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flowerywoso · 6 months ago

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the babysitter || irene paredes x reader

Summary: You've had a thing for Irene ever since you started babysitting for her. When she comes home after a night out with the team, you realize that your feelings might not be as one-sided as you thought they were. Pairing: Irene Paredes x Reader Words: 3,992 Warnings: 🔞, smut with plot Notes: I haven't written anything in quite awhile (I honestly wasn't planning on writing ever again but here we are), so this might be a little rough! Please don't hesitate to let me know (politely, please!) if you notice any horrible grammatical errors or notes to myself that I somehow forgot to take out. Do not post my works on Ao3. And I am horrible at titles.

You peek your head into the room once more, carefully easing the door open and, just as quickly, shut, once you determine that the toddler is definitely still asleep. It’s a habit you adopted after your friends began to have their own children, and one you’ve maintained for the kids you babysit. Tiptoeing back down the hallway, making sure to keep your footfalls as quiet as you can, you plop back down on the sofa, settling into the corner and taking a sip of your sparkling water, grabbing your novel and flipping it back open as you wait for the boy’s mother to return home.

It’s not that much later, only long enough for you to finish a single chapter of your book, before you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, announcing Irene’s return from the Barcelona squad’s night out. You don’t get up from the couch, merely setting your novel aside and uncrossing your legs, letting one dangle off the cushions.

She enters the room quietly, the low heels she’d left the apartment in abandoned on the mat by the front door so they don’t click on the wood floors, and when you look up you can see the flush on her face. You're not sure if it's the result of the chilly evening air or of her night out, but either way it's enough to make you swallow around a lump in your throat. The top and pants she'd left the house in are just as enticing now as they were several hours ago, and you wonder as she walks further into the apartment how you manage to stay sane around her.

“Hola,” she says quietly, setting her purse down in the center of the coffee table and taking a seat beside you on the sofa, sighing in relief as she relaxes into the cushions after a long night out. Your heart, as it so often does in the presence of the older woman, skips a beat as she comes nearer to you.

“How was everything?”

“All good,” you reply, beginning to recount your evening with Mateo. As always, the toddler had been easy, listening to you as well as one could expect a two-year-old to, and had fallen asleep on the sofa halfway through an episode of Bluey, only stirring briefly when you carried him to bed.

“He ate most of his dinner,” you relay with a smile, shaking your head at the memory of how the toddler had wrinkled his nose at the "yucky green" you'd provided for him, far more enthusiastic about the special treat that was the chicken nuggets unearthed from the freezer. “We had a bit of a struggle with the veggies, but other than that he was a perfect angel, like always.”

Your words bring a smile to the older woman’s face, and you can’t help but stop in your tracks for a moment, transfixed by the way her lips perk upwards, faint lines around her eyes becoming visible. You’ve seen her take an extra minute in the bathroom more than once after you arrive in the evenings, trying to conceal the bags beneath her eyes or the smile lines beginning to form at the corners, but you think that each and every part of her face is a work of art.

You had no idea, when you first started babysitting for her, just how quickly your feelings for the older woman would grow. In the stolen moments at the beginning and end of the nights, before one of you walks out the door, you've learned more and more about Irene Paredes the person, not just the footballer, and something about her kept drawing you further and further in. You couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but you knew that you wanted her.

“Did you have a good night?”

Irene shrugs, shaking her head with a fond smile as she tells you about the Barcelona squad’s night out. She had mostly stayed on the sidelines alongside the other older players, keeping an eye on the girls closer to your own age as they enjoyed themselves, but Pina and Cata had managed to coax her and Alexia into having a drink and dance before she had excused herself.

The thought of Irene on the dance floor makes your heart pound, imagination beginning to run wild.

You’ve never been to Manuela’s, but from the way you’ve heard Irene describe it, there's absolutely no shortage of beautiful women. You know from the bits of information she’s given you that the Barcelona girls normally stick with one another, even while they’re out, but you’ve never been able to help yourself from wondering if any of the beautiful girls who frequent the club have tempted her enough that she’s taken one of them to her bed.

It's that thought, the unpleasant idea of her tangled between the sheets with a nameless, faceless girl from the club that makes your chest hurt. Before you fully notice what you're doing, you open your mouth and begin to speak, some jumbled mixture of thoughts spilling from between your traitorous lips.

"I mean if... If you ever wanted to stay out later... If someone..."

You trail off, clamping your lips shut as you realize just how inappropriate what you're implying is. You cringe, cursing yourself as you watch for her reaction, wait for her to get up off the couch and hand you your bags, let you know that now might be a good time for you to go home.

But she doesn't. Instead, all the older woman does is fix you with a questioning gaze, seemingly losing herself in thought for a moment.

She’s seated closer to you than she normally would be, than she ever has been before, and for a moment you wonder if she can hear your heart as it pounds in your chest, speeding up as she enters your space. You aren’t sure if it’s your imagination, the way her eyes seem to have fixed on you, tracing the details of your flushing face, eyes following your bottom lip as you nervously run your teeth over it.

“No,” she says at last. “None of the girls there have ever been who I wanted.”

Something about the word there catches your attention as it leaves her mouth, and you're certain that you must be losing your mind. Because there's no way, no way in the world that she wants you the way you want her.

The older woman reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you’re fairly certain that you’ve stopped breathing. Her hand pauses by your left cheek, which you're absolutely certain is flushing redder than the cap on her cherry flavored chapstick.

And suddenly, before you can even fully process the fact that her soft but strong hands are cupping your scarlet cheeks, the older woman is leaning forward and pressing her lips to yours.

You must have imagined this moment a thousand times, but never in your wildest dreams had you imagined it would actually come true. The older woman’s mouth is soft but insistent against your own, exploring your lips with hers, and every coherent thought you’ve ever had is a distant memory as you move with her, kissing her back.

Kissing Irene is even better than you imagined it would be - and you could fill a planner with the amount of times you’ve imagined this exact scenario. Her mouth is gentle, but there’s an edge to her kiss that contains a promise, the knowledge that she’s capable of being anything but.

When your lips finally part, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, you let out a little gasp, pupils blown wide as Irene stares into your eyes, both of you trying to process what has just happened. Even though she’s the one who kissed you first, Irene seems just as shocked as you are. But, behind her wide eyes is the same feeling you know she can easily spot in your own.

Desire.

“I… Fuck.”

You’re the one who leans forward this time, lips pressing against the older woman’s, the faint flavor of alcohol on her lips mixed with a hint of cherry from the chapstick you’ve seen her spread across her mouth more than once. The taste of her lips is intoxicating, and you can feel it going straight between your legs.

This kiss is deeper than the first, your arms wrapping around her strong shoulders to pull her closer, wanting to feel her body against your own. You part momentarily, gasping for air and only managing a brief breath before she’s kissing you again, every movement raising the stakes. You whine as her lips meet yours once more, hands coming to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. The older woman uses her own lips to pry yours open, her claiming tongue slipping into your mouth and beginning to explore further.

You let her take control of the kiss without protest, the arousal between your thighs intensifying exponentially with every second her body spends this close to your own.

“Fuck,” she gasps, breaking away from your lips only long enough to grunt in your ear. “Fuck, I want you so badly.”

All you can do is nod, shaking your head up and down in agreement, because you don’t think you’ve ever wanted another person this badly in your entire life.

“Irene,” you whine, pressing impossibly closer to her. “Please.”

“Can I touch you?”

You’re nodding again before the question has even fully left her lips, and the older woman’s pupils go dark with how eager she is for you. She kisses you again, her football player’s strength showing as she pushes you backward onto the sofa, hands working their way up under your shirt. She doesn’t bother with the clasp of your bra, instead slipping her hands beneath the fabric to cup your breasts. Separating her lips from yours with a low groan, Irene immediately begins tracing a path over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a further wave of shivers up and down your spine. You moan quietly, remembering that you two aren’t alone in the apartment, but tilt your head anyway, granting her better access to your throat.

Advantage is rapidly taken, the Barcelona player letting a hint of teeth scrape across the delicate flesh of your throat as she rolls one of your nipples between her fingers, moaning quietly at the way you arch, pressing your chest further into her touch.

Your nipples aren’t normally this sensitive, but something about the way Irene rolls and tugs at them makes the two buds feel as if they’re direct links to your most sensitive spot. Her touch is magical, and all you want is more.

As if the older woman can read your mind, the hand not busy exploring your chest slides further down, slipping under your black leggings and making you gasp, bringing a hand up to muffle your own sounds as long fingers begin to rub at your pussy over your panties.

There’s far too much fabric between the two of you, and every thread feels like a cage. You need it off, need the last bits of separation between your heat and her touch gone, now.

“Off,” Irene commands and, needing the barrier gone just as badly as you do, she doesn’t wait for you to obey before she’s hooking her own fingers in the waistband of your leggings, yanking them down over your legs. Your panties are removed in the same motion, both pieces of fabric coming to rest at your ankles. You try to kick them fully off, but only manage to completely free one leg before the older woman is pushing her way between your thighs, eagerly beginning to explore your bare pussy.

Her experience is clear from the first touch of her slender fingers against your naked heat, and you can’t help but press closer, spreading your legs further to give her better access. The older woman draws in a sharp breath as she circles your clit gently with one finger, exploring, watching for your reactions, the others gathering the rapidly accumulating wetness at your entrance. Irene's touch is electric, and the older woman finds herself becoming rapidly obsessed with the way your clit seems to plead for her touch.

With two of her fingers, Irene traces the outline of your pussy, hyper aware of just how wet you are, how your hole is begging silently for her fingers inside as she continues to rub your clit.

You let your eyes fall shut, eagerly anticipating just how good it will feel when the fingers you can sense lingering just shy of your entrance finally slide home, burying themselves inside your welcoming cunt. You’re practically pulsing with it, with how badly you need her inside, need to know just how she’ll fill you, what previously unknown spots inside the tips of her long fingers will be able to brush.

“Where do you want my fingers, bebita?”

You whine, shifting your hips in an attempt to get even closer to her, to get her to slide her fingers into your throbbing heat. The digits, wet from your own slick, only withdraw further away from your needy hole, and you nearly sob with how badly you need the older woman, need her touch.

Obvious as it may be, this nonverbal expression of how desperate you are for her to take you isn’t enough to satisfy the older woman, and she rubs your inner thigh soothingly.

“Use your words, baby,” she coaxes. “Tell me where you need my fingers.”

The idea of using your words seems borderline impossible at the moment, your brain simply too overwhelmed with the reality of just how close her fingers are to slipping inside, but you can tell that you won’t get what you need until you do.

“My pussy,” you manage to whine, trying to stay as quiet as possible while pulsing with the need for her. “Please, Irene, I need your fingers in my cunt.”

Your words, base and simple as they are, are enough to get you what you need, and when Irene finally slides her fingers home, you can’t conceal the moan that tears its way free from your throat. You’re wet enough that the stretch of going from zero to two fingers inside your cunt brings nothing but pleasure, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from moaning aloud when you feel the ridges of her fingers settle against your walls, the older woman pausing for a moment to let you adjust to the feeling of her digits inside.

Irene has to swallow a wrecked noise of her own as she finally slides her fingers inside your soaking pussy, the sensation of your silky walls against her skin sending her brain into overdrive. The sound of your voice, desperation tinging your whispers as you plead for her to move, to fuck you, is absolute music to her ears, and she doesn’t hesitate to comply with the enticing request.

Her pace is slow at first as she starts to move, the older woman eagerly exploring every curve and contour of your cunt, leaking around her fingers. It’s so warm and inviting, and the older woman has no idea how she’s lasted this long without knowing what feel like inside.

Once she’s sure you’ve fully adjusted to the stretch of her digits inside of you, Irene speeds up her thrusts, curling her fingers in search of the most sensitive spots hidden inside your pretty cunt.

It’s clear when she finds what she’s looking for, because your cunt clenches down around her fingers and you squeeze your pretty eyes shut as pleasure rocks your body.

“Oh,” she says, voice a whisper that tickles your ear and makes you shudder happily. “Is that where you need me?”

You nod desperately, the entirety of your reality reduced to the sensation of her fingers against the sensitive tissue inside you, stroking it insistently as her thumb comes to brush against your swollen clit. As she fucks you with her fingers, the older woman tests out different motions on your bud with her thumb, searching for the pattern and pace to take what’s left of your breath away.

You can’t help but let out a cry as she presses a little harder, circling your needy clit at just the right angle. Irene quickly presses her lips to yours again, reminding you that you’re not alone in the apartment.

“Shh,” the older woman says, swallowing your noises with her own tongue, collecting each one. “You’ve still gotta be quiet for me, bebita.”

You nod in understanding, kissing her back desperately, bringing a hand up to tangle in her hair. You can be quiet, no matter how good it feels, you can be quiet, just so long as she doesn’t stop what she’s doing between your legs. Irene chuckles against your lips, redoubling her efforts between your legs. Her talented fingers thrust in and out of your pussy, each time hitting the spot that makes you see stars.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispers, lips right beside your ear. “That’s it, take it for me. Take it, just like that.”

You toss your head back, more than willing to comply. Every cell of your body feels like it’s on fire, and you want nothing more than for the burning to consume you completely.

Your orgasm arrives without warning, Irene’s thumb on your swollen clit combined with her talented fingers inside your cunt sending you crashing over the edge with a fury you haven’t felt in a long time. You have to bite down on your lip to keep in your sounds as your it overwhelms you, nails digging into Irene’s bare shoulders. You can feel the older woman’s smile as she kisses your neck, fingers still moving gently inside you, working you through your climax, helping you ride it for as long as you can.

You shudder, aftershocks still shaking your body as you begin to come down from your peak. She slides her fingers out and you bite down on your kiss-swollen lip to keep yourself from whining at the loss. It takes another minute before you're able to gather yourself, fully opening your eyes and taking in the sight of the gorgeous older woman above you.

Irene presses another kiss to your lips, this one gentle, and you can feel the smile on her face as you give a final shudder, sitting up and leaning into her.

"How was that, bebita?"

"Fucking perfect," you reply, unable to conceal a grin of your own as you note how flushed her face still is. Knowing that touching you has her seemingly almost as worked up as you are sends a thrill through your body and you reach for the button of her jeans, aiming to return the favor, only for the same pair of hands that had just brought you to such an incredible orgasm to push yours down, Irene’s lips brushing against your forehead.

“Don’t you worry about me, baby,” she says, and you feel your heart sink with sudden disappointment.

“Are you sure?”

Irene wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, clearly oblivious to the way your shoulders sink.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

You blush, wanting to protest that getting to touch her would be just about the furthest thing away from a worry- dream or fantasy come to life would be a more accurate description- but a sudden wave of shyness overcomes you, the whiplash of going from the high of your orgasm to the valley of being denied an opportunity to make Irene feel as good as she’s just made you feel making your throat close up.

“O-Oh,” you say quietly. “Okay. I just…”

You trail off, not sure what to say to that. It feels like, without meaning to or realizing what she’s done, the Barcelona defender has just tossed a bucket of ice water over you.

“I… I guess I should head home then,” you say quietly, trying not to let her hear the hurt in your voice, reaching down and pulling your leggings back up over your calves and thighs until they rest around your middle. Your panties aren’t quite soaked, for the pure fact that they had been around your ankles soon after her lips first met yours, but they’re still wet enough that putting them back on isn’t exactly comfortable.

And more than that, you don’t want to leave. Your body is still purring with the aftermath of your orgasm, the last thing you want to do right now is leave her apartment and walk the few blocks home to your own. The route between your apartment and Irene’s is one you know well, lit with plenty of streetlamps and well-frequented on a Saturday night, so any anxiety you might feel can be connected purely to leaving her after what’s just happened, without being certain where you stand.

Irene opens her mouth and you pause with your hand on the knob, waiting, hoping that she’ll say something, offer her bed to share for the night.

“Let me know when you get home safe,” she says quietly, and you can’t help the way your chest clenches with a strange sort of pain. You hadn’t really expected her to offer for you to stay, not with the amount of eyes that could be watching someone like her at any given moment, but you still can’t help but wish she had.

