#speed pinting

[akimao]

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A quick speed painting

Cillian Murphy as Robert Capa in Sunshine

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WIP

[thewomanwithmissingfingers]

going to a gig alone again wish me luck

[drinkurkombucha]

Favourite part of seeing The 1975 live you ask? (aside from George fucking Daniel). When my partner got lost on the way back from the bar and text me a panicked photo of Matty’s crotch on the screen during Consumption along with the message: “WHY IS HE PULLING THE LAD OFF HIMSELF ON STAGE?!?!”

[what-does-the-moose-say]

So funny that those showrunners tries to blame the hbos parentcompany for got's final season. Grown up verson of dog eats homework.

[postmortemnivis]

nobody knew simon’s name, his cold glances penetrating souls whenever someone on the force even dared to call him by his first name. he preferred it this way. he wasn’t the kind to blend personal life and work, he didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror without his mask and still see a murderer. his hands were clean, protected by the gloves ghost slipped on each time he reached base. it was soon that the other soldiers almost forgot his name, agreeing that their lieutenant was indeed a ghost.

that was until your worried voice called for him.

you didn’t know of the ghost identity, it had never even crossed your mind that your simon, your sweet and caring boyfriend’s personality would switch into a cold blooded killer as soon as he set foot at base or in the field. of course he never mentioned it with you, he sporadically talked about his job and his missions. you knew he was a strict lieutenant, but you had been kept away from more by the person with the skull mask and balaclava.

“simon?” you asked for the third time the receptionist. she apologetically looked up at you and shrugged. “oh cmon, simon riley. i know for a fact that he’s here. please, i need to see him.”

“i’m very sorry miss but…” the woman shook her head again, “let me call the captain.”

you sighed and sat down by the waiting area until a man walked in and talked to the woman.

“who’re you looking for?”

you stood up. “simon. simon riley.”

“ghost?”

you shook your head, almost clueless. “no, simon riley.”

“yeah, that’s him…” he said, “he’s training the recruits now. shall i deliver a message?”

“no, i need to see him personally. i wouldn’t have come all the way here if it wasn’t important, captain.”

you'd seen price a few times, simon's loyalty to the man was almost like a dog's one, always following orders and rarely complaining. he often talked about him when he was at home, all he shared with you about his threatening job was the friends he made along the way: johnny, kyle, price, gary, nikolai. he'd often go out for a pint—or two—with johnny and kyle, who also occasionally would come to your shared apartment for dinner with their temporary girlfriends.

"follow me." price sighed. you eagerly followed him, as close as his shadow, and the courtyard came into sight. dozens and dozens of soldiers in scarlet training uniforms were running laps of the immense open space under the pale sun, and that's when you spotted a tall and muscular man in black tactical gear. hell, he was hard to miss.

"another lap, smith!" his mancunian accent was stronger than his will to neutralise it. "if my gran was alive she'd be faster than ya."

you'd recognised the voice, of course, even if it was much harsher than usual, but you couldn't recognise him.

you realised, that was ghost. his cold eyes were studying each of the recruit's tired and red faces, his arms behind his back as he barked for five more laps for the ones who didn't look sweaty enough. even his voice was different, but what shocked you was the black balaclava with the white skull drawn on top.

you'd seen the mask once or twice over the years, shoved on the bottom of his duffle bag or drying on a windowsill, but you've never given it much thought, why would you?

"si?" you asked, standing directly behind him as price stood a few feet from you.

his head snapped in your direction at a worryingly fast speed, his eyes immediately becoming soft, then confused.

"what're you doin' here?" his voice spoke, much sweeter.

you kept staring at him, not recognising the man you loved.

he immediately grabbed the crown of the balaclava and yanked it off without a second though. holding the black piece of clothing in his hand, both of them came to cup your elbows, drawing you closer to him.

"love?" he called you.

still at loss of words, you reached to the balaclava and twirled it between your fingers.

"love, talk to me." his voice sounded worried.

"ghost?"

he shook his head. "simon, love."

"we'll talk about that at home." you raised your eyebrows, attempting a smile.

he looked at you impatiently, his fingers brushing up and down your forearms.

you fished in your bag a small plastic bag and gave it to him.

this wasn't like one of the times when he'd forget his lunch at home so you'd drop by and give it to johnny so he'd give it to an always so busy simon ghost; he could see it in your eyes that this was something more.

he unwrapped the plastic bag that you had rolled up on itself. his eyes looked brighter than ever when he took with shaky fingers the finally positive pregnancy test.

[worlddominatincrea]

(Invader Zim) Gir speedpaint

[lovifie]

Messy Eaters

Smut | 416 words | Masterlist

The 141 have to attend a gala dinner.

Really fancy, with lots of protocols, too many forks and too little time.

That's you give them a speed-up masterclass on etiquette.

With Gaz and Price, it goes by in a blur, both men are perfectly attentive, making sure to ask any question and thanking you once it is done.

With Ghost and Soap? You wish you could sink the fish fork in his eyes.

"Which one is for meat again?" "The one with two spikes"

"Which one do you use for chips?" "There won't be chips."

"What's this one for?" "That's a toothpick, you brought it here"

"Why are there so many glasses?" "For all the different drinks."

"Where is the pint glass?" "There are no pint glasses on this dinner."

"You seem stressed" "You reckon?"

It's not your fault that they are both such messy eaters, but deep down you love it.

Especially when they start to take turns to go down on you, the sloppiest head of your life.

They have you laid on your back, mock glasses and places thrown out of the way. Your legs on each side of his head, resting on his shoulders, while he sits on his chair eating your cunt like it was the main dish.

Slurping up your juices, face buried deep between your folds, the nose from the broken nose rubbing against your clit making your legs spasm as his hands grab your thighs keeping you in place.

He wishes he could hear your pretty moans if it wasn't for the mutt making out with you. You can't help but open your mouth when Simon's tongue moves deeper into your gummy walls, and Johnny dives into your mouth with his tongue.

Such a nasty and disgusting kiss that has your head feeling fuzzy, there is spit running down your cheek, his tongue deep I'm your mouth checking every single tooth on it, sucking your tongue onto his mouth, moaning into you as if he was the one getting head, his hand resting over your breast massaging it continuously like a machine.

You have lost count of how many times you have cum around Simon tongue, the little mat under your body soaked with your juices and saliva, and you think they will finally take pity on you. Until Simon pats your thigh before standing up, looking at Soap and motioning to the chair with his head.

"C'mon, Johnny. Your turn, we need to practice for the dinner."

[lushxboba]

The Emperors Prize

Emperor Geta X Peasant!Reader

Word Count: 2k

TW// 18+ ONLY (minors be gone), mentions of family members death, mentions of murder, spitting, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, thigh riding, if i missed anything let me know !!

A/N: i haven’t written in months so be gentle with me pls 🙏🏽

It’d been the longest year of your life. Ever since Emperor Geta took over after his father died, your whole life had been turned upside down. Your father died the year prior, finally succumbing to his disease after being refused medical care by the kingdom. And your brother was left to do the only thing he felt was right to take care of your family. Train to be a gladiator. Perform in front of the Emperor and all of Rome to fight for his families survival. Only to not survive himself. Leaving you to take care of your little sister and sickly mother all to yourself.

Of course you blamed the only person you felt was responsible. Geta. He killed your father. He killed your brother. You wouldn’t let him take the last of what you had. So you did what you needed to survive, and stayed far away from his tyrants.

You’d heard of his army walking the markets day to day, blending in with the rest of peasants just to try and find someone stealing. They would take them to the temple and cut their hands off, cut their tongue out, maybe even behead them then and there. But you were smarter than those people. And faster. You had to be.

Before your father died, he always told you that your speed would be your superpower to survive Getas reign. You’d never have to face the torment of being in the arena and using your strength against your neighbors, but you could use your speed against his tyrants.

You spent days running in the slums, back and forth until you couldn’t breathe again. Or until you felt like you could’ve lost them. You knew you were ready for anything. Considering you did steal food to survive, you had to be.

You never thought you’d get caught. You’d been doing it for months now, and it seemed that only the elderly were the ones being dragged back to the kingdom. Call it population control if you will. But your time was surely coming to an end, and you could feel it.

You took your weekly walk down to the market, keeping your hood up and frequently looking out for suspicious vendors and customers. You’d seen people dragged away enough to know what they’d look like. They weren’t very good at disguising themselves. To you at least.

You tried to go to different stands each week so they wouldn’t catch on to you. You found a nice fruit stand with more colorful berries than you’d ever seen in your life.

You approached the stand as you practiced your distraction tactic in your head. You took a look around the stand, asking the man about how much he gets each week to sell, making him turn around to look in his inventory, giving you the perfect chance to quickly shove pints and pints of fruit in your bag.

Before he could turn back around, you were gone. Quickly walking through the market fast enough to be out of his eyesight but not fast enough to cause a scene.

You’d made it halfway down the road, just long enough to think you’d gotten away with it until you felt two pairs of hands gripping on each of your arms tightly.

“Little girl thought she got away, huh?” A deep voice husks behind your ear. You don’t fight it. No point in fighting when they’ve already made up their mind. And they are clearly much stronger than you.

You just roll your eyes as you let them walk you towards the kingdom. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you as they practically carry you towards the kingdom, but you pay them no mind. Your father always told you there was no reason to fight.

Once you reach the castle, the anger in you bubbles more and more. Knowing two people you loved died here made you want to rip the ugly brown wallpaper off of the walls and break down the pillars.

The men carry you up the steps to a large room bolted down with a big gold chain. You don’t even bother being nervous or anxious about what’s behind that door. You know your fate is decided the second your name is mentioned to the emperor.

One of the men unlock the chain while the other holds your arm even tighter. You’ve made no signs of struggle so you don’t exactly understand why they have to bruise your arm in the process. The door opens to reveal a long hallway, covered with a red and gold carpet leading to a throne. You’d recognize that throne anywhere. Along with the man who sits on it.

The walk down the runway seems like hours, as the man you despise most in this world stares you down with his wide brown eyes.

“You’re dismissed.” He says in a dark tone. The two men let go of your arms and bow before Geta before turning and leaving the room. Bolting the door down once again behind you.

“Most people bow when they see me.” He says, his legs and arms spread comfortably on the soft throne paid for by his slaves.

“I’m not most people.” You stand tall in front of him, keeping eye contact. “...your highness.” You smirk before playfully bending your knee and bowing in front of him.

Geta scoffs before standing up from his throne, slowly making his way towards you. “You look familiar.” His breath lingers down your skin as he circles around your body, his arms behind his back.

“You killed my father… and my brother.” You can see the gears click in his mind as he stops right in front of you. He places his hand roughly under your chin making you shiver. He forcefully turns your head both ways before nodding. “Caius’ daughter. How could I forget those innocent eyes?”

Your breathing gets heavier as you remember everything this man has put your family through. You spit on his cheek, making him quickly shuffle back. He chuckles under his breath, looking up at you as he wipes your saliva off of his face. “I should have you hung for that alone.”

“You’re going to kill me anyways. What else do I have to lose?” You get down on your knees, placing your hands behind your back as you ready yourself for the knife that is knowingly going to come to your neck.

“Who ever said anything about killing you? I surely didn’t.” He steps closer to you, leaning down to place his hand under your chin once again, this time softer. “Who could kill such a pretty little whore like you?” He lifts your head up to look at him, smirking as your eyes meet his once again.

He roughly pushed your head away as he steps back, slowly untying his robe. “I’ve already done enough damage to you, don’t you think?” He smirks, dropping his robe to reveal his extremely toned naked body. His cock jumps up to his stomach in anticipation, and as much as you hate him, you can’t take your eyes off of it. “In return for letting you live, I say you do a little something for me, don’t you think?” He spits in his hand, moving it down to stroke his cock as you watch on your knees. “You’re already in the position… it’s only fair.”

He moves back to his throne, sitting with his legs spread as he continues to stroke himself. Your mouth salivates at the image alone. You get up from your knees, slowly walking towards him until you’re standing in between his legs.

“I’d rather die than do anything to serve you.” You spit on him once again. Before you can turn around, he grabs you by the wrists and pulls you down on to your knees, holding your hair in one hand so you can’t move.

“This wasn’t an option.” He grabs his cock with his other hand, tapping it on your cheek before roughly shoving it into your mouth. You can’t help but moan the second you taste his salty seed lingering out the tip. “The good girl likes it, too.” He chuckles.

You look up at him with fire in your eyes, slowly bobbing your head up and down his hard member. You keep your arms behind your back and let him take control. That is all he wants after all. You watch as he throws his back in pleasure, moaning loud enough you’re sure the rest of the kingdom can hear you.

He grips your hair tighter with each movement of your mouth, pulling you every which way he wants you to go. “Your mouth is so wet and tight. Can’t wait to see what that perfect cunt feels like.”

You quickly pull off of him, removing one of your hands from your back to stroke him. “You never said anything about fucking me.”

“Oh, but I just did.” He smirks, leaning down to grab your hips and pull you into his lap. “You thought you were going to get away without me feeling your cunt wrapped around my cock?” He grinds into you, his hands roaming up and down your sides. You can’t help but to grind with him, moaning into his hair as he attaches his mouth to your neck.

His hand reaches down to lift up your skirt, revealing no underwear underneath. He moans into your neck as his fingers trace along your wet slit. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him closer to you as you grind your pussy along his hand.

You reach down to palm his cock, making him moan even louder if that was possible. “Need to feel you already.” He whines as he pulls your shirt up, his mouth immediately sucking on your nipples.

You grab his cock and run the tip along your slit, smirking as you tease him. “Never thought I’d have the Emperor of Rome begging me to fuck him.” You laugh, still riding the tip of his cock.

He growls, grabbing his cock and quickly thrusting up into you. You gasp loudly, gripping his neck tighter than before. He wraps his arms around your back, thrusting into you hard. You match his movements with the bounce of your own hips, leaving both of you a moaning mess.

You can feel your own arousal leaking out and coating both of your thighs. The sounds emitting from this room were obscene, and you just hoped the Gods would forgive you.

You roll your hips faster against him as you feel the familiar coil burn in your stomach quickly. His cock twitches inside of you, making your ego bigger than it already was coming into this room.

“You’re going to cum.” You say breathily, gripping him by his hair to make him look at you. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks in your eyes with his mouth open as he thrusts into you one last time. His hands grip your hips tightly as you feel him dripping out of you. The feeling is enough to make you shake as you reach your own high.

You hold him by his hair tightly, your hips still slowly rolling against his as your both catch your breath. It doesn’t take long for him to remove you from his lap. He grips your hips and swiftly places you back on your feet.

“You may be dismissed now.” He says quietly, clearing his throat as he looks down at his feet.

“Nothing to clean me up at least?” You respond, looking at him even though he isn’t doing the same.

“You’re a peasant. You walk around dirty anyways.” He scoffs.

You walk close to him, lifting your skirt and placing a leg on either side of his thigh. You slide yourself down his thigh until it’s coated in your juices before hopping off.

You fix your skirt, smoothing it out as you smirk up at him. “Your highness.” You bow, pulling your skirt out each way before turning around and walking yourself out. Leaving Geta speechless… for now.

