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ginnsbaker · 6 months ago

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (11/?)

Part Summary: You listen, and her reasons make sense, but they don't ease the tightness gripping your heart. Knowing how well Leigh understands the control she holds over you leaves you feeling exposed, almost humiliated. It feels manipulative, whether she intended it or not.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.300+ | Warnings: Angst | Author's note: Buckle up you guys.

You've never looked at Leigh this way before.

Not even when she confronted you months ago, a formidable presence with a devastating revelation that shattered what you thought was a straightforward affair with a single man. Not even when she accused you of lying, or when she consistently made things difficult for you.

Now, you look at her as if she's an entirely different person. And from the way you fall back, it's obvious you don't particularly like what you see. Leigh hadn't realized just how painful it could be to be looked at in such a way. With each of your steps, panic swells inside her. Though you're only a few feet away, it feels as if you've drifted oceans apart. She can't reach you, and the growing distance makes her fear she never will.

“What did you say?” you repeat slowly, each syllable dropping like a stone—deliberate and heavy.

Your eyes, hard and cold, fix on her. It’s an unsettling sight; she'd almost prefer your anger. Anger, at least, is a familiar adversary, a clear-cut emotion she has long helmed and appeased within herself. She understands anger, knows how to quell it, how to unravel it into something resembling forgiveness or at least a truce. But this wounded belief—she doesn’t know what to do with it. It doesn’t want loud arguments or quick fixes. Instead, it seems to demand something she finds far harder to give: an explanation of motives she's not sure she fully understands herself.

“Your eyes are... enthralling?” Leigh stammers out, her voice quivering slightly as she attempts some self-preservation. She regrets the words as soon as they slip out, sounding hollow and clumsy to her own ears.

You don't laugh, or even react much at all, except to say, “You know that's not what I'm talking about.”

Leigh’s heart sinks a bit more. She winces, shaking her head, realizing the frivolous comment has fallen flat, doing nothing to undo the damage. In the end, she can’t bring herself to say what she knows you want to hear.

“After all this time, how…? How do you know about that nickname?” you ask, maintaining a façade of indifference though you can feel the cracks forming.

“I work for the website,” Leigh says, her eyes dropping to the floor when she hears you take in a sharp breath. “I used to run the advice column there. But when Matt died, I couldn't handle it anymore and I left.” She stops for a moment, her gaze flickering back to you, searching for a reaction, but you remain silent, your expression unreadable.

“They brought me back recently, just as a contributor. I wasn't sure how to tell you. It's part of how I'm trying to move on, getting back into writing, even though it feels different now,” she adds somberly.

“So, did you just read my entries and figure out it was me from what I wrote?” you ask, your voice low and uncertain.

Leigh swallows dryly, steeling herself for what she has to say next. “Not only did I read your entries,” she admits slowly, her voice a whisper of trepidation, “but I was the one replying to them.”

After her confession, Leigh struggles to meet your eyes. Her ears are filled with the loud rush of her heartbeat, thumping wildly as the seconds tick by without a word from you. Time seems suspended, and when you don't speak, move, or give any indication of your thoughts, dread begins to creep into the edges of her mind.

“I was going to tell you,” Leigh murmurs, the words barely escaping her lips. Your arms cross over your chest, sealing yourself off even more. She feels you slipping further away, when just moments earlier, you had been kissing the life out of her, as if trying to breathe her in.

This can’t be happening, Leigh thinks. It just can’t.

“When?” you scoff. “When you’re… what? Done with your revenge?”

Leigh’s brow furrows at the accusation. “Revenge?”

“Isn’t that what this is about?” you ask, retreating until your back meets the wall, leaning heavily against it. Leigh notices the fatigue etched into your features, as if the realization that she knew about your submissions and was the one responding to them is more than you can bear.

“I don’t—”

“Payback for what went on between me and Matt?”

“Y/N,” Leigh utters your name hard, like a deity in her prayers. “You’re misunderstanding this—”

“Am I?” you challenge, your voice rising. You don't care if the neighbors hear; you’ve never met any of them anyway. “I remember a ‘Gigi Herrel’ advising me to move on, to meet other people, to pursue someone else—”

Your words become stuck in your throat as you realize that ‘Gigi Herrel’ is an anagram for ‘Leigh Greer.’ How could you have missed it? How could you have been so blind?

Leigh aches to reach out to you, to touch you and reassure you that she never meant any harm, that her intentions were never what you're accusing her of. But her hands remain at her sides, afraid you might recoil or push her away. She worries that one wrong move could drive you away for good.

“I never meant to hurt you. Please, Y/N,” she begs, her voice trembling with an urgency neither of you thought she was capable of. “I was trying to protect you—from myself. I’m a mess, Y/N. I’ve been a mess since Matt…” Leigh trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

“You thought toying with my feelings was protection?”

“I wasn’t!” Leigh objects forcefully.

You slump to the ground, your strength giving out as a sharp, nail-like pain spreads through your head. You bury your face in your hands, fingers pressing into your temples, while Leigh sits across from you, her hands nervously twisting together.

Quietly, you voice your frustrations. “If it wasn't a game, then why do I feel like I've been losing all this time? Things would be fine between us, and then suddenly, you'd ignore me. My texts went unanswered, my messages unseen for days. It felt like you weren't even treating me right as a friend. I'd drive myself crazy wondering if I said something wrong or did something wrong… It feels like I'm always walking on eggshells. So, if it wasn't a game, tell me you didn't do those things on purpose. Because if not, then you were awful to me without even trying. You know that, right?”

Leigh's eyes brim with remorse. She quickly wipes at her eyes before a tear can fall, trying to maintain her composure in front of you.. “I would never play games with you,” she implores. “I've been in pieces for so long that I've forgotten what it means to be whole. When I found out about your feelings, I didn’t understand them. I couldn't see how it could happen when I wasn't my best self.

“I pushed you away because I was scared of letting you see the real me—the broken, messy parts. I thought that if you got too close, saw too much, you'd realize there wasn't much to hold onto. That eventually, you'd see me the way I see myself and end up disappointed.” Her voice trembles, betraying the strength she tries to project.

You listen, and her reasons make sense, but they don't ease the tightness gripping your heart. Knowing how well Leigh understands the control she holds over you leaves you feeling exposed, almost humiliated. It feels manipulative, whether she intended it or not.

“You knew how I felt about you, Leigh,” you say, your lips curving into a wistful smile. “I understand that you're hurting and that being scared is part of it, but it doesn't justify leaving me hanging, wondering where I stand with you, feeling like I'm just... waiting for you to decide I'm worth your time.”

Leigh nods slowly. “I realize that now, and I'm so sorry. It wasn't fair to you. I was trying to manage my own issues, but I ended up projecting them onto you.”

You look into her eyes, searching for a sign that the change you need from her is possible. “Being broken isn't a reason to break others,” you say.

Leigh flinches slightly, your words hitting home. “You’re absolutely right,” she agrees, her eyes unblinking. You can tell that if you were to list her faults, she would agree and confess to them all just to resolve things right here and now. But that's not what you want, nor what you need from her.

“Y/N,” Leigh's voice almost breaks as she says your name. “Will you forgive me?”

Yes, you think instinctively. Forgiving Leigh feels almost second nature. But actually saying it out loud right now would set a course you're not sure you're ready to follow. Trust has been strained and rebuilding it isn't as simple as uttering a single word of forgiveness.

Leigh looks at you expectantly, anxiety lining her features. “Y/N?” she repeats softly.

You understand what she's silently asking: if there's a chance to reset everything. But you're not ready to commit to an answer. Offering her any assurance now might only lead to false hopes, especially if you later decide a real relationship isn't possible. Part of you wants to give in, to return to her embrace and pick up where you left off. But another part, perhaps the more rational side, holds you back.

“Leigh, I... can we just... I need some time to think,” you finally say. Disappointment flashes across her face, almost imperceptible but unmistakably there. As Leigh stands, you expect her to quietly leave, respecting your need for space. Instead, she spins around to face you with renewed determination.

“I'm not a perfect person, okay?” she whispers, but you can still sense the rough edges around her voice. This is a side of Leigh you're all too familiar with, having felt the sting of her impatience and temper more times than you'd like. But instead of rising to the challenge, you simply feel drained—too exhausted to argue tonight.

“You don't have to be perfect, Leigh,” you say, more tired than angry. Then, almost impulsively, you ask, “Does Danny know you’re here?”

Leigh's composure slips for just a moment at the mention of his name. Guilt or surprise crosses her face like a shadow, only to vanish as quickly as it appeared. Her jaw tightens, and you sense her displeasure at the topic. “No, he doesn't know I'm here,” she says curtly.

Well, at least she’s being honest. But what were you expecting—that her presence here meant she had chosen you?

“You need some time to think too,” you say, pushing yourself up and moving toward the door. Leigh's expression stiffens as her eyes follow your movements. You open the door, gesturing for her to leave. She approaches, hesitating just short of it, her gaze searching for the right words or maybe just some reassurance, but finding neither.

“I'm sorry,” she murmurs, her defiance fading. “This isn't how I imagined tonight would go. I don't regret what happened, really, but I hate that it ended up hurting you. That's not why I came here.”