You nod in response to her question, clutching your bag close to your side as you shut the door behind yourself, beginning the short walk home.

...

“Fuck.”

The second the door shuts behind you, the defender wishes she could throw it open again and call you back in.

She had wanted to, especially after watching you come apart under her touch, seeing how pretty you looked as your orgasm overwhelmed you. The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but you had beaten her to it, reaching for the door handle and exiling yourself before she could even offer, and she hadn’t offered any protests.

Peeking in the door, ensuring that Mateo is still safe and sound in his bed, the Barcelona player tiptoes quietly down the hall, two doors down, and pushes her own door open and shut behind her.

As she pulls off her top, letting it fall to the floor, quickly followed by her pants and bra, Irene curses herself, pulling back the covers and slipping into the too-big bed on her own. It feels cold compared to the contrast of your warm body against her own, and her chest pangs with the regret of not asking you to stay the night.

Back in your own apartment, you slide beneath your own covers, mind racing at a million miles an hour.

No matter how your chest might ache at the fact that you’re here, alone in your own bed, the memory of the older woman’s lips on yours, of her talented fingers bringing you to orgasm right there on the sofa, of muffling your moans in her shoulder, still sends a familiar jolt of electricity between your thighs. With a soft whine, you reach for your the bedside drawer where you keep your vibrator, turning it up before pressing it against your still-swollen clit.

Blocks away, Irene is doing the same, quietly gasping out a much-needed orgasm with your name on her lips, the memory of your mouth on hers and your silken flesh beneath her fingertips sending her over the edge.

As the older woman drifts off into an uneasy slumber, the space beside her conspicuously empty, she knows that, now she's had you once, she won't ever be able to get enough.

#woso x reader #woso x y/n #woso imagine #woso fanfics #irene paredes x reader #barca femini x reader #woso smut

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lovedrruunk · 4 months ago

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'A Fresh Start 𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐[part v]

powder finally made it to the hangout stage (good for her!), and guess she never really realized how good talking to you one on one would feel. [part iv]

✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮ < banger song inspo!!

Powder shuffled along the stone sidewalk, her head down and her hands buried in her worn jacket pockets. The town square was deafening. The noise of it all was something she just couldn’t seem to get adjusted to. Sure, the undercity was loud, people yelling, arguing, running, sounds she was used to, sounds easy to block out. But this?

Easy laughter, happy chatter, meaningless conversation just for the sake of it. It was like a ringing in her ear, irritating her brain as if she wasn’t meant to hear it, like her ears weren’t developed enough to process it.

Looking up at the people passing by she noticed how all of their faces were unfamiliar. Either she’d never met them, never looked them in the eye, or had totally forgotten about them. She wanted to feel bad about it but she just… couldn’t. All the faces here seemed so generic, like NPCs in a video game. Every face just seemed like a blur. Every face but one.

“Powder!”

And suddenly the ringing in her ear stopped. Your face wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t part of the background. It was clear, vivid, impossible to ignore. You were smiling at her, waving like you’d been waiting to see her. For a second, she didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just stood there like an idiot, staring back.

It happened. In less than a week, the interaction she’d dreamed of had… actually happened.

It was a weird feeling, to watch the scene she pictured in her head constantly play out before her in real time. You called her name and waved her hello, because you knew her, because you were here to see her this time, not the baker, not the merchant, not your neighbors. The realization made her lips twitch upward and before she could stop herself, a goofy smile spread across her face. She probably looked ridiculous, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Sorry, did I make you wait long?” You asked, catching your breath.

“No, don't worry, I just got here.” She said quickly, shaking her head.

It was a total lie of course. She had been waiting long, long enough to overthink, to second-guess whether she should’ve shown up at all, and to count the cracks in the sidewalk. But it didn’t matter now. You were here, and somehow, that made the waiting feel insignificant, like it had been worth it.

You smiled, not questioning her answer, and pointed down the street casually. “I was thinking we could head down to the river.” you said, like the thought had just popped into your head. “It’s quieter there. I know the noise here can be a lot sometimes.”

Powder blinked, startled by how easily you seemed to know her, like you’d figured out something she hadn’t even put into words yet herself. She hesitated for a moment, her hands still shoved deep into her pockets, before nodding. “Yeah. Okay.”

You started walking, and she followed you without a word, just like she always had. Except this time she wasn’t sneaking around, because you had been walking together. At first, it felt strange. Her pace awkward, her head down, unsure of what to say or do. But you didn’t seem bothered by her silence, didn’t rush her to keep up or pressure her to fill the space between you. You just…walked, calm and easy, without a second thought.

The town square got quieter and quieter, replaced by the faint sounds of nature, birds chirping, the occasional rustle of leaves, and the distant sound of flowing water. Powder glanced up as they rounded a corner, catching the sight of the river.

The water wasn’t super deep where you guys were, she could see the smooth rocks under the water from afar, some sticking out a little. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen water this clean or blue. The sun was out, but not in an annoying way. Just enough to keep things warm without making her squint. The wind was nice too, just enough to ruffle her hair, the perfect balance of warm and cool. The only sounds she could hear now was the soft splashing of water and chirping of birds

For a second, she thought about how different it felt here. Like the world had slowed down just for you two. She glanced over at you and caught you smiling, like you’d been here a thousand times, like this was just another day for you.

When you reached the riverbank, you didn’t hesitate. You spotted a bench with a clear view of the water, sat down like it was your favorite spot in the world, and gestured for her to join you.

“See? Way better.” you said with a grin, stretching lazily.

Powder lingered for a second, her eyes flicking between the bench and the water, before finally sitting down. Stiffly. Like she’d never sat down a day in her life, or like the bench might break just to spite her. She looked around, her arms stuck to her sides, half expecting something to go wrong.

But nothing did.

The river kept flowing, and the trees kept swaying. The world didn’t seem to care that she was sitting there, that she felt out of place.

And then there was you.

You didn’t seem to care either, not in a bad way, but in a way that made her feel like it didn’t matter if she was awkward or didn’t know what to say. You were just… there. Sitting beside her, relaxed, watching the water like it was the only thing that mattered.

Powder shifted slightly, her arms relaxing a little. She wasn’t used to quiet like this, the kind that wasn’t filled with tension or internal voices, the kind that didn’t demand anything from her.

She still felt a little off, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But for the first time in a while, it felt like maybe… maybe nothing had to go wrong.

“So, how are you liking the town?” You asked, breaking the silence.

She thought about it for a bit. It was such a simple question yet she had no idea how to answer it. Where would she begin? It was nice sure, peaceful, lively, the perfect place to settle, but how did she like it? Guess she never really thought about it.

She liked her cabin. She made it her own and it felt nice to have a place to herself. She liked the market, even though she was always quick to scurry out of there. She liked the kids in town, she’d sometimes linger by a little longer and listen in on their conversations. Sometimes they’d be arguing over something stupid like who won which game, other times they’d be happily chasing each other around. She liked you, of course.

Sometimes she wondered what it would’ve been like if she had moved here earlier, before everything went wrong. It was a selfish thought really, but one she found herself often staying up picturing. Afterall, she knew someone who would’ve loved to play with the kids in town. She would’ve liked you too, would’ve liked this new life.

“It’s nice.” She muttered, keeping her eyes on the moving water.

“Seriously…? That’s it?”

That made her chuckle. She turned her head to look at you with a small smile and furrowed brows.

“What? It is nice.” She exclaimed

You stayed silent, rolling your eyes with a small ‘hmph’ looking away.

“It’s also… new.” She continued after a small bit of silence. “Believe it or not, I’d never seen a forest before coming here… oh, or water this pretty.” she added absentmindedly as she took in their surroundings.

“Oh right, I’ve been meaning to ask. Where did you live before you came here?” You asked curiously as you turned to look at her again.

There it was, the dreaded question. Well, one of them. There were a lot of questions she was dreading. But she figured this one would come up sooner than later.

It wasn’t like Zaun was known for its great living conditions.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn't nervous, she didn’t know how you’d react to her being from somewhere so… Scary? Dirty? Horrible?... she figured any one of those could work. A part of her was tempted to lie, say she was from Piltover or somewhere else that's fancy and shiny, but she knew she couldn’t do that to you, lying now? So early into your conversation? No way. And besides, she doubted she could stomach the idea of calling herself a Piltie.

Her throat felt dry, and her voice came out quieter than she intended.

“I… I’m from Zaun.”

“From where now?”

“The Undercity.”

There was a pause.

“Piltover.”

Still nothing.

She blinked at you, deadpan. “The ‘City of Progress’?”

Your expression lit up in sudden recognition. “Oh! With the Hex Portals?”

She didn’t even have the heart to correct you…

Your confusion confused her, but she wasn’t exactly mad about it. It was... surprising, in a good way. Guess all that worrying was for nothing. She couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in your cluelessness, like it drew an even thicker line between her past and her present.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it.” you said, your voice casual like this was just small talk. “Hm. It’s a long way from here, though. What made you leave?”

Her body stiffened. What was it with you and these dreaded questions? She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting back to the river.

As much as she wanted to be annoyed at you for asking the one thing she wanted to avoid, she knew she couldn’t. It wasn’t the question that was the problem, it was her answer. Anyone else might’ve taken it as a casual, perfectly normal thing to ask. The issue wasn’t you. The issue was her.

She opened her mouth, trying to come up with something to say, but nothing felt right. Her chest tightened

Thankfully, you seemed to catch on to her hesitation. Your voice softened. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me. I get it.”

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until that moment. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she gave you a small nod, grateful you didn’t push for more.

“Well,” you continued, leaning back on the bench with a smile “whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here now,”

She smiled again, her heart warm-

“even though you were kinda creepy at first.”

“What!?” Her head snapped towards you.

“Why is this surprising? You were like totally stalking me. Kinda had me worried.” You said casually with a laugh.

“Well- I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to be creepy.” She said defensively. “I just thought you were cool…”

Your teasing grin faltered, replaced by a look of surprise.

You blinked, clearly taken aback. “Oh.”

Powder winced, feeling like she’d just made things worse.

“Oh?” she repeated, nervously twisting her fingers together.

“Sorry, just didn’t expect that.” you said, your voice softer now, glancing down at the ground.

Her eyes darted away. “Was that... weird to say?”

“No, no,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I mean,” You laughed a little, still processing. “I didn’t think I’d come off as cool to anyone, let alone you.”

Her brows furrowed, she almost looked…offended. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a sheepish smile playing on your lips. “I don’t know. I think I’m pretty average overall. My life’s pretty mundane.” You said looking towards the sky absentmindedly. “No mysterious backstory, no crazy hair.” You finished with a laugh as you looked back at her again, only to be taken aback when you were met with a stern face.

“That’s what makes you cool.” She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You just sat there staring at one another. Her face still serious and yours all the more surprised.

“If you say so…”

Powder nodded sharply. “I do say so.”

Then you smiled, like you weren’t sure whether to laugh or say thank you

“Well... thanks, I guess,” you said finally.

. . .

The sun was starting to set now, the gentle sound of the river filled the quiet, and Powder found herself feeling lighter than she had in a long time.

“It’s nice here,” she said, almost to herself.

You glanced over at her. “Yeah. It is.”

You leaned forward, tilting your head to get a good look at her. “We should do this again sometime. Y’know, hang out.”

Powder blinked, looking over at you. The casual way you said it made her chest ache in that strange, unfamiliar way again. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I’d like that.”

You smiled at her, a small, genuine one that made her stomach flip. Then you stood up, stretching contently.

“Come on,” you said, reaching out a hand to her. “We should head back before it gets dark. Can’t have you tripping over something.”

Powder rolled her eyes, smiling back. “I’ll have you know, I’m very good at walking.”

“Yuh huh,” you teased, grabbing her hand to pull her up anyway. “Whatever you say creep.”

“Ugh.”

. . .

"next part will def be out before new years!" i said knowing damn well it wouldnt be LMAO guys pls i have a life outside of tumblr OH MY DAYSSSS shocker ik

anyways sry this took long (i rewrote it TWICE) im actually not thattt happy with it STOP I CAN ALREADY HEAR THE BOOS AND TOMATOES BEING THROWN ik guys im never satisfied BUT TO POST SOMETHING I TRULY LIKE IT WOULD TAKE A WHOLE 2 MONTHS AT LEAST

ALSO THE STORY IS COMING TO AN ENDDD IM HEARTBROKEN TOO BUT BUT BUT DW I still plan on writing for this "au" or wtv, ill make a separate post explaining why/how ;P

THX SM FOR STILL READING I LOVEEEEEE U GUYSSS BYEBYE XOXOXO KISSKISSKISS

p.s ik jinx leaving zaun before act 2 wouldve been pointless cuz she needed the closure i just wanted to write abt her thinking abt it ;P

notes r appreciated ofc (˶ > ₃ < ˶)

[taglist ( ;´ - `;)!!]

@cattjull @kenqki @powderbomb-jinxed @iamastar @lostdreamingwallflower @errorlovernotfound99 @raven437 @cartalige @poncho-fisch @crushh-existz @slxtcity @jinxslapdog @radioheadfan699 @alduinworldeater11 @dulleyeddreamer @alicenasflowers

[USERS I CANT TAG 4 SUM REASON (◞‸◟；)]

@sacrasm-is-my-form-of-attack @wonylvxv @luvs4rc0r3

#ignore the banner pls #PROOF READING THIS WAS A NIGHTMARE #U BETTER HAVE LISTENED TO THE SONG!!#im free!!!!#jinx arcane #jinx #arcane #jinx x reader #arcane league of legends #x reader #arcane x reader #jinx league of legends #jinx imagine #series

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woso-story · 5 months ago

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2 Much

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Based on the song '2 Much' by Justin Bieber

Alexia lay on her side, propped up on one elbow, staring at you beside her. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the early morning sun sneaking through the curtains, casting a golden hue over your sleeping face. Your hair was tousled across the pillow, your chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, completely at peace. Alexia’s heart swelled, and she couldn’t help but smile. How could someone so perfect be lying here, in her bed, in her life?

She reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, careful not to wake you. Her fingers lingered for a moment, grazing the soft skin of your cheek. She often found herself wondering how she got so lucky, but mornings like this hit her harder than usual. Watching you sleep, so unguarded and serene, felt like a privilege—a glimpse into the purest part of you.

Alexia’s mind drifted, unbidden, to one of her favorite memories. You were out with her teammates, laughter and music filling the air, the kind of night that felt infinite. You had been on the dance floor, hair down, moving with an ease and freedom that seemed to defy the chaos around you. Alexia had been rooted to the spot, utterly mesmerized. She’d forgotten to blink, let alone breathe, because in that moment, she knew: This is it. This is where I’m supposed to be.

Her heart raced just thinking about it, even now. The way you lived your life—with so much love, so much care—astounded her. Whether it was your family, your friends, or the weight of your demanding schedules, you somehow carried it all with grace. Yet, you always made time for her. It was as if you had a way of stopping the world, just for her, even when it felt like it was spinning out of control.

Alexia looked at you again, taking in the delicate curve of your jawline, the slight upward twitch of your lips, even in sleep. She thought about the first time you met—really met—and how she didn’t realize at the time she was meeting the biggest blessing of her life. All those nights spent praying for a love like this, and now here you were. God really had done something extraordinary.

She thought about how often she told you, “I love you,” over and over again, probably too much for you to fully process. But she couldn’t help it. Every time she said it, it felt like the first time, and it was never enough to capture how she truly felt. Every syllable of your name was music to her ears, a melody she could play on repeat forever.

And those nights—those quiet, intimate nights—when your head was resting on her chest, the sun already peeking over the horizon. Alexia could never bring herself to sleep. She didn’t want to miss a single second of this—of you. She would rather fall in love over and over again than waste even a moment in unconsciousness. When you weren’t near, it felt like something essential had been taken from her, as though two seconds apart stretched into two unbearable months.

She sighed softly, leaning down to press the gentlest kiss to your temple. Even eternity wouldn’t be enough, she realized. If she had every day, every hour, every second with you, it still wouldn’t feel like enough time to show you how much you were loved.

