy and colourful and magical. Each day, Y/N felt like her heart was shedding hardened skin and was slowly turning into this beautiful ball of light that weighed hardly anything inside of her chest. 

She paused her train of thought when she felt Harry’s lips press a kiss to her arm, “Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” He murmured. 

Tomorrow was the final and Y/N had been a nervous wreck all day hence why they had attempted to do things that might help her relax. Harry had woken her up with breakfast already carried in by one of the housekeepers and had offered to take her to the spa in the hotel but Y/N was desperate to escape the indoors and go outside so they ended up walking through the streets and stumbling into different shops on multiple street corners. Harry had even bought a baguette to put in his tote bag that they had been nibbling on all day. 

“I don’t know if I can handle eating right now,” Y/N admitted, the nerves getting the best of her. 

Harry shifted and turned around so he was lying on his stomach, his chin resting on her belly, “You’ll regret it if you don’t eat baby,” He kissed her exposed stomach from where her shirt had risen, “Even if it’s just a little something, y’ can’t go to bed hungry.”

Y/N knew he was right which is how they ended up in one of the fanciest restaurants Harry could have possibly picked from the many Paris had to offer with two plates of pasta and a shared basket of garlic bread between them. 

At one point, midway through making her laugh, Harry pulled out his phone to quickly take her picture. Y/N's cheeks tinged pink as she asked, "What did you do that for?"

Harry bit back a grin, “Because you’re my girlfriend and sometimes I take photos of you to make sure this is real,” Y/N rolled her eyes, “What? Do you want to see the whole album I’ve made for you too?”

“A whole album? Ew weirdo,” She teased. 

“Not a weirdo, ‘m just obsessed with you,” He says, “Wait until you’ve seen all the playlists I’ve made over the years I’ve been pining for you behind closed doors.” 

Y/N’s lips part, “You’re lying,”

“I’m not, I swear,” Harry chuckles, “Remember that box of chocolates you found in your cubby in fifth year on Valentine’s Day?”

“That was not you,” Y/N refused to believe it, “Sarah and I sat in the park after school eating them on the swings after she broke up with Byron.”  

“It was,” Harry nodded, his cheeks turning rosy but he carried on, “The day you asked me to teach you to play tennis I felt like I was floating on a cloud at the big old age of eight.”

“But you said no,” 

“Yeah because I figured you’d never leave me alone until I did and low and behold here we are today.” He says like he’s been planning this exact moment in time all his teenage life. 

“Ah so you’ve been scheming ever since,” Y/N joked. 

Harry shrugged, “I may have put things into motion but I think you were always meant to be a part of my life, Y/N.”

Y/N’s heart warmed like he was holding a candle beneath it, “I don’t think I remember anything good that you weren’t a part of.” 

He reached for her hand across the table and kissed the inside of her wrist, “You are my good.”

. . .

Harry leaned against the doorframe of the hotel bathroom as he brushed his teeth whilst Y/N lay on the bed in just a towel and underwear having just finished showering. Both their gazes were fixed on the television with re-runs of previous tennis matches playing with the volume down. 

Harry’s eyes softened when they looked at Y/N who watched the TV with so much awe on her face. He felt a sense of pride wash over him for both his girlfriend and for himself. After his injury, he thought himself damned and that nothing would give him the rush of playing tennis against big names like he did before but now he had Y/N and life before today seemed non-existent - maybe he hadn’t really been living at all.

He spat out his toothpaste and turned the bathroom light off. He stopped in the doorway in just his boxers when Y/N switched the TV off and there was nothing but the soft, warm glow of the lamp lighting the room. 

Her eyes looked up at him, vulnerability shining from them, “If I lose tomorrow will you still look at me the same?” She asked.

Harry frowned, “What do you mean?”

She sighed heavily, sitting up and pulling the towel closer to her to hide her naked chest, “Will you still like me?”

Harry’s eyes softened. It wasn’t often she shared such a vulnerable side with people so whenever he got a glimpse of it, he felt himself spiralling out of control like he was completely at her mercy, “No,” He starts and walks towards her squatting down before the bed and reaching a hand out to hold her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her cheekbones, “But I’ll love you a little harder than I do right now,”

A breath escaped from Y/N’s lips as they parted, her heart pounding, “What?” She breathed. 

Harry’s lips curved, “I love you.” 

She still couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing, “You do?”

Harry said nothing other than a small nod as he waited for her to respond, “I love you too,” She whispered, her eyes glistening, “More than anything in this world.”

Harry didn’t need to hear anything else as he surged forward to kiss her, his bottom lip sliding between hers. Y/N held his face in her hands as she kissed him as hard as she could whilst he crawled onto the bed. 