[teratosfavouritesnack]

multiple monsters x fem!human - monsters with human fetish and human with monster fetish, fingering, exhibitionism, voyeurism, implied orgy

Opening a tavern is something you have been dreaming of and planning on for years. It's only when you manage to gather enough money that you move into the nearest monster village and acquire a modest lot. In a few weeks you have a rustic but cozy tavern running and thriving. Creatures of all kinds, even from the confining villages come to visit your human tavern, something so exquisitely exotic in their eyes. It's just you, the drinks, some food and your patrons whose number increases by day.

You didn't expect your business to become so successful, at least not so quickly, but literally nothing could have prepared you for the turn of events that soon transformed your tavern into something... more.

It was an evening like any other, you were serving at the counter, pints of beer sliding on the surface one after the other at an impressive speed. You'd become very good at your job and creatures would come to your tavern even only to watch you working, as if it was an actual performance. It made you feel bold, more confident than you naturally were. And that evening, with the tavern packed full with dozens of creatures, watching your every move, entranced by what almost looked like a ritualistic dance that saw you effortlessly bouncing around the place, you were feeling at the top of the world. All these creatures there for you? Even simply to watch you? Paying just to see you work? Well. A perverse thought popped in your mind and before you could question yourself, you acted on it.

Handing out the drinks, you started to linger your hand for a caress, then to lean in for a kiss on the cheek or a playful nibble. Emboldened by the oohs and aahs coming from the crowd, you soon upped the stakes. They were all there for you, so why not give them an actual show? That's when you started to take off a piece of clothing from your uniform... then another... and another, stripping to your chemise. All kinds of eyes were ogling you, eating you up. They made you feel alive, hot, empowered.

When a patron sitting at the counter started to swirl their tendrils towards you to fondle your cheek, your chin, your neck and then to peel down the puffed sleeve of your chemise, you just let them without any resistance. Not only that, you smirked at them and trailed your fingertips over their slick skin and maintained eye contact, relishing in the way they seemed to quiver under your touch. That scene must have made a great impact on the other visitors because everyone seemed to inch closer, in order to see you better.

The first patron's actions also encouraged the other clients sitting at the counter to lean closer towards you, and touch you with their paws and hooves and claws. They were all hesitant at first, as if incredulous they could actually touch you, their favorite human, an angelic creature in their eyes. However once they realized you weren't shying away from their attention, but that you were in fact enjoying it, they didn't refrain from acting out their most lewd fantasies.

Tendrils wrapped around your waist and hoisted you up and laid you down on the surface of the counter so that anyone near could reach you better. A huge paw groped your chest from above your dress, your eyes flickered towards the creature's face to recognise another patron, a werebear that would always ogle at your breasts whenever you leaned towards him to hand him his drink. And now, oh, now he was downright grinning, his canines flared, his beady eyes glazed over with pure desire as he fondled the fabric of your uniform almost affectionately one moment and then clawed at it a second later, tearing it to bits in a blink of an eye, exposing your chest to all who were lucky enough to stand nearby. You petted his arm, fingers tangling in his dirty-white fur, smiling at him as he praised your beauty.

That was a recurring theme of that evening: the compliments cast from any corner of the room, which made you feel like a goddess being worshiped. Everyone was looking at you as you were indeed a magical creature, something otherworldly, a vision. You were feeding on it. It was going to your head. You were euphoric.

When the young werewolf standing by the werebear started to trail his claws along your legs, up towards your thighs to the hem of your dress, you flashed him your panties, grinning at the way his eyes widened and his pupils dilated - not to mention the way his cock sprung from the thick fur covering his hips, twitching in your direction. A satisfied chuckle escaped your lips the moment he growled and yanked at the bottom of your half-ripped dress, pulling it all the way off of you, leaving you in your undies only.

More praises came your way from every side, your eyes scanned the crowd with a lazy smile curling up your lips. Mmm, such good monsters. All of them. Yes. All of them deserved this perverse show. Your hand snaked down towards your mound, fingers trailing over your folds from above the fabric, your eyes darting from face to face, enjoying their raptured looks. You teasingly pulled the panties aside before you peeled them off completely, throwing them to the crowd in the back and chuckling as you heard the racket you caused.

You started to touch yourself, fixing your eyes on another patron, a mothman, who had been rather timid with his touches until then. Your attention on him made his antennas rattle and his red eyes glow bright, and when you gently took his hand to guide it between your thighs he started to buzz. The vibration ran through his whole body, making you giggle and squirm as you felt it against your sensitive spot, too. All that had happened to that point, the dozens and dozens of eyes trained on you, all the different kind of touches on your sensitive skin, the vibration against your pussy, everything ensured that only a few moments later you fell over the edge of pleasure, the most intense orgasm you had ever felt rocked your body and made you see stars.

The monsters all watched in awe, enchanted by the scene, marveling at how beautifully your body responded to the pleasure. They all wished to be the one who made you cry and spasm in ecstasy. They were all ready to give themselves to you and worship every inch of you, on that same day and all the days to come.

You were spoilt for choice. Your tavern bound to be the greatest attraction of the village.

🪷. You can leave me a tip on ko-fi if you want to support me ♡

[justlemmeadoreyou]

intertwined* (hockey player!harry x figure skater!y/n)

summary: harry practices at the local ice rink every night, but lately, all he can think about is a specific figure skater that he admires from a distance. when she asks him for some "private" lessons on ice, will they give in to the stolen glances and undeniable tension?

words: 6k

warnings: smut, fluff. p in v sex (on the ice rink 🤭), kissing, dirty talk, cursing, creampie.

Harry tied the laces on his hockey skates tightly. His fingers were rough and calloused from years of practice. He could hear sounds coming from the rink - ice being scraped by skates, pucks hitting the boards, the coach's whistle. Harry gave his laces one final tug before grabbing his stick. 

He paused for a moment, taking in the familiar sights, sounds, and smells. The chilly air made goosebumps form on his arms. The rink was like a second home to him. Hockey wasn't just a sport - it was a huge part of who he was.

"Harry! Get out here!" one of his teammates yelled from the rink. They had already started drills.  

Harry grinned and headed out of the locker room. The cold air hit his face. He breathed it in deeply. The icy smell, the rubber pucks, the sweaty aroma - it all felt comforting to Harry. To others it might smell bad, but to him it smelled like the game he loved.

Harry stepped onto the ice and immediately relaxed. Gliding across the smooth surface, he fell in line with his teammates. They were doing intense drills - racing across the ice, passing pucks back and forth. Harry focused hard, practicing his puck handling, skating agility, and wrist shots.

"Keep it up, Styles! Work hard and you'll make it to the big leagues one day!" Coach Bradford yelled from the bench in his gravelly voice.

Motivated, Harry accelerated with a burst of speed. He weaved through cones and ripped slapshots on goal. By the end, he was drenched in sweat, hair matted to his forehead. 

Finally, the coach's whistle blew, signaling the end of practice. Harry stayed out, picking up scattered pucks, while his teammates headed off the ice. Their skates dug trenches as they went.

"Coming for pints later, Styles?" one of the guys called out to him with a grin.

"Think I'll stay and get some more practice in," Harry replied, already lining up pucks.

His friend chuckled and shook his head. "Course you will, ya hockey nut!"

Harry smiled to himself as he readied his stance at the face-off circle. He took some calming breaths, then launched slapshot after slapshot. Hockey was his happy place.

Suddenly, the sound of classical music echoed through the rink. Harry looked up, distracted, and saw a figure gliding onto the ice. It was Y/N, looking like an ethereal vision in her shimmery white skating outfit.  

Harry had seen Y/N around the rink before, but had never really paid attention. Now, he found himself utterly transfixed as she began gracefully spinning and leaping across the ice. Her every move was mesmerizing.

From his side of the rink, Harry gaped at Y/N in awe. He gripped his stick tightly as she performed effortless jumps and intricate spins. Her dance across the ice was like a carefully choreographed masterpiece.

Harry couldn't take his eyes off her. He watched, slack-jawed, as she launched herself into a triple lutz, rotating three times in the air before landing smoothly. Her practice was spellbinding.  

Y/N finally caught Harry staring at her from across the way. A flush spread over her cheeks, obvious even from a distance. She looked surprised to have an audience.

The tension broke when a rogue puck trickled across the ice, coming to a stop by Y/N's skates. She glanced down at it, then back at Harry.

"S-Sorry, didn't mean to bother you," Harry called out, feeling sheepish.

But Y/N just gave him a shy smile that dazzled him. "No worries, the rink's for sharing."

And just like that, the Hockey stud and the figure skating beauty shared their first interaction and smiles across the expanse of frozen ice.

Over the next few nights, Harry intentionally stayed late after hockey practice. Sure enough, Y/N was always there too, gracefully practicing her routines to soaring instrumental music. 

At first they kept their distance, staying on opposite sides of the rink. They exchanged polite hellos and "excuse me's" anytime they ventured close.

But Harry couldn't resist furtively watching Y/N whenever she attempted a jump or spin. The way she commanded the ice captivated him. Her movement was powerful yet delicate, athletic yet graceful. 

For her part, Y/N tried not to overtly gape at Harry as he drilled his hockey skills. But it was difficult to ignore his intensity and ferocity as he powerfully strode across the ice, ripping slapshots or stickhandling between cones.

Little by little, over those next evenings together, Harry and Y/N started making small adjustments. They angled their practices closer and closer to the center of the rink. Neither commented on it, but some unseen force seemed to be drawing them in from opposite ends.

One night, as Y/N spun directly in front of where Harry prepped pucks, he gasped audibly. "Wow..."

Y/N looked up, making accidental eye contact. Their gazes locked and she couldn't help but give him a tiny, coy smile before whipping around seamlessly into her next spin sequence.

Mesmerized, Harry felt his heart thump in his chest. He knew firsthand how much work went into athletic excellence like Y/N's skating. But there was also an indescribable artistry to the way she moved in tune with the music. It was spellbinding.

Harry was shaken from his trance by a puck smacking his shinguards. "Earth to Styles! You still with us, mate?" one of his teammates chirped with a grin from the bench.

Embarrassed to be caught ogling, Harry just sheepishly rubbed his neck. Over the past week of sharing the rink with Y/N, he had definitely lost some focus during team practices.  

He took a steadying breath and refocused on drills with renewed intensity. But even as he rejoined his linemates, he couldn't stop sneaking peeks through the corner of his eye at the lithe figure skater.

Later, just as the music crescendoed to a finish, Harry heard the distinct whisper of skates approaching him. He turned to find Y/N gliding to a stop nearby, cheeks delicately flushed from exertion and wispy hairs stuck to her neck with perspiration.

"You have really great puck control," she remarked shyly.

Harry's mouth went a little dry at her proximity and floral scent mixing with the icy air. "Th-thanks. And your skating is just...amazing."

Y/N let out a tinkling laugh at his flustered words. "Actually, I was going to ask if maybe you could give me some hockey tips sometime? It could really help with my edgework and connecting to the ice."

"Yeah, seriously? Of course!" Harry eagerly agreed before she even finished asking. He would've said yes to virtually any request to spend more time around this entrancing girl. "But uh, I should warn you...I'm a pretty intense coach," he added with a lopsided grin.

Y/N just playfully rolled her eyes. "I can definitely handle you."  

She skated backwards a few strides, flashing him a brilliant smile that made his heart flutter. "So I'll see you out here again tomorrow night then...Coach?"

Harry nodded, unable to contain his own wide smile. "It's a date."

A strange new energy seemed to crackle between them in the cold rink air. Harry's gaze lingered on Y/N as she glided off elegantly, unable to tear his eyes away from the hypnotic sway of her hips beneath her gossamer skating skirt.

As soon as she disappeared into the locker room, Harry let out a long exhale he didn't realize he'd been holding. He felt completely bewitched by this girl - her beauty, her talent, her effortlessly disarming presence.  

For years, hockey had been Harry's sole obsession, his all-consuming priority. But in this moment, he could feel another obsession taking hold - one with this sublime, mysterious figure skater who had seemingly materialized into his life. 

Gathering up the scattered pucks, Harry definitely sensed that tomorrow's "hockey lesson" was bound to be interesting...

***

The next evening, Harry arrived at the rink extra early, feeling uncharacteristically anxious. His stomach was doing bizarre somersault twists - an unusual sensation for him before stepping out onto the ice. Normally the rink was his haven, the one place he felt most at home and at peace. But tonight, he was practically vibrating with nervous anticipation.

Harry had been distracted all day, struggling to focus during classes and his morning workout at the gym. Tonight's private "lesson" with Y/N kept replaying over and over in his mind like a maddeningly catchy song stuck on repeat. He couldn't quite put his finger on why the prospect of helping her with hockey drills made him so jittery. It's not like he'd never tutored teammates or younger players before. 

But something about the thought of being alone on the ice with the lithe, beautiful figure skater sent Harry's heart fluttering in a way he'd never experienced. Usually so self-assured and confident, Harry was uncharacteristically self-conscious as he laced up his skates tonight. He fussed over making sure his wild chestnut hair didn't look too disheveled, and discreetly applied some of his musky cologne before leaving the locker room.

Stepping out onto the dimly-lit rink, Harry gave himself a little pep talk to quell his inexplicable nerves. "Come on, Styles, get it together. It's just a bloody skating lesson, for fuck's sake. You've been playing hockey since you could walk! What's there to be nervous about?"

But then his breath hitched as he spotted Y/N already out on the ice, gently coasting along with her arms hugged around herself. She seemed to almost glow in the soft lighting, a breathtaking vision in her sleek athletic attire that clung to every tantalizing curve. Her lithe form effortlessly flowed with each stride across the smooth ice.

Sensing she wasn't alone anymore, Y/N slowed to a stop and turned to face Harry with a shy smile. "Oh! Hey there, Coach. Shall we get started then?"

"Y-Yeah, of course! Let's do this," Harry replied with an overcompensating bravado, giving his head a little shake as if to dispel his nerves.

Y/N giggled at his awkward bravado, the tinkling sound making Harry's heart skip a beat. "Don't look so tense! It's just me."

Her teasing only made Harry feel more flustered as a smile tugged at his lips. "Exactly. It's...just you."

They both let those words hang there heavy between them for a moment, their eyes locked together across the wide ice. Then, as if through unspoken agreement, they simultaneously broke into laughter at their own silly tension.

"Right, okay then! Let's start with some basic stickhandling and power skating drills," Harry finally announced in his best "coaching" voice, scooping up a few pucks.

"Lead the way, Coach Styles!" Y/N gamely agreed with a grin.

For the next little while, some of Harry's nerves settled as he fell back into that familiar pattern of running drills, feeling assured and authoritative in his element. He put Y/N through a series of intense stickhandling routines - dribbling the puck between complicated cone patterns, making tight turns while handling the puck in circles, deking around obstacles with fast crossovers.

To her credit, Y/N worked diligently and didn't complain once, even when sweat began dampening her brow. Her exceptional skating prowess and coordination definitely helped her pick up hockey skills quickly. But the occasional fumbles and slips still drew some gentle teasing from Harry.

"Not quite, figure skater! You've got to keep your edges lower on crossovers," he tutted, flashing her a smirk as she wobbled slightly after messing up a pivot.