You stirred slightly at the touch, your lips parting as you let out a small sigh but didn’t wake. Alexia smiled, her heart aching in the best way. I don’t want to miss this, she thought, letting her fingers trace invisible patterns on the sheets. I don’t want to miss a single moment of loving you.

Alexia settled back down, her head close to yours, her eyes never leaving your face. She whispered into the stillness of the room, words just for you:

“You are my everything.”

#woso fics #woso community #woso #barca femeni #alexia x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso x reader

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bishopsbeloved · 1 year ago

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a night in

kate bishop x female reader

After dinner plans are cancelled, Kate Bishop skips straight to dessert

straight up smut, kate topping, she is so fucking horny, fingering, oral (R receiving), mentions of her strap, 1.4k words

Dating Kate Bishop keeps you on your toes.

At the last possible minute, as the two of you were ready to leave her apartment in white tie attire for the high-end Valentine’s dinner reservation awaiting you, she got a call from Clint that had her huffing and grunting and tugging off her blazer.

“Stupid— fucking— superhero thing,” she’d muttered, fumbling with her quiver, “won’t— give me a, uhm, a couple hours, baby, I’ll be so quick.”

When she comes home, you’re at the kitchen counter, preparing a homemade meal in place of your prior plans. You’re still in the tight little number she picked out for you to match with her suit, figuring she’d still want to take it off you. The front door slams, and almost instantly she’s dropped her gear on the ground and made a beeline towards where you’re stood.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur, setting down the knife and turning to face her. Within a moment she’s pressing herself against your back, hands on your hips, stopping you from moving.

“No,” she sighs against your skin, her chest to your back, her mouth on your neck. She leans into you, draping herself over your back to pin you between her body and the counter, and hold you in place. “Stay.”

You’re quiet, cheeks reddening as her lithe arms curl upwards to let her hands cup your tits. Sometimes she’ll hold them just for the sake of holding them, but today she wastes no time in beginning to roughly grope them over your dress, fingers tugging hungrily at the cleavage.

“Katie,” you sigh, unable to stop yourself from leaning back, instinctively relaxing into her touch. She’s solid behind you, deceptively strong, groaning against the skin of your neck and then taking it between her teeth. You whimper.

“Was thinking of these the whole time I was gone,” she tells you lowly. She fumbles with the front of your dress, whining in the back of her throat when she can’t free your tits with ease.

“J— just my tits?” you manage, overwhelmed by her, arching your back into her touch.

“All of you,” Kate admits hoarsely, her hands moving to undo the zipper of your dress now. “Just you. Fuck.”

She’s all over you, she’s everywhere, beginning to grind herself against your ass as she trails open-mouthed kisses across the newly exposed skin of your shoulders. She tugs your dress down further still, impatiently rutting against you like a dog in heat, and you wince as you hear fabric rip.

“S’fine,” she mutters against the skin of your spine, sending shivers down it. She begins to tug you towards the sofa. “C’mere.”

“Katie, the food,” you remind her.

“I don’t— screw the food, we’ll get takeout. You taste better.”

She grips your hips as she sits on the sofa and pulls you onto her lap. The dress is somehow squirmed off of you entirely, leaving you in nothing but panties, and as Kate fights with the buttons of her own shirt you’re finally able to take her in — her pretty lips are parted as she pants softly, cheeks a little flushed, pupils blown. She looks up at you as she tosses her buttonup aside and a thrill of arousal shoots through you as her darkened, hungry eyes lock onto yours and finally your lips meet.

You whine openly into her mouth as her tongue slides against yours, and her hands make their way to your tits again, her thumbs toying with your nipples. Without the boundary of your dress you can feel how cold her hands are, and it makes you tense, squirming a little.

“Shhh, sh sh,” she soothes against your lips, “just let me play with you. Been— been thinking of you like this all night, baby, fuck.” She drags out the syllables, her voice dripping with need, and she’s not the only thing that’s dripping.

“You’re so wet, huh?” Kate muses as your wetness seeps through your underwear and onto her trousers. She jogs her leg, rubbing against your cunt and watching with amusement as you squirm. “Yeah? That feel good, baby? You want more?”

You cry out in the affirmative, and one hand stays on your tits while the other slides down to nurse your overwhelming wetness. She toys with you over your underwear, teasing your clit until you’re shivering in her arms, before growing impatient with her own games as she often does and sliding her cold hand beneath the lacy fabric. You yelp at the contact, and let out a low guttural cry as she slides two fingers into you without hesitation.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she soothes you, lazily curling her fingers inside of you as the pad of her thumb makes its way onto your clit. “Just be a good girl and take it. I’ve been outside working, I’ve been so cold, and I was thinking of this the whole time. You’re gonna be good for me and warm me up, okay? You gonna warm up my fingers?”

“Y— yes,” you cry out. You’re rolling your hips into her, arms curled around the back of her neck, and as the pleasure grows more intense your head falls forward to rest on her shoulder. You pant softly as, on every thrust into you, Kate fucks into the sensitive spot of your gummy walls that makes your vision go white.

“So— s’good,” you whine, breath hot against her skin, and you feel her shiver a little.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, picking up the pace a little. With every thrust your wetness seeps out of you and down onto her thigh, soaking it. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” she says desperately, whiny, her own hips beginning to rut up into you as she fucks you, and it’s the way that she gets off on your pleasure alone that has you gasping and teetering on the edge.

“Cum— cum on my fingers, baby,” she almost begs, an arm looped around your waist to hold you in place as she fucks you steadily, sinking her teeth into the soft skin of your neck. With a cry you obey, blinding waves of euphoria rolling over you as you clench around Kate so hard that she struggles to continue thrusting into you.

“Fuck, fuck,” she grits, fucking you through your orgasm and shuddering a little. The realisation that she’s cum in her pants just from fucking you has you whining, dragging your fingernails down her back, rocking into her. Eventually she pulls her hand from your cunt, sucking your slick off of her fingers and whimpering at the taste.

“Have to taste you,” she mumbles, almost to herself, easing you off of her lap onto the sofa and then getting on her knees. “Just take what I give you, baby, so good for me.”

Kate nudges your thighs apart, burying herself between them and running her tongue up your slit. She groans at the taste, not caring for your little whimpers of overstimulation.

“So fucking good,” she breathes, one arm wrapping itself around each of your thighs to hold you in place. You’re too far gone to muster a reply.

Kate Bishop always eats you out like a woman starved. Tonight, though, she’s hungrier than you’ve ever seen her. She laps at you messily, her nose nudging against your sensitive clit, desperate to engulf you. You’re crying out her name, writhing, and when you reach out to wind your hand through her hair she looks up at you through her lashes. Her eyes are wide and dark, lips swollen, the entire lower half of her face glistening with your juices. She blinks up at you hungrily, still lapping at your clit, swallowing everything you have to offer her, and the sight paired with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you is enough to have you cumming on her tongue. She hums approvingly against you, the vibrations only prolonging your orgasm, and you feel so overwhelmingly good you can’t even move. Eventually she slows down, sensing your need for a break, and makes her way back up your body to tug you into her arms and hold you close to her.

“So good for me,” Kate soothes you, a hand combing through your hair. “So good at taking everything I give you. So, so good, my gorgeous baby.” She waits until you’ve come down a little more, until your eyes are a little less glassy, before grinning at you. “Happy Valentine’s, sweet girl. You want to ride my strap next?”

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x fem reader #kate bishop x you #kate bishop smut #kate bishop tops #at least here she does #in general she’s lowkey more of a switch idk #like she just wants to please u #hailee steinfeld #smut #lesbian smut #happy valentine’s day to kate bishop ONLY

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aheathen-conceivably · 22 days ago

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The air felt clear in the high altitude of Shady Acres. Zelda had never been to the once affluent neighborhood before, but driving by the dilapidated Victorian manors she realized just how much she wished she would have. The houses were somehow beautiful and loney at the same time, reminiscent of something that made her heart feel warm and ache all at once.

As Alexander parked in front of the house they had driven there to see, she opened the car door and stepped outside without taking her eyes off of the sight looming above her.

“Built in 1868, but it’s been abandoned since the crash. Judging from the inside though I’d say it had been neglected long before that.” Alexander looked sideways to where Zelda was still staring upward. “Shall we go inside? I’m afraid the front door is barred, so we’ll have to make our way to the back entrance.”

They walked carefully through the overgrown side yard, Alexander moving what he could to clear the path for Zelda. As they rounded the back of the house a dilapidated greenhouse came into view and a small smile played on Alexander’s face. “A bit of a folly in the desert at all, but even more so for a potential library. Even still, I must admit I’m quite fond of it.”

“No. It’s…" After hours of working together cataloging books, he was used to the way she often spoke without looking at you, or how she let her words trail off and die on the air as though she wanted to let someone invisible hear them before she spoke aloud. “It’s magnificent. You could host Sunday tea. Easter egg hunts. Private events to offset costs.”

“That’s - that’s brilliant.”

She turned and smiled at him, as though remembering that she had actually put forth an idea to her employer rather than merely narrated some sort of private vision. “Shall we go inside?”

He nodded in agreement, fishing a key out his pocket as he turned to guide them on the pathway toward the door.

The door creaked when it opened, as though in protest to the stream of bright desert sunshine now cutting through the dark, musty rooms. Alexander muffled a cough, apologizing for various allergies before he reached behind them and shut the door.

Without meaning to, Zelda began to walk in front of him, drawn deeper into the house by the way each individual particle of dust swirled in the air. How odd they were. How long they must have gone undisturbed only for her feet to be the one to rouse them from their slumber. Suddenly she felt guilty for every step she took.

“So as you can see it’s quite derelict.”

She turned at the sound of Alexander’s voice, redirecting her attention to him as she reminded herself that he was there. “The present owner is practically giving it away, and frankly I think with the tax credit she’d receive she’d consider donating it just to have it off her hands.”

“But their furniture - their portraits. Isn’t there anyone left who would want them?”

“The last family member I could find died just after the crash. My contact is a cousin of the women who was looking after her toward the end. She herself passed a few years ago. Not even she really knows where the rest of the family went. Back East after the war, if I had to guess. But I offered her the personal effects if our proposal is accepted, although I suspect she wants nothing to do with some other family’s money pit after what it’s cost her just to maintain these last few years. It will be quite the sum just to get it up to standard, but I think we can make an argument that it will serve as a testament to the reach of the WPA.”

Zelda found herself agreeing with him, discussing how the house itself would make the opening of the library even more noteworthy, drawing attention and patrons simply due to its location. With every word he spoke he seemed more confident in his choice to present the house as part of the grant proposal, and she smiled genuinely at his growing conviction.

But it was hard to pay attention to his words, especially when he began to speak in the facts and numbers which so often governed his thinking and tended to contort the edges of her mind. Because beyond any display of government prowess or hardline sums, there were memories here. Memories whose owners seemed to have forgotten them, and the fact that they were now abandoned amidst the swirling dust and dim desert light only made them all the more powerful to her. It was hard not to fill their humming void with memories of her own.

When she turned her attention back to Alexander, her head felt cloudy; but she told herself that could easily have been because of the dust or the fact that she hadn’t really had a full night’s sleep in weeks. “Alexander?” he stopped his diatribe of accounting and looked up at her in much the same way she did when someone interrupted her own reveries. “Do you mind if I look around on my own a bit?”

He smiled benevolently, clearly fearing that he must have bored her with his numbers, but then he nodded politely and turned back in the opposite direction as though to mentally cataloguing every scuff in the floor and tear on the wall.

Alone in the dining room, her footsteps seemed to echo off of every surface. It was strange for her, since she was used to stepping so quietly; but maybe it was because deep in the memories of her mind, she expected the room to be filled with the sound of piano keys. Wouldn't someone have learned how to play here? Or, late in the evening of a dinner party, a friend have been coaxed to play for the group, only to mesmerize them all with a skill no one could have expected?

One of her fingers trailed lightly down B sharp, but she didn't dare press down on it. She knew exactly what it would sound like - mournful and resonant in a way that would truly break the silence of the room even more than her footsteps ever could. Her gloved hand ran back down to A and G, mimicking the notes of a song by muscle memory without ever pressing down a single key.

But all along she could hear it - the music that her father had taught her. It rung out silently in her mind and through the room so it seemed to bounce off the walls almost like laughter - until seemingly, it was laughter. Light, lilting laughter rippling down the hallway from another time.

It drew her across the room, past the forgotten dining table, and toward the archway leading into the solarium like a song she already knew but hadn’t sung in years.

Amidst the glare of the late morning sunshine, the room seemed blurry. Almost like a memory or a dream, or just a trick of the light filtering through half a decade of dust coating the windows. Rippling through it all she could still hear the laughter, girlish and innocent in much the same way her own laugh still was.

And did you really get to go inside the castle?

It’s not a castle silly. It’s a Manor! And tomorrow I’ll take you with me! We’ll go on a walk and look at it together. Only I wish you could see the inside! The inside is so beautiful. Full of carpets and rugs and furniture so fine you don’t even want to sit on it. Just like home! Or, well like our home used to be. There was even a greenhouse where Grandma Adelia used to sit and embroider. Oh, Zelda, I wish you could have seen it. You would have loved it…”

A cloud passed over the sun, and a sad, heavy sigh reverberated through the dust. Zelda? What are you looking off at again? Zelda?

“…Zelda?”

The voice had come from behind her, so she spun from the swirling light in front of her to see Alexander standing there, a bit wide eyed and concerned. “Zelda are you alright?”

She turned back toward the windows, where the dust had begun to settle back toward the floorboards, and then looked toward the man behind her and smiled, replying that she was. He took three steps to stand by her side, looking at the spot she had just been gazing so intently at. “So do you like it? Do you see the vision of what it could be?”

“Yes.” She nodded confidently, her voice as clear and melodic as the one that only she had heard coming from the other side of the room. “I think it’s perfect.”

Previous / Next

#1936 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #the darlingtons #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda Darlington #Alexander Barnes

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shitwillnotbegiven · 1 month ago

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Why the necklace represents Elain 🌹

Let’s begin with a review of the paragraph. “Its chain UNREMARKABLE. TINY enough that it could be DISMISSED as an everyday charm…. Designed so that when held to the LIGHT, the TRUE DEPTH of the colors would become VISIBLE. A thing of SECRET, LOVELY BEAUTY.

The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

Why is this Elain? Several factors. Outwardly, despite her beauty, many dismiss Elain as “unremarkable”. We can look back on how her own sister regards her as “uninteresting”. We know that Elain has a LOT to reveal and is more that surface valued beauty.

“Look who decided to grow claws after all,” she crooned. “Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.”

Elain’s eyes brightened with pain. Something imploded in Nesta’s chest at that expression. She opened her mouth, as if it could somehow be undone. But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

Nesta blinked, everything inside her hollowing out.

But Elain turned on her heel. “Find me when you wish to begin.” The doors shut behind her.

Many write her off as “just Elain” “just there” “boring” but even Rhys says we don’t know all there is to her. “I think she is kind… but I also think we haven’t seen all she has to offer.”

Rhys asked, “Have you ever seen Elain act like that before?”

“No.” I chewed on my bottom lip. Rhys’s gaze tracked the movement. I mean, she’s been brave when she had to be, but she’s never been confrontational.”

“Maybe she was never given the chance to be that way.”

I whipped my head toward him. “You think I stifle her?”

Rhys held up his hands. “Not you alone.” He surveyed the study as he thought. “But I wonder if everyone has spent·so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.” He sighed toward the ceiling. “With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.”

“That sounds dangerously close to what Nesta said about Elain finally becoming interesting.”

“Sometimes, Nesta isn’t wrong.”

I glowered at Rhys. “You think Elain's boring?”

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.”

What we DO know is that Elain is often described as a “light”. That what she has to offer to the world is an undimmable hope. “A different kind of strength”. A smile can even shine a light on Azriel’s shadows which we know pull away and receded when he is comfortable/happy.