She fell back, feeling the soft sheets beneath her as Harry held himself up above her. The towel around her had loosened her pulse racing as she realised what was happening. “We don’t have to-” Harry started but Y/N kissed him quickly to shut him up.

“I want to,” She murmured against his lips. 

Harry nodded, his curls falling around his face as his cheeks tinged pink, “I-I can’t promise I’ll be good,” Y/N immediately shook her head, pushing his curls back and looking him straight in the eye.

“I love you, Harry,” She saw the way his eyes twinkled as she spoke those words, “Whatever we do will be perfect because it’s with you and nobody else. Just us.”

Harry smiles, “The way it’s always been. You and me,”

Y/N mirrors his smile before kissing him again, running her hands up and down his back with nothing but the sound of their lips connecting and their heavy exhales filling the silence of the room. 

As Harry kissed down her neck, Y/N felt her nerves escalating as an idea formed in her mind. The towel around her was the only barrier preventing their skin from touching, and she yearned to feel the warmth of his bare chest against hers. 

Before getting lost in a spiral of self-doubt, Y/N loosened her grip on the towel. Harry paused his assault on her neck and they both froze, “Holy shit,” Harry whispered maybe to himelf but she wasn’t quite sure, “Okay give me a second,” His eyes squeezed shut and Y/N waited. 

Suddenly, Harry’s head glimpsed down at her naked form lying beneath him. The only piece of fabric left on her was a pair of red, lace panties, “Fuck,” Harry cursed, “This isn’t real, pinch me so I can wake up,” 

“Harry,” Y/N laughed.

“I’m sorry baby but you’re just gonna have to give me a moment because- Holy shit.” He exclaimed, “This is way better than I imagined,” He muttered, loud enough for her to hear.

Harry was in awe of the girl that lay beneath him, every curve of her body and inch of her soft skin looked as thought it was sculpted by tender hands. His hands gripped the bottoms of her thighs and he felt the hard muscle from months and months of playing tennis and yet, despite all that, her skin was still so damn soft. 

Harry couldn’t think up enough words to praise the temple that was her body so he sealed his lips with hers, his tongue darting out filled with lust and need. His fingers slid up her thigh to grip her ass and when his hips rolled against hers she felt him - all of him. 

Y/N let out a moan as he kissed down her body, he pulled her into him until her breasts were pressed against his chest. Her arms looped around his neck, her fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

Y/N hummed, her eyes fluttering shut, as Harry kissed and touched every inch of skin. She felt like all the heavy parts of her were being taken out of her body and only her heart remained. He cupped her breasts in his hand and squeezed, her nipples hardening despite the warmth of his touch.  She felt like dough, fluffy and light, and no matter what he did to her they would somehow mould together perfectly. 

She felt Harry’s thumb hook the waistband of her panties when he kissed the inside of her thigh, “Harry,” Y/N gasped. It seemed to be the only word she had left inside of her empty head. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, his green eyes peering up at her.

“No,” She said, too quickly, “You can do anything y’ want to me.” She trusted him that much. 

Harry shuddered at her words, his heart expanding three sizes inside of his chest. He didn’t think it was possible to feel this way about somebody, to feel like all his calloused skin was peeling off of his body and now he was someone completely new. 

With shaky hands, he removed Y/N’s underwear, seeing the way her chest rose and fell. His hands gently pushed her plush thighs apart, “Fuck baby,” He groaned. 

“Please Harry,” Y/N mewled, her hips wriggling in hopes the action would propel him to do something. 

“Calm down lovie, jus’ admiring how pretty y’ are,” He smirks, his thumb trailing up her slit until it reached her clit. He stopped, hearing her weighted breaths before he began to rub it in slow, teasing circles. He caught the stutter in her breath, watching when her hands fisted the blanket. 

Without warning, Y/N feels his warm, wet tongue run between her folds. The sensation feels foreign but she’s overcome by intense pleasure as he begins lapping her through her folds. She feels her lungs deflate as the air escapes her, unable to breathe when he teases her clenching open. Her toes curl as his other hand travels to her hip to hold her down and nuzzle his face harder against her. 

Hearing her whines and feeling her writing beneath him, Harry feels his cock throbbing in his boxers, he could feel the damp fabric against his skin as he pressed himself into the mattress with his head still in between her thighs. 

“So good,” Y/N babbles, her body shivering when she felt the coil begin to tighten in the pit of her belly, “So, so good Harry.”

Before she could find her release, Harry pulled away his chin glistening with her juices. Y/N’s hands grapple for him but she can barely reach him and feels too floaty to try any harder. Harry’s hair is a mess as he crawls up her bare body and kisses her. She tastes herself on his tongue when they brush against each other, “I need to be inside of you,” He slurs against her lips, “I need you so bad Y/N, I think I’ll go crazy if I don’t.” 

