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pupcuck · 5 months

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LOVEY-DOVEY !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. ddlg, daddy dom/little girl duhh, leon feeling guilty for no reason, age gap, princess parts used once, an abundance of pet names, honestly just icky sappy smut, typical stuff like penetration n oral, praise kink

note. haiii :3 so insanely embarrassed to post this it’s insanely icky and soft for me .. but ignore typos as always :333 rbs n feedback greatly appreciated :33 crossposted on my ao3 clitkiss as usual, this is like very.. ddlg like he dresses u at one point but it’s only mentioned briefly

stocking filler

You and Leon are trying something new. Now, he’s no stranger to it, his moonlight trysts with Pornhub show that he’s an expert at it in fact. But that was back in his late twenties. Op in Spain made his brain go funny, and maybe it’s ‘cause Ashley is the perfect subject for it - DDLG that is. She batted her lashes up at, clung to his arms, and she needed him, relied on him. In turn, he spent his days balls deep in videos like Daddy’s Little Girl Punished For Staying Up Past 8 PM, and even classier ones like Big Cock Daddy Fucks Tiny Tit Teen Girlfriend Till She Squirts (ANAL + THROATFUCKING)! Even the occasional Step-Daughter Chokes On Step-Daddy’s Fat Cock While Mommy Sleeps! Very tasteful, very nuanced, very discreet. So yeah, not to brag, but Leon’s kind of a porn connoisseur. Dabbled in every category.

The DDLG thing got boxed up and shelved away quick. Made him feel guilty, post-nut clarity set in the second he’d milked himself dry. Then he’d lay there for hours with a sticky palm and a heavy heart. Hasn’t thought about it in years, these days Leon’s more into Busty Dom Mommy Pegs Scrawny, Ugly, Sissy Slut In Business Suit! and if he’s really feeling up for it Stupid Fucking Bitch Takes Two Dicks At Once! The titular bitch actually only took one dick at a time despite the two dicks present, quite misleading in his humble opinion. No more creepy daddy stuff though. Those days are over; he hasn’t thought about it in twenty years give or take. Claire sent him this ‘Get porn sites taken down for women blah blah blah’ petition, he signed it, clicked out of the tab and got down to watching some silly slut get fucked within an inch of her life.

It’s more of a boredom thing. Honest. Leon watches porn to fill in gaps of space throughout his day; he nods his head thoughtfully when the man so affectionately titled Blue-Collar Bear slams into the Preppy Spoiled Twink. This is all getting away from him, the point is, Leon hasn’t thought about the dreaded topic of DDLG for literal decades. Then you walk in, and Leon’s sat there listening to you prattle on about Pompompurin and Chococat, an entire lineup of characters that he now knows off by heart.

Oh, is that right, sweetheart? Cinnamoroll’s a puppy, not a bunny? Wow, I didn’t know that, baby, fascinating ain’t it? Miffy‘s from the Netherlands, god, she’s gotta be careful over there in Amsterdam, honey. They don’t call that place Sin City for no reason, the red light district is no joke. Oh, I see, she’s from Utrecht? Ah, guess she’s safe then, I’m glad. What’s her name? That’s your favourite, Cogimyun? That’s a mouthful, ain’t it? She looks like a cloud. No? She's not? She’s a what-? Made of wheat flour? Oh! Well, that’s real funny, baby. Bet she don’t do well on windy days.

You don’t tell him outright. But he knows. Leon tries to tell himself that you’re just like this, that you buy cutesy, girly stickers to make yourself happy, that you fill his bedroom with soft toys ‘cause you simply like ‘em, turn them around when you fuck as a joke. But it’s clear, the headspace you’re left in after sex gives it away, haven’t let the D word slip so far, Leon’s banking on it being soon though.

He pets your head before you leave the house one day, you beam up at him, apples of your cheeks rounded with how hard you're smiling. “Love you, daddy!” You chirp all too loudly, jaw dropping open a moment later at your own blunder. Then you skitter out the front door unnervingly like a deer with CWD.