"Oh do forgive me, your Highness! Some of us don't have as much practice making aggressive cuts back and forth, you know!" she shot back with a laugh, planting her hands on her hips.

"No excuses, no excuses! How else are you gonna improve?" Harry quipped, skating lazy circles around Y/N while she caught her breath. His gaze kept drifting down to the sheen of sweat glistening along the graceful curve of her neck.

They fell into an easy back-and-forth banter, with Harry analyzing her form and gently course correcting when needed. For her part, Y/N chirped right back and seemed utterly unafraid to get a little sassy with her "coach."

At one point, after completing a rapid succession of puck handling sequences, Harry noticed a few loose strands of Y/N's hair had escaped her French braid to stick damply against her flushed face and neck. Before he could even really process the impulse, Harry found himself reaching out to gently brush the damp locks behind her ear.

Both of them froze at the sudden intimate gesture. Harry opened his mouth to quickly apologize for the overstep. But the words died in his throat when he glanced up and found Y/N gazing at him through hooded lids, her coy smile and flushed cheeks making his heart restart with a hard thud.

"I, uh...think you're ready to move on to some shooting drills now," Harry rasped in a low tone, reluctantly taking a step back and scooping up a few pucks.

They settled into the familiar rhythm of Harry rapidly feeding Y/N pucks while she whipped shot after shot towards the empty net. Her skating power and edgework were superb as she leaned into the lightning-fast wristers, putting her full body weight behind every blistering attempt on goal.

But as the drill progressed, Harry could see Y/N's form gradually getting sloppier as fatigue set in. Her shots lost some of their zip, her tight core beginning to hunch over. When one weak wrister fluttered harmlessly wide of the net, Harry blew his whistle to pause the action.

"Take a break for a minute, get some water," he urged in a tone much gentler than his usual coaching bark. Harry skated over to the bench and grabbed his own water bottle, downing a long pull. He watched Y/N do the same out of the corner of his eye as she bent over, those same wispy strands of hair falling to curtain her flushed face once more.

As she straightened back up, Harry felt his breath catch in his throat at the way Y/N's tight athletic top clung to her curves, damp with perspiration. He subconsciously licked his lips, feeling his mouth go dry with a sudden burst of dizzying arousal. Quickly looking away, Harry scrubbed a hand through his wild locks and cleared his throat roughly.

"Not bad at all for your first go with hockey drills. You've definitely got the fundamentals down pat."

Y/N shot him a radiant smile, seeming utterly unaware of the effect she was having on her coach as she smoothed back her sweaty hair. "Well, I do have an awfully good teacher pushing me hard."  

"Don't sell yourself short," Harry countered, feeling his pulse spike at her playful flirtiness. He tried to keep his tone casual, but his voice still came out a bit lower and rougher than intended. "Your strong core, killer edges, and flexibility from skating give you a really solid base for hockey skills."

"Why Coach Styles, are you saying I have...a killer body?" she teased, enjoying how flustered she could make the supremely confident hockey stud.

Harry's jaw dropped open, her boldness utterly disarming him. "I-I, well I didn't...that's not exactly what I-"

But Y/N just giggled and skated backward, waving him off. "I'm just joking around! Let's keep going, yeah? But maybe take it a little easier since it's my first time handling your...stick."

She drew out the last two words with a salacious wink, throwing Harry completely off his game. His face reddened instantly, sputtering incoherently as an entirely different kind of tension suddenly clung thick in the air between them.

Seeming to realize she'd flustered her coach a bit too much, Y/N reigned in her playful teasing with an apologetic smile. "Too far?"

"No! No, it's...it's all good. Just caught me off guard is all," Harry said quickly, giving his head a little shake to clear it as a lopsided grin formed. Two could play at this flirtatious game. "Let's just say I'm happy to give you a few pointers on stick handling whenever you need it."

Y/N sent him an exaggerated wink, taking her position again. "Looking forward to it, Coach."

And just like that, the heavy undercurrent of sexual tension dissipated again as they refocused on their drills. But it was like a lingering spark had been lit between them, little flirty moments flickering to life occasionally as the practice session wore on.

At one point, Harry skated past closely behind Y/N to scoop up a rogue puck, making sure his firm chest brushed along her back ever-so-slightly. He definitely didn't miss the shiver that licked down her spine at the brief contact, even in the chill of the rink.

Another time, as he demonstrated a proper shooting stance with a high wrist shot, Y/N sidled up to his side. "Like this?" she murmured huskily, purposely pressing her lithe body flush against Harry's sculpted torso as she mimicked his firing motion.

Harry gulped thickly at their sudden intimate proximity, feeling his breath quicken. "Y-Yeah, just like that..." he rasped out, unable to tear his gaze from the delicate slope of Y/N's neck just inches away.

Oh, the smell of ice mixed with her intoxicating perfume, all he wanted to do was take a bite.

With a wicked grin, Y/N slowly extracted herself from Harry's personal space, leaving the poor guy almost dizzy and aching for her warmth again. This girl was going to be the death of him.

After nearly two hours of rigorous back-and-forth drilling, skating lap after lap across the rink, they were both finally drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Y/N paused for a long pull from her water bottle before tossing it aside carelessly and gliding right up to Harry with a gleam in her eye.

"I've got one last request for my hockey tutor..." she said in a low, sultry tone as she drew closer and closer until the heat of her body mingled with Harry's.

He swallowed hard, feeling his heart thundering beneath his sweat-soaked jersey. "Y-Yeah? What's that?"

With a sly grin, Y/N reached out and boldly rucked up the hem of Harry's jersey until it bunched up beneath his armpits. Then she openly raked her heated gaze over every toned inch of his sculpted abdomen and chest now deliciously exposed.

"I want you to show me..." she purred in a low, gravelly tone, "how you celebrate after scoring a big goal."

Harry felt like all the air had been punched from his lungs as her words and blazing look washed over him. He stood there frozen, abdominal muscles twitching beneath her roaming eyes. When she slowly dragged her tongue across her plump lower lip, Harry was utterly undone.

In one swift motion, he grabbed Y/N by the hips and hauled her flush against his body as he crashed his lips onto hers in a searing, desperate kiss. She gasped in surprise against his hungry mouth before instantly melting into the embrace, her fingers fisting into his damp hair.

Their kisses were immediately messy and uncoordinated, all instinct and pent-up longing as they finally gave in to the thick tension that had slowly simmered during their private lesson. Harry angled his head, deepening their liplock as his hands gripped Y/N's lithe waist almost punishingly. She rolled her hips shamelessly against the unmistakable bulge in his athletic pants, earned a guttural groan from Harry.

"Fuck...you're going to be the death of me, you bloody tease," he growled against the sleek column of her throat as his lips blazed a hot trail across her overheated skin.

Y/N laughed breathlessly, the sound shooting straight to Harry's groin. "I'd say I'm sorry...but I'm really, really not."

Growling again at her cheekiness, Harry abruptly spun them both and shoved Y/N up against the dasher boards, pinning her there with his body as his large hands roamed greedily over her petite frame. Bunching up her sleek workout top, he leaned down to trail openmouthed kisses along the soft swell of her belly and up between the lace-capped valley of her breasts.

Y/N squirmed and writhed shamelessly against Harry, little whimpery pants escaping her bitten lips as his calloused hands roamed every inch of her overheated skin finally bared to his wandering touch. Threading her fingers through his wild hair, she tugged his mouth back up to hers for another messy clash of dueling tongues and harsh breaths.

"Harry..." she whined out between electrifying kisses. "I want...I need..."

"What, love? Tell me what you need," he rasped against the swell of her parted lips, hips rutting shamelessly against her core as he pinned her harder to the unforgiving boards.

She gazed up at him through heavy-lidded, lust-darkened eyes, chest heaving. In answer, Y/N boldly reached down and cupped the  bulge tenting the front of Harry's pants. An audible groan punched out of him at her touch, his forehead thudding weakly against the brows by her head.

"Jesus...are you sure? Here on the rink like this?" he questioned, even as his hips grinded shamelessly into her exploring palm.

"I've never been more sure of anything," Y/N whispered urgently. She nipped at his kiss-swollen lower lip, peering back at him through dense lashes. "I want you so fucking badly right here, right now. Please, Harry...I need you inside me."

That was all the encouragement Harry needed before crashing his lips back to Y/N's in another messy, fiery kiss. One large hand slid around to cup her arse, grinding her core more firmly against the rigid length of him. She rewarded him with a broken whimper into his mouth.

With his free hand, Harry blindly tugged Y/N's leggings and knickers down in one impatient tug until they were a rumpled pool around her ankles. She quickly kicked them aside, spreading her thighs wantonly as Harry settled in the cradle of her hips.

They both groaned in unison as the their centres made contact, Harry's clothed length nestling snugly against Y/N's slick, molten heat. Reaching between their flush bodies, Y/N deftly freed Harry's straining cock to spring free from the confines of his pants. She traced the plump velvet head teasingly, drinking in Harry's desperate whine against her lips.

"Fuck me..." Harry panted, rutting shamelessly against her hand. "Y/N, please let me fuck you, baby."

That was all the encouragement she needed before guiding his broad tip to her entrance. They both cried out in unison as Harry bottomed out in one slick thrust forward, his thick cock fitting snugly inside her with a soft punch of air. The thick length prodded into her deliciously, kissing the back of her damp cervix. They stilled together for a wild heartbeat, trembling mouths and sweat-dampened foreheads pressed flush as they adjusted to the heady feeling of being so intimately connected.

Harry was the first to move, withdrawing his hips in a slow grind before slamming back home, driving a guttural moan from Y/N's parted lips. He set a punishing pace, his strong arms and thighs flexing with the effort of moving them both against the rigid boards. Y/N wrapped her toned legs high around his flexing hips, nails raking down his rigid back as he jackhammered into her welcoming body over and over.

“Oh fuck, Harry-just like that, like that, yeah–” Y/N moaned once more, grinding her hips against his pelvis, his cock twitching isnide her cunt at the sensation.

“Oh Jesus, you’re so damn hot, you know taht?” he panted into her mouth, their damp clothes sticking togtehr in a sweaty mess. But the way they made each other feel, it was all worth it.

They panted out harsh, shuddering breaths, slick skin slapping together obscenely in the silence of the empty rink. Y/N babbled out breathy moans and curses, struggling to muffle the loud echoes with her face buried in the sweaty curve of Harry's neck. She bit down on it occasionally, earning a groan from him as she paired it with desperate clenches around his length.

But her unraveling cries only spurred him on, his cock driving into her with rougher, more frantic strokes until they were both hovering right on the edge.  

With a few more powerful snaps of his hips, Y/N’s back arched like a bow and screamed out her climax, creamy inner walls fluttering spastically around Harry's thick length. The sudden gripping contractions yanked Harry's own orgasm from him in hot bursts as he brokenly shouted out his release, teeth sinking into the supple juncture of Y/N's neck and shoulder, something he had been waiting to do since teh night they met.

They clung together in a sweaty, panting jumble of sated limbs, chests heaving as they slowly drifted back to earth. Little aftershocks still rippled through them both until finally Harry drew his head back, blissfully dazed as he gazed at the thoroughly rumpled and glowing girl in his arms.

"Well...I'd say you definitely scored one hell of a goal," Y/N panted out breathlessly after a moment, trying for a coy smile despite her wild disarray.

Harry tipped his head back and laughed, the sound bright and carefree as he peppered fresh kisses along Y/N's heated cheek and jaw. "Lucky shot, beautiful..."

They held each other for a long stretch, neither willing to break the intimate embrace just yet despite the chilled rink air now raising goosebumps across their sweat-slickened skin. Harry nuzzled deeper against Y/N's neck, breathing in her lingering floral scent heavily tinged with sweat and arousal.  

Eventually though, Harry reluctantly eased Y/N's trembling legs back to the floor, steadying her with a firm arm around her waist. Looking around the dim rink with a lopsided smile, he gave a low chuckle at the state of complete disarray - sopping workout clothes, towels, and water bottles strewn everywhere around them, plus a naughty new addition of Y/N's lacy panties lying crumpled against the boards where their heated frenzied began.

Y/N looped her arms loosely around Harry's neck, her coy eyes sparkling with mirth as she gazed back at him adoringly. Harry leaned in again to capture her lips in a sensual, unhurried kiss, reveling in the taste and feel of her. When they finally broke apart again, he pressed his forehead to hers with a contented sigh.

"Fancy grabbing a pint with me when we're done cleaning up this unholy mess?" Harry murmured, pressing his forehead to Y/N's with a contented sigh. "I'll even let you order me around a bit more."

"Is that supposed to be an incentive?" Y/N countered with a throaty chuckle, lazily trailing her fingertips through the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. "Because I was rather enjoying calling the shots just now."

"Oh you cheeky minx," Harry growled playfully before surging in to capture her lips in another heated kiss. He walked them backwards until Y/N's back hit the boards again with a dull thud, caging her in with his body as his large hands roamed eagerly over her bare curves.

Y/N mewled softly into his ravenous mouth, welcoming the slide of his tongue stroking intimately against her own. Her limbs felt heavy and lax, muscles still tingling from the mind-blowing release mere minutes ago. But she could already feel a new ember of need beginning to stoke low in her belly as Harry's sweat-slicked skin glided feverishly against hers.

One of his big hands boldly slid down to cup her arse, hauling Y/N's pliant body flush to grind against the feel of his new arousall. She gasped at the electrifying friction, breaking their liplock on a broken whine.   

"Harry...already? I can barely feel my legs!"  

"Sorry love, what was that?" he rumbled right back, swirling his hips in a deliberate grind to drag his impressive length along her drenched folds. "Did you want me to stop?"  

"No! God no, please don't stop," Y/N hurriedly corrected on a breathless keen as Harry sealed his mouth over her thundering pulse point. His other large hand boldly palmed her breast, callused thumb rasping over her peaked nipple until she shuddered.  

"Good girl," he praised in a gravelly tone before biting down sharply on the tendon at the base of her throat.  

Y/N jolted with a strangled cry at the tantalizing sting, her back bowing sharply away from the unforgiving barrier at her spine as her legs instinctively scissored wider around Harry's hips. Lust roared through her veins again, thick and heady as their slick skin slid together with the beginnings of a fervent grind.  

Lips and teeth clashed in a heated duel once more, the rink filling with harsh pants and whines muffled against sweat-dampened skin. Harry was already throbbing and more than ready to bury himself back inside Y/N's snug, fluttering heat. But he purposefully held off, delighting in slowly winding them both into a lascivious frenzy with nothing but sinuous rolls of his hips and fervent caresses.  

"Need you inside me," Y/N groaned at last, using her heels to dig into Harry's firm arse and pull him infinitesimally closer until his rigid length prodded against her drenched entrance. "Harry please, I can't wait anymore. Fuck me again, love."  

He gave a gruff sound of approval at her shameless pleading, the authoritative command fueling his already ravenous lust into an outright inferno. Capturing her mouth in another seering kiss, Harry easily hitched Y/N's leg up over his hip before finally sheathing himself inside her with one powerful snap of his hips.  