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

What we have seen is that many just assume things about her. That she’s too fragile to partake in things. That she went mad when really she just needed someone to HEAR her and make sense of what she was seeing. Who actually SEES what’s within her? Azriel.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.

“If anyone can sense something amiss, it’s a mate.” And Lucien didn’t. He merely suggested sunlight, which we know didn’t miraculously cure her. What did help and bring her out of her room is Azriel. Meanwhile, “Lucien just stared and stared, as if he’d never seen her before.”

Nesta’s face drained of color. “What?”

Equally ashen, Lucien seemed inclined to echo Nesta’s hoarse question.

But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.”

Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.

“The sixth queen is alive?” Azriel asked, calm and steady, the voice of the High Lord’s spymaster, who had broken enemies and charmed allies.

Elain cocked her head, as if listening to some inner voice. “Yes.”

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

So, who can see her true inner beauty rather than be superficial about it? Sure, Lucien has called her beautiful, but that was a superficial observation as a stranger to her. Azriel has spent time with her and would have a much better grasp on the beauty within her. As she for him.

“I...” He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. "I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier."

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn't need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She'd waited until everyone was asleep before venturing back down, where she'd leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed.

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much.

Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.

They read each other WITHOUT WORDS. Now let’s breakdown the symbolism of stained glass outside of acotar. “When the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light within.” We know there is an existing trauma within Elain while she also represents hope.

A step further, let’s analyze the Hebrew >>RELIGIOUS<< meanings behind Elain’s and Azriel’s names. “God is my help” “God has heard”.

Elain is practically Azriel’s light, HIS salvation. Rewind back to the bonus “ Designed so that when held to the LIGHT, the TRUE DEPTH of the colors would become VISIBLE. A thing of SECRET, LOVELY BEAUTY. “ versus the representation of what light shining through stained glass:

As for the significance behind the necklace itself: two things. The first: the repetitive motif of roses. We know Elain is connected to roses (that’s what’s painted on her drawer). That she will MARRY a for LOVE and BEAUTY. (As per mama archeron. And what do roses represent:

TRUE love. What else has Elain said? I don’t want a MALE. I don’t want a MATE. She wants TRUE love. She will not settle for less. Perhaps this is specifically why she ignores Lucien. He’s sabotaged his chance of “true love” because he’s … Cassian’s words.. SHACKLED her to him.

Any affection she shows him could easily be influenced by a bond that she has no control over. This goes against a chosen, true love.

The second thing the necklace represents is something cassian has brought up:

Most males bought their wives and mates jewelry for an outrageous Winter Solstice present.

Rhys had bought Feyre a palace.

>>Azriel<< who respects >>tradition<< specifically went out of his way to get her a very significant gift likely knowing aware that Elain also knows this importance (as seen through her demonstration of explaining fae traditions). This wasn’t a merely “I like you”.

This was an I wish to COURT you. This is why the “rejection” is so painful to Elain because it SEEMS like Azriel backtracked on that major step by saying “this is a mistake”. Why would she keep such an important item if there’s no intention behind it anymore (as per his actions).

We KNOW that for these two, actions are stronger than words. They are both rather quiet and recluse. Feyre even said Elain would cling to Azriel for some peace and quiet. Even if she suspects Azriel of lying about it being a mistake, she wants the actions and the words to match.

And honestly? Go her! Why would I accept a mixed signal? So what happens thereafter? Azriel gets rid of the necklace in a way he cannot easily retrieve it and retract his statement. He gives it to another.

If you want to argue it represents a LIGHTSINGER instead you have to navigate around this. Ethereal, LURING beings.. “appearing as friendly faces when you are lost.” WHICH Azriel WAS. His >>shadows<< may have been settled, but he never did.

“There are lightsingers: lovely, ethereal beings who will lure you, appearing as friendly faces when you are lost. Only when you’re in their arms will you see their true faces, and they aren’t fair at all. The horror of it is the last thing you see before they drown you in the bog. But they kill for sport, not food.”

“Look, I…” Az searched for the words, his voice becoming quiet. “If there’s another priestess here who might appreciate it, give it to them. But I’m not taking that necklace with me when I leave.”

He waited for Clotho's pen to finish writing. Your eyes are sad, Shadowsinger.

He offered her a grim smile. “I lost the snowball fight today.”

Three days passed with no word from Cassian. He’d been replaced in training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn’t even give her a smile.

“Only when you’re in their arms will you see their true faces, and they aren’t fair at all.” So the beauty WITHIN Gwyn.. being that she’s a lightsinger… is not “secret, lovely beauty”. Merely speculation based off Cassian’s assessment of lightsingers. Interesting how it mirrors:

That’s the story time ! If you think Sjm doesn’t look into symbolism as she writes things, I think you are kidding yourself!

#elain #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #azriel #pro azriel #elriel #pro elriel #acotar #acosf #azriel bonus chapter #anti gw*nriel

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apartfromgod · 3 months ago

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SHAUNAHAT SMUT BECAUSE I'M STILL NOT OVER THAT FUCKING KISS. mdni, as per usual, but if you do want to read, actual smut starts after melissa says "okay, ready." :D

To say that Shauna was surprised, would be an understatement. Well— She'd suspected that Melissa was, y'know.. like that, but more for Gen, than, well, her.

But it was her. Is, her? Whatever. The semantics of it all aren’t really in the forefront of her mind, while she’s pushing up against, grinding up against Melissa. She spares an errant thought about the bark of the tree on her back. Decides she doesn’t care enough to slow down, to be gentle, to think about what Melissa needs, when her minds this frenzied.

She’s always been a little selfish. Sue her.

What she does focus on, however - ignoring the way she’s becoming increasingly aware of an almost painful, dizzying heat between her legs - is the knife in her hand.

The knife at Melissa’s throat.

She should move it away, right? Wrong, if the way Melissa gasped, sharp and quick, when she accidentally pushed it against her a little harder.

And, oh, Shauna can get behind that. Which is good, because she wasn't going to move it anyway.

She presses harder still, movements more purposeful, as a hand winds its way up, into her hair. Tugs hard at the strands, relishes in the way it feels against her palm, at the whimper Melissa grants her. Her hairs wrapped around her fingers— Brittle, yet somehow slightly wet, where it’s caked in dirt.

She likes that. That Melissa’s dirty. That she’s not trying to pretend like the others. Pretend they’re not stuck in the fucking Wilderness, with only a lake, and their own willpower to clean themselves.

(Shauna’s not got much willpower left. Hasn’t made the trek down to the lake in a week, or so. Doesn’t mind the dirt. It’s become almost comforting, in a way.)

So, yeah. All in all, Shauna’s not too upset about the turn of events.

Especially not, when her thigh slips in-between Melissa’s, and the girl lets out a probably-too-loud moan, as she grinds down on it.

“Shut the fuck up.” She presses the knife in deeper, hopes she draws blood.

She had to break away from the kiss to speak, and an odd feeling washes over her, as she looks back at Melissa.

Guilt, maybe, for what she’s doing. For using her. But then it’s gone in a second, and she drops the knife, barely wincing when she feels it nick her calf on the way down, to start mouthing at her neck.

Marking her would do her no good. She doesn’t care about the others, but she’d rather not deal with the argument of it all anyway. Or the reminder.

Melissa’s saying something. Has been saying something.

“—even know if you liked girls. I thought, like, maybe it was just me. And Tai and Van, duh, but—“

Shauna scoffs. Wonders if she ever shuts the fuck up. Or if she ever takes that dumb fucking hat off.

“Get on your knees.”

Oh.

She’s not too sure where that came from, but she can’t deny that she doesn’t relish in the fucking power she feels, as the other girl scrambles to follow her orders.

Her orders. Not Lottie, or Tai, or fucking Nat. Hers. Shauna’s.

She undoes the button of her own shorts, shoves them down, along with her underwear. Lets them strain over her thighs, as she pushes Melissa's head between them, when—

“Shit, wait, let me just-“

She almost laughs, when she sees her bring her hands up, to flip the stupid pink cap on her head around. She doesn’t, of course, but her lips twitch upwards without her permission anyway.

“Okay, ready.”

And, God, she wasn’t lying. Moves forward, and nestles her head between Shauna’s thighs with so much vigor, that she has to reach out, and hold onto the tree for stability.

And, not that she’ll ever say it out loud, but holy fuck she’s good. In the way where you can tell someone’s done this before, fucked up, and worked hard to make it perfect.

Which- it might just be, when she starts sucking at her clit.

It makes Shauna’s eyes widen, as she chokes back a moan, head dropping forward.

When she opens her eyes again, she stares down at Melissa. Watches.

If she’s honest, which, isn’t often, she’d say she was impressed. Impressed, that Melissa’s somehow completely fucking unraveling her.

But again, she’s not honest, so she chalks it up to the fact that it’s been a while, and grunts as her fingers dig into the bark. Keens at the way it tears at her skin, and bends her nail back in a way that’s blurring the lines between pain, and pleasure.

Draws from the sensation, as her mouth drops open in a silent moan, feels as her cunt pulses around nothing.

She can see herself becoming addicted to the feeling. Melissa, in turn.

But then she’s huffing out a breath, shoving Melissa away, until she’s groaning against the tree, winded, and pulling her clothes back up with a haste she didn’t know she possessed outside of a hunt.

She clears her throat, refusing to meet Melissa’s eyes, and she leans down to pick her knife back up. Something calms in her chest, when she can feel the familiar rough texture against her palms. Something in her heart mourns that it’s no longer Melissa’s hair.

“Say a word of this to anyone, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

She doesn’t look back, as she walks off.

#yellowjackets #shauna shipman #melissa yellowjackets #shauna x melissa #i'm aware melissa doesn't have the hat on in the scene. i simply do not care #i wrote this is like half an hour and barely edited it so if there's any errors just don't tell me #okay thanku #mdni

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hotreadingwitch · 1 year ago

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Bucky x Reader - Again?

Content Warnings/Kinks: dominance, praise kink, daddy kink, choking, scratching (marks), breath play, breast play, finger sucking, fingering, cum swallowing, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex (multiple rounds)

Again?

“You know I wasn’t sure if you were going to ask me out again…”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky smiled slowly in that way Y/n was starting to think might just drive her crazy, “Why’s that?”

“No reason in particular I guess” she blushed.

“You should give yourself more credit you know? You’re a beautiful and smart woman Y/n”

His steel eyes lingered on hers for a beat too long before he moved to hold the restaurant door open for her.

~ 3 hours later ~

“Well, this is my place” she smiled nervously as she invited Bucky into her apartment.

“It’s very nice Y/n” he nodded curtly as he assessed the place.

Y/n shook her head, chuckling at the polite way he talked. She’d noticed him talking this way on their last date, using odd expressions, almost sounding as if he was from a different time.

“Come, I’ll give you a tour” she offered with a small chuckle, gesturing to the small space.

She took his gloved hand, leading him in a small circle through the apartment. He glanced down at the connection but if he had anything to say about it he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Kitchen” she pointed.

“Kitchen” he affirmed, bobbing his head slightly.

“Living room”

Another curt nod.

“Bathroom, in case you need it” she smiled, “and…Bedroom”

They stood in front of her door. It seemed to Y/n as if Bucky was trying his hardest to not peak into the cozy room or maybe there was something else that he was trying to resist.

“Bucky…” she said quietly, her voice thicker than she’d have liked.

His gloved hand came up to her cheek, caressing the skin with a softness she somehow hadn’t expected, the leather smooth against her skin.

“Can I—“ he seemed to gather himself, “Can I kiss you?”

“You can kiss me”

The tension between them crackled. As Bucky leaned down, his tall, broad frame curving down to meet hers as she tilted her parted lips upward. When he finally captured her lips with his it was like they both were suddenly put in a trance, unable to keep their hands off of each other. Bucky’s hands slid under the fabric of her shirt, gripping at her waist just as hers secured themselves behind his neck.

“Fuck” he groaned onto her mouth.

Guiding them into her bedroom, she moved backward until he knees hit the edge of her plush mattress. His hand grazed her neck lightly as their kisses slowed. She melted into his touch, sighing onto his mouth at the feeling. He parted their lips slowly, dragging away from her only by an inch or two to ask, “May I?”

When she nodded, both his hands gripped her breasts, kneading their tender tissue. He kissed between them and down her stomach, stopping above her pussy, concealed still by her short skirt and panties.

“You’re so fucking perfect doll” he groaned as he slid them down her legs.

“Doll?” She chuckled lightly, arching a questioning brow, “How old are you?”

Bucky looked completely serious when he replied, “106”

She laughed harder, her chuckle interrupted as Bucky caressed her cheek, pulling her in for another hungry kiss. Their mouths collided, mashing their lips and teeth together. They kissed for minutes but somehow it felt like hours. Y/n knew she could kiss him forever if given the opportunity.

When he finally spread her legs, not bothering to take off her skirt, his eyes darkened in a way that, at any other time with any other man, might be considered scary.

“I—” he started, uncharacteristically shy.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just…it’s been a while since I’ve done something like this—I don’t usually…” he gulped, slipping his glove off, revealing a dark metal arm that shimmered in the low light.

He looked at her expectantly as her eyes widened slightly.

“I need you to touch me” she begged then, her voice breathy, “Now”

His gaze trailed down her slowly, skirt scrunched up, face flushed, pussy bare, and all for him. The first contact of his fingers was desperate, like he couldn’t resist touching her and was so glad that she needed him as much as he needed her. He rubbed over her clit gently, using three warm fingers flat against her, making her hips buck upward in response.

“Fuck” she breathed, gasping as his fingers spread her lips, playing with her clit with intense focus.

As he rubbed against her, his mouth dived down, tasting her hole. He moaned onto her, the vibrations making her shiver, as he licked up the slickness that was already there.

“You taste so fucking good” he groaned again, “Fuck—doll you’re driving me crazy”

She ground her pussy up to meet his prodding tongue, shaking as his fingers pleased her clit. Y/n felt his other hand, the mysterious metal one, reach up and caress her neck, the cool material sending another shiver down her spine.

“Yeah that feels good doesn’t it?” he chuckled as her back arched upwards, her clit connecting to his other hand’s calloused fingers.

Warmth shot through her body, making her cheeks flush and her breath hitch. Y/n practically screamed, crying out and shaking as he removed the hand from her neck, pushing two fingers just inside her wet hole instead. She was soaking, yes, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t tight. In fact, she was so clenched that he could barely press his fingers further than an inch or two into her.

“Doll…” he groaned as if in awe, “Fuck—this pussy’s so tight”

Y/n could feel the familiar sensation building in her lower belly. He plunged his two metal fingers in and out of her, caressing a low, sensitive spot within her.

“Fuck” she whined, the feeling intense and rising quicker and quicker by the second.

She kept her grip on his thick hair as her hips bucked rhythmically toward his eager hands. He didn’t even have his mouth on her and yet he’d brought her to the edge somehow anyway. “Ah—shittt” she gasped, her breath hitching.

He held down her hips with his arms, holding her pussy in place as she squirmed with pleasure.

“Cum for me doll, cum on these fingers” he commanded, eyes full of lust.

Bucky ordering her to cum with his fingers pleasing her like she’d never been pleased before was enough to make her burst all over his hands. She throbbed and throbbed, pleasure coursing through her like a rushing river.

“Mmm,” she moaned quietly, satiated as Bucky rubbed slowly over her whole pussy, the feeling calming beneath his large palm. When he finally removed his fingers from her, her legs shook as if instantly missing the loss of his touch. He chuckled darkly before kissing her, capturing her mouth in a quick tangle of tongues. She felt his flesh hand gripping her neck, the feeling causing her to whimper on his lips.

“You’re killing me doll” he groaned, eyes dark, “So fucking beautiful when you cum for me”

His lips kissed at her jaw, right above where his hand was squeezing roughly at her neck, as he raised his other hand to her lips, placing two soaked, metal fingers on her lips.

“Open” he instructed, his tone leaving her with no other option, not that she’d want to say no. Y/n obeyed, taking his fingers into her mouth, making him groan at the sight. She moaned as she closed her lips around them, appreciating the feeling of fullness and the taste of her own cum on his cold fingers.