“I know,” you reply, unsure of what else to say.

Leigh starts to leave, then hesitates again just before crossing the threshold. “Can I contact you?”

You let out a sigh. "Good night, Leigh."

She swallows hard and nods slowly. “Bye,” she whispers.

You gently close the door after her and lean against it for a moment. Leigh has turned your world upside down more times than you can count, and you two haven't even truly begun.

“Do you ever just think about disappearing?”

Jules lifts her head to look at her sister. They lie side by side at the foot of Leigh's bed, with empty glasses of milk on the floor next to them and an open pack of Oreos, an invitation for the ants.

The night before, after the whole debacle with you finding out she’s been answering your advice submissions, Leigh had come home with her lips still tingling and her stomach in knots. She had almost run to her room in a huff, drawing puzzled looks from Jules and Amy, before slamming her bedroom door shut. They knew better than to ask what was wrong and wisely kept their distance. That was, until Leigh didn't come out of her room the entire morning until afternoon, except for a quick trip to the kitchen for some food, and even then, she was wearing the same clothes as the day before. A single whiff from a few feet away also made it clear she hadn't showered either.

Worried, Jules decided to intervene with a little gesture that she hoped might coax her sister out of her shell. She grabbed a packet of Oreos from the pantry and poured a glass of milk—Leigh’s comfort snack since childhood—and tapped softly on her sister's door. Leigh didn’t answer. She tried the knob, found it unlocked, and pushed the door open. The sight of Leigh, all disheveled and pale with those heavy bags under her eyes, took Jules right back to those first several days after they learned Matt had been found dead at the bottom of a cliff.

Jules lifts her head to look at her sister. “Leigh, you're scaring me. You know that, right?”

Leigh quickly shakes her head, realizing how her words sounded. “No, no, I don’t mean like that. Not disappearing in the way Matt did.” She sighs, throwing an arm over her eyes. “I just mean... rebooting, you know? Wishing we could rewind to before everything got so complicated.”

Relieved by the clarification, Jules settles back down beside her. They both gaze up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“I wish I never tasted alcohol when I was fifteen,” Jules says suddenly.

Leigh frowns. “That bad, huh?”

Jules smiles wryly and nods. “Yeah. Some choices just stick with you, you know? Can’t undo them. Just have to live with what comes after.”

Leigh's thoughts drift as she listens to Jules, a rueful smile crossing her lips. “You know, I've got my own list of should've, would've, could've. I always thought I'd finish college, maybe become an editor or write something of my own one day.”

Jules tries to offer a silver lining. “But you don’t need a degree to be a writer, Leigh.”

“Yeah, I know,” Leigh mumbles, tracing a pattern on the bedspread absentmindedly. “It's just... having that formal education might have made things easier. Like being pushed by mentors... or the doors it would've opened, the people I would've met. But more than that, I regret not sticking it out. I quit too easily.”

Then, turning on her side with her back to Jules, she continues, “But in the end, it all circles back to Matt somehow. This… this inability to follow through really got to me after he was gone. We had so many plans, so many dreams together. And now none of them will ever happen.”

“You still really love him, don't you?”

Leigh’s answer is slow to come. “Yes,” Leigh whispers, her reply muffled slightly by the pillow. After a moment, she adds, “And no.”

Before Jules can comment on it, she continues, “It’s like… I love who we were, who he was to me. And I love all the memories, every plan we made, every silly promise. But,” she stops, picking her words carefully, “but there’s also this part of me that’s learning to live without that, to not need it so much. It feels like moving on, and that part doesn’t love the pain, doesn’t want to keep holding on if it just hurts.”

Jules reaches out, resting her hand on Leigh’s shoulder, offering a silent show of support. “And, um, does that tie into why you were so upset last night?”

Leigh's laugh is faint and strained. “Yes,” she says softly, “and no.” Then she rolls over to face Jules, burying the lower half of her face in the blankets.

“How so?”

“It’s complicated, Jules. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Alright,” Jules huffs. “I’ll guide you then. Does it have something to do with what I said about Y/N seeing Sara?”

Leigh doesn't answer. Instead, she sits up, letting the blanket fall around her lap as the steady breeze from the air conditioning causes her skin to prickle with goosebumps.

Jules sits up as well. “It's fine to be upset over her. You can grieve for others too, not just Matt. You can’t keep using him as the reason for all your pain. If you want to handle this, you’ve got to figure out what you're really up against.”

“Since when did you start playing therapist?”

Jules smirks. “Rehab over the past five years teaches you some things.”

Leigh forces a smile. She knows Jules jokes to cope, using humor to deal with everything she’s been through. Taking a breath, Leigh says, “I saw her last night.”

“I figured,” Jules says with a knowing look. “You dashed out of the house without even putting on a bra.”

Leigh covers her face, cringing. “You noticed that?”

Jules chuckles. “Well, it's not like any of us, including Mom, bothers wearing one around the house,” she jokes, and they both laugh. “So, did you actually forget to put one on, or…?”

Leigh rolls her eyes and gives Jules a light elbow to the side. “I forgot, okay?”

Jules grins, teasing, “Well, not like it got you any action considering how annoyed you looked when you got back last night.”

Leigh goes quiet, her eyes flitting around the room. “Well, actually…”

Jules leans in, eyes wide. “Oh my god, something happened?”

Leigh bites her lower lip. “We��kissed.”

Jules's brow creases together. “And it was that bad? You looked miserable and locked yourself up all day. Was it really just because of a bad kiss?”

“It wasn’t,” Leigh corrects her quickly. “It was good. Like, really good.” She must look a bit dreamy thinking back on it because Jules grabs a pillow and playfully smacks her in the face.

“Alright, be serious,” Jules says, fighting to keep a straight face. “What really happened?”

Leigh sniffs, clearly reluctant to revisit the details but she begins recounting it for Jules. She explains how she received a submission for the advice column she writes for, from someone using the pseudonym ‘EspressoEyes.’ It arrived on her birthday and was intriguing enough that she responded immediately. She had no idea it was you, but as the details matched too perfectly with your birthday surprise, she started to connect the dots. Then came another question, so on point that she couldn't chalk it up to coincidence anymore. After the kiss you shared last night, she let slip that you truly have espresso eyes.

“...and that's when everything fell apart,” Leigh finishes, flopping back onto the mattress with a bounce, face down, her hair fanning out around her.

Leigh waits for Jules to react, to say anything. But her sister doesn’t speak or even make a sound for a long time, and just as she’s about to sneak a peek at her sister, curious and a bit anxious, Jules says, “Honestly, if I were Y/N, I’d be very much horrified too.”

Leigh gives her a look that’s both curious and wary. “Yeah?”

“Telling someone you have feelings for them is scary,” Jules explains. “Imagine finding out that the feelings you’ve been hiding came out in such a vulnerable, almost embarrassing way.”

“I guess you’re right,” Leigh concedes.

“But,” Jules continues, “the real problem is that you didn't address it right after you figured it out. You let her pine for you before pulling her in.”

Leigh nods and grabs an Oreo from the floor, popping the whole thing into her mouth. “And I still don't know why I confronted Y/N about Sara right away. By the way, you're an asshole for that, Jules. Y/N isn't dating Sara.”

Jules just grins, completely unabashed. “I know. But it was fun seeing you all riled up.”

Leigh sighs, the cookie in her mouth losing its sweetness. “I feel so stupid for needing that push. I didn't even realize what was happening. It felt like being hit by a truck when I realized I wanted her. And I didn't trust it, you know? Especially since I haven't even been into women since my ex in college.”

Jules studies her sister thoughtfully. “So, what now that you've messed up?”

Leigh looks away, her face shrouded with uncertainty. She wishes she had a definite answer, but she knows only time will tell. “She said she needs some time to think, and I'll give her as much as she needs.”

“And in the meantime,” Jules asks, her eyes brightening with a bit too much enthusiasm, “are you going to break up with Danny?”

“Right,” Leigh mutters weakly, “I almost forgot about Danny.”

You carefully place your rental bike against the railing on the front porch, careful not to scratch the paint. After spending a year in sunny Los Angeles, the crisp autumn air of Camden, Maine, nips at your cheeks, reminding you just how unaccustomed you've become to the cold. You pull your bomber jacket tighter around your body, a futile shield against the chill, and find yourself yearning for the relentless sun that’s now hiding above the clouds of your hometown.

The aroma of blueberry pie wafts from the slightly ajar front door of the Ranch style home where you spent most of your childhood, drawing you irresistibly towards the warmth inside. From where you stand, you can see the boats bobbing in the harbor, their masts swaying gently in the breeze. You can nearly taste the ocean’s saltiness, brought back vividly through memories of sailing with your father.

“Mom?” you call out as you step inside after removing your shoes. “I’m home!”

Your mom appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted apron. She looks up, her eyes lighting up when she sees you, and she quickly closes the distance to wrap you in a tight hug. Over the years, she’s grown shorter, now standing three inches below you. As she hugs you, you rest your cheek on her salt-and-pepper hair, which smells sweetly of sugar and blueberries.

“Welcome home, honey,” she says, her voice muffled against your jacket. “I wasn't expecting you until dinner.”