Harry’s head hangs, his curls falling in front of his face. Y/N automatically pushes them back, her hips rolling against his. She can feel the damp spot against his boxers despite her own wetness covering her thighs, “I’m on birth control,” She tells him. 

Harry groans, his forehead pressing against her collarbones, “Of course you are,” He says, “Always so fucking prepared, aren’t you?” He drawls, “My best girl,”

Y/N’s heart flips and spins at his words, but the reality of the situation sets in when she feels him removing his boxers. She gasps as she feels his hardened length against the inside of her thigh. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but Harry was big; she had no clue whether it was normal for someone to be as thick as he was, and she wondered how she was meant to fit it all inside of her.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs and Y/N nods, “I feel like we should high-five or something,”

Y/N can’t help but laugh, “What?”

“Well we’re both virgins about to lose our virginity, shouldn’t we like boost morale or something?” He jokes and Y/N laughs so hard her cheeks ache. 

After they both settle, Harry kisses her quickly as he lines his cock up to her pussy, “Harry?” He hums a reponse, “It’ll fit right?”

Harry groaned, his mind still picturing her small, wet glistening pussy that he had just had his first taste of, “Yes baby, it’s your first time so it’ll hurt a little but if you want to stop we’ll stop and if you say go we’ll go and if you want me to leave you alone for ten minutes, I’ll leave for five. Whatever you want.” 

“Okay,” She nods, fully determined, “I love you,”

Harry’s eyes soften, “I love you too, lovie.”

Y/N smiles, “I like that name,”

“Yeah?” Harry’s lips curve. 

“Yeah,” Y/N loops her arms around his neck and tries her best to relax when she feels the tip of his cock brush through her folds. 

Harry kisses her forehead, “Take a deep breath,” He says and as she does, she feels him push his hips down and his tip gently ease into her. She gasps, feeling her pussy throb as he moves achingly slow, inch by inch inside of her. A thin layer of sweat covers Harry’s forehead, his jaw clenching as he feels her walls squeezing him tightly. 

She feels a sting of pain as his thick length pushes through her, her pussy stretching to accommodate his size. 

“Baby,” He murmurs, the tip of his nose brushing over her cheek, “If you keep clenching around me I’m gonna cum before I’m all the way inside of you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You’re not all the way in yet?” 

Harry cringed, “M sorry, do you want to stop?”

Y/N immediately shook her head, pulling him closer to her, “Keep going,” She whispered despite the fact she was wondering if she even had enough room to fit him inside of her when she already felt so full. 

Harry eased into her a little quicker this time, kissing her soothingly and whispering sweet, encouraging nothings into her ear. He even began to rub his thumb against her clit in hopes it would ease some of her discomfort. 

Eventually, he found himself all the way, deep inside of her, her walls squeezing him tightly with his hips pressed against her own. “Are you okay?” He murmured. 

“Mhm,” Y/N could barely keep her eyes open from how blissful she felt. It was like nothing she had ever felt before, her entire body was just full up of him in ever sense of the word, “Can we stay like this for a moment,”

He kissed her shoulder and along her collarbones, “Whatever you want lovie, doing so well,”

Although he was trying to remain calm for her, Harry couldn’t believe he was buried deep inside of the girl he had loved for so long. He couldn’t feel any part of his body apart from where they were both connected, slotted together so perfectly like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. 

Her hair splayed out around her on the pillow, her lips were plushy and swollen, and her cheeks were red, the colour of two, crisp apples picked right off a tree. She was a dream, the love of his life. 

“Okay,” She murmured, “Y’ can move now.”

“Are you sure?” He would hate himself if he caused her any more pain but she nodded. 

A hiss escaped her lips as Harry began to slowly move out of her. He paused, “I just need to get used to it is all,” She assured. 

Harry nods, waiting for her to tell him to move again and when she does, he moves gently out of her before carefully thrusting back into her again. Now that she was getting used to the feeling of him inside of her, Y/N could feel the ridges and veins of his cock brush her walls, the tip of his cock pressing into her g-spot as he moved inside of her. 

“God Harry,” Y/N whines. 

“You’re m’ dream girl,” Harry slurs, biting his lip when he takes in how tight she is as she clenches around him. He grabs one of the hands still placed around his neck and kisses her wrist. He intertwines their fingers and settles their hands beside her head needing to feel her touch, “M’ best girl, I love y’ so much.” He whispers. 

“Love you,” She sighs, her eyes fluttering shut as he thrusts over and over again, each one more perfect than the last. 

“Y’ pussy is so perfect baby, made for each other, aren’t we? Hmm? Y’ my perfect, dream girl.” He groans, his head falling forward. 