She reached down his front, pulling at his belt buckle with a low, desperate whine.

“Please Bucky” she begged, her doe eyes conveying her need.

“Fuck, I want to…but I can’t—“ he paused frustrated, his voice a low growl, “I can’t go slow, it’s gonna be rough doll, I need it rough—fast”

She nodded obediently, slinking back further onto the bed until she hit the headboard, Bucky following in her wake as if literally mesmerized by her. His left hand caressed her side, pulling the rest of her clothes off of her, as she did the same to him, leaving them both bare.

“Daddy?” His head snapped up to look at her, eyes darkening more and more as the silence stretched.

When he finally spoke, his voice strained, “Yes?”

“I need you to fuck me now”

“…I don’t want to hurt you”

“I don’t care” she shook her head, reaching back to spread her ass cheeks, making him grunt at his view, his palms immediately gripping her ass, “Don’t you get that I want it as much as you do? I want you to hurt me, to fuck me so hard you can barely control yourself. Unless you don’t want me anymore?”

“Fuck—doll, I—” Bucky slipped himself between her legs, grinding his hips slowly forward and back so that his massive cock became coated with her slick, “Are you sure?”

“Yes Daddy”

With a grunt, he stretched her hole with his large size, pushing so much of it into her that her legs spread on instinct, one hooking back over him. His hands grabbed at her waist, every inch of his taut, naked body on display for her to turn and see as he pulled her fully down onto his cock. The fit of him was so snug, so tight that his groan was practically feral.

“Yeah—fuck yes” he encouraged as his cock began to slap in and out of her, “Shit, I’m fucking stretching you doll”

Bucky tilted her head back with a small nudge under her chin, his lips crashing down onto hers so fast that she barely had time to breathe.

“Mmm,” she moaned into his mouth, wincing at the size of him and the immediate speed of his thrusts.

His cock was ridiculously big but she took it like the good girl she was, practically beaming the more he praised her, telling her how good she was and how much her tight pussy drove him crazy. Each thrust felt like heaven and it was only made better when he slunk a hand down between her legs to start rubbing her clit, pleasing her in every way.

“Hold your breath doll” he ordered then, his voice husky in her ear, “And choke yourself for me”

She obeyed without a second thought, sucking in a breath, struggling as she squeezed her throat, using both hands to cut off her air supply as much as possible. "Yes,” she moaned, her noises muffled.

The feeling of her own hands tight around her neck, paired with Bucky pleasing her, was everything she needed to be sent over the metaphorical edge. Her body writhed in front of him as heat pulsed within her. Her heart raced in her chest the more and more she refused to breathe, her body making a mess all over his cock.

“That’s it” she finally gasped, her lungs filling up with short stifled breaths, “Daddy…”

His pace was fast, dangerous, and practically animalistic. Her breasts bounced up and down as she ground backward, her hips snapping to meet each and every one of his powerful thrusts. “You—you” she stuttered, her voice quivering before turning to a sigh, “Fuck, that feels so good”

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s my girl” he praised, grunting.

Soon, the feeling began to dissipate, the strong waves of her orgasm lessening, her legs shaking. But he kept thrusting.

“Again?” she whimpered, looking back to meet his steely gaze.

“Again” he grunted.

Her pussy was aching, overstimulated, and sore but the feeling of him hitting even deeper within her was enough to make her nod her head obediently and murmur a small yes. Bucky flipped her over then so that she was on her back, facing up at him. He continued fucking her then, roughly thumbing her stiff clit. Her hole was so sensitive, the combination was enough to make pleasure rise up quickly within her all over again.

“Fuck” she whispered as he curved forward over her, sucking her jaw as his other, metal hand, squeezed her throat. Her eyes scrunched closed, allowing her mind to focus exclusively on the feelings.

"Don’t take your eyes off of me doll” he growled, “don’t you fucking dare”

Eyelashes fluttering, she resisted the urge to close her eyes, his tight, relentless grip on her jaw making sure her eyes never dared to look away from his dark gaze. Her body shook beneath him, her legs and arms all quivering, “Yes Daddy…”

She arched her back, pushing her breasts up to touch his chest as she threw her head back into the pillow and her hands up to grip the headboard. The angle of her body only allowed him to fuck her deeper, her hands holding on so tightly that her knuckles were turning pale. Y/n’s room filled with the sounds of sweaty skin slapping as Bucky’s hips snapped against her soaking wet pussy.

“Do you feel that doll” he growled as one hand played with her clit, still thrusting in and out, “That’s how it feels to have my fucking cock throbbing in your pretty little pussy”

Her head lulled to the side but his strong hand kept her face forward, looking straight at him as she came. She whined as her pussy pulsed, tightening around his pounding cock. Bucky moved his hand down under her back as it arched up off of the mattress, her body overwhelmed by the pleasure. As he grunted hoarsely in her ear, she could tell he was cumming too. The feeling was like a bucket of ice water washing over her body, sweet intensity running through her veins, making her shiver. She cried out, the pleasure was too intense.

Bucky groaned, fucking into her faster and faster, playing with her clit all the while, as he pushed them both through their second orgasm.

“Fuck, that’s it doll” he cursed, “So wet—fuck—so fucking good for me”

She gripped his broad shoulders, scratching down his tanned back, her nails no doubt leaving marks that claimed her as his as much as the cum dripping out from her pussy made sure she belonged solely to him.

#oneshot #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #mcu #bucky smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes

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bellobambino · 4 months ago

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'O Sole Mio'

?: After a few glasses of cheap Chianti, Luigi tells you a story. Nothing could have prepared you for its delivery.

1,080w

Author's Note: I don't have any words left after this, all i have is feelings and crying and ... im so gone for him. ive lost my mind. i dont know if this shit makes any sense but i was just about weeping writing it LOL

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

It was the last golden gasp of summer at Seaside Heights, the kind of evening that feels like a postcard itself. The boardwalk was alive with the smell of fried dough and the sound of distant screaming children on rides powered by questionable engineering. Luigi and I had wedged ourselves into a corner table on the patio at some hole-in-the-wall Italian place.

We had ordered slices and “just a glass” of wine, which inevitably became, “Just bring us the bottle.” By the time I was three pours deep, Luigi had his legs stretched out like he owned the place.

His eyes, espresso-dark and shining under the cheap string lights of the boardwalk, were giving me that look. You know the one. Like he knew how good he looked in his half-buttoned linen shirt.

That’s when he suddenly froze, his head tilting to the side. He pointed upward. The music—some cheesy, dramatic Pavarotti knockoff that these Italian dives play to try and appear authentic. Then he smiled, clapping a hand over his mouth.

“What?” I asked, already laughing at whatever dumb thing he was about to say.

“Oh my God.” He shook his head. “I can’t tell you. No way.”

“Well, now you have to tell me.” I smacked his arm—rock solid.

He paused and sighed. “Okay, but promise me you won’t laugh.” He leaned in with a straight face that had me eagerly anticipating another highly entertaining Mangione story.

“I promise,” I lied.

“Alright.” He looked around, then leaned in conspiratorially. I was melting for this man. Every moment with him felt important, filled with meaning. He could have said anything, and I’d lap it up like a dog. “So,” he started, rubbing his face like he was already regretting this.

“My mom used to play these mix CDs on the stereo at home. Pavarotti, Bocelli, all the classics, right? She’d be cooking, cleaning, just vibing to these… love songs.”

“Sure,” I said. Totally normal so far.

“But this song”—he pointed upwards again to the song playing on the patio speakers—“‘O Sole Mio,’ a total guilty pleasure for her. When it came on, she would lose her mind. Singing, swaying, dancing. And eight-year-old me sat there watching her, thinking, This must be the greatest song in the history of songs. So, Mother’s Day comes around…”

At this point, Luigi paused, biting his lip like he wasn’t sure he should continue. I couldn’t help the smile that possessed my face.

“Oh my God, Lu, what did you do?”

He waved me off, reaching for his wine. “No, nah, I can’t—”

“Finish the story, Luigi.”

“Fine.” He threw his hands up. “I learned the song. Like, the whole song, okay? I watched every Pavarotti performance on YouTube at the time. Memorized the lyrics. Practiced in front of the mirror. And on Mother’s Day, I performed it for her.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. For her, my family, my cousins, neighbors. I’m pretty sure Pavarotti himself has sung for smaller audiences.”

I lost it. “You did not…” I said, breathless already. The image of little eight-year-old Luigi in my head, filled with love for his mama, singing an Italian love song in complete earnestness, was too hysterical to keep contained.

“I did,” he admitted. The music swelled in the restaurant, hitting that classic over-the-top crescendo, and Luigi—my God, this man—pushed back his chair and stood up.

“And now…” He slapped his hand on his puffed-up chest and lifted his chin.

“Luigi, NO.”

“I will sing it for you.”

And let me tell you, it was terrible.

He was hamming it up like some kind of opera drunk on karaoke night, his voice all over the place but somehow still deeply passionate, like he was singing to save Italy itself. People in the restaurant were staring. I was just as mortified as I was captivated. Tears were streaming down my face. Dying. And he didn’t stop. He didn’t care. He kept going—arms gesturing wildly, every crescendo perfectly wrong—and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

When he hit the final note—“O SOOOOLEEEEEE MIIIIOOOOOOO!”—he threw out his arms in a dramatic flourish, like he was expecting roses to rain down from the sky. I clapped so hard my palms hurt.

When he finished, he bowed. One or two other patrons gave half-hearted claps, probably just impressed by his dedication to the bit. His cheeks and ears were a delicious shade of pink, his smile lighting up his face as he moved his chair closer to me.

“You’re too much, Luigi,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes.

He finally sat down, our knees touching. He leaned towards me, and suddenly I was his only audience. “Do you know what the song means?” His voice was soft, so only I could hear. There was a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before.

I shook my head.

“Okay, ‘O Sole Mio’—it means ‘My Sunshine.’ It’s about… someone being the light of your life. Like…” He shifted his weight, trying to find the words. “Like even the sun itself can’t hold a candle to the person you love.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed by the intensity, but too caught up in the moment to stop himself. “It’s like the artist was saying, ‘The world is so much brighter with you in it.’ The guy is completely wrecked over how beautiful life is because of this one person... you know?”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, gauging if any of this was resonating with me at all. His goofy bravado had melted into something almost painfully genuine and sincere.

This was real for him.

“I do know, Lu,” I said quietly.

He leaned back, taking his wine. He shrugged. “And that’s why I sang it for my mom.” He tried to downplay it, but I saw right through him. “Because she’s always been my sunshine. Always will be.”

My breath caught in my throat at that.

Then, he must have realized he’d gone too far into the serious zone. He snapped back to being playful. “Anyway, I fucking nailed that performance on Mother’s Day, and everyone talked about it for weeks after.”

I don’t know if he realized what he was doing to me. The lights sparkled brighter. The air tasted sweeter. And my heart was warmer. Because he was here. He was insane, but I wouldn't have him any other way.