They both cried out in unison at the feeling of being so intimately reconnected, Y/N's sweet whimper swallowed by Harry's desperate groan. He set an immediately brutal pace, pulling nearly all the way out before pounding back in with punishing strokes, letting the delicious tension coil and crescendo.  

Y/N's broken whimpers and moans filled the rink, echoing back at them from the vacant rafters as her petite frame was pinned and jolted by Harry's fervent tempos. One hand scrabbled at the abused boards behind her, trying in vain to find purchase as the other fisted and yanked wildly through Harry's sweat-dampened locks.  

"Yes! Yesyesyes..." she babbled mindlessly on each jarring upstroke that grinded deliciously against that molten front wall of nerves. "Oh fuck, Harry...just like that, god yes!"  

Harry only growled in response, using his bulk and powerful thighs to hammer into her molten core with somehow even more brutal strokes. His teeth found purchase on the feverish juncture of Y/N's neck and collar, sucking a blossom of arousal to the surface as his hips snapped forward in a punishing grind.  

It went on that way, the only sounds filling the rink their harshly mingled cries and the thunderous squelch of flesh meeting slickly in an unforgiving, wild rut. As they spiraled ever higher towards their mutual crescendos, Harry and Y/N's movements turned almost frenzied and animalistic in their unbridled need.  

With a few more piston thrusts of his hips, Y/N detonated first. Her eyes rolled back and mouth dropped open on a guttural, sobbing cry of rapture. Every muscle in her lithe body locked up in an archway of pure ecstasy, inner muscles fluttering as she fell over the sweet euphoric release, her stomach tingling with adoration as he looked at her like she was the oly woman in the world.

“Fuck me…” she giggled, but it was immediately transformed into a broken moan as his hips snapped into her quivering entrance once more, her back arching towards his mouth as he latched onto her swollen nipples once again.

His hips snapped inside her–once, twice, thrice–before he was spilling himself inside her, her warmth clinging to him like a comforting embrace that made both their hearts skip a beat.,

***

After their intense intimate encounter on the ice, Harry and Y/N took a few moments to catch their breath and bask in the afterglow. They held each other close, exchanging tender kisses and caresses as their rapidly beating hearts eventually began to settle.

Looking around at the state of disarray they had left the rink in - scattered equipment, towels, water bottles strewn about - Harry chuckled softly against Y/N's tousled hair. "I'd say we've properly christened this ice in a completely unholy way."

Y/N laughed lightly, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. Even amid the chill of the rink, she felt deliciously warm and content cocooned in Harry's strong embrace. "Well they do say no place is too sacred for certain activities."

"Cheeky thing, you are," Harry murmured affectionately, trailing his knuckles along the gentle curve of her flushed cheek. He dipped his head to capture her lips in another lingering kiss, savoring her taste and the feel of her body melting against his.

Eventually they knew they should disentangle and start cleaning up the rink before someone came across the incriminating scene of their tryst. With some reluctance, they separated just enough to hastily redress in their rumpled athletic wear.

As Y/N shimmied back into her leggings, she sent Harry a coy look from beneath her lashes. "So...did I pass my hockey training with flying colors then, Coach?"

Harry snorted at her playful quip, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I'd say you earned an A+ for effort...among other things," he replied with a lopsided smirk.

They fell into an easy back-and-forth banter as they straightened up the rink, tossing towels and equipment into haphazard piles. Every so often, their gazes would meet and linger with a lingering heated undercurrent simmering between them.

Once they had restored some semblance of order, Harry tossed his duffel over his shoulder and took Y/N's hand, lacing their fingers together. "C'mon, let me buy you that pint to celebrate your...excellent performance review."

"Mmm, I do love a good performance incentive program," Y/N quipped, falling into step beside Harry towards the exit. 

An easy, companionable silence fell over them as they made their way out of the deserted rink and into the crisp night air. Stealing a glance at the beaming beauty beside him, Harry felt a contented calm settle over his usual manic hockey intensity.

He wasn't sure what this new...relationship?...with Y/N would hold. But in that moment, just reveling in her presence and their newfound intimacy, Harry found he didn't really care about the future. He was happy to just bask in the feeling of her hand in his and the memory of her cries of pleasure echoing through the rafters.

As they strolled along, their joined hands swung lightly between their bodies. Harry grinned to himself, already wondering if he could convince Y/N of a repeat "lesson" very soon...

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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[trulyhblue]

Baby England

Lionesses x Young! Reader (platonic), Leah Williamson x reader (platonic).

Warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst, coarse language, school, young reader.

A/N — still can't get over Sam's ACL. Like I woke up just to cry? No, thank you.

Masterlist

___________________________________

The Games Room was quiet for what seemed to be the first time ever. The team was sprawled throughout the room, some of them on their phones, others by mountains of pillows. Georgia and Keira were in the indoor pitch juggling with one another. Alex was having a soft conversation with Hempo, laughing at something one of them had said.

The serenity of the room was something you didn't catch often. Usually, the hustle of the team would echo across the walls, loud pints of laughter and screaming coming from one corner of the room to the other. Lucy was often yelling at Mario Kart, and Ellie was always strutting around Table Tennis in triumph, while everyone else grumbled on about how she was too good.

But for now, it was silent, save for the low conversations from the different groups. Even Lessi and Tooney were keeping in check, sharing a rocking chair with mounds of blankets hauled over the top of them.

For anyone else in the room, it would've been extremely relaxing.

For you, it was anything but.

You wanted to snap your pen in half, feeling the fatigue of yesterday's game daunting on your muscles. The words on your laptop were dancing behind the blur of your eyes. You struggled to stay concentrated as Leah sat next to you, taking her eyes off her phone every once while to make sure you were actually doing your homework.

The Euros were speeding by quicker than any of you could imagine. The outcome of your results, and the number of fans that had started to compile over the weeks, was indescribable. This was your debut camp for the Lionesses, and while you spent most of your time on the bench, making late appearances in the 70th minutes of games, you wouldn't change it for the world.

However, with all the excitement and privilege that came with representing your country in such a prestigious competition at Sixteen, you were faced with the challenge of keeping up with school.

When you first signed with the Lionesses, your parents were determined to keep you in school. Your education was very important, and if football ever ended badly for you, they wanted you to have something to fall back on. Growing up through the youth groups, and developing skills in the Arsenal Academy, you were used to the physical and emotional demands of a professional football career. Your parents were incredibly supportive of your dream to play, but their underlying worry when you were called up to the National Team was daunted on them.

So, to make everyone happy, you decided to take on the complicated challenge of juggling both football and school. This meant that in your spare time, all you did was study for exams, take the exams, and then study for the next one. It was an endless cycle of school and work, but you knew that it would be all worth it in the end.

The worst thing about it was that none of the girls were your age. Some of them had Uni work to do, but you were still mastering high school subjects. The workload wasn't nearly as draining, and they seemed to have it all sorted out in a few short hours while you were spending all of your extra time peeling away your useless worksheets, essays and papers.

Lots of the girls were lenient. None of them liked the idea of you cooped up in front of a screen. Hempo would buy you some crisps from down the road. Mary would make TikToks with you, Beth would scoop you up for cuddles and a movie. LJ would pull you away for Mario Kart. All the girls believed that you needed a break, especially in such a stressful time.

But Leah was the exact opposite.

You had known Leah since you were seven. You had met her during one of your Arsenal Youth games, immediately looking up to her as an older sister and role model. Even as a teenager, Leah holds a protective arm around you. She was always ready to defend you on the pitch, not only as a Captain, but as a friend. She wasn't afraid to put you in line — she was the only one who could send you running laps if you were too cheeky. She was strict, especially when you parents weren't there to boss you around, and everyone knew that her authority over you was nothing to debate.

You were training with the Arsenal Women's Team while you were still at the Academy. You're not quite sure why you were chosen in the squad, as you struggled to believe you made the cut at such a young age, but the England Captain didn't hesitate to make you put in the work.

She was a bit like your agent, always persuading you to do something when you weren't sure what to do yourself. You still weren't signed with a WSL team, but as the Euros progressed, teams from everywhere were banking up to sign you as soon as possible. You tried hard not to delve too deeply into it. You knew Arsenal was a main contender, and that's where you most wanted to go, but your focus right now was the Euros... and the essay in front of you.

"C'mon, get it done," Leah ordered, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, her hand carrying the weight on her head against the desk. You had been sitting there for over an hour, a total of one paragraph typed out on your screen. Outside, you could see Beth and Lotte playing Basketball. You threw your head backwards, groaning in respite. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing.

"No use whining about it." She spoke, still not looking at you. "'Might as well smash it out now so it's done."

"'Dunno what to write about." You grumbled, shoving your hands into your pockets. You managed to slip a glance towards Esme, feeling your hopes lift up when she gave you a knowing nod.

But of course, Leah caught the interaction. "Hempo, no." She snapped, sending the Forward back to her seat. "You don't get crisps when you've done nothing to deserve it."

"Leah-"

"-Get on with it."

You slouched back into your chair, making sure your Huff was loud and overly obnoxious. Leah had no reaction, leaning back in her chair, and continuing to scroll on her phone.

"Y/N." She murmured in warning.

When you made no effort to keep going, she finally looked at you.

You could tell she was over it. She wasn't obliged to sit with you, but it was an unspoken rule that she did, otherwise, you would never get it finished. The older woman secretly felt bad for making you do it. If it was her choice, you wouldn't be doing school during the tournament. She understood your reluctance, but both of you could guess the consequences of your actions if you weren't handing it in.

"You've got half an hour." She snapped, her glare darkening. If she wasn't strict now, it'd end badly. "If it's not done, I'll bench you."

From the corner of your eye, you could see Lauren stop her Lego abruptly. Esme was no longer looking at her phone, instead tilting her head away from the tension rising in an attempt to not get involved.

Leah didn't have the power to bench anyone, the older girls knew that. But to your virtue, you thought that Leah was capable of anything. An abuse of power, maybe, but it worked all the same.

You begrudgingly tapped at your keyboard, making a point to roll you eyes when Leah set an alarm for half an hour. You were determined to keep your spot as a preferred sub, refusing to let Leah feel all smug at the fact that you couldn't finish the stupid essay.

Lauren continued on with her Lego. Esme was starting a new bracelet. Beth and Lotte's giggles were drowned out by the determination written all over your face. Without your knowledge, more and more people began to cram into the Game Room. First, Lucy, then Kei and Gee. A few minutes later, Alessia and Ella were doing a TikTok, their voices growing louder as the minutes went by. LJ walked past with confusion written across her features. She leaned over your shoulder, eyes slightly widening at the page full of words. She glanced to Leah's phone and the timer, then at Leah, who was staring off into the distance.

By five minutes left, you had written nearly two whole pages. Your hands were cramping, and your feet couldn't keep still. Chloe and Katie were surrounding you behind LJ, waiting for you to snap out of your trance and notice the crowd that had complied.

You were reading over your final sentences when the door crashed open, revealing Millie and Rach running in frantically with a cameraman hot on their trail. Their presence was so boisterous that everyone stopped to see who it was, watching in curiosity when the two women started searching the room.

"We need the Baby!" Millie screamed, scrambling onto the floor to check underneath the lounge. "We need the baby!"

Rachel was running to the bean bags, dashing past Lucy, Keira and Georgia playing Mario Kart. Everyone laughed in amusement at the cameraman struggling to keep up with the two of them.

"Where is she?!" Rach screeched at Esme and Lauren, ignoring the fits of giggle the pair were in. "Where's the baby?"

"Over here, idiots," Zelem stated, causing both their heads to dart in your direction. The girls surrounding you were quick to scatter, knowing the wrath of the two women was not something easily escapeable. Millie was about to yank you from under your shoulders when Leah moved in front of you, her prior amusement halting, replaced with her usual sternness.

You were closing your laptop at the sight of the camera, beaming at the thought of freeing yourself.

"Not now, Bright," Leah uttered, wrapping an arm around the back of your chair. "She's got school."

Instead of leaving you be, the duo closed in on you, beckoning the camera over to your work sprawled across the table.

Both of them held tiny mics, holding them up to their mouths as they spoke.

"Here we've got the Arsenal Protege in her natural habitat. Born and raised in red, she seems to be researching ways to leave."

"Both Arsenal and Leah."

Leah's face contorted into deep offence. "Hey!"

"Yes, it appears she is." Rachel nodded vigorously, picking up your book, pretending to read it. "She has written down Aston Villa as her top contender. Not only is she fast, but smart too."

Millie hugged you from behind. "But we all know what side of London she's thinking of, isn't that right? Smart, little, blue she'll be, am I right, Williamson?"

The camera panned to Leah, who was not looking at all amused. The thought of you being at any other club felt absolutely gut-wrenching to her. Like her, you had grown up bleeding in North London. She wouldn't trade any other player twice as good as you if that meant you'd stay. But while she'd never admit it, Leah wasn't worried about you leaving Arsenal. She was more worried that you'd leave her.

"Over my dead body." She snapped, wrenching the Chelsea woman's arms away from you, swerving your chair back to face your laptop. "Now, off you go, she needs to get this done."

"I've finished it, Lee." You muttered, feeling embarrassed at the fact that fans would prune over the way you were bossed around. When it came to your figure in the media, it was mainly regarding your blamelessness in comparison to your more experienced teammates. You were often babied by the girls, and fans adored the interactions you would have with them, especially with Leah.

Your Captain looked at you, crossing her arms. "You promise me you're done?"

"Promise." Your cheeks heated as the snickers fell from Daly's lips. You nodded, slowly inching off your seat. "Please, Lee, I've been stuck here for hours."

"Yeah, c'mon, Williamson, let her come to the dark side." Millie barked, causing Leah to grumble at the notion.

It took her a few moments to decide whether or not to let you go, huffing in defeat when she turned off her phone. "Fine. But no Chelsea or Villa talk, swear to Go—"

You were off before she could finish her lecture. Millie had picked you up, lifting you over her shoulders as Rach followed behind. The three of you ran into the indoor training pitch, with the poor cameraman following after you hopelessly.

When Millie plopped you down, you engulfed the warmth of someone's lap. You craned your head back to find Jordan looking back at you, her beady, toothy grin beaming back at you. The Arsenal midfielder wrapped her arms around you as you made the effort to snuggle into her body. Jordan was like your second mother when you were away from home. She was an ongoing support that wore her heart on her sleeve. She was different from Leah's opposing relentless, being more of a calm before the storm, less sentimental but effusive nonetheless.

You were supposed to be Jordan's substitute during your time at the Euros, but her knee injury had ruled her out. Therefore, the woman was only there when the squad wasn't training.

You noticed the multiple cameras surrounding the couch you were all squeezed on, but the attention felt a little less daunting with the comfort of the girls around you.

"We've got some questions for you," Millie spoke, revealing some palm cards from God knows where.

You nodded, keeping your head on Jord's chest. "Ask away."

"Who is your favourite teammate?"

You thought to yourself for a second before shrugging. "Jordan."

Rach scoffed. "Boring."

"Yeah, next!" Millie rolled her eyes. "Who would win in a fight, me or Daly?"

"Why am I answering these?!" You laughed, shaking your head. "You could've asked anyone."