Harry pulled his hand away from hers to smear his thumb over her clit. Y/N whimpers and writhes beneath him at the added pleasure, “Faster,” She whispers, “Please.”

Harry presses messy kisses along her jawline, “Don’t have to beg baby,” He hastens his rhythmic thrusts, their moans filling the air. 

“Can feel y’ clenching baby?” Harry seemed to already have an idea of when Y/N was about to cum from the way her body shivered beneath him, “Y’ gonna cum?” 

“Yes Harry,” She gasps, “Please Harry, it feels so good,” Her eyes pinched with tears at the overwhelming pleasure that filled every part of her. 

“Cum round my cock baby, make a mess hmm, need y’ to cum so I can cum too yeah?” He was almost pleading, words tumbling from his mouth as his thrusts began to speed up the closer he got to his release. 

Y/N could feel that same coil begin to tighten in her belly, she could see her vision start to blur and all her muscles tighten until it snapped and her back arched into him. He swooped one arm beneath her, pulling her into him and burying his face into her neck as he groaned into her, “Fuck,” He heaved, releasing into her. 

Y/N could barely get any words out as he collapsed on top of her. Her eyes were fixated on the ceiling, her lips parting with small puffs of air escaping her. She felt like she was floating, levitating off the bed and leaving her body behind, “Y’ okay baby,” Harry murmured, kissing her cheek, “Come down for me yeah?” He presses a hand to her forehead.

“Harry,” She whimpers, the first word to leave her lips after coming down from her high. She loops her arms around him and he scoops her up into his.

“You did such a good job, m’love,” He coos, moving her matted hair out of her forehead and admiring how beautiful she looked under the soft light of the lampshade. 

“Was so perfect,” She whispers, meeting his soft, green eyes and lifting a hand to brush his hair out of his face. 

“Yeah?” He smiled, holding her to him like she was something so fragile he was afraid he might break her.

“Mhm,” She hums, curling into him.  “I love you,” She kissed his chest and felt his heart thudding against her hand.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” Harry replied. 

They lay tangled together amongst the sheets, waiting to float back down into their bodies but basking in every second they had in that moment where their hearts were the same. 

. . .

Y/N lay in bed that same night with Harry’s t-shirt now covering her bare form. Harry laughed as he re-entered the bedroom having just taken his second shower of the evening. 

She was watching a tennis match on the TV again. 

“You’re watching tennis?” He smiled, falling on the bed beside her, clad only in his boxers. “Is this your version of cigarettes after sex?”

Y/N grins, “What can I say? It’s my addiction.”

He reaches for her hand and mindlessly plays with her fingers but his ears prick when he hears his name from one of the commentators, “This is my game from last year,” Harry speaks, seeing his face appear on the screen. 

They watched as Harry walked onto the court exuding confidence as he shook hands with his opponent before the match started. He then pointed his racket at the middle of the stands where the audience was watching. 

“Why do you do that?” Y/N wonders, “Before every game, you’d always point your racket at the middle of the audience.” “Every game?” Harry poked her side. 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve watched every single one of your games so what?”

Harry smiled, kissing her bare shoulder and answering, “Because you used to sit there.”

Y/N stilled turning her head to look at him, “What?”

“Whenever I would play at any of my tennis matches, I always looked out for you in the crowd and I’d always find you sitting right in the middle of the bleachers to watch. Eventually, it just became a thing, before I even set foot onto the court, I’d find you sitting in the exact same spot with the exact same expression on your face. I thought you were a good luck charm because whenever you weren’t sat there I’d lose. When I went to matches that you weren’t going to be watching, I just started pointing down the centre courts like my own superstition or something.” 

“Is that really the reason?” Y/N’s eyes glistened. 

Harry nodded, his eyes casting downward, “S embarrassing I know,” 

Y/N shook her head, cupping his face in her hands, “You’re so perfect,” She mumbled, the both of them falling back onto the mattress, getting lost in each other all over again. 

. . .

Y/N couldn’t focus on anything other than the crowd gathering in the stands as she sat in her plastic chair on the left-hand side of the umpire’s seat. Harry stood next to her, barely saying a word but offering her his presence to ease her nerves. 

Today was the final, the day Y/N had been working towards all these months and it didn’t feel real. The air was hot and humid, Y/N could already feel her skin sticking to the chair as the sun beat down on her. 

After waking up this morning, Y/N felt a blissful ache between her legs from her night with Harry. In some ways, she was thankful for it because for a moment it helped her forget what events lay ahead. Their night together had been magical, there was no other way she could describe it. She had no idea what could happen to a person after being so vulnerable with another but she felt lighter and even more in love with Harry than she had ever been before. 

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, “We’ll be starting soon,” He murmured, squatting in front of her to meet her eyes. 