“I managed to catch an earlier flight,” you say, squeezing her a little tighter. “Where's Morris?” you ask, referring to her partner and the man who's been sort of a stepdad to you, although your mom and he never got married. They've been sharing this home for the last ten years.

“He's out back,” she replies, pointing towards the yard through the kitchen window. “He's been trying to get the garden ready for winter before the frost sets in.”

You hum in response, dropping your duffel onto the couch nearby.

“Are you hungry?” your mom asks, turning towards the fridge.

“Am I too early for the pie?” you ask, your stomach rumbling at the thought.

Your mom turns around with a wide, toothy grin. “You made it just in time.”

Your bedroom is just as you left it last year, preserved in time. Your mom has kept the dust at bay, and the sheets feel freshly laundered, as if you'd only left them hours ago. Instinctively, you gravitate towards the shelves lined with various framed photos of your family. Smiling faces of your brother and your father gaze back at you from the pictures, and a warm, nostalgic smile spreads across your face. You feel a pang of yearning for them—it's been too long.

With a sigh, you collapse onto the bed and pull out your phone. As promised, Leigh hasn’t made any attempts to reach out to you. Without thinking, you browse through her social media accounts, though there's nothing new since you discovered she knew about your feelings all along. Nonetheless, you scroll through her old photos, the ones from before she was widowed, where her smiles seem effortless and full of confidence, as if happiness was her default.

You miss her; that much you can't deny. But you're still hurt, not just because she didn't come clean about her discovery, but also because of the way she often treated you—the hot and cold attitude, the confusion, the lack of kindness and consideration. Time and again, you've given her the benefit of the doubt, especially considering she's grieving a loved one with a secret that further complicated his passing. You understand loss, having faced it yourself, but you've never allowed your grief to justify lashing out at others or toying with someone's emotions. It makes you wonder how you even fell for her in the first place.

Before you know it, your eyelids grow heavy and you nod off, your phone slipping onto the comforter. You're not sure how long you've been out when a soft knock on your door jolts you awake.

“Come in,” you mumble, still half in a daze as you rub your eyes.

The door creaks open and your mom pops her head in. “Dinner's almost ready,” she says with a warm smile. “Want to come down and help me set the table?”

You nod. “Can you give me five minutes? I promise I'll help.”

Without waiting for a response, she walks over to sit beside you on the bed, gently stroking your hair as if you were still a child. “What’s wrong?” she asks softly. Your mother has always been your confidante, able to read you like an open book. You can't hide anything from her; she'll know.

“I keep falling for the wrong person,” you say, offering a bittersweet smile.

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Love is more complicated than the right or wrong person. We're all a combination of good and bad; it's just a matter of deciding whether it's worth it in the end.”

You reflect on your past relationships, few though they are, and realize you're better off without them. They were either taking what they could get or using you as a fallback for their own misery.

“Do you feel like this person could be worth it?” she asks.

“I honestly don’t know,” you say. “It’s all so uncertain.”

“And that's fine,” she says. “Love isn't a sprint. Give yourself the space to figure it out.”

You're finding it hard to agree with her. If only the answers could be handed to you, saving you from future heartbreak. Why do some lessons have to be learned the hard way? Why don't people come with warnings and expectations?

Noticing how unconvinced you seem, your mom offers an idea.

“Tell you what, let's ask Morris to set the table for us. How about you and I go see your brother and father before dinner?”

You and your mom walk side by side through the cemetery, hands clasped together. You haven’t visited your father and brother’s graves in over a year, and you've been fighting back tears since leaving the house.

Your mom unfurls a thick blanket over the damp grass, spreading it out with care before you both settle onto it. She surprises you by pulling out a bottle of white wine from her bag. You lift an eyebrow, and she laughs, saying, “In my defense, I used to drink stronger liquor back in the day.”

You chuckle, picking up an empty glass and holding it out. “Pour me one.”

She fills your glass before pouring her own, and the two of you sit there, sipping wine quietly.

A few minutes later, she turns to you and says, “So, tell me about her.”

You nearly choke on your drink, surprised she knows it’s a woman. “How did you know?”

She smiles impishly. “You’ve always had poorer judgment when it comes to girls, so I figured this is what’s been on your mind.”

You can’t help but be impressed by how well she reads you. “Her name is Leigh. She's the wife of someone I used to see,” you say.

Your mom’s smile vanishes, replaced by shock. “Wait, you're saying you had an affair and now you're seeing his wife on the side?”

You burst into laughter at her horrified expression. “No, it's not like that.” Taking a deep breath, you tell her the whole story: how Matt died and how his wife, Leigh, found you after discovering Matt had cheated on her.

As your mom listens, her shock softens into contemplation. She tops up your wine and says thoughtfully, “Well, that’s complicated.”

“Yeah, it is.”

You open up to your mom about Leigh, sharing both the beautiful and terrible moments without holding back. As you recount the story, it's like rereading a passage in a book and analyzing it with new eyes. When you finish, your mother sets down her drink and says, “She's mean to you.”

You nod, draining the last of your wine.

“Loss does things to people,” she says softly. “You and I both know that better than anyone.”

“We do,” you say quietly.

Your mom regards you for a moment, then asks, “What do you see in Leigh? Why do you like her?”

You think about it, grappling with how to express the spectrum of emotions Leigh evokes in you.

“She’s pretty, definitely, and there’s a sharpness to her that’s... captivating. She’s unapologetically herself, and it’s often really funny. But… does that sound shallow? I can’t help but feel a bit foolish listing these superficial things—”

Your mom gently places her hand on yours, stopping your words. “You don’t need a poetic reason to love someone,” she says with a small smile. “Sometimes you just do. But mostly, we feel connected to people because we recognize some part of our soul in them. Recognition is why people are together, Y/N. Can you really love a stranger?”

Perhaps it’s true. Leigh isn’t really a stranger to you. Aside from concealing her knowledge of your feelings, she never pretended to be someone she wasn't. She was honest, showing you both her strengths and flaws. And you didn’t have to like all of it. But you kept coming back, eager to uncover more of her layers.

She continues, “By the way, you must be wondering why I brought you here.”

You glance around at the headstones of your father and brother, then back at her. “Yeah, I was.”

She looks toward the gravestones, her eyes misty. “To remind you that we don’t have all the time in the world. We have to make our time count, even if it means taking risks or facing things we're afraid of. Love isn't easy, but it’s worth finding the right person and making it work.”

“What if it doesn't work out, though?” you ask.

She smiles knowingly. “If it doesn’t, at least you’ll know you gave it a chance. You won't be left wondering what could have been. And that matters.”

She gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, and you return it, feeling a bit more grounded. She waits for her words to settle in you, before asking, “You’ve already made your choice, haven’t you?”

You nod slowly, a growing sense of certainty welling up inside. “I think I have.”

“Well, then. Let’s finish our bottle and head back.”

“You waited until after Thanksgiving dinner to break up with me?” Danny's voice cracks as he speaks, his figure looming in the doorway of his apartment, blocking Leigh's exit. His eyes dart between anger and desperation, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set in a stern line. Yet, his hands are open, reaching toward her—pleading.

They had just returned from Thanksgiving dinner at the Shaws'. Leigh wanted to create one last pleasant memory with Danny, something kind to look back on. Aware of his strained relationship with his mom, she didn't want to leave him alone during the holidays by breaking up earlier. Now she accompanied him back to his apartment, planning to end things there and collect her belongings afterward.

Leigh turns to face him, her expression somber. “I just... I thought it was the right time to talk, after everything settled down.”

“After everything settled down?” Danny repeats incredulously. “You mean after we spent the whole day with your family, pretending everything was fine?”

Leigh sighs, knowing how it looks but needing him to understand. “I know how it seems, but I couldn't do it before dinner. It didn’t feel right to ruin the holiday for everyone.”

Danny steps back from the doorway, giving her space to enter. “So, you decided to ruin my night instead?”

Leigh walks inside, closing the door behind her. “I'm really sorry, Danny. I’ve felt for a while that this isn’t working, and I can't keep stringing you along.”

Danny runs a hand through his hair and starts pacing. “Is this about Matt?”

Leigh stills for a moment, considering her answer. It would be easy to say yes, to blame everything on that one pervasive loss. Matt has often been her scapegoat, but Leigh is tired of deceiving herself and others. For quite some time now, it hasn't been Matt’s absence that's been upending her world. Which is why she resolves to tell him the truth, aware that he would find out sooner or later.

Leigh sucks in a deep breath and looks Danny in the eye. “No, it's not about Matt. It's because of Y/N.”

Danny stops in his aimless tracks, his eyes narrowing. “Y/N?”

Leigh feels her heart race, knowing she can’t back down now. “Two weeks ago… we kissed.”

He blinks, stunned. “You kissed Y/N?” His voice is flat, almost disbelieving.

“It wasn’t planned, but... it happened. And it felt right, in a way I can’t ignore,” Leigh says.

Danny crosses his arms, scoffing. “I didn't know you were into women,” he says with a sneer, as if trying to insult her.

Leigh grits her teeth. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Clearly,” he replies bitterly. “So how many times? How long have you been cheating on me?”