"Those aren't the real questions." Jordan prodded, leading the two women to laugh their heads off at their supposed humour. You looked around at everyone, extremely confused about what you were here for. There were a few PR Managers behind the media setup, all with clipboards in their hands. You managed to catch Jordan eyeing Bright and Daly, squeezing your body a little tighter.

"Yeah, yeah, we're just having a laugh." Mils chortled, straightening up before continuing. "We're to announce that Baby England here has been asked to answer a few questions on behalf of the team."

You watched the centre-back intently. "Why me?"

"Dunno." Rach shrugged, followed shortly by Mil's voice. "Just 'cause."

"Alright, then, by who?"

"God, you'd think with all that schoolwork you'd be a bit brighter."

Jordan huffed from behind you. "Hurry up!"

"Alright, alright." Rachel scoffed, taking out the same cards as Millie had, the England Lioness logo plastered on the back. "So, seriously now, how do you think the Lionesses have worked throughout the Euros?"

You were never the one to be faced with serious questions in interviews. In fact, you had only ever attended one or two. At Arsenal, you were in the Academy, meaning the media surrounding you and your team was very scarce. As a representative of your National Team, the two interviews you had been a part of were your induction and your Player of the Match award at the end of one of the games. You weren't used to being in the spotlight like your England teammates, but you were not opposed to being overshadowed by them either. You knew you had a lot to learn, you were happy to play alongside them.

“Erm, I'm not quite sure.” You posed, blushing at the laughter that followed. “I'm very proud to be a part of it… this is a big opportunity for me, and I'm grateful for having the chance to represent my country.”

“True English,” Mils said fondly, finding the camera with her eyes. “Modest as always.”

Jordan hugged you tighter. “Let her finish, Millie.”

“But I think all of the girls think that, even to a bigger scale than me.” You continued, fidgeting with your hands. “It's a home Euros so… we all want to bring it home. I think that's one of the main contributors — the pressure, but also the idea of winning. We all want our families and country to be proud. So, yeah, and because we all love football. That's a given.”

“That was a bloody good answer, Baby England,” Rach commented. Her hand was rubbing your shoulder, her legs crossed over each other on the lounge. The Defender behind her was smiling, propping herself into a more comfortable position before she spoke.

“Speaking of,” She smirked. “Are you bothered by your nickname ‘Baby England?’ Do you feel a bit bugged by it?”

You giggled into Jordan, your cheeks inevitably heating up. “Erm, yes and no. I mean, I know I'm the youngest but I’ll go back to training and the girls will be teasing me for it.”

“Do you want to stay in the Academy?” Rach asked. “What’s your plans after the Euros?”

“Not sure.” You shrugged. “Hopefully we finish with Gold, that's the hope, obviously. But, I’ll just have to see.”

Both women looked at each other, then the camera, hiding their smiles concurrently. Jordan and you watched in confusion.

“Should we start the list of offers you've got right now?” Daly chortled. “I can think of five on the top of my head.”

“Who’s your top five?” Millie continued, leaning in and mouthing her club Chelsea.

“Leah would kill me!” You laughed, shaking off the question. “I was talking to Lessi and Lotte about the States, cause my parents still want me to have an education. But to be fair, my agent hasn't told me any offers. I don't think she will until the Euros are over.”

“Well, you heard it hear first.” Rachel beamed. “Baby England to Villa!”

The Cameraman was about to end the video when a booming fury echoed from across the room.

All heads turned to an enraged Leah storming over. “I said no Villa talk!”

__________________________________

yourusername (pretend it's you and Leah)

yourusername — sorry @ rachdaly, no Villa talk

Comments

milliebright — u say nothing about Chelsea, right?

^ leahwilliamson — don't even go there.

lionesses — football’s coming home 🫶🏼

racheldaly — I’ll find a way

^ leahwilliamson — no you won't.

user1 — Leah fighting for Y/N’s spot at Arsenal more than Arsenal themselves LMAO

^ user2 — she really said North London Forever

lottewubbenmoy — Baby England 🫶🏼

alessiarusso99 — beautiful girls

*liked by yourusername, leahwilliamson

User3 — is this an Aston Villa denial confirmation?

^ user4 — I think shes just referencing the YouTube video or Her, Jordan, Mils, and Rach.

^ user5 — shes got all these offers, who knows

^ user3 — she practically confirmed she was going to North Carolina in that video tho

^ user4 — 🤷‍♀️ you could say that is is an Arsenal Confirmation since Leah’s in it. Fr tho idk.

Leahwilliamson — my 🌟 girl

^ user6 — their friendship is so cute

User7 — All these clubs want her, WHERE WILL SHE GO

^ yourusername — 👀

^ user7 — STOP DO NOT DO THIS TO ME

__________________________________

[azrielhours]

Lessons on Relief

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 3k

Synopsis: Azriel is the last of the boys to lose his virginity

Warnings: Smut

A/N: picture az in his early twenties guys lol

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That one likes you, Az,” Cassian whispered, ever the devil’s advocate. “She’s always staring.”

Azriel peered over to where Cass nodded and found a beautiful female watching him, picking clothes off a laundry line. Azriel blushed and broke your gaze when you smiled.

“See?” Cassian chuckled. It’d never been explicitly stated, but Azriel wondered if Cassian knew; of the three brothers, Azriel was the only one who was still a virgin.

That was unheard of in a camp full of warriors, males that perspired pride, who turned to females for relief on grounds meant to harden boys to soldiers. Where fucking and fighting were equal measures of a warrior’s value.

Azriel was late. He’d known nothing but hardness, coveted by powerful males for his shadowsinging. Yet he was still to outgrow his shyness. He’d look at the pretty Windhaven females from afar, brushing off his brothers when they’d insist he should talk to them.

When they spoke about their time with women, Azriel listened carefully. Tales of resistance, of increasing endurance. Of angles and rhythm, speed and relief.

He committed the words to memory so he’d know what to do when he’d finally work up the courage to see through to his need. To seek it inside a woman instead of his fist.

In truth, Azriel couldn’t imagine the females overlooking the scars on his hands, his quieter nature. Yes, he’s noted many of them admiring him, the shy glances cast his way, but he felt like he was overstepping by approaching one.

He’d never known softness in his life, so he didn’t know what to do with it when it came in the form of a woman. In their delicate bones, how they needed to crane their heads up to face his towering height. How they spoke like music, their bodies—supple hips and round arms. Azriel tried to be respectful, to avoid staring, but he loved it all. Sometimes it was a pudge at the base of their bellies, sometimes it was tiny waists. Sometimes it was full breasts, sometimes it was hips with an inward dip in the bones.

He may have yet to bed a woman, but God—that didn’t stop him from wanting them.

And that female—Azriel had seen you before, charmed by your forward nature, how you always held his gaze. You’d finished packing the clothes, hauling the basket onto your hip. “Maybe you’ll see her at the bonfire,” Cassian said.

Azriel watched you walk away, how your hips swayed. You turned one last time, smiling again, and this time, he cracked a smile back.

~

Azriel arrived late with Rhys and Cassian, making their way to a bench amongst the warriors. Everyone was in high spirits, drinking heartily and singing Illyrian folk songs. The steady rhythm of a drum beat in Azriel’s heart, and he let the music wash over him as he accepted a drink from Cassian.

The alcohol buzzed in his throat, releasing the tension in his shoulders as he settled. His brothers were conversing with the men nearby, giving Azriel the chance to scope out the ground. Some men were playing drinking games, some recounting tales, and some were pulling girls up to dance. That’s where Azriel spotted you.

You were even more beautiful in the firelight, glowing like precious jewels, dancing with a group of friends, laughing brightly. Azriel noted many other males watching you, hunger in their eyes as they took in your free-spirited twirls, how you bunched your skirts up to attempt the correct steps. Azriel downed his drink, but it did little to suppress his jealousy.

Rhys nudged his arm. “Go get her a drink.” Before Azriel could refuse, Rhys snatched the empty pint from his hands, pushing him off the edge of the bench until Azriel stumbled off, forced to stand. Cassian nodded in encouragement.

Azriel took a deep breath and made his way to the barrel of ale, filling a cup.

That was when he sensed movement, and it dawned on Azriel who was entering his company. He took a sip for courage.

His nerves were replaced with pleasant shock when he felt you touch a gentle hand on his elbow.

Azriel turned, and there you were.

You smiled sweetly up at him, hands tucked behind your back.

God, did Azriel love the softness of women.

“What’s your name?”

“Azriel.”

“Hello, Azriel."

He returned your easy smile.

Your eyes darted around playfully. “Aren’t you gonna ask me what my name is?”

“Oh—yes. What was your name?”

That pretty grin again. “Y/N.”

Azriel relaxed further. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

He didn’t know what to say next, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“You know, you’re not like the other Illyrians,” you continued.

“How so?”

You shrugged. “You’re not so… domineering.”

Azriel frowned. “Domineering?”

“Like, you’re not the ruffian type.”

He laughed. “The ruffian type?”

You waved a hand. “You know what I mean. I’ve never seen you make any advances on the women. And God knows they’re all dying to be talked up by you.” He looked to the ground, and you laughed. “I’ve never seen a warrior blush.”

Azriel smiled. “I don’t think there’s a shortage of Illyrians being flustered by you.”

You stepped closer, eyes bright. “So you can flirt. Took you long enough.”

 Azriel’s brows rose in amusement. “I was… playing my timing correctly.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right,” he grinned.

“Well, Azriel, since you got the plan all figured out, where do we go from here?”

Before he could suggest returning to the bonfire, to let him watch you dance, you traced a finger down his hand, feeling the raised skin. He tracked the movement, then met your gaze. There was no hesitation in your eyes. You only weaved your fingers through his.

Azriel swallowed, trying to compose himself. “I’m feeling like we could use a change of scenery.”

You stepped closer. “I agree. Will you walk me home?”

Oh.

“It would be my pleasure.” Azriel thanked the Mother for the steadiness in his voice, the same couldn’t be said about his heart.

To his eternal delight, you didn’t release your hold on his hand.

You didn't mind his hands.

Azriel’s heart raced. Sounds of the bonfire grew distant as you led him between and around paths and houses until you stopped at the door of a quaint cottage.

You still held his hand even as you fished in the purse around your waist for a key, leading him inside. You released him, beaming at him as you toed off your shoes.

“You live alone?”

“My father's working in a different camp, and my sister's probably seeking her own fun tonight,” you smiled crookedly.

Not her first time, then.

Azriel just nodded.

Your gaze softened, studying his rigid posture. "You don’t… do this often?"

"Uh, not—not really.”

Your lips parted in realization, and Azriel's face burned with shame. But you just smiled sweetly, reaching once again for his hand. He obliged, holding your smaller hand, vigilantly studying your face.

"That's okay, darling," you spoke, voice honeyed. “I mean, we don't have to—”

"I want to,” he blurted.

Your smile never faltered. “Me too.” A reassuring squeeze to his hand. As if doubling down on your eagerness, you reached behind your back with your free hand, holding his hand securely between both of yours. You led him to the stairs, oblivious to how it made Azriel’s heart soar.

Azriel felt warmth coursing south. The familiar sensation of arousal heightened his bodily awareness, making him breathe deeper.

He realized he had permission to look. To want. His gaze roamed down your form before him—how your body curved and dipped. His need for you calmed the edges of his nerves.

And when the scent of your desire reached his nose, he was honed in. Hungry. He'd heard of lust overtaking people, how it became an all-consuming sensation, but to feel it outside the walls of his bathroom was liberating in a way that felt wholly correct.

You entered a room, lighting a faint faelight.

Good, because Azriel wanted to see it all.

You approached him with a certainty that had Azriel’s breath catching. The need in your eyes mirrored how he felt. He wanted to touch—to taste—

You ran your fingers down his arms. He brought his hands hovering by your frame, available for you to hold again if you pleased. You did just that, yanking down gently, rising on your toes.

You wanted to kiss him.

Azriel exhaled in relief, letting his mouth fall onto yours. Your hands inched up to his neck, pulling your body flush against his. Your lips were soft and warm, moving gently against his. He placed his hands on your waist, pulling you firmly to his body, spurred on by how you moaned into his mouth. You bit his lip and he felt his trousers tighten. Your hands roamed down his front, all the way to where he ached.

When you traced down his stiffness, he broke off from your mouth to watch. Your delicate fingers traced down. He instinctively covered your hand with his, halting at the sight of his scars—maybe you didn’t want them touching your flawless hands—

He released your hand, trying to tuck his away. It was more jarring to see them in the light of your room. You tracked his movement, and Azriel braced himself for your change of mind. You wouldn’t want him to touch you anymore.

You met his gaze with a pinch between your brows. Reaching for his elbows, you tugged his arms back forward, tracing down his forearms to his wrists. Then you lifted his right hand to your mouth.

His breath stuttered when you placed featherlight kisses along his hand. You opened your mouth, putting two of his fingers inside. Azriel’s mouth parted, mind utterly blank as he watched. You sucked his fingers, gaze unbreaking. Your tongue licking freely along his skin reignited the heat in his blood, brought back the ache in his pants.

You pulled his fingers out of your mouth, tugging his shirt out of his trousers. Message received. Azriel tugged it off, dropping it to the floor. Your eyes were dilated, chest rising quicker as you deftly traced down the ridges of his muscled front. Down to his belt when you met his gaze. So he unbuckled his belt with shaky fingers. Anything she wants is fair game. You turned your back, scooping your hair to expose your corset to Azriel as he stepped out of his pants, utterly stripped.

Azriel didn’t allow himself to hesitate. He undid the tie, gently loosening the strings. You shimmied out, pulling your skirt down before turning to face him only in your shift.

You maintained eye contact as you reached for the neckline, tugging it down over your shoulders. Over your collarbones, your breasts, your elbows. Letting it pool at your feet.

Bare.

Mother spare me.

You were everything. Maybe he shouldn’t stare even though he knew he had permission; maybe it was juvenile to take you in like oxygen, but Azriel could do nothing else. He drank in your form like it was his salvation. Studied your silhouette like it was his sole purpose. Down your ankles, up your thighs, your stomach—

You reached for his wrists, guiding his hands to your hips. He tried to breathe deeper as lust baited his sanity. He swallowed at the feel of your softness. You guided his hands to your waist, onto your stomach, up around your breasts.

You released him, letting him take what he wanted. Azriel couldn’t breathe. He squeezed the flesh, noted how it made your mouth part. He ran his thumb over your peaked nipples.

Your pleasure only spurred his need. He would make you feel as good as you already did him. He would—he would please you.

He repeated the motion—anything to get you to—

You gripped his length where it leaked against his stomach. Azriel gasped, jolting. You stroked down and back up, watching his face, setting a steady pace. Azriel’s face contorted, mouth parted as he breathed shakily. His hands dropped to your hips as he tried to focus on anything but the coiling sensation deep in his belly, or your audible breathing that brought him closer—your fingers moved faster, making his muscles tense, his hips bucking forward into your hold, all the while your eyes never left his. His heartrate sped as his breathing grew shallower and you massaged pleasure right into him—

With a gasp, Azriel came undone, ropes of his spend pulsating out of him onto your stomach. You didn’t let up, continuing until Azriel shuddered at the overstimulation, grasping your hand to cease your movement.

He heaved as he came down, knees weak.