The song made perfect sense. Life is a gift with you.

~~~

What a beautiful thing is a sunny day.

But another sun, even more beauteous, oh my sweetheart, My own sun, shines from your face This sun, my own sun, Shines from your face; It shines from your face

#luigi mangione #luigi mangione fanfiction #crying shaking throwing up #hes so perfect #im gone im so gone #stick a fork in me

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dearharriet · 1 year ago

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About Time | Chapter 1

james potter x reader time travel au | 3k words | contents

page 1 | next

00:00 — 1 JANUARY

James waited until he’d fallen into his childhood home, half-plastered and sad and staring himself in the eyes through his bathroom mirror. His gaze seemed colder, lonelier than usual, and when he splashed his face with cool water it chilled him to the bone.

He’d never been unsettled by solitude, never minded much retreating to an empty bed at the end of a long day. Until then.

That’s when he knew he had to go back.

“Pardon me.”

The voice from behind you was so sudden and deep that you jumped, whipping around clumsily to meet it.

“God, you startled me!”

Laying eyes on the man responsible, you instantly released any ill-will you had.

“Hi, sorry,” he said, and you were already quite smitten.

He was young, though surely not any younger than you. Handsome too, in a dismantling way, like he might take you apart if you were an old clock, just to see what made you tick.

And if he wasn’t young and handsome, he’d still gain a little credit just in looking so guilty for spooking you.

“Hi.”

This was January, and you were out on the veranda, so your breath escaped you visibly. You were aware of it trickling upward as the handsome man smiled shyly and introduced himself.

“I’m James.”

Leaning up against a white banister, you snuggled further into your shawl, watching him. He was a few steps above you, and taller by a lot anyways, so it posed a bit of a strain.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Lovely name,” James commented, not missing a beat. It surprised you, but you rallied easily.

“And yours.” You sipped your drink, and when he hadn’t formed a response, decided to elaborate. “Classic.”

James ducked his head in a dashing sort of way, adding a little humility to the lethal mix of attractive traits he contained.

“Yeah, but don’t let it take any precedence. It's strangeness across the board for the rest of me.”

Your lips curled up at the corners.

“For some reason I think that’s true,” you teased, eyes shining with mirth.

There were lots of ways to be flirted with, several of which left a bad taste in your mouth and a loneliness that felt unquenchable in your chest, but this you liked.

James spoke like he was on his toes, constantly steeped in anticipation. If possible, he seemed to savor every moment while simultaneously rushing into better, deeper territory.

He came further down the steps then, and you appreciated the relief on your neck. The smell that drifted off of him was like honey and biscuits, perpetually warm on your senses, even in late winter.

“So how do you know Marlene,” James asked, and you felt the tightness of excitement in your chest realizing that he was going to stay and talk to you.

“Work,” you told him, “she’s a madwoman. Flirts with all the customers.”

James kept a polite distance from you, gravitating toward a patch of light from the windows. He wore a tailored suit that was primarily night blue, which somehow fit him with both strict lines and a charming rumpled messiness.

You wondered if he’d get any easier to look at.

“That sounds like Marly,” James agreed, looking fond. A tiny needle of jealousy pricked you, which was ridiculous, because if this were Marlene’s boyfriend she’d have been shouting it from the rooftops.

Clinging to that affirmation, you asked, “you two are familiar?”

Each of James’ hands held the opposite bicep in a half-hearted cross, aiding a small shrug.

“We went to school together.”

You nodded, growing envious for new reasons.

“That seems to be the theme around here. I’m sad I missed it.”

James smiled warmly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Would it make you feel better if I told you it was boarding school? We had to share dorms all year.”

Fiddling with a ring on your finger, your gaze skipped to the square orange portal that led to the party inside. The window was one on the back wall of the parlor, and it became devastatingly easy to pick out the school club from the others inside. Marlene lounged beside other sharp girls and well-dressed guys, all of them laughing and bickering like siblings. You craved to be at the heart of it more than anything.

“Co-Ed?” you asked abruptly, tearing away from the vibrant crowd to see James’ face contort.

“No,” he laughed. “I roomed with Sirius, Remus and Frank.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Four to a room?”

James’ laugh thickened, his spectacles glinting white as his head tossed back. His amusement was acerbic, corrupting your bewilderment until it was lost to a goofy smile.

“I do feel much better, thank you,” you said. “Private school sounds awful.”

“Well, don’t rub it in, now,” he chided lightly.

An army of wind marched around the corner of the estate then, fighting through your thin shawl. James’ eyes traced your shivering frame as he stepped ever closer.

“Erm, hey, I was wondering—”

The patio door opened, delicate glass inlaid with iron, and yet your moment with James seemed the thing to shatter. A fair-skinned man stepped out, a hunt in his eyes, and you hoped whatever it was for wasn’t James.

Nyx-dark hair moved like shadows over the night sky, reflecting the party inside glossily. His head turned, and then he was laying eyes on your companion.

“James!” The man said, his poised effect splitting down the middle, revealing a collie’s energy. He motioned for James to meet him up on the landing. “C’mon mate, Remus has a plan.”

James shook his head simply.

“Do it without me, yeah?”

Something territorial swept over James’ friend’s face, and he suddenly looked you over. You were embarrassed to only warrant a millisecond of his attention.

“Bollucks,” he declared, challenging James to disagree. “Let’s go.”

Then he returned swiftly inside, leaving both French doors and your chest swung open. James sighed, the weight of a lost battle on his shoulders, and found your eyes again.

“Sorry, that’s Sirius,” he explained, and you supposed that would make sense.

“The roommate,” you provided. James nodded.

“I swear he’s nicer.”

You wouldn’t say you found him rude, just unfriendly. He certainly seemed warm, as did everyone at the party, but to a select few people. A select few that didn’t include you.

You said, “I’m sure.” If James thought someone was nice, they probably were. He seemed a good judge of character. Unless you had very poorly judged his character, which you wouldn’t put past yourself.

James winced. “I have to go. But, um—”

“James, mate, come on,” Sirius called from inside, and then he and another, taller man poked their heads out to check his progress in detaching himself from you.

“Alright, one second!”

You’re not sure why you said it, perhaps the people pleaser overriding your system, but you said, “it’s alright, James. You can go.”

It didn’t make him look any less torn. His head whipped back and forth between you and his friends, trying to find a solution.

Of course you wanted him to stay, but you didn’t want to hold him hostage, so you tried your best to look supportive of whatever he chose.

In the end, he stepped close to you, brows pinched with regret.

“I won’t be long. Will you—would you stay?”

You pressed your lips together in a tight smile, choking back the clawing barrage of disappointment.

“‘Course,” you said.

James blew out a breath, relaxing his tense posture.

“I really swear it. Back before you can say ‘private school,’ yeah?”

You laughed weakly, taking a long look at him for memory.

“Yeah.”

Reluctantly, James backed away from you, then turned to climb the steps toward his friends. They were sagged with impatience, hanging onto his every step the same way you were, except for different reasons. In a way, you were more jealous of these two than you were of Marlene, because they were like James’ brothers. They knew him better than probably anyone, you guessed.

James hopped up onto the landing and glanced back to you, frowning slightly. The light from inside caught his lenses just so, hiding his eyes from you, and that small detail alone felt like the end of all things.

Then, Sirius and his accomplice took each of James’ arms and hauled him inside, shutting the doors behind them.

Shivering again, you watched the three of them appear in the window, heads bowed together in conspiracy. James looked different there, like something out of a movie. He snapped right into place with the rest of them, glittering and masterfully made.

It was clear he had a world of his own—one that you would likely never penetrate, no matter how badly you wanted for it, no matter how long you waited in the cold.

Marlene would forgive you for running off, but you’d never forgive yourself if you got sick for a silly dream, so you left the party and made peace with the what-if that was James.

James fell headfirst out of the cramped coat closet, cursing as his legs tangoed and lost to a tall pair of rain boots. In his fall, he took down with him three raincoats and a hanging organizer (six hats, a bucket of gloves, and five and half pairs of sandals).

He was already tired and fuming when he entered the closet, and now he felt he’d completely lose it any second. Disengaging from his fight with evil clothing, he scooched on his bum to the scrunched up hall runner that paved the Mckinnon’s entry.

Near the end of it someone cleared their throat, and James looked up to see Fabian and Gideon Prewett, the nosiest blokes in the world. Fantastic.

“Look who we have here,” said one twin, the other smiling wickedly, ready to pick up the second half of their routine snooping.

“Off for a snog-sesh with someone, are we, James?”

Battling to his feet, James let out a long-suffering sigh, already moving their way.

“Yeah, your mum,” he snarked.

As they both laughed, James prepared to push between them, but they parted before he had to. He walked through their flank, relieved yet nervous—the typical reaction those two elicited.

Leaving them behind, the narrow hall forked off into several different rooms, offices and kitchens and a library. James played here even before he was in school with Marlene, so he knew every corner like it was his own home. He headed for the parlor.

Even for someone who had never been in the house, finding James’ destination would be easy. All they had to do was follow the music.

In the parlor, chaise lounges were hardly visible under old school friends and their families, the walls lined with business partners and gossiping aunts. Smaller children ran amok, like birds weaving between a forest of mingling adults. The hearthfire hissed and spat, bound to take down at least one fashionably dressed lady before the year was over.

James swept his gaze over the bobbing heads and flying hands, looking for someone in particular. Sirius’ thick black hair beat like a raven's wing near the back of the room, so that’s where the bespectacled boy went.

On his path, Remus stood glued to a wall, looking very antisocial. He pinged from one crutch to another, taking up new residence at James’ side.

“Where’d you run off to?”

“Had to take a piss,” James said casually. He’d grown accustomed to small lies like that, since no one knew about his little habit.

Remus didn’t question it, just picked through the crowd to where Sirius was.

“Padfoot,” James called, and he didn’t have to say anything else. Sirius excused himself and met the two of them without question, a silent understanding that forged the undercurrent of their friendship.

James led them all into another hall, one closer to the crystalline patio doors.

“I heard,” James started, “that Marlene has a pot stash somewhere ‘round here.”

Sirius and Remus glanced at each other, and James knew he had them. Even if they came up dry, the two of them would snoop just to snoop, and Remus obviously wanted away from the party anyways.

“Whereabouts do you think it is,” Sirius asked, looking at a mounted painting like it might be involved.

“Dunno,” James said, “but if we split up I bet we’d find it before the new year.”

Sirius grinned, and it spread onto Remus’ lips.

“I can take downstairs, and you and Pads can go up,” Remus said.

James shook his head.

“No, you two can go.” The two of them gave James skeptical looks, but he shrugged. “I have heavy footsteps, they’d hear me up there.”

Sirius’ expression cleared, and then he was nodding along. “Right.” He took Remus’ arm in his grasp and pulled him along. “Let’s go, Moony. I bet we can find some before Prongs.”

James heard Remus object that, “it’s only in one place,” before their conversation was lost by distance. Then, he turned around and pushed through the back doors, praying you were where he left you.

You were. Just like last time, your back was turned to him. You were staring at the clear sky, gripping your wrap close to your chest. James remembered that he’d startled you before, so he latched the doors as noisily as possible. You still didn’t come around.

He supposed that was for the best, actually, since he’d changed something already. He crept down the steps, feeling terrible for sneaking up on you, and wondering what you might’ve been thinking about that kept you so distracted.

“Pardon me,” James begged, and you spun around in shock.

“God, you startled me!”

James smiled, and your eyes trailed all over him. He couldn’t say he minded, since he was doing the same.

You reminded him of a mouse—shy but necessarily bold, holding yourself up outstandingly well as a stranger in a roomful of friends. That was, until you dipped outside and didn’t return.

“Sorry, hi,” he apologized, really meaning it this time. As expected, you smiled shyly, golden champagne tilting in the glass you held.

“Hi.”

A swath of mist escaped your mouth with the exhaled greeting. James had to remind himself that you didn’t remember the first time this happened, so you wouldn’t know his name.

“I’m James.”

You leant back, neck craning to keep his eyes. James stepped down to accommodate you, and your brows smoothed.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“That’s a pretty name,” James said, getting bolder. It was hard to hold himself away from you.

You dropped your head then, smiling primly at the stone steps.

“Thank you,” you said, instead of complimenting James in return.

James blinked. What happened?

“Yours—”

“I’m—”

James paused as you both spoke at the same time, looking at you the way someone might look at a tricky puzzle.

“Sorr—”

“You can—oh.”

Fingers pressed to your mouth, you looked at James, a tentative smile in your eyes. James sighed, and then laughed strangely. He motioned for you to go ahead, only to find your hand unfolding into the same gesture. Both of you stared at each other for a beat before falling into a fit of giggles.

“You go,” James said finally, smiling. You just shook your head.

“I don’t even remember.”

James squinted at your rosy cheeks, his lips picking up at the corners. You could lead a horse to water, he supposed.

The temptation to learn more about you began to win him over, so he bent a few rules.

“So you work with Marlene, I hear,” he spoke, fibbing ever so slightly.

You smiled a bit, none the wiser. “I do, yeah.”

James looked inside, checking for dark hair or an itchy sweater, but Remus and Sirius were still missing. Good.

“What’s that like?”

Brows furrowing, you followed his gaze.

“It’s…interesting. She’s really nice, but she—”

“Flirts with all the customers?” James supplied, peeking at you out of the corner of his eye.

You stared at him for a tick. “Yeah. You must know her?”

“Childhood friends,” James decided, nodding. When he turned back to you, you were raking your eyes over his dressy outfit, lip caught between your teeth. Your eyes found his, and you looked away. James thought he saw a flush to your cheeks.

The wind whipped around the corner then, and James began shouldering his thick jacket off, finally doing what he’d wanted to do before.

“You must be crazy,” he said, coming closer. “It’s freezing out here.”

You braved a look at him, and alarm sunk into your features.

“No, James, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“Don’t be polite, lovely, you’re shivering. Here.”

James slowly held his coat over your shoulders, leaning back to watch you carefully. He saw the moment you accepted his offer, sinking back into the warmth the garment still held.

“Thank you,” you breathed as James pulled away. He shoved his cold hands into his pockets, now looking to conserve heat.

“‘Course.”

Though his hands weren’t on you anymore, James stayed just as close as he was moments ago. He could smell the champagne in your glass. He glanced around to the garden, to your feet on the step, just below his.

“D’you want to head inside?” he asked. “It’s almost midnight, I think.”

Your lips turned up, and James hoped to God he’d get to kiss them.

“That sounds lovely.”

James flipped his phone open, the small screen giving off just enough light in his dark room to make him squint. He was wondering what you’d put for your contact—a smiley face, maybe, or a heart? He hoped you put a heart. It took his brain far too long to catch up to reality.

With a shock of gut-twisting dread, James realized he’d been so wound up over kissing you that he forgot to ask for your phone number. Your phone number.

He groaned, glancing at his bed longingly, but he knew he wouldn’t fall into it very soon. He’d go back a hundred times before he slept that night if it got him one date with you.

thank you for reading! xx | masterlist

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#about time #james potter #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james fleamont potter #james potter au #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #marauders fandom #marauders au #maraders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #time travel #time travel au #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom

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celestibabs · 1 year ago

Text

pairing; billy hargrove x f!reader

contents; 18+ mdni. boudoir photography, heavy petting, dry humping if you squint | wc: 1k

note; starting off simple for my return to writing... nothing too long or too spicy, but we all know that won't last very long.

Billy snatches the cigarette from his mouth as if it scolded his taste buds, flipping the envelope you’d handed him in his hand with intrigue. His perfect blonde eyebrow raised in query, he raises his gaze at you pointedly.

“What is it?” He speaks flatly, exhaling the smoke in his lungs slowly so it kisses at his cheekbones.

“Just open it,” you murmur quietly, worrying your lower lip with your teeth. Billy hums softly, fussing with the lip of the envelope with his fingertips and teasing your nerves.

You’d tortured yourself over a Christmas gift for Billy, thinking of all possible options and how he’d be entirely unimpressed. Minus a new set of weights or a large tub of some kind of protein-shake powder, you knew he’d probably shove your gift in a cupboard and forget about it until he needed to take the Christmas lights out next year.

Desperation had kicked in around two weeks before Christmas day. Wandering in and out of the few shops in Hawkins like a demented zombie had resulted in empty hands and muttered curses of frustration. Unprompted comments by Billy insisting that he didn’t want any gifts had fueled your indignation, especially given his tone had somehow strayed into something pitiful in comparison to the monotonous, bored drawl he usually offered.

The idea came to you spontaneously. Nancy had called to tell you about a playful tiff she’d had with Jonathan over some Playboy magazine’s she’d found in his bedroom while moving her things in for Christmas. Her voice had practically faded into oblivion when you’d remembered the torn-out Playboy pages plastered to the wall above Billy’s dresser.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that Billy was pulling apart the ribbon you’d tied around the neatly wrapped gift, you’d begun to feel queasy.

Before tearing the wrapping paper, Billy prolongs your suffering with a smug smirk, clearly noticing your anticipation. He lifts the item, shaking it like a five year old rattling their present box as though it would offer insight into what lay inside. “Give me a hint.”

“Billy,” you huff, exasperated already with his antics, “Just open the stupid thing before I take it back.”

He hums, finally pinching the edge of the wrapping between his thumb and forefinger before pulling upwards, the paper ripping open to reveal the contents inside.

Billy paused, slowly exhaling the dregs of his cigarette in a gentle stream of smoke through his nose.

Your heart catches.