They had gone to the gym first thing in the morning to warm up for the day's big event. Harry had tried to distract her mind from the doubts that consumed her by playing bad music or challenging her strength on the bel bars but Y/N’s mind constantly drifted. 

“Right,” Y/N felt the pit in her stomach cave inwards, consuming all her insides and mushing them altogether. She felt a wave of nausea as Courtney walked onto the court and everyone applauded her. 

“Y/N,” Harry grasped her hand in her lap and squeezed, “You are going to win this. I wholeheartedly believe in you.”

Her shoulders drop, “If I don’t-”

“There’s no ‘if’,” Harry interrupted her before she could finish her negative train of thought, “You can and you will. Courtney may be a good tennis player but her ego outweighs all of that.” 

Y/N nods, “Okay,” She says. 

Harry stands, his hand cupping her left cheek to lift her head. He grins, “I love you.”

Y/N knows her heart is still intact at least from the way it flips and spins inside her chest at his words, “I love you too.”

A twinkle shines in his eyes until they drift over to the stands. His lips curve, “I think there are some other people here who love you too,” He motions his head towards the crowd and Y/N casts her gaze over in that direction. 

She feels her eyes prick with tears when she sees Sarah, Mitch and Adam in the front row of the stands all wearing t-shirts with her name and face plastered onto them. Sarah immediately spots her and waves, pointing to her shirt with excitement and pride for her best friend. 

“Did you bring them here?” Y/N asked, looking up at Harry.

He shrugged, “Sarah was insisting she came,”

Y/N squeezes his hand,  “Thank you,” She whispers, “For all of this. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” Harry holds her feeling her heart hammering against her chest as too many emotions consume them both. 

Unfortunately for her, Harry couldn’t stay at her side for the entire game but he was in the front row of the stands, directly in the middle exactly where she would sit whenever she would watch any of his games back home. 

When the umpire announced the game would begin, Y/N walked over to Courtney and shook her hand, “Good luck,” She said. 

Courtney scoffed, “Yeah, thanks.”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

As the match began, Y/N and Courtney faced off on the court. The crowd hushed, watching intently. Y/N felt jittery as she waited for Courtney's first serve.

Courtney tossed the ball and swung her racket, sending the ball flying towards Y/N who responded quickly, hitting the ball back with a loud smack.

The game was on. Y/N and Courtney traded shots back and forth, each trying to outplay the other. Y/N felt confident with each move she made, pushing away her earlier doubts until she noticed Courtney begin to counteract her moves when she took in how Y/N responded to each shot. 

With one hard-hitting strike, Courtney sent the ball straight past Y/N’s shoulder. 

Courtney had the first point. 

Y/N glanced over at Harry, seeing him watching with intense focus but his eyes were glued onto her as if she were the only person on the court. 

Ignoring Courtney’s smug expression, Y/N served the ball sending it straight into the air and hitting it back with all the force and aggression she could muster. The rally started up again, each stroke a testament to Y/N’s hard work over the past few months. Except this time, the winning prize was closer than it had ever been before. 

Y/N aimed the ball and landed it in the corner, Country struggling to reach it in time before it bounced off. 

“Fifteen all.” The umpire speaks. 

Her ears caught the cheers of her best friend in the crowd, Harry stood and clapped for her but she could still see how tense he was since the game had only just begun. 

This back-and-forth continued for the next few rounds. Every time Y/N would move, Courtney would match it. The scores were inching closer and closer to the end. Y/N watched when Courtney served the ball once more and aimed to respond, wrapping both her hands tightly around her racket and running towards the ball as it flung through the air but then she felt it. 

An intense pain travelled through her entire body coming from her shoulder and travelling down her arm. 

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, the ball landing right by her as she dropped to her knees and her racket fell from her hands. Y/N let out a pained scream as she clutched her shoulder.

Medics ran onto the court, people gasping in their seats as they watched the events unfold. “Harry,” Y/N whimpered, “Harry,” She was saying his name like he was looking out for him. 

“Stop moving,” One of the medics urged when Y/N tried to stand up. 

“Harry,” Y/N sobbed, tears falling from her eyes. 

She wasn’t sure what hurt more - her shoulder or her heart breaking from the thought of all this being over. 

“Y/N,” Harry was out of breath as he approached her, pushing the security out of the way when they tried to stop him. He collapsed to his knees beside her, searching for the damage.

“Harry,” Y/N cried, the only word she could possibly seem to say in a moment like this.

Harry didn’t know what to do. He felt helpless as he waited for the medics to finish checking out her arm. He held her head to his chest, covering her ears as though it would be enough to shelter her from all that was going on around them. “It’s okay baby,” He whispered, trying to remain calm despite the panic he was feeling. 