Blood rushed to his face as he met your hungry gaze. He came too fast—that wasn’t how this was meant to go.

But you didn’t balk. Your dilated gaze held his, desire colouring your cheeks pink. You weren’t… put off by how fast he finished.

You took his hand and pulled him to your bed to sit. Immediately, your hands were on his shoulders, kissing him. Hungrier than before. Azriel was done with reluctance. He was going to take what he wanted.

He pulled you into his lap, relishing your surprised gasp. He pulled you closer, letting his want guide him. He kissed your jaw. That neck. He nearly growled, letting himself indulge in the softness. Letting himself taste it. Your soft sighs were music to his ears. His hands ran all along your form. Down your arms, across your back, squeezing your ass.

When you were a panting mess in his arms, he released you. The scent of your need was an aphrodisiac he’d happily overdose on. Your hands shook as you brought his hand to your apex where your legs parted on his lap. He let you position his hand, gasping with you at the wet warmth he was met with.

You showed him how to touch you, how to move his two fingers against the plush softness of your sex.

Azriel hardened again at the feel of the wet ridges he stroked. You released his hand, your whole body trembling. Your mouth hung open, brows pinched. He began moving faster, curious to see what would—oh.

You whimpered.

Your pleasure turned him on more than anything he’d ever fantasized about. When you began rolling your hips onto his hand, losing control, Azriel bent forward and captured the peak of your breast in his mouth.

You cried out, gasping as your legs widened and then closed tightly around his hips. He rose to watch, keeping his hand nestled between your legs.

Your eyes were screwed shut as you fell off the precipice, grasping his hand away. Only then did he let up, and you exhaled, your body relaxing onto his lap.

Azriel wasn’t sure if… this meant that it was over, if you were spent, but one thing he knew for certain was he’d take being painfully aroused without finishing anytime if it meant he got to bring you pleasure like that. He was content with going home now and taking care of himself, no matter how much he ached for more if it meant watching you come like that.

You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing him. “More,” you spoke huskily. “I want more.”

Thank God.

You got off his lap on unsteady legs, laying back on the bed, and the sight of you spreading your legs for him was nearly his undoing.

But Azriel took steadying breaths, rising and positioning himself over you. His hips hovered above yours, arms holding him up on either side of your frame.

Azriel felt something entirely instinctive take over. He knew where he wanted to bury himself. Where he needed to. He forgot about his worries. There was only the drive to push himself inside.

There was the rest of the world, and then there was you.

He notched the head of his aching length against your heat. You reached down and helped guide him, lining it up correctly. Lower—there, his length rested upon a soft indent. Azriel shuddered. He could hear your heart beat frantically.

He took a shaking inhale and pushed his way in. Just an inch.

His mouth parted, and that feeling—that absolute bliss that was your tightness squeezing him—Azriel couldn’t think.

This was it.

He didn’t realize he’d needed it; all he knew in the wake of your silky warmth was that this was utter relief.

There was an urge to sink in. To sheath himself.

But when he dared push forward, you tensed. Cassian’s tales echoed in his head, to not be a brute, to not take pleasure at the cost of comfort. That it can sometimes feel like breaking for females. Flashes of his father’s brawny form crossed his consciousness, giving him the strength to fight the urge to bury himself. Not him. I’m not him. So Azriel breathed through the reflex, resisting, resisting, resisting. Until you relaxed. Still, Azriel held back.

He must’ve begun shaking because your hands were suddenly soothing up and down his arms, stroking through his hair, grounding him back on earth. “It’s okay,” you breathed. With your feet planted on the bed, you hauled your hips up, spearing yourself further onto his length.

Azriel hissed. You were a temptress, taunting his self-restraint. But Azriel was a fiend, and he wanted you more than he could recall wanting anything.

So he watched as you relaxed again and gave more. Your head rested on the pillow, lolling to the side as you sighed in relief. You liked it, he confirmed. Females want it too.

He gave an experimental pull, relishing the feel of your walls tugging against his withdrawal, then he thrust forward, this time even further. Your brows pinched, giving him momentary pause again until he realized it was in pleasure, not in pain. You nearly took all of him.

It was so good. His head began clouding, a haziness that had him closing his eyes as they rolled back. He understood why the others talked about sex like it was better than breathing.

Another slow withdrawal until only his tip was notched inside, then he pushed forward, finally plunging to the hilt, his hips rested flush against yours. Azriel tried to stay present, to study your writhing, your panting, but the warmth inside you was making it difficult to focus. Azriel dropped to his forearms to keep himself from buckling onto you, the pleasure testing the strength in his arms.

He buried his head into your neck, listening to your erotic moans, holding his breath to keep from losing himself. He waited a few beats, willing away the oncoming precipice he felt approaching. No. He wanted this to last.

Then, you began rolling your hips from beneath him. Azriel groaned, low and guttural.

He set a steady thrusting pace as that knot of pleasure began growing again. He wouldn’t have lasted this long had you not brought him to release by your hand before.

Raising his head to watch, he found your brows pulled taut with pleasure. He was bringing you that pleasure. He wanted to see you tip over the edge again. “Y/N,” he rasped lowly. You opened your pretty eyes in question. “Keep your eyes on me,” he commanded; the darkness displacing your irises pulling a grunt of deep male approval from him.

You whimpered, trying to focus on his eyes, but yours kept falling shut involuntarily. He had the gall to halt when you failed to oblige, as if he could want anything more than to rut inside forever.

With his length paused halfway, your eyes flared, staring in shock. Azriel held your gaze, but yours narrowed in challenge. You planted your feet on the bed once again and began rolling your hips onto his length at the same pace he’d been previously working. It was intoxicating.

Azriel’s jaw dropped, eyes falling to where your bodies met, watched as you speared yourself onto him again and again.

The sight nearly undid him, but luckily, it got you first.

The roll of your hips brushed your apex against his pubic bone, and you whined as you pushed yourself over the limit of your release.

Your hips fell back onto the bed when you couldn’t take it anymore. Azriel seized the opportunity, fucking into you faster as your walls clenched around him. You cried out, gasping. Your warmth suctioned him deeper, squeezing him in waves. Azriel’s climax was harder than he’d ever come before. His arms shook and he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

The pleasure at last abated, and he let himself partially rest his weight on you for a moment until the feeling returned to his body. You stroked down his back, exhaling in relief. Azriel lifted himself, staring at you with wide-eyed bliss. Holy shit.

“That was so good,” you breathed. “Where’d you learn to… how did you—”

Pride swelled in Azriel’s chest as he broke into a crooked smile. “I had the right motivation.”

You glared playfully. Azriel finally pulled out, halting when you gasped. But you shook your head at his concern. “It’s okay—it’s just sensitive after—” you gestured between your bodies. He nodded, falling into bed as you yanked the covers over yourselves.

“But you’ll be okay?” Azriel asked tentatively.

You laughed, eyes closing happily. “I’m more than okay, Azriel.” You traced a hand tiredly over his arm.

He tracked the movement. “I love that,” he murmured.

“You love what, darling?”

“The softness,” he confessed quietly. The softness of women.

You smiled with your eyes closed, winding your arms around his neck, sinking against his body. Azriel enveloped you. “Come find me anytime you want some more softness,” you breathed.

He listened to your breathing as you fell asleep; despite the relief relaxing his body, it took a while for him to fall asleep from the vivid intimacy he felt with you in his arms, how settled it made him feel.

So Azriel basked in it, didn’t fight it as it crept into the crevices of his weary soul and quietly healed him until the sky turned to light.

~

Azriel walked through the camp on light footsteps, his head blissfully clear. He was savouring the rare peace he felt, knowing it was only a matter of time before—

“There you are,” Rhys smiled widely, coming out of the communal hall with Cassian. “Looks like someone’s feeling rather relaxed.”

Azriel cracked a smile, neither confirming nor denying.

Cassian grinned. “Was it with her?”

Before Azriel could respond, he heard soft female chatter drawing nearer. He turned to find you walking to the hall with a friend. You didn’t halt your stride, only brushing the back of Azriel’s hand softly with your own as you passed, throwing a teasing smile over your shoulder.

The boys tracked your movement, giving Azriel the chance to nod while he still had your attention. You had him wrapped around your finger. Cassian laughed boisterously when they faced him once more. “You sly dog, Azriel Shadowsinger.”

He heard you faintly laughing up ahead, having heard Cassian. That gentle, feminine sound caressed him, making him smile easy.

Indeed, he could learn about softness.

~

taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopia @aroseinvelaris @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @emotionless-lover @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123 @banasheefan56 @nyotamalfoy

a/n: I’ve been obsessed w this concept for weeks. Young az w his troubled past learning to find reprieve in women? like have you guys ever thought about his first time? he could barely look at Mor when she arrived at Windhaven, how’d he work up the courage to bed a female pls. Special s/o to darling @princess-tulip-writes for helping me w the title and listening to me vent about this obsession :) love you all

[webbluvrsugar]

HIGH HEELS ‘N A PINT — EPISODE TWO.

(also known as: waitress au pt2)

cw: phone sex, solo masturbation, drabble (not a fic, just like my other works, it’s short.), no use of y/n.

a/n: I know I took long babes, but I really wanted to make sure you’d like this, especially since I’m now planning on turning this into a mini-series of drabbles, that said, enjoy! (for the people that voted fluff, don’t worry, it’ll come soon.)

PART ONE — PART TWO.

It’s been a few days since that… inconvenient interaction at your workplace. Sure, you may have fallen for the trick and ended up calling him after work that day, but it was just to blow off some steam.

Except that when you think about that day, all you can remember is the way he touched you, the way he pulled your hair and spanked you ‘till your ass got sore, the way he walked in your apartment like it was his and the way he immediately grabbed you by the hips.

Not the 300 dollar tip. Not the calm environment. Sex.

That’s all you could think about — hot and gross sex with a man you just found out to be Rafe Cameron.

So today, when it’s deep in the night and you can’t sleep, you think about calling him, a sigh escaping you as you roll on the sheets, the window open but still doing nothing to calm you down.

You’re seriously thinking about calling him, but then — your phone rings.

You pick up, his contact unsaved but you recognise the number too well. “What you doing right now?” He says almost immediately, his voice boyish, you can hear his grin though the phone.

“Trying to sleep.” You whisper against the phone, it’s a lie. “You’re interrupting me.” You sigh.

“Aahh, sorry ‘bout that.” You can hear ruffling in the background, the sound of a zipper being undone.

“Why’d you call me?” You ask, sitting up on your bed.

“Idunno, just did,” you grow quiet, his breath itches. “Just keep talking about whatever you girls talk about.”

“Well uh —“ you stop, you can hear a certain distinctive sound in the background, a certain ‘shlick, shlick, shlick’ ringing in your ears as long as small grunts on showing up slightly every minute that passes, you can almost identify what it is, makes your cheeks flush.

“What are you doing right now?” You ask, he doesn’t answer, he’s too focused on gripping the base of his cock harder and speeding up his movements, his palm moving with the sound of your voice as he can only think about you, about your naked body spread on his sheets as he pounds into you.

“Oh, me?” He chuckles, a groan escapes him. “Nah, ‘m just, uuuhhhh…” you giggle, he laughs, his pace speeds up. “You’d call it self care.”

You frown, breathing in and out, you know what he’s doing, he’s masturbating to you, to your voice, to the way you sound.

“Are you…jacking off to me?” You question, as if you don’t know.

“Mhmmmm.” He admits, a relieved sigh escaping him. “But, I ‘ain’t got a pretty picture of you so..” he all but moans, head kicking back against the wall, you can hear the small thud. “Gotta use your pretty voice.”

“My voice?” You question, your own hand slipping into your shirt.

“Yeah, my dick kinda likes it.”

taglist: @nemesyaaa @mymultiveres @thatswhytheycallme-lanita @sublimepenguinpeach-blog | moots: @fridays13th @babygorewhore @fae-of-prey

[iifishizzleii]

a 141!fanfic, except it’s told from the point of view of the reader’s best friend— you. like, actual you.

(pt. 2)

you, who sees neighbor!simon while walking the reader to their apartment late at night, catching simon as he steps out his apartment, locking the door and dressed to the nines in black and a balaclava, and you immediately drag reader into their apartment. you don’t even let them say hi to him because he’s a fucking behemoth dressed in “bitch what the FUCK” and with a hint of three “hell”s and four “naw”s. and there’s no way in hell you’re standing within ten feet of him without your mace. and when reader decides to bake him goodies anyways to be a ‘good neighbor’ despite your protests of “you think it’s cute until your fucking underwear is going missing when you do laundry and that guy is suddenly at every store and shop you go to”. (reader calls you an asshole for that, and you say you’re being realistic while holding back from putting cyanide in the brownie mix) and it ends up with neighbor!simon opening his door, eyes darting down to reader’s bashful smile and freshly baked goods, before widening a fraction when he sees you standing not too far behind with a metal bat behind your back.

you, who spots drunk!soap flirting with drunk reader at a bar and immediately whisks them away, arms wrapped around their sides like a mama bear carrying their cub. you ignore the pointed look the scottish man sends you, obviously annoyed at your interruption, so you flip him off and threatening to pin his dick to a wall if he so much as tries to follow you guys out. and when he persists, giving out his help to drag poor reader, intoxicated out of their mind, back to your car. so you start barking at him like how those girls would bark at unwanted attention from men in the tiktoks u see. and it shocks soap silent because one— he’s never been refused before. and two— he’s never been refused by a fucking bark. but he’s too flabbergasted (and drunk) to do much more than watch you toss reader into the passenger seat of your car and speed off. if he memorizes your license plate in that span of time, you don’t know that yet.

you, who’s visiting reader at the diner they work at. you’re sitting by yourself at one of the smaller booths— you don’t mind because you’re only there until reader gets off their shift so that you both can go hang out after. but, it’s five minutes before they can clock out when a man with skin the color of fresh soil and the roundest brown eyes knocks their drink on accident, a full pint of beer spraying all over the countertop. customer!gaz notices the spilt he caused, but only gives reader— who’d already changed out of uniform and had their bag slung over one shoulder— a glance and a quick smile before returning to his seemingly important conversation with a man in a boonie hat. and, that’s all it takes to get you rising from your seat and storming toward the scene, snagging a bunch of paper towels from your table and rushing over to help reader clean the mess up. you don’t care if you’re not supposed to— they’re off work, which means they shouldn’t be cleaning up after grown men who can’t spare their own mistakes a glance. and that’s exactly what you spit at both men, watching them both snap their heads at you as you loudly hiss, “you think you’re too fucking good to at least apologize for your mess? fucking dickeads”, then turning around to give reader a reassuring smile and helping finish in cleaning the mess. when customer!price begins to apologize and so does his companion, both looking equally apologetic, you only roll your eyes and guide reader out by the hand while also ignoring the way reader seemed to gush about both of the handsome men. as if they had conveniently forgotten about how it was their fault you both reeked of beer now.

you, who runs from hell and back to keep reader away from the 141 because they’re sketchy as fuck, even from a civilians standpoint. but, all that energy you put in redirecting their focus somewhere else, only puts it on an entirely unexpected target; you. like, actual you.