Leigh shakes her head, holding her ground. “I didn’t purposely cheat on you, Danny. I didn’t even realize I had strong feelings for her until that night. It just happened.”

Danny's face contorts with rage, and he yells, “Stop lying to me, Leigh! You fucking checked out of this relationship a while ago, and now it makes sense. You were screwing someone else on the side.”

Leigh protests, “We’ve never slept—” but her words are cut off as Danny suddenly swings his fist into the wall beside him. The sound of splintering wood and cracking bones reverberates through the apartment, and Leigh stands frozen, shocked beyond belief at what she's witnessing.

Danny looks down at his bloodied knuckles, bewilderment creeping over his features as he pulls back from the wall. He catches his breath and stares at Leigh, their eyes meeting in horrified silence.

“Sorry… I’m so sorry,” Danny mumbles, cradling his injured hand.

Leigh quickly grabs his keys from the dusty fishbowl on the shelf. He watches her, his gaze confused and desperate. “What are you doing?”

She meets his eyes, surprised herself at how calm and collected she feels. “I’m taking you to the hospital. You need to get that hand looked at,” she replies.

He doesn’t protest, only nods numbly and follows her outside.

At the hospital, Danny sits in a stiff plastic chair, his freshly bandaged hand resting on his lap. Leigh is next to him, her eyes fixed on the speckled tile floor, avoiding his gaze.

After several minutes, Danny breaks the silence. “I didn’t know what happened back there,” he starts, his voice low and unsteady. “I didn’t want to be angry, but it just… it had to go somewhere. I’ve never hurt anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to explain.

Leigh turns to look at him, her expression blank. “You punched a wall, Danny. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never hit anyone; you’ve got some serious anger management issues.”

Danny stays quiet for a moment, staring at his bandaged hand as if he’s still trying to comprehend what he did. He finally looks up, his expression twisted in frustration. “I’ve been angry for a long time, Leigh. Long before Matt was gone. I can’t even remember a time when I wasn’t.”

“I understand that,” Leigh says, shifting in her seat. “Even with therapy, the anger and resentment don’t really disappear completely. They linger like shadows.” She exhales, glancing down at her lap. Before she can stop it, a small smile plays on her lips as she thinks of you. “But lately, when Y/N is around, I forget about it. So know that I didn’t make this decision lightly.”

Danny studies her for a moment before asking, “Did you ever love me? Did I ever stand a chance?”

There's no easy way to say this without hurting him, but she doesn’t want to leave him with false hope. “I tried, Danny. I wanted to,” she whispers.

Danny turns away, his body twisting from her. Leigh wants to feel worse than she does, but instead, she just wants this to be over. She hopes the billing clerk will soon call their name so they can pay and head home. It's been an unbearably long day.

As she waits, her thoughts drift to you. She wants to call you after this, to tell you that she wants to try with you, that it could be real. She wants to explain that she ended things with Danny, that she did it to be free to explore the possibility of being with you, without any reservations.

After a while, Danny lets out a slow sigh, then looks at Leigh with a despondent look. “If your mind’s made up, I should probably put everything out in the open too.”

Leigh looks at him expectantly, a little curious.

“I’ve been keeping something from you. I didn’t think it would matter, but now… well, I can’t hide it anymore.”

“Just say it, Danny,” Leigh says, crossing her arms.

Then Danny proceeds to tell her the one last secret he thought he'd carry to his grave.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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murdrdocs · 2 months ago

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high sex (weed); oral (f receiving); overstimulation; squirting; more taking advantage of; luke previously called r his "little sister"; slight dubcon elements 1.2k+ words MDNI 18+ w/ LUKE RIORDAN

"sweetheart..." luke holds the back of your head in his palm, pulling his hand down to your neck where he strokes your skin. "you've gotta stop getting ahead of yourself."

you blink at him lazily, too busy focusing on manually breathing to even attempt a response. besides, you couldn't say anything with a mouthful of cotton.

luke sends a small smile, dipping his gaze to peer at you. "you okay?" he moves closer when you don't respond, wiping the tips of your noses together and then resting his forehead against yours.

"relax," he urges, "don't fight it."

and you think he's talking about the weed. andre's told you this before—told you to let the high control you instead of trying to control the high. you're about to repeat the routine, closing your eyes and relaxing your breath, but then you feel luke's hand playing with the decorative bow manufactured in the center of your pajama shorts.

"luke?" you ask. you're so far gone that your own voice seems slightly foreign to your ears. but everything about luke is familiar. his fingers as they tickle down your lower stomach. his lips as they kiss your jaw. the gentle way he shushes you as he lays you back against his bed.

"'m just gonna get your mind off of it a little, okay? like in the club the other night, yeah?"

it takes strength to convince yourself to nod, to walk through the thick fog starting to turn into cement in your brain, but you do. for the rest of the time, you let luke take control. he's much better at handling his high, plus his tolerance is much higher than yours. he's in complete control—both of himself and of you.

he doesn't have the same feverish nature to his movements this time. no, today he takes his time with you. peeling your layers off and kissing down your body, adding more and more weight to your limbs with every single peck.

you dissociate, you lose track of time as everything seems to go slower. by the time you come back to, it's by the force of luke pulling an orgasm out of you. your body does it all for you, your mind not even a contributor in the actions. your back arches as you push your cunt down against luke's mouth, trying to gather more from him.

you have no idea how long he's been between your legs, but you can't believe you've missed it all. luke pulls away, his lips shining as he smiles at you. you're already making a small sound when his body heat disappears from you, a whine that comes from the back of your throat.

luke tilts his head, laughing a bit to himself. "what? you want more?"

shamelessly, you nod. "yeah."

he wraps his fingers around the neckline of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. he settles himself between your thighs once more, pulling each leg over his shoulder one at a time. he kisses your clit once and then throws a glance up at you, nothing good swimming in his eyes.

"you always this needy?" he asks, already moving closer to your weeping warmth before you can even respond.

without considering if the question was rhetorical, you take a sharp breath. "maybe...?"

luke licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit, going back down to purse his lips around your entrance. his flicks his tongue out, pressing the tip into you before bringing it back out, cupping the front, and the scooping your arousal into his mouth like he needs it to live.

you gasp, hands digging into the sheets. an answer finds you somewhere throughout the shock, climbing down to your mouth and leaving without much conscious consideration.

"i wouldn't know. no one makes me feel like you make me feel." the words are jumbled, barely coherent with the way they unceremoniously throw themselves out of your mouth and towards luke.

he smiles against you.

the first time luke got you off—not back at the club but here—was not even a blur. it happened in a blink, no evidence of the moment occurring other than the small bit you caught of it and the reaction still settled in your body. but you will yourself to stay present for this one.

you make sure you feel every lick and suck. every kiss and taunting nibble. every stroke of his fingers and flick of his tongue. it's easy for you to stay still, your limbs weighing more than even you can handle. but your hands are the exception. twisting in the sheets, clawing through luke's hair, twitching with the urge to do something that you can't quite name. your heart works overtime in your chest, directly influenced by the weed that you can still taste on your teeth.

an orgasm warns you of its impending existence, preparing your body for what you’ve wanted to experience for years. you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of luke doing this to you, even if he’s only done it twice thus far, a third on the precipice.

when you come, you’re loud. you don’t think you were this loud when luke gave you the first one, but maybe you were because luke doesn’t seem shocked about it at all. he doesn’t appear to have any particular negative feelings towards your reaction, his mouth seared on your cunt and his eyes only wide enough to watch you.

you hadn’t noticed the weight to luke’s eyes until now, that and the slightly red tint overtaking the whites of them. for the first time you realize just how hot he looks when he’s high.

as you come down, you think about how luke has always treated you like you were with him. not in the romantic sense, he always used the familial excuse. “she’s like a sister to me,” said over and over again. when andre would throw a pointed glance at luke’s arm slung over your shoulder, when the others would eye you both a certain way as you peeled off from the group, when he caressed your cheek or fixed the strap of your shirt.

but nothing is familial about any of this. nothing screams little sister and big brother about the way luke pushes your thighs apart and continues to eat you out, even as you try to move him away. you’re losing grip again, starting to slip into a slight slumber that’s not completely atypical. there’s a dull craving for food in your belly, a distant thought that you’d like to dive into that show on netflix that luke was talking about. but you can’t do any of that with a supe between your legs, determined to stay here until he says so.

“don’t give up on me,” he says your name like he’s signing off his statement, “not yet.” he shakes his head, kissing right under your navel before digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs, forcing them open. “just let me get one more from you. one more and then we’re done. promise.”

you can’t be mad at luke, not when the final orgasm he gives you is bigger than the last two, the evidence in the form of your juices shooting out and splashing against luke’s chin and chest.

when he grins up at you like he’s proud of you, you think that you could give luke whatever he wants, as long as he keeps looking at you like that.