He felt as though this was all some kind of nightmare he couldn’t seem to wake up from. Flashbacks from his own injury came to the forefront of his mind as he sat beside her, his shirt dampening as her tears seeped through. “You’re going to be fine,” He told her, repeatedly like he was trying to make himself believe it too. 

“It’s ruined, I failed.” Y/N sobbed. 

“Hey,” He held her face, trying to smooth some of the tears away, “You’re not a failure and you didn’t ruin anything. You played so well, the best I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s over,” She couldn’t take in anything he was saying and he knew that.

He knew what she was feeling - how the pain of losing everything outweighed the physical pain of an injury. “I love you Y/N, you’re going to be okay.” Was all he could say. 

“Y/N, it's a mild dislocation,” one of the medics explained.

“What?” Y/N tried not to scream as they moved her arm.

“We need to take you to the hospital to get it reset,” they advised, but Y/N shook her head immediately.

“No,” she whispered urgently, “Do it now.”

“Y/N—” Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Ignoring him, Y/N locked eyes with him and insisted, “Put it back in now, and I can finish the game.”

“Y/N, this is crazy,” Harry protested, shaking his head, “I won’t let you go out there in this much pain.”

“You’ve done it before,” she reminded him, “I watched you dislocate your shoulder and keep playing.”

“This is different,” Harry argued, remembering his own injury.

“If I don’t finish this, I would hate myself,” Y/N insisted earnestly, “Please.”

“Y/N, you’ll be at a disadvantage. You’d have to play the entire game with one hand.”

“I know, and I know how to do it,” Y/N reassured him, her eyes softening, “Because you taught me.”

Harry struggled with a gut feeling that this was a terrible idea. “Okay,” he relented, brushing her hair back gently, “Okay.”

“Are you sure?” the medic asked, clearly apprehensive.

“Just do it,” Y/N spoke through gritted teeth.

Harry held the back of her head as she buried her face in his neck, clinging onto his hands tightly. “I’m gonna be so mad at you for this later,” he whispered into her ear.

“That’s okay,” Y/N attempted a smile, but it quickly faded as the medics reset her shoulder. She wailed and squeezed Harry’s hand so tightly he thought it might fall off.

As the medics stepped back, Y/N raised her arm, feeling the pain subside but still present. “Are you okay?” Harry asked, concern etched on his face.

“No,” Y/N said, “But I have to do this.”

The crowd gasped when Y/N stood, picking up her racket with one hand and flipping it in her hand. Harry stood, glancing over at Courtney who was equally as shocked as everybody else. 

He stood in front of Y/N, “I’m so pissed at you right now,” He huffs, “But you better win this.”

Y/N shot him a sad smile, “I’ll try my best.”

He hastily kissed her lips before she could walk away to carry on playing, “That’s all I ask,” He murmured against her. He walks back to his place in the stands, Y/N watching as he goes. 

She pushed away the pain that was shooting down her arm and stood on her end of the court to finish the game. Courtney seemed unsure, scanning the way she stood and seeing her limp arm beside her. 

Y/N glanced at the academy trophy, feeling like it was now out of reach. 

The umpire announced the final round and the tension fell thick in the air. Y/N inhaled a shaky breath and got into position, watching as Courtney threw the ball into the air and hit it with her racket. 

Even though one of her arms wasn’t exactly working, her legs worked just fine as she ran for the ball, hitting it with her racket in her one hand. She gritted her teeth when the pain increased with her movements and met Coutrney’s rallies as best as she could. The match raged on, each swing of the racket echoing with the intensity of her cries as Y/N hit the ball. 

With each shot, Y/N poured her heart and soul into the game, her movements fueled by sheer determination. The crowd held its breath, watching in awe as she defied the odds with every stroke.

As the pain intensified, Y/N's desperation for the game to end grew. She couldn't understand why Courtney hadn't already sealed the win with one final move. However, Y/N was slowly wondering whether Courtney was using her pain as a way of satisfying her own ego. Y/N noticed whenever she winced or faltered in her movements, Courtney's smirk widened as if she was intentionally prolonging the game to relish in Y/N's discomfort.

A surge of anger ignited within Y/N at the realisation. Harry had been right about Courtney's ego, and now Y/N was determined to turn it against her. 

With gritted teeth and a steely determination in her eyes, Y/N squared her shoulders and focused solely on the game. She blocked out the pain, channeling every ounce of her strength and skill into each swing of her racket.

Courtney's smirk faltered as Y/N's resolve became palpable. The crowd sensed a shift in momentum, their cheers growing louder. With each stroke, Y/N felt herself gaining ground, her movements becoming more fluid and precise. 

And then, with one final, decisive shot, she sent the ball sailing past Courtney, landing squarely within the boundaries of the court.

Y/N fell to her knees, tears falling from her eyes as she realised she had won the entire game. 