[icallhimjoey]

fake joe! fake joe! we need him now more than ever PLEASE give us some of this soft idiot who loves us more than life itself? 🥺

all RIGHT, here we GO (quick psa: he's not extremely soft in this, but an idiot: always) enjoy! Wordcount: 3.3K

---

All The Aces

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe was wrong, you were stubborn, and it was all right.

It was all right.

You could do things yourself. It was fine. Not as fun, but… not to toot your own horn or anything, but you were pretty good at it. Have had a lot of practice, you see. Have been with enough other men who didn’t know how to do it quite like you could do it yourself, and so, you were fine. You were all right.

However, you weren’t feeling so great when your whole group of friends found out what Joe’d been doing. Friday nights at the pub were a long-standing tradition, and apparently the topic of conversation being your sex life was one too. 

Not a huge surprise, seeing as Izzy still had trouble looking Joe in the eye after witnessing what she had witnessed.

Within fifteen minutes, everyone was brought up to speed. Everyone got updated on what Izzy had seen and heard, got told about this stupid conversation you’d had that one night, and you’d revealed what it had resulted into.

“Wow... can’t believe you’re saying wild shit around Joe like that, you know what he’s like.” One friend had said, blaming you for your own current problem.

“Well,” Izzy had interjected. “Don’t feel too bad for her. You also know what she is like.”

It’d gotten hearty laughs from everyone but Joe. He’d just looked at you over a pint and tried working out what your smug little smile meant.

A couple of jokes later, he’d caught on.

“It’s good I’ve got that magic touch myself, you know?” you’d giggled into your drink, bumping shoulders with your female friends as they laughed and cheersed their drinks with yours as you took a sip.

Oh, Joe caught on all right. And he didn’t like it one bit.

Afterwards, in bed, with Izzy on the other side of the wall, you had only just gotten comfortable when Joe silently whispered, “I think you’re cheating.”

“Mhm, what do you mean, I’m cheating?” you whispered on the backend of a sigh, too tired to turn around to face him, but already gathering the mental strength in case it was going to be necessary.

“Well, you said... before, you said, sex wasn’t about the orgasm, didn’t you? That’s what you said.”

And, big annoyed groan. It was going to be necessary.

“And it isn’t.” You confirmed, just turning your head to find his eyes in the barely there light the outside provided you with.

“Yea, but...”

All right. You were turning over fully now. Spooning was nice, and not smelling Joe’s breath after he’d eaten what smelled like eighteen garlic cloves was lovely too, but this seemed like a chat that needed eye-contact. Or, at least, the ability to tell by Joe’s face if he was being serious or not. 

“But?”

“But then, what you said tonight. You’re just... you’re doing it yourself? All the time? You’re making yourself c–”

“Yea.” You interrupted. “So?” Had he really expected you not to?

“So that doesn’t really count then, does it?” 

You leant up on an elbow, mirroring Joe’s position, eyes level now, ready to tell Joe he was overreacting whilst also trying to keep your voice as quiet as you possibly could. This was the stupidest thing, and Izzy didn’t need to hear it. If she did, it would likely be the topic of conversation next week.

“What do you mean? You try not coming during sex and then wanking on your own the next day. It’s not exactly the same, you know?”

“Yea... yea, I know.” Joe was reminded of the bet that got him into your bed in the first place. That was essentially exactly what he had done for a full week - Joe very muchly knew it wasn’t exactly the same.

“But...”

“But?”

“I don’t know... I don’t like that.” Joe said softly and a little embarrassed. You could tell by his face that he knew you were going to laugh at him. Which you then did. Far too loudly, too.

You were immediately shushed.

“Baby, that’s okay.” Your amusement was audible in your voice, smile still there but eyes on the wall, because: Izzy. “You’re allowed to not like things, I’m sure you’ll survive just fine.”

You were ready to roll back over. Get back into your spooning position where Joe’s body heat would make sure you wouldn’t go cold throughout the night.

“No, I don’t like that.” Joe doubled down, foregoing the whispers, and you paused for a second. Froze, and waited for him to explain himself.

“I don’t want you to orgasm.” Joe then said, a bit softer, barely even saying the last word at all.

But you’d heard him.

Loud and clear.

It was enough to make you roll back slightly. Enough to look over your shoulder and see that... he wasn’t joking.

What the fuck.

You blinked at him a few times.

Gave him a second to maybe take back what he’d just said.

Then, when he didn’t burst into laughter like you thought he should’ve done, you said, “Hey so... remember when we talked about icks a lot?”

“Stop.” Joe rolled his eyes, already annoyed with your response. You weren’t taking him seriously at all.

“I may have just found one.”

“Stop.” Joe let himself fall onto his back and rubbed a hand over his face. It made you turn towards him more, sitting up slightly now. 

“You can’t actually be serious.”

And Joe looked like he was maybe trying to figure out if he was being serious. If maybe actually this was just to be funny. Just a silly goof to make you laugh. But then, he gestured a hand in front of two widened eyes that he let then drop onto his lap.

“Okay, so maybe you are being serious, but I won’t take it seriously.”

Joe gave you a look.

“I’m sorry. I won’t. I don’t think I can.” 

To that, Joe rolled back onto his side and let his fingers find the sleeve of your top to play with.

“Yea, but... do you think you could still be as certain about sex not being about the orgasm if you also then couldn’t orgasm in your own time?” Joe looked up through his eyelashes, big brown eyes trying their best to work their magic on you.

You just blankly stared at him.

Tried thinking of a time when he’d been more ridiculous.

Second-guessed if Joe even was someone you wanted to have in your bed with you right now.

Narrowed your eyes at him when he raised his eyebrows at you, his chin dipping down a little as he did.

“It’d be interesting to know…” Joe shrugged a hopeful shoulder up to his ear, and the little smile he flashed at you made you want to humour him, though not without a small little hint of sarcasm.

“Like a science experiment? Are you going to document your findings? Write it all down and send it in for a Blue Peter badge? What is even–”

But Joe couldn’t care less about how sarcastic you sounded. Didn’t even laugh at your Blue Peter joke.

“No, like me edging you and seeing how long it takes ‘til it drives you mad.”

“Drives me– …. Joe. Come on.”

You decided to turn over fully now. This conversation was done. Over. You were tired. Needed sleep.

“I’m not joking. I kind of, sort of, want to know. A little bit.”

You didn’t respond.

“Hey,” Joe tried.

“Joe, I have deadlines at work.” You let your head find a comfortable spot on your pillow, cheek rubbing into the soft fabric, doing your very best to dismiss Joe.

But Joe wasn’t going to give in so easily, unfortunately.

“So?” Joe cosied up a bit, hoping that maybe a hand on your waist and a leg sneaking its way in between yours would sway you into being a little more agreeable for him.

“So, I’m tired. Good night.”

Joe didn’t accept that.

“So you mean you admit you need to cross the finish line to be able to make deadlines at work?”

“Oh my God, you’re insane. No. Of course not.”

You were tired, but not any less stubborn. You’d happily die on this weird hill.

“So,” Joe let his hand slide over your stomach where it found the hem of your top to sneak under. “Let’s try then.”

“You’re insane.” you murmured into your pillow, ready for this conversation to be over,

God. It was late.

“Please?”

“Ick.”

You were so tired.

“Please.”

“Fine.”

You heard a small little gasp behind you, followed by a beat of silence and then a very quiet and innocent, “Yea?”

You had your eyes closed already, ignoring what you’d just said and determined to will yourself into REM sleep within about four seconds.

“You mean that?”

“Shh, go to sleep. I’m tired.”

And for a moment it was quiet, but then Joe snuggled up and whispered, “Okay.” before he pressed a small little kiss on the skin just behind your ear. “Good night. Hands to yourself.”

You couldn’t help the loud scoff that escaped you then. “I’m going to murder you one day.”

“Shh, go to sleep. You’re tired.”

Tired, and stubborn.

More stubborn than was good for you. Or, than made sense, unfortunately.

There was something about wanting to prove Joe wrong that seemed to be easily redirected, but still held you in its vice grip. You were never going to admit you were wrong. Wouldn’t dream of giving him that satisfaction.

It didn’t matter that you were quite literally driving yourself mad with it.

You would fucking win this, God damn it.

Joe was going to eat his words and you were going to be the one to feed them to him.

What you hadn’t anticipated when you’d snapped an irritated fine at him, agreeing to this ridiculous new bet, was how different having sex with Joe would become.

Different in a sense you wouldn’t have been able to predict at all.

Before, you’d let Joe sort of do what he wanted. Would let him work you up and then would follow his lead as he would make sure you’d feel good before he did.

Joe was good at foreplay. Enjoyed it lots himself too, if he was honest. There was something very enjoyable about making you all soft for him. About seeing the minuscule change in your smile as lust slowly took a hold of you. About the way you’d fight it for half a minute before you’d just entirely give in to him, and let him do whatever he’d want, pretty much.

And he still did that.

You’d claimed that those were the important things, so he made sure to always pay them close attention. To whisper all the right words. To let fingertips trail in all the right places. To squeeze where your body felt tight until it didn’t anymore.

He still did all that.

But once he would have you in the palm of his hand, he’d then just do what he liked.

Would touch you where he liked to touch you.

Would move you into positions he liked the feel of.  

Would chase and stretch his own pleasure, yours forgotten and left behind.

This was the bet.

The experiment.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t try pulling lovely sounds out of you. He enjoyed that too. Would spur him on like nothing else would, when he’d suddenly get you in a way that made you almost yelp.

But it was clear he did that shit for himself.

And you were fine.

Stubborn.

“How was that, baby?” Joe’d ask, still panting and wet with sweat, already smiling at his own stupid question.

But you’d just smile widely. Give him a little smooch, and you’d say, “Loved it.” which was never a lie.

You did always love it.

You really did.

Shut up. You did.

What Joe hadn’t anticipated, was that you reached a point where you were the one who’d started pushing him away when you’d feel yourself getting too close.

“Stop, stop... wait.” You’d still Joe. “We can’t, I’ve got to–” and you’d move to get Joe away from everything too sensitive.

It had really taken him by surprise, sort of confused him a second as he watched you breathe through flared nostrils as you tried to ground yourself.

And, shit.

If that wasn’t one of the hottest things he’d ever experienced.

The first time you’d done that, he’d immediately praised you. Got his mouth on your ear and whispered, “Good girl. My good girl, doing just as she’s told, isn’t she?” and you’d groaned and pushed him away even more, because that wasn’t helping.

But he was right.

You were being good, because you were stubborn, and you were going to win this because Joe was wrong.

You were being good at not letting yourself come when you had sex with Joe.

You were also being good at not secretly getting yourself off in private.

Made it seem so easy.

Too easy.

You hadn’t told Joe that you’d googled what hormones an orgasm released, and what other ways to get those same results, but that was neither here nor there.

You were being good.

Too good.

And then, one evening, after sharing dinner together at Joe’s flat, he suddenly seemed to question everything.

You’d just settled on the sofa when Joe decided to ask, “How do I actually know if you’re not secretly still touching yourself?”

You turned your head to look him dead in the eye. “Um, you trust me.”

That got him right in his funny bone.

“I’ve not been absolutely acing this just for you to turn around and tell me that you don’t believe me,” you scoffed full of disbelief, but still smiling, because you got your boy to laugh. “What even is the point then? If there’s no trust?”

Joe laughed louder, because if he was honest, there wasn’t really any point to this at all, was there?

“Might as well do it if you think I am, anyways.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Joe accused, and the absolute aghast face you made as you moved away from him was enough for him to immediately reel it back in.

“No, no, okay, you’re right, come here. I trust you.” Joe pulled you back into his side and gave you a tight cuddle before kissing into your hair and repeating, “I trust you.”

A moment of silence passed where you toyed with the idea of telling him you’d had a sex dream the other night.

You’d not had a sex dream in ages.

Knew you’d only had one because you weren’t left satisfied, so your mind started seeking it elsewhere.

But you decided against it when Joe then softly asked, “How do you do it?”

“Mental strength. Sheer determination.”

Joe silently laughed, “No, I mean. How would you do it yourself?”

You side-eyed Joe and tried to hide the growing smile on your face.

“You want me to tell you how I get myself off?”

Joe looked at his feet that rested on his coffee table as he shrugged.

“Yea. Would you do it in the shower after, sometimes?”

“Like you would?”

Joe made quick eye-contact as he guiltily smiled. You knew exactly what he’d been doing that one week of favours.

“Sometimes.” You then admitted, knowing this was a conversation that was going to work Joe up enough to probably maybe end up underneath him in his bed.

“Yea? Would you.. would you use the shower head?”

You couldn’t help the cackle that escaped you. “No, actually. Not enough pressure.”

“Fingers then?”

You frowned through a smile and pulled away from Joe a little to give him a good look.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Joe was quick to argue, eyebrows raised in innocence. “I just want to know.”

You then just looked at each other a moment, and you saw from up close how Joe slowly let his bottom lip roll into his mouth to bite into.

“Yea my fingers.” You then said softly, and Joe let his head drop to the side as his eyebrows knitted together.

“Both hands, sometimes.”

Joe had to suppress a groan. Only managed it just about.

“Take my time. Do it real slow.”

“Yea?”

You let your eyes flick down to see if you could see enough of Joe’s crotch to witness him grow in his jeans.

You could.

“Mhm, touch everywhere that feels nice. Soft at first, but then a little harder.”

Joe turned his head and pressed his forehead into your shoulder as his breathing got a little heavier.

He was definitely getting hard.

Men were so easy, it was stupid.

“Gotta be quiet though...”

“Quiet, yea.”

“Can’t let anybody hear.”

“No, you–” Joe nearly choked on his spit. “You can’t.”

“Got a flatmate just in the other room.”

Joe shifted a little, pulled on the fabric of his jeans to give himself a little more room, no attempt to hide his arousal in the slightest.

Then, he cleared his throat before he hoarsely said, “No flatmate here though...”

You smiled and shook your head a little.

“That’s right. No flatmate here.”

Joe couldn’t stop looking at your lips, and you felt how he sagged into the sofa more. Leant into your side a little more heavily.

“But...” you then continued, giving him your most innocent wide-eyed look as you slowly shook your head. “Can’t do any of that, can I?”

Joe mirrored your facial expression and the head shaking, not even aware he was really doing it, easily agreeing with dazed half-lidded eyes, “No, can’t do that.”

“You told me no, didn’t you?”

“Told you no.”

Joe was straining inside of his dark blue no-stretch one hundred per cent cotton denim, and wasn’t it just delicious to give Joe just a little bit of his own medicine?

“So...” you suddenly spoke up loudly and slapped a strong hand onto his thigh. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“I– what?”

You were already up on your feet before Joe’d fully landed back into his own living room.

“I promised Izzy I’d help her with–”

“No, you can’t do that!”

You turned around, phone in hand, checking it for any missed messages and smirked a little.

“Oh, but I think I can.”

“This is...” Joe let himself fall back into his sofa, shaking his head in outraged disbelief, “Unbelievable.”

Slinging your arms into your jacket, you couldn’t help but laugh.

Joe was wrong, and it would serve him right to feel how wrong he was too.

“You better believe it, baby!” you said theatrically, stepping closer and bending just to give Joe a quick kiss goodbye. “See you tomorrow?”