The glossy pages of the personalised Playboy Magazine rippled slightly as Billy brought the images closer for a better look. It was unmistakably you on the front cover, perched in a seductive position on a stool dressed in an unbuttoned blouse with peaks of the black, lacy lingerie you wore underneath.

Poor Jonathan had been mortified when you’d begged him to take the last minute images. Despite his reluctance, and Nancy observing his every move to ensure he didn’t stare too long, he’d worked hard to ensure he could emulate the magazine quality. Of course, you hadn’t told him who they were for.

You knew you looked fantastic, but Billy’s silence was unnerving you.

“There’s more inside,” you murmur, cheeks burning, “Some don’t have my face in them so you can tear them out and put them on your wall.”

Another slow exhale, Billy’s eyes flitting over the magazine cover had your heart lurching in fear. Was he angry? He still didn’t say much when he began to thumb through the pages, stopping on a particularly scandalous page where you swept aside the bounce to reveal the curve of your breast, lips parted seductively but the image excluding the rest of your face.

“Billy, I’m–”

“Look at you,” he murmurs, taking his cigarette from his lips and stubbing it into an ashtray settled on the arm of the sofa you’re both perched on. “You want me to pin photos of you half naked on my wall, for everyone to see?”

Billy reaches forwards, taking a hold of your chin in his palm and pulling you forwards so your noses bumped together. Your breath hitches, seizing in your throat when you feel Billy’s breath fan across your face.

“You little slut,” Billy coos, his free hand working its way between your knees to inch up the inside of your thigh. His touch leaves a delicious burn, like the smouldering embers of his cigarette end had set his fingertips alight.

Billy’s lips brush against your own as he speaks, his fingers ghosting over the seam of your trousers to apply slight, teasing pressure to your clit. “I’ll put them up on the wall opposite the door. Make sure everyone gets to see how much of a slut you are for me.”

You can see Billy’s cock straining against the right denim of his jeans. He’s all worked up at the idea of showing you off like this, and seems intent on dragging you down into a horny-haze too.

“If you’d like that,” you whisper, voice catching slightly in your throat as Billy leans his head down to drag the flat of his tongue across your pulse point. You hear him chuckle softly, feel the rumble against your neck, and you’re almost certain it’s because he can somehow taste your arousal through your skin.

“I’d love that,” he smirked, his hands slowly working their way beneath your shirt and pushing it upwards to expose the naked flesh of your stomach, squeezing at your breast when you arch your back for him.

“Merry Christmas, Billy,” you laugh at that, your giggle faltering into a soft whine when Billy punches at your nipple, rolling the stiffened bud between the pads of his thumb and forefinger to tease you further. “Mhmmm,” Billy hums, nipping at your neck and slowly laying you back against the couch. He doesn’t seem to mind that the ashtray that had balanced on the arm of the sofa tips off onto the floor, or that the magazine falls to the floor. He’s far too busy grinding his hard cock against you. “A very merry Christmas it is.”

#— not sfw !#billy hargrove concept #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things imagine #divider made by /@saradika

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sleepyspudbrainrot · 10 months ago

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Indulge Me

Roman Reigns x Lale (OC) | 18+, NSFW, smut, fluff | 1908 words

This is absolutely part of Carry You Home, but not Pt. 3 if that makes sense? It's a scene that will absolutely happen in the fic, but down the road... but I was in the mood to write it tonight so here we are?

You can blame one of my friends for picking the prompt for me ~ Enjoy this attempt at smut! I'm a bit rusty...

“How is it you always know what I need, huh?”

A hand wrapped around Lale’s throat, eyes fluttering as Joe took steps towards her. Each step brought them closer to one another, and then far once more, until she was met by the wall at her back. A soft gasp escapes her, his grasp around her throat tightening. His face lowers to meet hers, lips brushing gently across hers. Once, twice, and by the third time, his lips are pressed to hers in an attempt to claim them. ”Joe…” A soft murmur, her head meeting the door behind her as she struggles to focus. ”The door… neighbors…” A large hand encompasses hers, guiding it over to the lock behind her and allowing her to lock it before pressing closer once more. ”They’ll have to wait…” The only neighbors she could think of would be the twins. And somehow, she knew, they’d know exactly what was going on tonight. They’d seen the way she’d looked after Joe after the nights events. The way she’d bit her lip as he’d brushed closer to her in the gorilla. But for it all to lead to this?

His lips left hers, brushing along her jawline, down to her neck. Teeth grazing at the sensitive skin just underneath her jawline. Another soft gasp escapes her, hands tightening in the loose fabric of the shirt he’d thrown on in the locker room. It still smelled like sweat and the ring, scents that were wrapped up in the scent of him. He buried his face in her neck and collarbone, leaning against her, his body a welcome pressure even as she found herself pinned to the wall. “Fuck Lale…” They’d done so little and he seemed to be struggling to control himself. Even now, she could feel the way his length pressed into her hip bone, with a little adjusting…

She shifted as much as she could given the presence of his body, allowing his hips to meet hers. Two pieces of a puzzle, a piece of him that was made for her, at least she could hope that. She groaned softly and reached up to tangle her hands in his hair. Her nails met scalp and a soft his escaped him as his teeth sunk into the spot between her neck and collarbone. “Joe…” His name fell from her lips in reverence, her grip in his hair tightening as his lips trailed lower. To the collar of her shirt, his hand sliding up from the bottom. Rough callouses against smooth skin, the fabric of her shirt lifting as he explored further and further upward.

“This night is supposed to be about you ya know…”

Her hand comes to rest on his wrist, stopping his journey upwards. He pulls away from her collarbone, an eyebrow raised. “And if I wanted to indulge myself in you ma?” Indulge himself in her… One hand remained on his wrist, the other reaching up to cup his cheekbone. A tender gesture that was a stark contrast to the heat that radiated between them.

“Let me indulge you instead?”

She’d stepped away from the wall now. Using Joe’s momentary confusion to push him towards the center of the room. It was easy to sink to her knees in front of him. Her hands trailing down his chest and down the length that she could feel straining against his pants. “May I?” Joe merely nodded, swallowing visibly as she tucked her fingers into his waistband. Inch by inch until the gym shorts were pooled around his ankles. His cock was standing at attention, even longer than she’d anticipated. Her hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking slowly, watching his face shift through her eyelashes. His eyes closed, his lips pursed, his hands at his sides.

“Lale…”

She paused in her stroking, tilting her head. “Yes Joe?” Her words came out in a low sultry murmur.

“You look so damn beautiful on your knees for me mama..”

The reverence returned to her ten fold, sending her heart stuttering and even more heat pooling at her core. She couldn’t speak, she had to focus on the cock in front of her. No matter how beautiful he thought of her, she knew that this was her time, her chance to take care of his needs. She leaned forward with a soft smile, her tongue darting out to lap at the precum that had beaded at the tip. A hiss escaped the man above her, his hands reaching out to cup her head. “Easy now…” A teasing laugh before she took the tip into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around, a teasing gesture that was paired with a few more languid strokes along his shaft. She had to ease into this, to make sure that she wasn’t going to take on too much. She wasn’t sure if she could take all of him, but she was going to try.

Inch by inch she drew more of him into her mouth, cheeks hollowing out as her tongue wrapped around more and more of his shaft. A low groan vibrated through Joe, his hands tangling in Lale’s hair that hung wildly around her face. She hummed softly, letting the vibrations carry as she began to bob her head up and down. Slowly at first, pairing it with similarly paced strokes. His hips twitched and it was very clear that Joe was holding himself back … for her.

That only served to encourage her to go faster. Her cheeks hollowed out, her lips a vice grip around him as her head bobbed up and down. Closer and closer to the edge, she wanted him to lose control. To allow himself to lose himself in her, and to indulge her in the care she was willing to give. And give in he did. His hands clasped her head, hips bucking up to meet her on each stroke. He hit the back of her throat over and over again. Her eyes began to water, her groans adding more vibrations that only served to encourage his wildness further.

“Lale.. I’m close…”

She met his gaze through her eyelashes.

“Are you sure?”

If she’d been in a place to do so, she would’ve nodded. He seemed to understand the yes, his movement quickening now. Each thrust more erratic than the last, his fingers tangled in her hair, until her face was pressed to his skin, his cock throbbing as he found release. She could feel the thick liquid pumping into her throat, the warmth in her core only encouraged by the pleasure she’d been able to bring the man above her. Once he’d finished, he pulled her head away from himself, a hand curling around her chin. He drew her up to his level, his thumb wiping away at the drool that had coated her chin.

“How on earth do you look even more beautiful now?”

Joe’s thumb rubbed circles against her cheek. “Now let me indulge myself… please?”

Lale fell back against the bed, Joe standing over her with a look on his face that she could only describe as feral. He’d discarded of his shorts, leaving his cock out and still erect despite her draining him only moments before. It was his turn to get on his knees for her, kneeling at the foot of the bed. His hands grabbed at her hips, drawing her closer to the edge and pushing her legs apart. “We’ve really got to do something about these…” Her panties exposed, her skirt doing little to hide the wet spot that had been slowly growing since they’d gotten back to the hotel. His finger trailed downward, hooking around the edge of the fabric and pushing it to the side.

“So wet for me ma…” His nose brushed against her lips, before his tongue flicked at her clit. The sensation was sudden, pulling a moan from deep within her. Her back arching, legs twitching with the urge to close around Joe’s head. “Easy now ma…” Another languid drag of his tongue, this time focusing less on just her clit, and more on consuming her. Darting inside of her, then out, swirling patterns that had her moaning over and over again. His fingers slid inside her at some point, one at a time til he’d gotten three inside of her, his tongue drawing her closer and closer to the edge with each deft stroke.

“Joe god… fuck that feels…”

She cried out as he sucked on her clit, the change in sensation almost sending her tumbling into an orgasm. But then he pulled away, grinning up at her, her slick coating the strands of his beard. “You think I was going to let you go that easily? I want to feel you come apart around me mama.” He stood now, padding away from the edge of the bed to grab a condom from his suitcase. He rolled it over his cock as he returned to the bed. It was easy for him to lean over and pull her close, her legs against his chest as his cock teased at her entrance.

“You ready?”

Lale could only nod, her teeth worrying her lower lip as he pushed into her entrance. Even with the preparation, the size was enough to sting as he stretched her out. Inch by inch, easing into the discomfort, she couldn’t help but watch him as he did so. Her discomfort quickly shifted to pleasure, to admiration and reverence, as she observed the way he looked at her. It was as if she was something precious, something that he wanted to take care of, whether it be physically or…

No she couldn’t think of that now.

Especially as Joe was now sheathed within her. His hips pressed to hers. Without warning he snapped back, the thrusts starting slow, but increasing in intensity with each one. Each thrust brought her back to that edge she’d nearly hit with his tongue earlier. She groaned, eyes rolling back into her head as he leaned over her, one hand holding himself up on the bed, the other moving to thread his fingers with hers.

“Come for me?”

A question that she was all too eager to answer. She tightened around him with a cry, her back arching and her legs shaking with each continued thrust. At some point, the pulsing from within her became to much for him as well, and for the second time that night he came apart as well. His chest rose and fell as he slid out of her, the condom tossed in the vague direction of the trash can across the room, before he joined her on the bed.

“We should probably get you cleaned up…” Joe murmured softly, brushing her hair away from her face. Lale laughed softly, reaching out to cup his cheek with one hand. “Only if you come clean me up?” Her laughter carried through her words, the teasing clear as she remained curled on her side. “That’s if I can move… I’m comfortable.” A yawn escapes her, leaving Joe to laugh with a shake of his head. “It can wait… for now, come here.” He pulled her close, moving to lay on his back and allow her to settle against his chest. He pulled a blanket over the pair, stroking Lale’s hair until she fell asleep. Once she was settled and asleep, it wasn’t long before he too had fallen asleep.

#roman reigns x oc #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #sleepspudbrainrotfic #carry you home #carry you home adjacent

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epinebleue · 15 days ago

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i can fix him (no really i can) (m) (chibs telford) | 07

It was as if the pieces began to slide into place. He had pulled away from her the moment she had stepped back into Charming. Not in an obvious, cruel way, but in that subtle, almost imperceptible retreat of someone who had already decided he wasn’t allowed to want something.

pairing: filip “chibs” telford x eloise “ellie” teller (original female character)

genre: angst, fluff, mature.

chapter’s warnings: mentions of death by gunshot.

author’s note: so we’ve reached what, in terms of canon, would be the end of the first season! the fact that i’ve published seven chapters so far is insane. i don’t know if i can confidently say that i’m officially out of the writer’s block, but i can assure you that i don’t want to stop writing about ellie and chibs any time soon because i’m literally obsessed with them.

season two will be filled with drama, angst and spice, and i hope i see you all there in a few weeks 👀

tag list: @daphnen21 @undead-ahead-wh0re @staley83

chapter index | previous chapter | next chapter

The sun wasn’t even fully up yet, the town still wrapped in silence. The café smelled like fresh grounds and sugar, its lights glowing soft and golden against the dawn.

Ellie had been there for nearly half an hour.

Sleep hadn’t stood a chance after Maya’s call. Her thoughts had been too loud, her chest too tight. At some point the bed had started to feel like a coffin, and so she’d walked to the café, thinking she’d kill time with caffeine and the newspaper until Tara arrived for their planned coffee date.

When Tara asked her to meet up, Ellie agreed instantly. There was still a teenage version of her somewhere that thought Tara Knowles was the coolest human alive: brainy, sharp-tongued, beautiful, and somehow able to make her brother act like a half-civilized boy when they were in high school. That memory alone made Ellie grin as she waited.

She was halfway through her cup when the familiar growl of a Harley outside caught her attention. Her eyebrows lifted as she saw Jax park a few meters away from the door, his hair all tousled.

And the best part was, he wasn’t alone.

Tara hopped off the back, adjusting her jacket.

Ellie tilted her head, watching.

Jax leaned in, murmured something low, and kissed Tara.

Ellie’s jaw dropped to the floor.

In the blink of an eye he was gone, roaring off down the road, leaving Tara standing outside the café. The bell above the door chimed, loud in the hush of the place. She stepped inside, brushing a bit of windblown hair from her face, still oblivious to the fact that she wasn’t alone. She ordered her coffee at the counter and waited.

And just as she turned, ready to look for the perfect spot, she heard it:

“Morning, Doctor Knowles!”

Tara froze.

Her head whipped around toward the back corner, eyes locking with Ellie’s, who sat with her chin propped in her hand, grinning like she’d just caught someone sneaking in after curfew.

Tara’s face went absolutely pale. She cleared her throat and forced a tight smile. She grabbed her coffee like it was a life preserver and crossed the room, dropping into the booth across from her.

“What are you doing here so early?”

“Insomnia’s a bitch.” Ellie shrugged, smug. “What about you? Did insomnia keep you awake as well or was it… something else?”

“I swear, if you say anything…”

“I won’t.” Ellie said quickly, holding up her hands in mock innocence. “But I do want to know how this happened.”

Tara took a long sip of her coffee. Ellie just watched her, eyebrows raised, one corner of her mouth tugged upward.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” Tara muttered, eyes flicking to the window.

“You’re damn right I am.” Ellie leaned back, arms crossed. “I thought you two were done for good. Like, dusty photo album in a locked box under the bed kind of done.”

Tara groaned quietly, setting her cup down. She didn’t answer right away, rubbing her thumb against the lid of her cup instead, trying to find the words.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen. But, Jax… he makes it easy to fall right back into the past.”

Ellie’s grin softened.

“I understand.”

Tara’s eyes flicked up, surprised. There was a beat of silence between them, full of unsaid things.

“You do?”

“Of course, are you kidding? You were always his person.” Ellie leaned in a little. “Even when I was a kid, I saw that. He was less of an idiot whenever he was around you.”

Tara let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “God, that feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It was, but,” Ellie put her finger up, “if you’re back in Charming for good, and he’s still the same old Jax, then it’s just picking up something that was always yours.”

Tara studied her, her expression shifting slowly from wariness to relief. Ellie had always been on her team, and she was grateful to know that hadn’t changed.

“Can you not tell him that you know? We haven’t… exactly defined what this is yet.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me at all.” Ellie gave her a look. “Besides, watching you panic when you saw me here? Priceless. That’s going in my memory vault forever.”

Tara chuckled and reached across the table to lightly shove her arm.

“You truly are a Teller through and through.”

“For better or worse.”

They clinked mugs, and for a moment, Ellie felt everything was warm and easy again. As far as she was concerned, they were just two women with shared history that maybe, finally, would have the chance to rewrite a few pages.

“Bobby, you’re spelling it wrong.”

“What?”

“Abel’s name. You’re spelling it wrong.”

Ellie slid down from the stool she’d been balancing on to fix the paper garlands that hung across the living room. She landed with a soft thud, her Converse tapping lightly against the hardwood as she made her way through the few guests that had already arrived.

Bobby was holding a rectangular letter ‘E’ in his hand with the utmost concentration. Ellie took the sign from his hands with a practiced ease, then peeled the letter ‘L’ off the wall with one swift motion, repositioning it to where it should’ve been from the start. Then, she stuck the ‘E’ in its rightful place, and stepped back to get a full view of the sign. Her hands rested on her hips as she gave Bobby a side-eye.

“So that’s how you write it.”

“Yeah, that’s how.” She replied with a smirk, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Huh.” Bobby stared at the sign, blinking. “You’d think I’d know how to spell the kid’s name by now.”

Ellie shrugged as Bobby walked away, mumbling something about needing more tape. “You’d think.”

Donna approached then, holding a balloon in her hands, a skeptical look on her face.

“Was he really spelling it ‘Able’?”

Ellie chuckled under her breath. “Can’t blame him, he’s totally baked right now.”