Harry, Sarah, Mitch and Adam all leapt from the stands and ran towards her, embracing her carefully so to avoid her aching shoulder. 

Harry picked her up, holding her tightly and kissing her face, “You did it,” He grinned, “You won.”

“I did it,” Y/N sobbed in disbelief and then a smile took over her entire face as realisation hit her. 

She had won. 

. . . 

Y/N stood by her locker with Sarah, her arm wrapped in a sling whilst wearing her school uniform. Banners littered the walls of the hallway with ‘congratulations’ written in golden handwriting across them. 

“I can’t believe you won’t be coming with me to UCL next year,” Sarah huffed, “How am I meant to do anything without you?”

Y/N smiled at her best friend, “The tennis academy is a twenty minute walk away from UCL so it’s not like we’ll be away from each other.”

“I know but who am I going to roomie with next year?” Sarah sighed, “It won’t be the same. We’ve been roommates since we were five, I can’t trust anybody like I do with you. I mean, you even accept my white noise machine.”

Y/N hadn’t accepted it, she hated that thing, but Sarah was her best friend so she put up with it, “Well how about we get an apartment together?” 

Sarah almost gasps, “Seriously?”

Y/N nods, “I was thinking maybe me, you, Mitch and Harry could all move in together since we’re going to be living in the same city.”

Sarah’s entire face lights up at the idea, “Have you told Harry about it?”

“We spoke about it last night.” Last night when she stayed the night at his apartment and spent most of the night tangled up in one another. 

Sarah squealed, “I have to tell Mitch, he is going to love that idea. Don’t tell Harry this but the other day he started crying at the thought of having to leave him when the year ends.”

They walked out of the school building together, Sarah rambling about how she wanted to decorate their non-existing apartment as Y/N nodded intently to each of her ideas. 

Since the Academy Slam, not much had changed other than the fact that Y/N was now going to be spending the next two years at the Tennis Academy in London. The school newspaper had done another interview with her but this time she didn’t mind so much that Harry shared the front cover with her, pride on his face as he looked down at her. 

Even though she was achieving her dreams, nothing compared to the relationship she had with Harry. Everyday Y/N felt like she was floating whenever she woke up in Harry’s arms in his apartment or in her tiny dorm bed whenever Sarah wasn’t around. 

A smile covered her entire face when she saw Harry looking like every girl’s wet dream, leaning up against the bonnet of his audi as he waited for her. When he did, his own smile mirrored hers, “Hi baby,” He spoke, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Hi Harry,” Y/N stood toe to toe in front of him, clutching her books in one arm. 

He wrapped one arm around her waist beneath her blazer and pulled her into his chest, kissing her lips softly, his breath tasting like mint chewing gum, “How’s m’ girl?”

Y/N bit down on her lip to stop herself from smiling so much, “Good, I had a test today.”

“Did you smash it?” He smirked. 

“Yes but I probably could have done better if somebody hadn’t kept me up all last night.” She rolled her eyes. 

His lips went to her neck, “Don’t lie, you loved what I did,” He mumbled against her skin as he suckled on her neck, surely leaving a mark. 

“These late nights are getting out of hand,” Y/N made a feeble attempt to push him away. 

“Mmm,” He hummed, pulling away, “Need I remind you that you were the one to initiate it,” 

“I did not,” Y/N gaped. 

“Uh huh,” Harry smirked, “Whatever you want to believe.”

“No you were the one who-” 

Harry’s smirk deepened, “Who what?” He watched as Y/N’s cheeks turned pink and her mouth open and closed as she struggled to say something. 

“Shut up,” She huffed, walking to the passenger seat of his car,  “Take me home please,” 

“Whatever you want,” He beamed, loving the way she called his apartment her home. 

He drove away from the tennis courts, a spark of joy igniting within her every time they came into view. Harry held her hand over the console as they drove down the streets to his apartment, feeling more at peace than she had ever been before. Not only was she going to be going to her dream school but she’d also be with Harry and her best friend too. 

For a long time, Y/N believed that tennis was the only love of her life but now she had Harry and if she had to choose between the two, she would pick him every single time.

taglist: @storyschanging @lilbredsticc @esposa-do-harry @st-ev-ie @itschelseacisneros @hermionelove @tenaciousperfectionunknown  @hesvoid34 @writersarenotartists @ayeree1 @sassamanda77 @estaticheart

[itsquakey]

Forgotten Land DLC thoughts, theories, and hopes

While Kirby Air Riders is an addition I am happy to see pop up in the future, someone who loves story and a certain someone I am actually more excited for the DLC over the air ride sequel believe it or not. And man, do I have a LOT of things to point out and "theorize" what this DLC might be.