#luke riordan x reader #lukersworld!#luke riordan x you #celeste writes misc #golden boy x reader

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shousetsubangbang · 12 days ago

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Shousetsu Bang*Bang Issue 111: Hauntology

cover by 2013

~*~

Through The Woods, Homewards, by Kit Miller

Dead Hung Rigging, by Togi Kayako (土宜草子) *

Sakazuki, by Domashita Romero (地下ロメロ)

Something Else, by shukyou (主教)

Laid to Rest, by juou no zan (女王のザン)

Gentle Giant, by Holden Marrs

Taking Care of It, by Iron Eater *

* illustrated

~*~

Legend says that long time ago, in a long-forgotten age known only as “2005,” a gay little webzine appeared in a small town. No one knew where this gay little webzine had come from or where it was going. The people of that small town only knew that it went by a name so terrifying that the mere sound of it caused milk to spoil in jugs and frost to form on flowers: Shousetsu Bang*Bang.

Every month or two, Shousetsu Bang*Bang would put out a new issue, bringing panic and restless nights to all the townsfolk, who could not sleep on account of the sheer amount of sexy thoughts that gripped their imaginations with each new page turned. Every time a new issue would emerge, the townsfolk would hide in their houses and hold their breaths, waiting to see what erotic delights were coming to haunt their dreams this time. And October always ended … in death.

Even today, people still say that if you stand in front of your computer screen in the dark on the last Monday in October and say the name “Shousetsu Bang*Bang” three times, an issue will appear. And not just any issue, oh no, but a horrifying issue filled with blood-curdling frights that will chill your to your very bones!

(Or, uh, some cute love stories with queer sex and also ghosts. It’s kind of a mixed bag in here.)

Do you dare? Do you dare enter the spooky nightmare realm of the gayest Halloween you’ve ever seen? Then take my hand and stare into your screen. Good? Now repeat after me: Shousetsu Bang*Bang, Shousetsu Bang*Bang, Shousetsu Bang*Bang–

—

(For summaries, creators’ notes, and more, we would usually tell you to see this issue’s entry on the Shousetsu Bang*Bang wiki. In the interim, however, please visit the relevant Google Doc of contributor commentary for similar content.)

#s2b2 #hauntology #lgbtq #queer #halloween #gay halloween #happy halloween #queer art #queer romance #queer fiction

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thecharacterchronicler · 4 months ago

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Friends With Benefits… And A Baby (Part 2 ) || Sebastian Sallow x Reader || Smut

Outline: You and Sebastian decide to be “friends with benefits” during your pregnancy.

Word count: 2’500

Warnings: explicit smut, (accidental) pregnancy, characters aged up (20s) and probably a few mistakes here and there because English isn’t my first language.

Author’s note: This is the second part of Exams, poltergeists and supply closets, hope you’ll all enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing this little series.

(( Part 1 - Exams, poltergeists and supply closets )) - (( Part 3 - Mandrakes, dusty books & an apology )) - (( Masterlist ))

“What’s wrong with you ?” Ominis asked, as you sat down at the dinner table, after rushing out of the Great Hall when a very smelly dish of fried fish appeared in front of you, the smell instantly making you nauseous.

“I gave her some Bertie Bott’s beans before dinner, guess she ate one that tasted like boogers.” Sebastian shrugged, in an attempt to cover for you but all it did was give you the urge to throw up again.

“I felt ill for a moment but I’m okay now.” You assured your friend, not so convinced by your words yourself. You placed a boiled potato on your plate, the only thing among the various other dishes on the table that seemed edible to you in your almost constant state of morning sickness.

“Maybe we should walk you to the infirmary after dinner.” Ominis suggested, obviously still very worried. “You haven’t eaten much these past few days, it might be more serious than you think.”

“How would you know ?” Sebastian asked, before you could come up with an excuse to refuse paying a visit to the school nurse. Surely, she’d know what’s going with you at first glance and then you wouldn’t be able to hide it from anyone much longer.

“I have ears, Sebastian. You eat loudly like an animal next to me every day and yet I can still hear that her fork and knife are barely touching her plate lately.”

“I’m fine.” You stated, as confidently as you could fake it. Yet, a wave of nausea came to prove you wrong, making you gasp and cover your mouth. You couldn’t decide between swallowing it down and staying at the table or running off to the bathroom once more.

“See ? There’s only so many days she can go on without eating, it could be dangerous.” Ominis pleaded, and Sebastian’s gaze landed on the small potato in your plate, that you were pretty sure you wouldn’t eat anyway. Then, he looked up at you, his expression now as worried as your friend’s.

“Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should get you checked up, just to be safe.”

“I’m fine.” You repeated, once more. The only thing stronger than your all day sickness was the irritation you felt towards your friends at this very moment. You were determined to finish your last year at Hogwarts normally, passing your exams as brilliantly as you could and graduating with pride. The baby that Sebastian put in your belly will have no choice but to go along with your plan.

“The Gaunts are important contributors to the Saint Mungo hospital, if I send an owl I might be able to get a doctor to visit you here if it makes you more comfortable.” Ominis suggested, which brought you to the conclusion that there was no point in keeping it a secret from him any longer. Would he still be insufferably worried about you if he knew the truth ? Probably. But at least he would stop pestering you about seeking medical attention, if only temporarily.

“I’m fine, Ominis.” You stated again, for the third time at this dinner table. He opened his mouth to protest but you leaned closer, lowering your voice. “I’m pregnant, that is all.”

“Pregnant ? That is all ?!” Ominis exclaimed, repeating your words in disbelief before both you and Sebastian urged him to keep it down. You were sitting at the very end of the dining table but students nearby might still catch a glimpse of your conversation. “What were you two thinking ?! Do you have any idea of the gravity of such a situation ? What it means for your future ? By Merlin, what on earth went through your head to let you think that you two absolutely reckless lunatics could be capable of raising a child ?”

“H-How do you know it is mine ?” Sebastian asked him, surprised.

“Oh please, you both can’t shut up about each other when you’re not together.” Ominis retorted, as if it was the stupidest question his friend had ever asked him.

You exchanged a look with Sebastian, both of your faces blushing.

“What were you thinking ?” Ominis asked once more, shaking his head much like you imagined your disappointed parents will when they’ll find out.

“To be fair, not much went through my head the moment it happened.” Sebastian said, smugly.

“You should have controlled yourself, Sebastian !” Ominis scolded him, as you desperately tried to hush him up again.

“Easy for you to say, you weren’t there. If you heard the way she moans when she likes it and felt how wet…”

“Alright, that’s enough.” You interrupted before he got too carried away with very private details. “There’s no point having this conversation, it happened and now we have to deal with it.”

“At least this child will have one reasonable parent.” Ominis hissed, shaking his head at Sebastian, still way too cocky about it all next to him.

You were sitting down on the cold bathroom tiles, your back pressed against the wall, trying to focus on your homework. You barely noticed the door opening until you realized someone was standing in front of you, a concerned expression on his freckled face.

“This is the girls’ bathroom.” You informed him, which simply made him shrug.

“Imelda told me you were here.” He said, approaching and crouching down to your level, taking in the open books on the tiles with an amused smile. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to keep our secret if you move in into the bathrooms.”

“It’s just so I don’t have to run across the castle every time I need to throw up.” You explained. “Nobody will notice, when I told Imelda I had a stomach bug she just told me to stay away from her because she’s planning on winning the Quidditch cup this year.”

“You have friends that are more caring than Imelda Reyes.” He said, making a point. “And you know, I did some research in the library last night and found out that the best way to beat morning sickness is to actually eat.”

“But I’m not hungry.”

“Not at all ? Isn’t there something you’d be happy to eat ? Whatever it is, I’ll go get it for you.”

You smiled at him, grateful to have such a caring friend. Because that’s what he was to you, right ? Just a friend. A friend that happened to be your future baby’s daddy… But still, just a friend.

His traits softened as he smiled back at you, moving to sit on the floor by your side. His shoulder pressed against yours and you found relief in his familiar scent of old dusty books and faint remains of smoke, your nausea easing up a bit for the first time in days.

“Do you need help with…” He reached out to check the cover of the book on your lap. “One thousand magical herbs and fungi ?”

“I do but not yours if I want a chance to get a good grade in Herbology.” You replied playfully, which made him laugh.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged, his hand absently finding yours, letting it rest on your thigh as your fingers intertwined together. “We’ll figure it out, you know.”

“I know.” You nodded, knowing that he wasn’t talking about school anymore.

“And if we look at the positive aspect of it all, it means we can hook up as much as we want to for the next eight months without having to worry about getting you pregnant.”

“Right.” You rolled your eyes at his words, your giggle resounding against the bathroom tiles.

“And there’s no better way to find your appetite back than a bit of exercising.” He insisted, jokingly but you knew he definitely was trying his luck under the guise of making you laugh.

“Do you really think that would be reasonable ? I don’t think that’s something friends do.”

“We can be friends with benefits… And a baby.” He shrugged, unaware of how tempting the idea was to you. His presence next to you was the only thing that had managed to ease your symptoms and, if you were being totally honest, Sebastian Sallow had never looked more handsome than right now, with his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loosened, his hair tousled and that odd pride you saw in his smile every time he talked about hooking up with you - and getting you pregnant - that definitely made up for the slight panic you still sometimes noticed in his gaze.

“Okay.” You nodded, breaking the silence that had taken place between the two of you.

“Okay ?” He repeated, his brown eyes widening in surprise. “You… You want to do it ?”