Called it. Made a bet on it even. Leon takes fifty out of his savings account, owes it to himself. You looked awful upset, he sends you a message, tells you to be safe, text him when you meet your friends. You do. Somehow, even the message is clipped. Poor baby, you’re embarrassed. The colour had drained from his face when you said it. You’d noticed for sure.

You’re younger than him, much younger. Too many years younger. An age gap that makes his head spin. Leon tries not to dwell on it, but it gets real hard. Claire’s always down his throat about it. When you go out in public together, he’ll sneak a hand in your back pocket and get stared down by every passer-by. He’s been asked if he’s your dad before. Blow to his ego. Considered botox and filler for the entirety of the following week. Certainly not your dad, possibly your daddy. Now you’ve cemented that in place - you want Leon to be your daddy, and he’ll fill those shoes.

Even if it leaves a bad taste on his tongue, even if it makes his skin crawl. Leon is willing to lay down his life for you half of the time, best thing that ever happened to him, so what harm is a little DDLG gonna do? He just needs to get comfortable with it, refamiliarise himself with all the lingo. How hard could it be? The guilt? He can get over it, even if it clings to him like a festering scab.

When you come back home it’s late, he barely hears your footsteps. You’ve learnt how to make yourself scarce when returning on late nights, Leon’s a light sleeper. A jumpy one at that. He smells jasmine when you pull back the covers, the mattress dips and he turns to face you.

“Fuck!” You gasp, brows pinched together, he runs his thumb over the divot that’s formed between them. “You scared me, Leon.”

“Not that ugly am I?” He juts his bottom lip out, it pulls a laugh out of you, and that makes him smile. You were emanating gloom and doom the second you stepped into the bedroom. Clear skies now.

“Never, you’re sooo handsome.” You kiss the tip of his nose, smear pink Vaseline on it.

“You know just what I wanna hear, don’t you, baby?” Apart from daddy. He’d make the joke, but you’d likely flip out. Leon shuts his mouth. He’s gotten better at doing that lately. Must be the effect you’ve had on him. “Baby?”

“Yes?”

“About today—“

“Leon.” It’s a warning.

“Baby.”

“Leon.” Clearly you want to brush it under the rug. “It was just a slip-up, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, so can we just drop it?” Uh, woah, someone’s defensive.

“Baby, it didn’t make me uncomfortable,” Leon strokes your cheek, his cold hands warmed by the heat of your dewy skin. It made him mildly uncomfortable. That’s ‘cause he grapples with all these I’m a dirty old man that deserves to be crucified, Claire’s right I’m a fucking cradlerobber, I should let her go, I’ll be dead by the time she’s ready to get married thoughts. You’re this pretty young thing and it makes him tremendously nervous.

“I saw your face, Leon, I’m not stupid.” You’re getting huffy now, fluffing the pillows and turning away from him.

“Babe, I was just surprised, pinky promise.” Leon sticks his pinky finger into your line of sight, there’s silence, then the sheets ruffle and you’ve lifted your hand, shorter pinky wrapping around his.

“Like, pinky swear, Leon?” You sound so small, so scared, his heart aches.

“Baby,” he coos, “light of my life, angel, apple of my fuckin’ eye, sugar, dollface,” you hang onto every word, eyes getting bigger and wider by the second, “I knew the minute you showed me those Sylvanian Families.” You smack his chest and he laughs in your face.

“You’re an asshole and I hate you so much.” When he touches your cheek again, you’re burning up, he places a kiss behind your ear. “Stupid old man.”

“C’mon, baby, you think I’m dumb? You gave them names.” The Persian Cat triplets are named Serena, Nate and Blair. From Gossip Girl of course, he didn’t know what that was. Tedious is his review. Leon thought Henry, Tommy and Jimmy were more fitting names. You didn’t understand the reference. “You buy ‘em little plates and forks and cups, they’re living better than us, baby.” And that’s a fact. You splurged on a Red Roof Country House. Far nicer than his apartment, once empty, now filled with junk like that. No, it’s not junk, it’s his baby’s stuff, trinkets that make her happy.