Donna’s laugh was interrupted by the door swinging open. “Oh my God, they’re here!”

Jax stepped in, cradling baby Abel in his arms, with Wendy and Gemma close behind. The room buzzed around Ellie, but she simply watched. Everything seemed to slow as her eyes landed on Abel.

The first time she’d seen him, he was barely a bundle. Now there he was, cheeks round, fingers curling, big curious eyes blinking at the bright world around him.

She pictured him taking his first steps, one wobbly foot in front of the other, arms reaching for someone who wasn’t her. She wouldn’t be there to see the way he’d wrinkle his nose when he laughed, or how he’d cling to a favorite toy. She wouldn’t know what songs calmed him, what stories he liked best before bed.

It hit her all at once, the vast stretch of moments she had already missed while Wendy was pregnant, and the countless ones now ahead. That tiny little boy would grow up hearing her name, maybe seeing her in pictures, maybe through the phone. But she’d be more of an idea than a person.

Someone he was told was family, but who hadn’t really been there.

She stood frozen, heart thudding softly in her chest, unsure what to do with herself. Everyone else had already leaned in, said hello and touched his tiny hand. But Ellie kept her distance, convinced she didn’t deserve more than a glance.

Then Jax looked over, eyes catching hers across the room.

“You wanna hold him?” He asked, casual, like it was nothing.

Ellie blinked. Her voice came out softer than she expected. “Can I?”

Jax gave her a half-smile. “Of course you can. You’re his aunt.”

Aunt. She hadn’t really let it sink in until now.

Jax turned to her, shifting the baby gently in his arms. “Come here. Support his head.”

Ellie stepped forward, almost hesitant. She held out her arms, and for the first time, Abel was in them.

He was warm. Heavy in a small, grounding way. He smelled like baby shampoo and something soft she couldn’t place. He looked up at her with his wide eyes, blinking once, twice, and then rested his hand on her collarbone like he belonged there.

She swallowed thickly and smiled, on the verge of tears.

“Hey, little man.” She whispered, for the first time in six years feeling that something was falling into place instead of apart.

Tig, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, grinned around a toothpick. “He suits you, Ellie. You’d make a hell of a mama.”

Clay didn’t miss a beat, his voice coming low, dry, but with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t even joke about it, I just got her back.”

Laughter rippled around the room, easy and warm. Ellie laughed, too, genuinely, in a way she hadn’t in a long time.

Across the room, Chibs lingered near the edge of it all, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His posture was casual, but his eyes told a different story. He was focused on Ellie, on the way she cradled the baby, soft and instinctive, like it came naturally to her.

Just then, Abel made a tiny sound, similar to a coo or maybe the beginning of a cry. Ellie responded instantly, her movements fluid and gentle as she bounced on her heels, murmuring something to him.

Tig, never one to stop riding a joke, leaned in. “Better watch it, El. You keep looking like that and some poor bastard might fall in love with you.”

The room erupted in laughter again. It was easy, lighthearted, the way it always was when Tig said something inappropriate, but for Chibs, the sound was like a splash of cold water.

His hand instinctively went to adjust the chain around his wrist, the motion sharp and almost irritated, like he could ground himself with it.

He acted as if he hadn’t heard.

But he had.

And Tig had no goddamn idea how close he was to the truth.

Ellie looked past her shoulder before opening the sliding door that led to the back porch, where she had seen Chibs disappear earlier. The cool air of the evening hit her as she stepped outside, and her eyes quickly found him leaning against the porch railing, a cigarette dangling between his fingers.

“Found you.” She said, her voice playful as she closed the door behind her, the sound of it almost lost in the gentle rustle of the night air.

Chibs lifted his eyes slowly, giving her a lazy smile. “Was never hiding.”

Ellie couldn’t help but grin. It was the same quiet confidence he always had, like he didn’t need to hide to stay out of sight. She stepped closer, reaching out without hesitation to pluck the cigarette from his lips.

Chibs didn’t flinch when she reached for it. He simply watched her, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes held hers while she took a drag, the ember flaring briefly between them.

She handed it back when she was done, their fingers brushing. The contact was fleeting, but enough to make her pause for a second, long enough to feel that strange, unspoken connection between them.

He tapped the ash off, eyes still on her, as she spoke again.

“Couldn’t blame you if you were.” She said, exhaling the smoke into the night air. “Things are getting really uncomfortable in there.”

Chibs’ lips quirked at the corner, his gaze narrowing just slightly. He watched her with that knowing, almost amused expression. “Tara still putting on a show?”

“Oh, yes.” Ellie chuckled, shaking her head. “Jax’s mortified. He lectured us this morning about how he wanted us to go easy on Wendy, because he’s afraid she might relapse if the guilt’s too much.”

Chibs’ laugh rumbled low in his chest, a sound that was almost a growl. He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “It’s not a party without a Teller family disaster.”

Ellie leaned against the railing beside him, her elbows resting on the wood, eyes on the street ahead. “Welcome to Charming, huh?”

The night was quiet, except for the occasional rustle of trees or the soft hum of distant cars. She took in the silence, letting it settle around her, then glanced sideways at Chibs.

“If I ask you something,” Ellie started, her voice careful, quiet, “will you be honest with me?”

He didn’t look at her. He just took another drag, exhaled slowly.

“Don’t play games with me, lass.”

But Ellie acted as if she hadn’t heard him.

“That night, six years ago, I kissed you. And you pushed me away.”

Another pause, longer this time.

He finally spoke, voice low, almost distant. “I was thirty-seven. You were eighteen, just outta school. And Jax’s little sister, for Christ’s sake. What else was I supposed to do?”

Ellie’s heart thudded, a quiet shock rippling through her. She had expected honesty, at least eventually, but not like this. She leaned against the railing, her breath caught for a moment, unsure whether to soften or harden in response.

“Be honest with me.” The words came out a little sharper than she intended. “Were you tempted?”

His jaw tensed, the words escaping through clenched teeth. “You don’t ask a man that when he’s still trying to pretend he’s decent.”

She gave a dry, knowing smile. “You were better at pretending then. Not so much now.”

Chibs held her gaze, as if weighing her words against his own truths. Then he looked away just enough to flick the cigarette out into the yard. The ember arced through the dark and disappeared into the night, a brief spark that was gone as quickly as it appeared. His hand lingered by the railing, fingers curling loosely as if he didn’t know what to do with them, or with himself.

He met her eyes again, the intensity of the moment making it hard to breathe.

“Last night, at the fundraiser… you looked at me like I was something you weren’t allowed to want. And maybe I was back then, but I’m not eighteen anymore. I’m not off-limits. I make my own choices now.”

“You think I don’t see that?” Chibs muttered, his voice thick with bitterness, like he couldn’t quite mask the frustration that had been simmering under the surface.

Ellie stepped closer, her pulse quickening as the distance between them shrank..

“Then why do you keep pretending?”

Chibs ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to scrape the guilt and confusion out of him. He was unraveling right in front of her, piece by piece, and she could see it. All that control he’d built up for years, slowly slipping away.

“Because if I let myself want you, Ellie… there’s no going back.”

His gaze met hers, and for the first time, there was nothing left to hide. The fire in his eyes burned bright, the cracks in his armor wide open for her to see.

Ellie stepped in, slow and deliberate, her heart pounding in her chest as she closed the final bit of space between them. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension that wrapped around them like a wire ready to snap.

“If you tell me to walk away, I will.” Her voice was steady, though the words felt like they were being torn from her. “I’ll let it go, I won’t bring up us again. Just tell me.”

Chibs didn’t answer her. His eyes dropped to her lips, lingered, as if the answer to everything was right there.

And then, he moved.

There was no hesitation, no soft lead-in.

Chibs grabbed her like a man starved.

Their mouths crashed together, hard, messy, full of too much silence and too many years. His hands found her hips and dragged her against him with something closer to desperation. Ellie gasped, but she didn’t pull back. She clutched at the collar of his vest, fingers bunching tight in the leather, anchoring herself.

He kissed her like he was trying to make up for every second he had denied himself, like it wasn’t something they could do later. Like it had to happen now or never.

Ellie’s back hit the porch post with a soft thud, and he didn’t stop, just pressed into her like he needed her to hold him up. She pulled him closer, one hand tangled in his hair, the other sliding under the hem of his shirt, palm hot against his back.

She opened to him, and he kissed her like a man coming undone.

His tongue swept over hers, hungry, claiming. The sound he made, deep in his chest, almost a groan, lit her up from the inside. She kissed him back like he was oxygen and she had been drowning.

His hand, so calloused from his pistol, slid up her side, fingers trembling with restraint, until he was cupping her jaw, his thumb softly tracing hearts on her face like she was something fragile.

Ellie gasped into his mouth, unable to hold back. She’d imagined this countless times, but none of her fantasies had come close. The pressure, the ache, the raw urgency that made it feel like her chest might split open.

They kissed like time was slipping away, like they’d already wasted too much of it.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it ended.

“Chibs!”

Jax’s voice.

The kiss broke like glass underfoot.

Chibs pulled back fast, breathing hard. His eyes flicked over her face, like he was trying to memorize it before reality crashed back in.

They both had taken a step back, trying to get as far away from each other as possible, when Jax slid the door open a second later, eyes bloodshot and wide. He didn’t even see her, or at least not really. Just brushed past, all business, all panic.

“We gotta go.” He said, voice cracking. “Something happened to Donna.”

Chibs was already moving before the words finished landing.

Ellie blinked, stunned, heart still thundering from the kiss. She rushed after them, adrenaline spiking.

“Wait, what happened?”

“Stay with Wendy. I’ll call you later.”

“But is she okay? Are the kids okay?”

Jax spun around, eyes flashing. “I don’t fucking know, Ellie!”

The words came out sharper than he intended, frustration spilling over. He didn’t mean to snap at her, but it hit her like a slap anyway. Suddenly, she was ten again and being told to stay out of boys’ business.

And then they were gone, boots stomping down the steps, the roar of engines already tearing through the quiet.

Ellie stood frozen in the doorway, the porch light humming above her. Her lips still tingled. Her skin still buzzed. Everything that had just happened with Chibs, it laid buried, deep under shock and confusion.

She wrapped her arms around herself, stepping back into the house.

Chibs tightened his grip on the bars, but it wasn’t the ride that had his chest locked tight.

It was her.

Back on the porch, her lips had been on his, her body had been in his hands, and, for the briefest second, he had let himself have it. Let himself want it.

And now Donna might be dead.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe was laughing at him. Like the moment he finally took what he’d been denying for years, it snatched something else away in exchange. That was the deal, wasn’t it? Nothing came without a price. Not in this life. Not in Charming.

He blinked, jaw clenched, Ellie’s voice still echoing in his skull.

“Then maybe it’s time you find out.”

The kiss hadn’t been a slip, nor a mistake. It had been, it had meant, everything. All the years of restraint and bullshit, pretending she was just Jax’s little sister, wiped clean with a single breath.

And now she was back inside that house, alone, probably confused. Probably wondering if he had already started regretting it.

He hadn’t, not even for a second, but guilt was already gnawing at him. Not guilt over kissing her, because that had felt more real than anything he’d done in years, but the timing. The way everything had come crashing down right after.

He glanced at Jax, riding ahead, posture coiled and tight, thinking of his best friend’s wife, who could be hurt, who could be gone.

And here Chibs was, his heart still thudding in his chest, like he was eighteen again, kissing someone for the first time.

You don’t know what you’re asking, he had said.

But she did, didn’t she? She hadn’t looked at him with doubt, not even once. She hadn’t flinched. She’d stood there, saying without words I choose you, so choose me back.

And he had. Now, he didn’t know how the hell to face her again.

Then, through the blur of flashing lights and chaos, his eyes locked on the truck.

The stillness of a body on the floor, blood staining her forehead.

The shot was clear.

The sight of Donna’s lifeless body hit him like a punch to the gut. The air sucked from his lungs, the weight of it crashing over him in a cold, suffocating rush.

Opie knelt beside her, broken, and all Chibs could think about was Ellie.

What had he done?

The kiss on the porch, the one moment he’d let himself want her, now felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn’t wanted to pull her back into a life of blood and betrayal, a life she had already escaped once.

But he had kissed her, shown her what he really wanted. And now, he couldn’t shake the thought that he’d just signed her death sentence. That the moment he let her in, he’d sealed her fate.

Because this life didn’t leave room for softness or desire. It just took, again and again.

Because nothing came without a price. Not in this life. Not in Charming.

The clubhouse was still, the kind of still that settled in after tragedy, like dust in the corners.

No laughter, no music, just the quiet hum of too many people carrying too much.

Chibs sat at the bar, a glass of Jameson half-empty in front of him. He wasn’t drunk, but he wished he was.

He glanced around, careful, casual, but the second he saw her, the air changed.

Ellie stood in a black dress, something simple and elegant. Nothing dramatic, yet it knocked the wind out of him. Her dark hair was pinned back, stray strands curling around her face. And in her arms, little Abel wriggled in a gray onesie, blissfully unaware of the fractured world around him.

When their eyes met across the room, he felt the weight of her gaze settle on him. The hesitation, the unasked question.

Are you going to pretend it didn’t happen?

Everything from that night rushed back. Her lips on his, the tremble of her body beneath his hands, the way she had looked at him, like maybe he was more than just the broken parts of a man in a leather vest.

She handed Abel off to Tara without hesitation, her fingers lingering on the baby’s tiny hand for just a moment before she started her quiet walk toward him. Her black dress swayed with each step, her face calm but her movements hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure how to be in the same room with him, how to navigate what had happened between them.

She stopped a foot in front of him, close enough that he could see the rise and fall of her chest, the nervous tension in her, despite her attempt to hold it together.

“Chibs.” She said, softly.

“Don’t.” He muttered, his voice quiet but firm.

Was it a warning? Was it a plea?

He looked down. The glass in front of him had never been more interesting, and it was easier to focus on it than meet her eyes, where the confusion and hurt were already starting to show. He knew she was waiting for something from him, but he wasn’t ready to give her the answers she wanted, not now. Not with everything else hanging in the air, not with Donna’s blood still fresh in his mind.

Ellie blinked, her lips parting, about to say something, but his words held her back before she could speak.

His voice came out lower than he meant, harsh with frustration and pain. “I said don’t.”

He saw her mouth open, and part of him wanted her to say it, wanted to hear what she had to say, how she felt. But the other part of him, the part that knew better, couldn’t let it happen. He’d already let her see too much.

It was a mistake. It had been a mistake.

“I know what you want to say.” He added, more harshly than he meant. “And I can’t hear it. Not now.”

There was silence. It wasn’t the same from that night on the porch. This was sharper, more painful. It sliced through the thin thread of everything they could’ve been. His words fell like bricks.

“There’s too much going on. Too much pain. We can’t…” His voice cracked, just enough for her to hear the weight behind it. “We don’t talk about that.”

Her jaw tightened, eyes flashing with something unreadable.

Ellie had thought she’d be strong enough to get through it, to keep the walls up. But the hard, bitter barrier he’d built around himself had already knocked the wind out of her.

She took a deep breath, swallowed the knot in her throat, and nodded. It was small, defeated. Then, with every ounce of pride she could summon, she turned and walked away from him, the hollow feeling in her chest growing heavier with every step.

Maybe, she thought, it was time she stopped fighting for something that was never meant to be.

The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the lot. Ellie barely made it to the edge of the lot before her breath hitched, sharp and sudden. She crossed her arms, trying to keep it together, but the pressure in her chest cracked open like a fault line.

She was tired, exhausted. Just like the day she left.

What was the point in staying any longer? Charming hadn’t changed. There was still death, there was still heartbreak. Tara and Gemma would care for Abel. And Chibs had made it clear: whatever had happened between them didn’t matter.

The door creaked open behind her. She turned, already wiping her face, already pretending she was fine.

Tara stood there, Abel tucked against her shoulder, his tiny chest rising and falling in soft, even breaths. She didn’t speak, just looked at Ellie like she already knew.

“I needed some space.” Ellie muttered, looking away. “I’m fine.”

Tara walked in her direction, shoes scraping against the concrete.

“I saw everything.” Tara said gently, rocking Abel a little, adjusting his blanket. “You don’t have to explain.”

Ellie swallowed hard. Her voice barely came out. “He won’t even look at me.”

“You tried.” Tara said. “It’s okay.”

“I just wanted to talk to him.” Ellie’s voice was frayed, thin. “I thought maybe… maybe after the fundraiser, after the way he kissed me last night… maybe he’d stop pretending like I imagined it all.”

Her throat tightened.

“But he won’t.” She whispered. “He won’t even let me try.”

Tara shifted Abel gently, her voice calm, grounded.

“Some men would rather run than risk feeling something they can’t control.”

Ellie looked at her, eyes red, brimming.

“But why? I’d give him my heart on a silver plate. I’d rip open my ribcage if it meant he could finally see that…”

Tara waited, urging her forward without a word.

“That I love him.” Ellie finally said, as if it was breaking out of her before she could stop it. “I have for years. And no matter how many times I try to let it go, it just doesn’t leave.”

She let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“He kissed me like he meant it. And now he’s acting like it didn’t happen, like I don’t matter at all.” Ellie looked down, jaw clenched, breath trembling. “And it’s killing me, Tara.”

“I know.” Tara said. “Believe me, I know.”

There was something in her voice, a weight Ellie hadn’t noticed before. A shared pain, a quiet understanding.

Quietly, Tara shifted Abel on her shoulder and opened her free arm.

Ellie didn’t hesitate, stepping into the embrace and letting herself fall apart.

Tara held her, steady and silent, while Ellie sobbed into her shoulder. There wasn’t anything else to say, no advice.

And in that silence, Ellie realized maybe this was what strength should’ve looked like six years ago: breaking, but not breaking alone.

No reposting or translations allowed.

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