“Yes, why not ? It’s not like I’d be comfortable hooking up with Garreth in the boat house anymore, anyway.” You replied, adding that last part to mess with him, not expecting the instant jealousy that took over his features.

“Garreth Weasley ?! This walking fire hazard…” Sebastian groaned, his hand tightening its grip on yours possessively. You smiled, flattered that your friend cared so much about you.

He was still mumbling to himself some colorful words about Garreth when you leaned in and pressed your lips against his to silence him. At first, you felt his surprise but soon, he kissed you back, his body irresistibly gravitating closer.

“What if someone walks in ?” He asked, when you moved to reach for his pants, taken aback by your boldness. The first time you had crossed the line of friendship with him, you had sounded so shy and cautious that he couldn’t quite believe you were the one with your hand inside his pants this time, fishing for his rapidly growing erection.

You knew you were breaking school rules by doing this. Again. And you promised yourself that next time, you’ll make sure to abide by the regulations and find another location, out of Hogwarts, to have your fun with Sebastian... But right now, your need for him was too urgent to be ignored. The images of that night in the supply closet were haunting you every night, to the point you sometimes could feel his kiss on your lips and his warm touch on your body in the darkness and loneliness of your dorm room. But you knew nothing could compare to the real thing, and having the opportunity to actually see him while giving in to your desires was something you didn’t have the strength to refuse.

“Then they’ll think that we hook up in bathrooms and won’t question why I’m in here that often anymore.” You told him to ease his concern, the heat of his cock in your hand making you wonder if he had a sudden rush of fever. You pulled it out of his pants, shamelessly looking down at it. He gulped and blushed in front of your fascination, your thumb carefully caressing his pink tip, collecting the clear and sticky precum that was already coating it. His cock was still growing, getting longer and harder in your palm, the veins under his flesh becoming more and more apparent. Then, it was your turn to gulp down and blush as you took in the size of it, wondering how you had even managed to take it all in without any pain the first time.

You lifted your eyes and met Sebastian’s gaze, staring at you with still a slight pink blush coloring his freckled cheeks. You had been so bold that he was waiting on you to take the lead and be in charge, this new side of you not helping him control himself and his urge to tear your school uniform off of your body and show you how wild he could get when it came to fucking you.

“Can I see you too ?” He asked, managing to act like a gentleman, although he truly wasn’t one, judging by the amount of filthy thoughts he had about you and what he wanted to do to you on a daily basis.

“Alright…” you agreed, your voice trembling slightly. You could understand his curiosity, after all, he hadn’t seen anything of you in that dark closet a month ago, only felt your body against his but your self confidence wasn’t at its best after being sick for almost an entire month, with your hormones acting up to make it worse.

He carefully reached out, popping open the buttons of your shirt one by one until you were left with nothing but your bra on. He looked at you questioningly, and you nodded, giving him a silent permission to remove it too.

His eyes instantly widened when your bra dropped on the tiles, your bare chest exposed to him.

“I didn’t think they would grow so much in so little time.” He stated, clearly dumbstruck by the view.

Your hand returned to the hard buldge between his legs, perking up at your touch as you closed your hand around it and pumped it up and down a few times, pulling him out of his daze and making him gasp in reaction. You didn’t think it possible but the movements made his cock grow even bigger and larger.

A groan dropped from his lips as he momentarily closed his eyes, as if he was struggling to keep control over himself.

“Sit.” He told you, his voice so low it sent shivers down your spine. His hands flew to your waist, already maneuvering you to get you in a sitting position over his lap.

You held your skirt up, your legs pressed on the cold tiles on either side of his thighs. His hand slipped underneath your clothes so swiftly you didn’t notice at first, until you felt his fingers pulling your panties aside, baring your very wet pussy.

With his other hand still on your waist, he guided you down until you were low enough for his erection to push past your entrance, stretching your walls as you sank lower and lower until his full size rested inside you.

You gasped at the sensation, your hands on his broad shoulders to help you support yourself and he grinned, the hand between your legs moving all the way up to your hair, gripping on a piece and pulling them back so that you’d bare your neck to him, allowing him to plant a few wet kisses all the way down to your collarbones as you still adjusted to his size inside you.

You slowly moved your hips in wide circles, exploring the pleasant sensations it sent throughout your entire body. He seemed to enjoy it too, his breathing instantly becoming ragged and desperate.

When you pushed on your knees, pulling yourself up before sitting back down and impaling yourself on his hard cock once again, you heard him curse under his breath. One of his hands held your skirt scrunched up in his fist while the other found your hip, guiding you in a faster rythym as you rocked up and down onto him many more times.

He pulled you closer to feel your swollen boobs on his face, appreciating the way they moved in synch with your hips, wanting to bury his face between them until he suffocated. Your moans and whimpers were causing his mind to go blank once again, unable to think about anything other than the pleasure you were apparently having while bouncing on his cock.

You dug your nails in his shoulders, the bliss bubbling up in your core becoming so intense it was almost unbearable. You would have slowed down, afraid of the strength of your own imminent orgasm, but Sebastian kept guiding you at an unrelenting pace, his tip hitting so deep inside your core each time that you barely managed to not let out a scream that could have echoed through the castle’s hallways, your body violently shaking and tensing with the pleasure that spilled into every fiber of your being.

Sebastian had been holding himself back from the very moment you pulled his cock out of his pants. In all honesty, he could have cummed in your hand right then and there but he had fought it long enough to make sure that you’d enjoy it too. He wanted to make you feel good as it felt like the only thing he could do to help you out right now, and now that your body had collapsed over him, effectively suffocating him with your plump chest, crying out his name in a way he would never forget, he allowed himself to come too, shooting his full load inside your still pulsating pussy.

“Are you okay ?” Your voice asked him, after a moment, your chest moving away from his face and leaving him cold.

“Of course.” He answered, panting and smiling. “What about you ?”

“I’m fine.” You told him which, for the first time in days, wasn’t a lie. You moved to sit next to him, his spent cock gliding out of you easily, drops of his white release lightly staining his pants and your skirt in the process. “You know, I think I’m kind of hungry now.”

“Ah! I told you it would work !” He exclaimed, excitedly. “What do you want to eat ?”

“A waffle with chocolate.” You told him, without hesitation.

“Alright, a chocolate covered waffle coming right up !” He nodded, immediately jumping to his feet, adjusting his clothes and walking away, determined to bring you exactly what you had requested. Surely, he’d be able to bribe a house elf for a waffle. And if not, he would sneak into the kitchen and cook one for you himself, how hard could it be ?

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

#smut #smutty fanfiction #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x you smut #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow oneshot #sebastian sallow x reader smut #sebastian sallow fic #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow x mc #hl sebastian #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow smut #x reader smut #x reader #x you #x you smut

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stay-pos-cos · 9 months ago

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I think that the Supernatural fandom doesn't give Dean Winchester enough credit or hold John Winchester accountable nearly enough. I would argue that John's abuse (mental, emotional and physical) and its constant effect in both boys lives is constantly downplayed by a majority of the fanbase.

The parentification of an elder sibling has been proven to cause lasting issues and we see this throughout the show; when Dean is overly protective of Sam, treats Sam's life as more valuable than his own, can't picture a life where he's not needed, and his dismissal of Sam as a valuable contributor in an equal partnership. Dean is often criticized both in canon and by fans for being overbearing and codependent on Sam. This is a direct result of John Winchester's inability to parent.

Dean's emotional repression is shown to be caused by his father's militant behaviors and approach to parenting. Dean doesn't see his feelings as valid or important and thus turns to repression or unhealthy coping mechanisms as illustrated throughout the show. His alcoholism, violent outbursts, and unhealthy relationship with sex are all coping mechanisms he uses not to feel.

Through flashbacks (and some dialog) the viewer is show that Sam is more resentful towards John than Dean, and that he even holds resentment towards Dean for being the "perfect little soldier".

That's part of the reason Castiel is such a great foil for Dean, both are loyal to absent fathers' but while Dean was born with free will he follows his father's orders unwaveringly until sometime after his death, Cass a being created without free will breaks free of the command of his father and from his father's mission, becoming for all intents and purposes a Prodigal son like Sam.

Dean's adherence to his father's word is, much like Sam's rebellion a response to continued and repeated abuse, neither brother is perfect. And their father was the furthest thing from it.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #john winchester bashing #cw alcohol #tw abuse #cw sex mention #am i really talking about this in 2024 #spn #castiel #dean deserved better #sam did too #parentified child #sorry for the rant #i have so many thoughts #and feelings

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ohtobeleah · 7 months ago

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Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin

Chapter Two: [Like A Brick]

Summary: With the weight of the world sitting on your shoulders, you confide in the gentle soul that is Bob Floyd. Also known as, your first kiss.

Warnings: Jake Seresin x F!reader. Witness Protection F!reader. Platonic Bob Floyd x F!reader. Mentions of death. Mentions of drowning.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author Note: I'm Back! To get back into the swing of things I thought this little chapter would do us good. although this chapter is mainly focused on Bob and Brewer, we, being @a-reader-and-a-writer and myself, thought it deserved its own moment to really capture the significance of the shared secrets.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Being caught deep in swirling memories wasn’t something out of the ordinary for you. Being swept along with the tide, the waves of which push and pull your mind between present times and your past. The very idea of being caught between realities, a paradoxical space between now and then always seemed to be better than the alternative. Live through hell.