“What if I just liked them?” You’re glaring at him, cutely of course, everything you do is saccharine.

“Just adds up, don’t it?” Leon gives you a big, wet kiss on your pouty lips. Tastes roses. Literally. He just swallowed a bunch of pink Vaseline. “What I wanted to say ‘fore you got all pissy on me,” he swallows the lump in his throat, fuck it, how bad could it go, he’s just making his favourite girl happy, “I don’t mind tryin’ it out.”

Rules are implemented the following morning, albeit loosely. Leon doesn’t have a lot of control over things, the DSO has jurisdiction over him, got him by the balls. And in turn, Leon’s just learnt how to take it like a good bitch. You handed him a pink glitter pen and a page from your Hello Kitty notebook. Asked him so sweetly to make a general set of rules, so you know how to be a good girl for daddy. Leon sprung a boner so fast he got nauseous. And that’s not even the sex part of this arrangement. He uses his black ballpoint pen, pink glitter isn’t his thing. Plus, it doesn’t show up on the paper.

You giggle when he hands them over to you; Leon’s ears flush pink. He’ll get better at it, swear. He wants to do well for you. Wants you to feel satisfied with his quote caregiving unquote.

It starts off slow, you hand him your toothbrush in the morning, Leon blinks at you in pure and utter befuddlement. You say Ah! like you would at the dentist and he gets it. Leon sits you on the closed lid of the toilet seat, making sure to get your molars, your canines, front teeth, and all the remaining ones. Five seconds each. Or he tries at least. You’re quite meticulous in this headspace, letting out a disgruntled noise when he fails to be precise.

Then you sit on the mat while he showers, like a puppy, didn’t even notice you were there until he opened the sliding door. “Hi there, babydoll.” Leon wraps a towel around his waist, “whatcha doin’ down there?”

“Waiting for daddy.” You tell him plainly, then trail after him as he gets ready. Right. He’s gotta pick out your clothes. What if you don’t like them? You’re so fussy with your style, spend hours tossing piece after piece out of the wardrobe, stomp your feet when the blouse you wanted to wear is in the laundry. Right now, you’re totally placid, lifting your arms when he asks as he puts you in a ribbed pink sweater and the frilly skirt you’re so fond of, knee high socks per usual, Mary Janes to finish it off. Oh. Yeah. This is bad. He’s in deep. You’re too cute. He thinks he wants to be your daddy forever.

“My dad’s been wanting to see you, Leon.” Ashley’s all grown up now, which makes him feel a bit sappy. Hypocritical really, he’s got a college girl back at home calling him daddy.

Dad… Daddy, I love you, when are you coming home?

Leon blinks to clear his mind, gives Ashley a plastic smile. “How’s he been?”

“Oh, you know how it is, he got a little sick over Halloween, but that guy, he’s always up and kicking.” Ashley brings a vanity out of her pocket, reapplies her lipstick. “Overall, he’s been good.”

Good girl, am I a good girl, daddy?

Jesus Christ, get a grip, man. “I’m glad, should take a rest that guy.”

“I know!” Ashley moves her plate to the side and lays out her entire makeup case on the table, picking out mascara. When he looks closely, her round mirror is printed with a vaguely familiar cartoon bunny. “He never listens, hasn’t been President for decades and he just works and works and works. That’s why you should call, tell him to take it easy.”

“What’s her name?” Leon frowns, jabs his thumb towards the compact.

“My Melody!” She answers, grinning at him with her pearly whites.

My Melody, Kitty, Keroppi, and Mimi, did you write that down, daddy? And there’s—

“Aren’t you too old for that, Ash?” Leon raises his brow, he’s not serious though, and she can tell.