⬇️ Rambling below! ⬇️

First of all, the suspiciously jamba-heart-shaped comet which is covered in blue crystals and is pink/purple in the core.

I can maybe see either a purple crystal that has carvings or damage of some sort and light is reflecting off these impurities OR it's something and that weird round bumpiness are wings of some kind? Which is why there's lighting and depth on the "figure". Though it's hard to see and it's a very uneducated guess.

Another detail! The bits of crystal that break apart from the comet and go everywhere has been seen in a few games!

I believe the bits and pieces of comet that break off are the same as the weird crystal fellas we see in Kirby clash and Return to Dreamland in "another dimension". I wonder if somehow that comet had been floating around in the other dimension for so long those weird crystals grew over it and created an extra coating of some kind.

Moving on, it's interesting that these "potential another dimension" crystals are infecting the world around it, though something I find interesting is how the coins change in shape to a different stereotypical star shape. Keep that in the back of your noggin for now.

Moving on again through the video...we see...something?

The area is called Fallen-star volcano, and looks like is contains a pink/purple core surrounded by a orb on red an them dead, fingerlike shapes wrap around it. Not entirely sure what to think of this, though the core is a hot topic of interest to me in my brain.

Next! Now this is where my eyebrows started to shoot up a bit. A new little guy, who seems to be encased in some crystal. He looks vaguely kirby enemy-like, typical design, though the colors, little wings, and shape on their face interests me for reasons I'll go into later.

Also, a potential new waddle dee??? He seems to be an astronomer or hell, maybe they research the other dimensions or the ancients. It would be amusing if this is bandee in new gear, though.

Next up, HMMMMMM THIS LOOKS FAMILIAR

This fella is covered in crystal, likely protected with horns and a mask(?) shape that really made me go "oh shit?" Something else to point out, when kirby defeats this fella, you can see their body and eye more clearly. The egg shaped body is also interesting to me but that could be a reach.

Nothing else seemed to catch my eye in the video we got after this, but I definitely have a handful of theories and hopes, so let's move onto that!

THEORY ONE: COMING BACK TO THE FORGOTTEN LAND

One idea I have is that maybe somehow those who left the forgotten land have been elevated to "another dimension" and one of these beings has crash landed back to the land they once left, now infecting the land around it. There's no proof for this one, but I kinda just had the idea in my brain when typing this out.

THEORY TWO: SOMEHOW, VOID TERMINA RETURNED

This theory has more grounds to be true, with the idea that Void Termina has suddenly become reincarnated and is flung back to land in a jamba heart-like crystal. The "another dimension" crystals are spreading and creating new living things as Void termina's new form awaits someone to wake it from its slumber.

THEORY THREE: PLEASE BE GALA PLEASE BE GALA

I REALLY want this to be true, I do. And I actually have a entire story decked out here for y'all. What if...Galacta's death in Star Allies was a red herring this whole time. What if every time we've seen him it's only the version of him in that dimension/universe? And in every universe, every dimension, Galacta knight is doomed to that crystal imprisonment. However, in our mainline timeline, our version of Galacta knight has been hanging around another dimension's very bottom, collecting crystals and becoming a huge comet that looks exactly like the thing Galacta knight helped seal away all those years ago. Now, he was the one who had been sealed and could never be free from it again.

This comet, one day becomes big and powerful enough to move out of the other dimension, and fall right into the Forgotten Land. This giant comet, holding the greatest warrior, falls into the sea and creates its own island where his body is kept. The crystals spread and infect everything, even giving creatures an appearance similar to him. Hell, maybe the little blue guy we see (which has bee confirmed to work like waddle dees) either helps up undo the crystals, maybe freeing Gala and undoing the crystal takeover of the land. Or maybe it's like a Leon's soul thing? Maybe these guys are parts of Galacta's soul or sanity you need to collect and return to him???

Something about them is interesting though, they have the same star shape as Galacta's mask does and what we see other enemies have as well as the coins we see in the game. They also have wings that look like they're meant to resemble bird wings. These could have a connection to Elfilin as well. But back on course to Gala. What if the pink/purple we see in the grainy image is either him or his crystal prison? And once he is freed it is revealed that his hatred, fear, and contempt have become a living thing possessing him and practically being responsible for the chaos that was happening. Maybe, this main line universe of Galacta is the one who gets the happy ending, and gets to be apart of Kirby's group or just gets to live happily in the forgotten land. Also something something tons of lore dumps as we go. But I'm desperate for Gala content he's my second fav kirby character and I NEED more of him and this trailer really tipped me off to "Galacta like patterns". If any new videos or info drops I'll be on it but this is my hopeful ramblings for now. Art coming soon! I really wanna draw these little guys.

Add onto whatever ideas or story you wanna see in this DLC.