“My mum says I’m too young to kiss girls.”

Thoughts of who you could have been and thoughts of who you became push together to create a constant state of flight. Nostalgia is like a whirlpool that you drown in deep inside your mind. You’re unable to tread water as you feel the waves breaking against your skin, forcing you under as you gasp for air. What good were those swimming lessons you were forced to partake in as a child?

“Do you tell your mum everything, Bobby?”

Your mind becomes an unblended mix of memories you’d like to replay on repeat, and those you’d like to hide. Nothing ever seemed simple anymore. Not even the memory of your first kiss. The memory that you’d once considered colourful was now shrouded in forced denial. It couldn’t have happened, for you weren’t Y/n Y/l/n anymore.

“What’re you still doing here?” It has been a long night, so long the sun had just started to kiss the horizon as you made your final lap around the front and back decks of the Hard Deck. Bob sat patiently waiting on one of the picnic tables, typing away something on his phone.

Your voice must have startled him, but you’d never make fun of the way the Back Seater jumped enough to knock the chair his boot-clad feet were resting on into the small outdoor pot plant that sat beside the table. You watched it rock back and forth before steadying itself once again, like a boi floating in the current. That same current that had on many occasions, tried to drag you under.

“I thought for sure you would have been the first one out the door?” You followed up on your initial question as you collected an empty glass you’d missed. Bob pocketed his phone with a tired smile as he looked your way.

“Fanboy’s still in the bathroom with Payback–” Bob explained softly as he looked your way. “Big night, someone had to be the deso though.” You could see it in Bob’s eyes, the colour of a clear blue sky through a broken prison wall. He wanted to ask, wanted to bring it up. He knew you were lying, but why was the biggest question.

“I was gonna call them and the other stragglers a taxi—“ Only a handful of patrons remained inside the Hard Deck as you went about your closing duties. Usually, you would have kicked them out by now. You weren’t necessarily one to want to hang about with people possibly lurking in the shadows. But two-thirds of the stragglers left behind were none other than two-sevenths of the Hard Decks top contributors. “If I had known you were coming back for them I would have told you not to worry,” The chuckle that left Bob’s voice at your statement was undeniably genuine. “I would have sent them home with vomit bags tucked into their back pockets too.”

“That’s why they pay you top dollar I guess?” Ever since Bob first saw you behind the bar that very first night, he knew he knew you. It wasn’t some distant memory of a forgotten past for Robert Floyd. The memory of his first kiss was an easy one to recall from the rolodex inside his mind. It just so happened to be a core memory that unlocked a whole other category of life’s simplest pleasures. But the more you denied its existence, or more specifically denied you were the one who ultimately shared in that childhood memory, Bob wasn’t sure if he’d dreamt the whole thing or not.

Perhaps his first kiss came a hell of a lot later in life than he always thought.

“Top dollar?” You had to stifle your laugh as you joined Bob on the picnic table. As you sat with a small huff, you knocked your knee against his playfully. “Please, but the tips are good.”

There was a heavy silence so deafening that washed over the two of you not too long after you finished speaking. Its gravity felt like an intense pressure forcing itself down against your chest. The longer you and Bob sat there in pure silence, the more time slipped unwillingly through your fingertips, the more your heart beat faster inside your chest.

The silence magnified the pressure mounting, and the scale of your anxiety all felt like it was about to come to a boiling point. As you sat there next to Bob in shared silence, it felt as if the world had turned once again on its axis, and you were just a few short seconds away from falling off the face of the earth.

“I have a small confession to make,” It wasn’t ever supposed to be aired in the open, but the guilt that sat heavily on your conscience was making it harder and harder to keep lying. For three years you had told not a single soul, but Bob Floyd had created a paradox of inner turmoil you weren’t prepared to harbour. “To be perfectly honest it isn’t all that small of a confession.”

“Brewer,” Bob sighed almost reluctantly. The last thing he ever wanted to do was force someone into sharing intimate details of their life. “If there’s a reason why you keep denying it, I’m sure it’s a good one,” Bob had thought about this long and hard, there surely had to be a reason why. He was adamant that you were the girl who kissed him all those years ago. That yellow pigment in your eye was the dead giveaway. He couldn’t ever forget looking into the eyes of the girl who had pressed her cotton candy-flavoured lips against his for three point-five seconds. “And you don’t have to tell me that reason, but, at least tell me, I’m not crazy.”

Again, the silence was deafening as you sat with your secrets for the last few moments. Only a handful of people knew, all of whom were involved in keeping you safe and working your witness protection case. If news got out that you had told someone intimate, key details of your current situation, you’d be forced to restart a whole new life once again. But Bob was different. He was worth the risk for an ounce of normality.

“You aren’t crazy,” It was all the confirmation Bob needed, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to share your personal hell. “I uh, I remember.” You hadn’t told a single soul in three years. You’d been through a thousand things in your life that people didn’t know about. You had experienced things that would shock them if you mentioned the horrors. Those things changed you. Hell—they broke you.

“Bob, I haven’t been Y/n Y/l/n in a little over three years now,” You hung your head low as you spoke, almost like you were afraid that if you looked anywhere but between your feet, you’d see the bloodied and bruised ghost of your dead husband. “I, uh,—saw some things that I shouldn’t have,” The shake in your voice was hard to mask, the sting in your eyes burned like ice against your skin. “I thought that maybe I should tell someone about what I saw, and when I did that I—“

“Brewer,” Bob's voice was soft enough to be barely audible, but you heard him. “You’re in witness protection, aren’t you?” Bob took your immediate silence and broken sob as a definitive yes. He couldn’t even say the idea hadn’t crossed his mind after all the shutdowns and denial.

“I lost my family,” You had a taste of what true love felt like. To experience such an emotion was the greatest gift of all. You loved your son, Charlie, to the moon and back. So much so that you wished every night you let your head fall against your pillow, that you’d be reunited. “I was set to testify against the company I worked for in some whistleblower trial, but the day before I was set to take the stand, we were run off the road.”

Bob sat silently beside you just taking everything you were saying in. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be in your shoes. To some degree, he almost felt guilty for all the times he couldn’t let the kiss memory go. Every time he brought it up in hopes you’d finally cave and give him the validation he was looking for, it probably felt like an old wound being ripped open.

“You have to understand that I don’t get a choice very often over who I let in,” You finally had to look up, and when you did? Bob was already looking at you. You could see the sympathy plastered across his face in your peripheral. “You can’t tell anyone, and I know it’s a burden to bear, believe me,” The tears had begun to fall long ago and seemed to never stop, but when you finally worked up enough courage to look toward the backseater who sat beside you, your tears were mirrored. “And I know it’s unfair to burden you with such a thing,” The very idea that Bob was now one of the very few people who knew about your situation didn’t taste all that great, but you couldn’t take it back now. You couldn’t shove your secrets back into the can you’d just released them from in a moment of vulnerability. “But please, you can’t tell anyone.”

Bob Floyd was, if anything, a wallflower. He didn’t like being the centre of attention. If he could, Bob would happily spend any time he had off work in the comfort of his own home. He’d spend his free time working on the world map puzzle that had been sitting half-finished on his coffee table for months. But Bob never got to spend those free moments working on his hobbies, no. His found family more often than not would drag him to the Hard Deck. Most of the time Bob would settle into the background and try his best not to draw attention to himself, he couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like to stand in the middle of a crowded room and not be seen for who you really were.

“Nothin’ to tell Brewer,” Bob shrugged his shoulders. “And even if there was? I’m not the gossip type.”

That very fact gentled your soul. All you could do as the overwhelming sense of loneliness overtook you was sob. Bob let you lean your head on his shoulder. His arm soon found itself wrapped around you as your sobs grew stronger and more pained. Tears stained your cheeks as the trails they made collected the makeup you wore, leaving clear indications of distress behind.

“You know there was this girl,” Bob wondered if now was an appropriate time to share his own darkest secret. The idea of maybe holding onto something so important to one another may have softened the blow of knowing Bob held your greatest secrets in the palm of his hand. Perhaps if he shared his own with you, that feeling, that heaviness he knew you felt, would be a little easier to live with. “Her name was Bieanna, everyone back home called her Brick though.”

You had to collect yourself enough to get your breath back before you could speak. Bob understood that. He sat in the silence broken with gentle sobs that softened as more time passed. He wanted until you were ready to speak.

“What did everyone call her Brick?” The question came out easily enough, but the way Bob stiffened at the question as you raised your head from his shoulder made you question if it was harder to hear than to ask.

“She never learnt how to swim–” Bob mumbled as he looked out into the empty car park of the Hard Deck. “If she tried she’d sink–” He waited for you to finish the sentence, and you did.

“Like a Brick.” The realisation wasn’t hard to notice in your saddened eyes. If anything, Bob wondered if he had to continue his story of tragedy or not. You were a smart girl, he knew you could put two and two together. But he wanted to share, he wanted to let you know you could trust him wholeheartedly with your secrets. And you with his.