“I don’t like this.” He murmured against your mouth, but you ignored it.

“We can do lunch?” Easy-breezy. Very nonchalant.

“I don’t like this.” Joe repeated himself more urgently, voice raised a little more as he watched you leave the room.

You stopped in the doorway to throw him a last smile. Saw how Joe squeezed his erection over his clothes, face in a deep frown, so fucking annoyed.

You fucking loved it.

“Baby, that’s okay.” You cooed. “You’re allowed to not like things.”

You really were acing this stupid bet.

Joe was wrong, and you were stubborn, and you were going to make him feel how right you were in his bones until he’d admit it.

“I’m sure you’ll survive just fine.”

---

The Taglisted

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add yourself

[blog-name-idk]

The Plot Twist | 04

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

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Chapter 4: "You like Pac-man, right?"

"How dare you!"

You’ve just finished entering the final character to G0d$l@yeR_69 when you look up from the post-game leaderboard screen.

"Pardon?" you ask in confusion, slightly alarmed by the speed in which a masked man is walking towards you and the Pac-man machine. Even with the mask, the exaggerated furrow marring the man’s forehead is more than enough for you to discern that he is less than pleased. You square your shoulders, in case you need to defend the precious apparatus. Well, that and protect Lee-ssi, but mostly the Pac-man game.

"You're G0d$l@yeR_69?" the man squawks, voice irate. He gives you a once over and bristles further. You can almost imagine his fluffy hair rising like the feathers of an offended bird, and he… kind of sounds like one, too. You struggle to stifle your snicker when he gestures broadly to your grown stature, incredulous even as he finally discerns to himself, “You’re not some pint-sized punk!”

“And yet here you are, humbled all the same.” you respond haughtily, dusting off the imaginary lint off your burgundy dress. “Based on your reaction, I take it you’re ‘Jin the PacMan God’?”

You pause.

Wait.

Jin?

In fact, this offended cockatoo of a man actually looks… familiar. Broad shoulders, nice eyebrows, and –

Your blood pressure skyrockets as you realize exactly who is yelling at you. Unfortunately, your temper rises faster than your self-preservation.

"I'm sorry, BTS Jin is the same stupid kid who calls himself 'Jin the PacMan God?'" you blurt before you can stop yourself. "What self-respecting adult wastes so much time on an arcade game?"

He raises an eyebrow at you with a pointed stare, and you shrug. You don't fit into that category. You certainly don't respect yourself.

"A grown woman calls herself G0d$l@yeR_69?" Kim Seokjin jabs in return, crossing his arms, now looking more sulky than angry.

"Well, it's accurate to lore," you retort with an uncaring flip of your hair, doing your best to look bored rather than reflect the panic beginning to clog your throat. His genuinely offended gasp would have made you laugh if you weren't currently running through the possible exit routes in your head.

And then Jin says, "Well, you must be cheating!"

The egregious accusation dispels all thoughts of escape from your head. Your pride and integrity as a gamer have been insulted, and you narrow your eyes at the self-proclaimed pro-gamer before you.

You’re fully prepared to defend your honor.

It's on.

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Jimin doesn't get it.

How could he be unlucky enough to get sidelined a second time in a row? He wasn't even late this time! But because there had been more men than women (a bit heteronormative for his tastes, but that's the current state of most official speed-dating events), he and a few others had to wait aside for a rotation. And then somehow, everyone had already decided to pair up before he even got to meet anyone!

Perhaps it's karma and he's being punished for telling his Jin-hyung that he sort of kind of definitely looked like a certain pink Moluccan bird species when he was all riled up and red-eared.

With a sigh, he leaves the building, shoulders slumped. He can't quite bring himself to call Jin yet, and so he decides to walk aimlessly for a while. Perhaps some fresh air will cheer him up.

It's a bustling street, and he nervously brings his mask up higher on his face lest he be recognized. No one seems to be paying attention however, and the people going about their daily lives remind him that despite his woes, life goes on.

An arcade catches his eye, and he shrugs to himself. A few rounds of killing zombies or racing fake cars will take his mind off things. It's a school day, so it's unlikely the place will be packed.

When he walks in, he hears a familiar screech, accompanied by the sound of a boot stomping on the ground.

"Yahhh! How did you do that?! That's not fair!"

What is Jin-hyung doing here? And what is he yelling about?

Curious, he follows the voice past the shopkeeper who looks torn between concern and amusement, to where Jin is ranting at someone obscured by his frame.

A p(r)etty sigh.

"I'm sorry this is so difficult for you to get through that coconut haircut of yours, but has it occurred to you that I'm just better?"

Huh, that voice is also familiar.

"That’s just prepos–"

"...Hyung?"

The voices cease as the two arguers turn to look at Jimin, and he feels his breath catch in his throat.

You look particularly lovely today, with a form-fitting burgundy dress that shows off much more soft-looking skin than the business or lounge attire you wear on the rare occasion he actually sees you.

And his Jin-hyung, next to you, all rose-colored cockatoo.

It's more than enough to set Jimin off-balance.

"Oh! Hi, LN-ssi!" he hurriedly squeaks, cursing his voice for cracking. What are all his voice lessons even for?

At least you can't tell his palms are suddenly sweating. Your eyebrows rise and Jimin realizes you never did tell him your name, that he just saw it on your mailbox and it stuck in his brain. Oh no, do you think he's a stalker now?

"You know this phony?" Jin cries, oblivious to the internal crisis his dongsaeng is currently experiencing.

Jimin's brows crinkle. Phony?

Your head whips to his hyung at his words, your eyes narrowing.

"I believe you saw proof with your own two eyes," you say icily, though your gaze has a fire that makes Jimin gulp. "Maybe you should get them checked? Sometimes they can fail with old age."

Jin's jaw drops, and as a constipated sound of outrage leaves him, you take the opportunity to brush past and march to the exit. Jimin, still confused, steps aside automatically to let you pass and you give him a reluctant nod.

"Jimin-ssi."

As you leave, Jin turns to Jimin to demand answers, but he barely hears it over the fluttering in his tummy.

It's the first time you've ever addressed him by name.

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The twelve-year-old boy opens his hand, revealing hard candy wrapped in shiny, yellow paper.

"You like Pac-man, right?" he asks, smiling brighter than the sun.

You accept his offering, sure your own face is radiant enough to power all of Gwangju. You can't say you have strong feelings for the buttery treat, but you do for the little boy who fills your days with laughter and sweet memories. You could spend forever playing with him at the park by your houses…

Except your parents get the brilliant idea of starting their own restaurant in Seoul. You are heartbroken when the decision to move is made, but you do your best to support their dreams, even if it comes at the expense of your only friend.

Out of sentimentality and denial, you save the shiny candy wrapper, holding it when you're sad, as if it's a talisman that can ward off the lonely ache in your chest. It's hard being the new kid in a big-city school, and though you present your mother's strong facade when your new classmates tease you about your satoori, it hurts. You have to be strong.

After one particularly bad day, you decide to drop into the local arcade, because all it will take is one smile from your appa to disintegrate your cracking veneer. You're a big girl, basically an adult at a whopping eleven years old! You're not a baby anymore, you just need some extra time to set yourself right.

You weave through the attractions, passing racing games and claw machines when something catches your eye. A familiar yellow character smiles at you from a game cabinet, and for a moment you feel like he is still there with you.

You walk up to the Pac-man arcade machine with newfound resolve and a sunny smile to match.

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“Sometimes I wanna drop by Gwangju,” Jung Hoseok begins, taking his seat at the dining table next to Taehyung, “But then I remember they already demolished the playplace from my childhood and think, huh, maybe not. Thing is, they sold really good tteok there.”

“Pan-fried tteok?” Taehyung leans back, remembering the taste of his own favorite rice cake flavors from Daegu. “My hometown had that, too.”

“Sometimes the cart owner-ahjussi would give us candy with our orders. I miss it a lot.”

Hobi's eyes take on a wistful look, and Taehyung pats his shoulder.

It must have been some really good candy.

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"Honey! I'm home!" you call, setting your briefcase on the floor as your husband rushes up to you wearing a cute apron that has nothing on his sweet face and sweeter smile.

"I just finished dinner," he says, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek that makes your chest fill with the glow of a million fireflies.

"What, mudcakes again?" you ask fondly. You thread your fingers with his, uncaring of the dirt on his palms, giggling at the pout on his face.

"You said they're your favorite!" he complains petulantly, though he doesn't pull away.

"They are," you agree, squeezing his hand in yours reassuringly. You beam at him, and his cheeks turn pink. "If it's something you made, it's my favorite."

You're suddenly tugged towards him and you squeak in surprise as wiry arms crush the air out of your lungs.

"You're my favorite," he mumbles into your hair, and it's the happiest you've felt in your entire nine years of existence.

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It's great to be back in Gwangju, away from all the insanity happening in Seoul. You can finally relax and live life rather than constantly look over your shoulder in the fear of running into another member of BTS.

Fuck you, fate! You're taking a break.

You knock on the old, familiar door, and it opens to reveal a kind, lightly lined face that breaks into a huge smile at the sight of you.

"Halmeoni!" you announce happily, stepping into your grandmother's arms and hugging her fiercely. She hugs you back just as hard, squeezing you with her deceptively spindly limbs as you melt into a hold that feels like childhood.

"We've been waiting!" she replies cheerfully before ushering you to the living room and calling your grandpa to come greet you. The house is the same as you remember, a comforting echo of days past.

"Oh! We ran into that boy you used to play with at the store earlier!" your grandma says just as you pick up your cup of tea. "The one you used to play house with!"

You laugh, thinking fondly of your childhood friend. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if he had been your soulmate, rather than a group of the seven biggest idols in Korea. Or perhaps not – the things that are so simple to children don't always translate to adulthood, and those memories hold an untainted innocence that you wouldn't trade for the world.

You bring the cup of homebrewed tea to your lips, only to choke at your grandmother's next words.

"I invited him over for dinner!"

You stare at the twinkle in your suddenly menacing grandmother's eyes. In just one simple sentence, she has transformed from the kindly, loving fixture of your youth to yet another cruel, scheming matchmaker. Truly your mother’s maker. Leaving Seoul might have saved you from idol-related phenomena, but clearly not from your family's attempts at grand (and great-grand) children.

Instinct drives you to your feet and you grab your purse, tripping over the rug as you rush to the door.

"I have to go," you call over your shoulder, uncaring of the baffled expression on your grandma's face.

"But you just got here?" she says in distressed confusion, and your stomach fills with guilt at the sadness in her voice. "We haven't seen you in so long, dear."

You still, hand on the doorknob and so, so close to freedom and safety. Eventually, you sigh, shoulders slumping as the resolve trickles out of your body.

"Never mind, I'm going to take my stuff upstairs," you say in resignation, grabbing the carry-on still by the door and carting it to the guest room. The wallet feels extra heavy in your purse, and when you're safely within the confines of your room you sit on the bed and pull it out.

You reach behind the ID card in the plastic slot of your wallet and feel the soft, crinkly edges of a fond childhood memory.

You like Pac-man, right?

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Hoseok still remembers the smile on your face whenever he gave you the extra candy he would get with his tteok in the park. As well as the thinly hidden devastation on your face the last time he saw you, and you told him your family was leaving for Seoul.

Despite him being older, he had always admired your courage and tenacity, the way you would charge head-first at the things you wanted. Your unwavering support whenever he was feeling down or uncertain. During hard times as a trainee, he would sometimes picture your determined expression and feel an extra spark of energy.

He really isn't sure what to expect, or even if he's in his right mind, coming to dinner to see his long lost… friend? Play-spouse?

Would you even remember him?

The door opens, and Hoseok's heart jumps at the sight of you. The tentative smile on your face fades into an expression of utter shock, and he belatedly remembers exactly who he is.

"Wh–what the–I–" you stammer, looking just as mortified as Hoseok feels. In his ruminations of childhood, he had completely forgotten his present state of being and how it might impact new encounters. "Can I help you?"

"Y-Y/N?" he asks tentatively. To his bafflement, you flinch as if he had screamed at you.

"How do you know my name?" you ask, stepping back with your hand on the door. You look five seconds away from slamming it in his face, and despite his misgivings, Hoseok's heart sinks. For some reason this cold reception feels worse than if you were a saesang.

"I'm… I'm here for dinner?" he says tentatively, proffering the seonmul he brought. The expression on your face is so reluctant that for a moment he takes a whiff of the bag in case the pastries from the most expensive bakery in the area have somehow gone bad.

With a spark of panic, Hoseok wonders if he accidentally went to the wrong address. The house is familiar, and you look similar to the little girl he remembers, but perhaps he's just let his hopes affect his memories. Why else would you look so shaken, other than a strange man showing up out of nowhere?

"But you're… you're not–"

"Y/N, what's taking so long?"

Relief fills him momentarily as your grandmother comes behind you, though it's tempered by the way you haven't relaxed.

"But this is… this isn't…" you stammer, face pale as you look between Hoseok and your grandmother. It hits him that you probably don't remember his real name, as you had been too young to pronounce it correctly when you had first met.

"You used to call me Hoba," he says with a smile, realizing that this is why you must be so confused – you've recognized him as Jung Hoseok of BTS, and thus not your playmate from so many years ago. "It's nice to see you again."

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This cannot be happening.

Not only is the smiling boy from your fondest memories Jung Hoseok of BTS, but he just somehow had a break in his schedule the same weekend you're in Gwangju, and he ran into your grandmother at the supermarket? You left Seoul to get a break from these ridiculous situations and not to end up having dinner with one of your soulmates!

What kind of contrived, unimaginative bullshit is this?

"These are for you," Hoseok tells your grandmother with a formal bow, offering the pretty, pastel pastry box you had refused to accept earlier. She beams approvingly while you pinch yourself. Hard.

Through the pain in your arm, Jung Hoseok is still standing in your entryway, a sunny nightmare you can't wake up from. The old wrapper, once a magical talisman to ward off gloom, is lead weight in your pocket.

"Um," he begins awkwardly, looking bashful. It is not cute. He is not cute. "And this is for you."

He holds out a fuzzy yellow ball you immediately recognize, and you stare at it in shock. Your chest is doing something very funny, like tachycardic arrythmia. Yes. Hilarious.

Hoseok evidently takes your silence as disapproval, and wilts like a flower deprived of light. "Uh, sorry, you probably don't like Pacman anymore…"

"I do," you reply faintly, reaching forward to take his gift. Only to be polite. That's it. Certainly not because his dejection makes your insides roil with guilt. "Thank you."

"Of course," he replies, looking only marginally relieved by your lukewarm response. "Oh! You dropped something."

He dips low to grab something, and to your horror, your wallet is open –

"Wait, is this–"

"I JUST LIKE THE CANDY!" you blurt in a near scream, feeling your entire body light on fire. This would be humiliating in the best of situations, and Jung Hoseok discovering you kept the wrapper from an old candy he had given you, like a sentimental loser, is decidedly NOT the best of situations.

His resulting smile almost blasts you off your feet, and you wonder if overexposure to sunlight can lead to cardiac arrest.

“Y/N-ah,” Jung Hoseok says, tentatively, but with soft affection. It is more devastating than you could have ever imagined. “I missed you too. Have you been well?”

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