“Bingo,” Bob smiled softly as you whipped your tears from your heated cheeks. “She ended up drowning a few months after we started dating.”

“Oh, Bob.” Your heart ached for the Back Seater who sat beside you. “I’m so sorry.”

“The worst part is I could have done more to save her,” Bob pressed his lips into a fine line of guilt. “She’d been going great guns for a few weeks while I was teaching her how to swing on her family’s property just outside of town,” Bob could very clearly still remember the taste of the dirt-laced water he’d ingested trying to save her. He could still see the panic in her eyes. “She got her foot stuck in some weeds at the bottom of the damn, panicked, and despite everything I did, I couldn’t save her,”

“It wasn’t your fault, Bob–”

“It was my idea to teach her own to swim though,” Bob admitted as he let his elbows rest on top of his knees. “I don’t ask people to swim anymore, and I’ve never told anyone about the fact she sometimes visits me in my dreams,” Bob explained as he let out a sigh that he wasn’t aware he’d been holding in. “But now you know, and now the secrets we keep don’t seem so heavy.”

The very idea of knowing one of Bob’s longest-kept secrets made you feel a little better about him knowing yours. You trusted Bob, there was no doubt about it. But that gesture of solidarity made you feel safe, trusted.

“No one can know, Bob,” You finished the conversation at that, faking a small smile as Fanboy and Payback came barreling out through the front doors of the Hard Deck. You were instantly on your feet, back in work mode as you wiped away the remaining tears that stained your cheeks.

Bob watched on from his perch on top of the picnic table as you attempted to wrangle the two drunk and disorderly men who could barely tell which way was up and what way was down. He let a few moments pass as he watched on, allowing your life-altering, world-shattering secrets to plague his mind with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. The very idea that there were people in this world after you didn’t sit well with him. The fact you’d been living a stranger’s life for three years made him want to hug his mother a little tighter the next time he got the chance to see her. He couldn’t begin to imagine to heartache of losing a child, but he knew enough of grief to know what losing a significant other could do to a person.

And for someone who had experienced the worst of what life had to offer, you still saw the very best in people.

“Alright you two drunks, let’s get you two home in one piece,” You chuckled as you walked the aviators over towards where Bob sat. “Taxi’s waiting and the meters running.”

“You’ve given us alcohol poisoning, Brewer,” Payback mumbled as he stumbled with you over to where Bob was. Bob stood with a groan to collect Fanboy from beside you.

“Oh piss off, will ya Reuben–your liver will thank me for cutting you off when you did,” you teased as you handed the men over to Bob with ease. “Get these two home safe Floyd.”

“Will do Brewer.” Bob's soft smile and kind-natured nod was all you needed in response to know he meant his words. “Have a good night, or morning I guess.”

You watched on from the veranda as the three men walked across the sandy car park and over to Bob’s Suzuki, knowing that the next time you saw Bob amongst his Squadron—there would be no mention of that first kiss.

***~***~***~***~***~**

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#secret sacrifices // jake seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #bob floyd #top gun fandom #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman fic

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sins0fthefather · 8 months ago

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Wrath.

Jeff the Killer HCs:

General HCs:

Full Name: Jeffrey Alexander Woods (Only responds to Jeff though. Best case scenario if you call him his full name is he’ll ignore you, worst case scenario is him flipping his shit on you)

Age: 22-25 (Based on where in the story a character study/fic takes place)

Birthday: September 22 (Older than Liu by 2 years)

Wasian— Father is Chinese, mother is a born n’ raised Texan

Biromantic, Demisexual

Has autism, C-PTSD, BPD (contributor to his auditory hallucinations), NPD, ASPD, and BDD

Right Handed

6’1 (185~ cm)

Covered in burn scars, most noticeably on his chest, forearms, and back

He uses white facepaint, it makes his face’s silhouette look “cleaner” in his eyes

His cuts have healed up for the most part, although he’ll have moments where he relapses and cuts at them again. The ends will also sometimes tear if he does something like laugh too hard.

Very touchy with other people, but he despises being touched first. He prefers to initiate physical contact- both because of the control aspect of it and because of his general distrust of others.

His sense of humor waxes and wanes from extreme condescension to the most morbid sentences you’ve ever heard. Half of the time it doesn’t even sound like a joke.

Reckless driver, cursed with terrible road rage

Smokes cigarettes, his brand of choice is Marlboro

Drinks vodka straight as if it were water

I feel like his favorite band would be Tool or Slipknot. His music taste is just metal and dad rock.

Was brought up in a Catholic school for most of his life, although he obviously doesn’t keep up with the practice anymore. This is a big catalyst for why he develops a god complex however since he “has authority over life and death”— something unique only to gods from what he was taught.

Very observant of the people around him. He memorizes speech patterns, demeanors, even the way people walk. He’s gotten to the point where he can read people and their intentions well before they’re explicitly stated, making it much easier for him to spot a lie. However this also makes it much easier for him to tell when he’s truly pushing somebody’s buttons, and there’s nothing he loves more than pushing people past their limit.

Always stealing glances of himself in any mirror he walks past

He’s an opportunistic killer. Limiting himself to patterns clashes with the creativity and the thrill of the moment to him. However, there are specific elements of a kill he will often repeat if the mood strikes him. An example of this would be often including strangulation (albeit usually not the direct cause of death) to reflect his acquired need for control in all moments of his life. Sometimes he will also pose bodies in a “prayer” position to call back that god complex I mentioned.

He doesn’t always kill people immediately. If someone catches his eye, usually because he finds them beautiful in some aspect, he’ll take it a step further. He has no problem with being patient when the situation arises for it- stalking the person, learning their habits and schedules, the whole shebang. He’ll then slowly start to ruin said person’s life, isolating them through the slaughter of those closest to them and destroying any sense of peace and security they once had. He’s the sound that goes -bump- in the night. He’ll toy with his food until he eventually grows bored, disposing them like all the rest. After all, how dare someone else try to be beautiful in his presence- a punishment of the highest order is necessary.

His anger can be very… explosive. He doesn’t stick around very long for enough people besides victims to see it, but it can be as unpredictable as his own kills. It’s worse when he’s silent in his anger however, since with the former you at least have enough of a warning to brace yourself.

Backstory-Centric HCs:

(TW: csa, murder, mutilation, religious trauma, general stuff)

Takes place in college. Jeff is 22 at the start while Liu is 20.

Instead of being a one-off instance, Jeff and Liu have been subjected to bullying/borderline harassment since middle school. This builds up Jeff’s gradual distrust of others and leads to him shutting himself off from his peers.

Most of said bullying revolved around their mixed race situation. It only got worse as Jeff shut himself off and Liu became a people pleaser.

The two didn’t even have peace at home, since their parents were sexually abusive and excused it through their religion. It was “all apart of god’s love” as they said. This + the bullying leads Liu to develop DID and kickstarts Jeff’s resentment towards their parents. It also led Jeff to develop a twisted belief on what love and beauty is since god apparently “favored” the beauty of his parent’s form of “love.”

On one particular instance of bullying/harassment, a small group of people he grew up with planned on jumping and mugging Jeff behind a bar. Things escalated when Jeff retaliated in self defense, beating his aggressors with a nearby pipe found laying against a dumpster. He didn’t leave unscathed however, since one of the attackers dropped a lighter into the flammable materials (alcohol, trash, etc) that had been scattered in the fight, planning on making everyone go down in that moment. Jeff managed to survive (albeit with severe burns along his body) after being found by an employee who went to go check out the noise/smell of smoke, but the others succumbed to their wounds.

While in a heavy state of shock and psychosis (paired with being drugged up out the wazoo at the hospital) his usual unchecked auditory hallucinations worsened, leading his mind to trick him into believing this situation was a sign from god- that he was supposed to survive while his tormentors burned. Paired with his already twisted concepts of love and beauty, he began to believe that his burns were part of god’s plan to make him more beautiful- because he was favored.

This only gets worse when he’s released from the hospital’s custody due to a neglect in checking his mental state. After being sent home with his family and therefore being thrown back into the abusive environment he hoped to escape when going to college he ends up experiencing a psychotic break, mutilating himself in the process.

When his parents catch him, they attack him. In their eyes he had disgraced them, no longer upholding the “beauty” of heaven that they enforced. He ends up killing them in self defense, but furthers it by mutilating their bodies in an act of defiance induced by his break. He believes he’s outdone god in this moment, deluding himself into thinking he’s on the same level (or even better) than god.

While overcome by his psychotic break, he ends up severely wounding Liu after he wakes up to check out the noise. It becomes a conspiracy on if Liu survived or not since his body was never found by authorities.

The reason why Jeff continues on his spree after these instances is the feel of control he gets. After being forced into submission by those around him for so long, he finally feels a stable sense of power over those he deems as less than him.

He ends up wandering throughout the states after this, hopping from town to town. He never stays in one place for long, although sometimes he’ll revisit his home town to give the urban legend fanatics something to fear again.

#long post woo #questions encouraged teehee #jeff the killer x reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta/you #creepypasta #headcanon #headcanons #jeffrey woods #homicidal liu #rewrite #writers on tumblr #the autism is autisming

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