“Hey, I liked Sanrio before it was cool in 2004, okay?” She tosses it all back in her clutch. Ashley’s too nice, if it were Claire she’d bite back with Aren’t you too old for your girlfriend, loser? And that would shut him up. “It was nice seeing you, Leon, I wanna meet your girlfriend next time, she seems sweet. And don’t forget to call dad, I’ll drop his number later.”

Call dad… Daddy? Daddy.

“Leon, don’t you think Chris looks like our dad?” Claire’s hijacked the DSO break room once again, she’s in town for some TerraSave presentation thingy. He wasn’t listening. Eyes glassed over as he gazes endlessly at her phone screen.

Dad. Dada. Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy.

“Huh?” Leon says dumbly.

Claire levels him with her stare. “You’ve been out of it today, what’s up?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs nonchalantly, wipes his clammy palms on his jeans. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Uh huh.” Claire’s not convinced. Shit. She totally knows. She sees right through you, Leon. She knows what dirty shit you’ve been up to, can see the shame on your face, and she’s building her case against you. “Anyway,” she begins, voice holding onto it’s suspicious edge, “I was saying, I found this photo album of our parents, doesn’t Chris look so much like dad?”

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Fuck. He needs a lobotomy. Stat. This is taking over his fucking life. A sizable chunk of his brain was removed in his sleep, and it’s been replaced by pink mushy goo. Different to the pinkish brain matter that resides inside one’s head. More a glittery pink goop that morphs into the shape of you. You’re jumping around in there, sliding down the sulci and fissures in his brain, lodging yourself deep in his mind. Making it your playground.

“You’re fucking impossible to talk to, Leon. You know that?” What’d you say Claire? He can’t hear you over the impossibly disgusting, perverted thoughts running through his mind.

The second he gets home, Leon is on you. Face between your tits, knee keeping your thighs open, kissing you breathless. “Daddy!” You giggle, delighted by the wave of affection.

“Babydoll,” Leon rubs his stubble against your cheeks to hear you squeal, “Daddy missed you so much.”

“I missed daddy sooo much too!”

“Oh, yeah? How much did you miss daddy?”

You stretch your arms as wide as they go. “This much, daddy!” Fuck. Holy fucking shit. He needs to start going to weekly mass again.

“Yeah?” Leon peppers kisses all over your little face, forehead to your neck, “what’d ya get up to?”

“Mmm,” you hum, tapping a finger against your lip thoughtfully, “coloured, ate ‘n got sleepy, daddy.”

“What an eventful day that is, baby.” Leon kisses your nose. “You colour something for daddy?” He needs to put his dick in you before he explodes.

“Mhm,” your lashes flutter when he sneaks a hand up your loose sweater, hanging off your shoulders, swallowing you up, “I put it in daddy’s office…” Your breath hitches when he rolls your pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Daddy’s gonna hang it on the fridge tonight then.” Leon mumbles, too busy shoving his naughty hand down your pyjama shorts, cupping your mound. Your fingers tremble as you lift the hem of your sweater, baring your tits for him, he takes your nipple into his mouth. Bites down to hear you gasp. Latches on like a damn baby, groping the other tit roughly.

“Daddy,” you whimper, and the sound alone makes his dick twitch. Leon pulls off with a pop, spit dripping down his chin.

“I know, baby,” Leon coos, “daddy’s gonna take care of you.” Dirty old man! blares Claire’s voice in the back of his mind. Leon can’t find it in himself to care. Watch this, bitch. “You want daddy to play with your princess parts, babydoll?” You heard that right, princess parts. He’s been sucked in that deep.

You nod, brows pinched together as you bunch up the sheets in your curled fists. Leon clicks his tongue, presses a kiss below your belly button. “Words, baby.” He reminds you, his tone delicate, only lightly chiding.

“Need daddy… need him to play with me,” it’s barely a mumble, but Leon takes it. He knows how jumbled your head gets in this mindset. Poor baby, play with your clit and it turns you all stupid.

Leon gets to work. He’s been waiting for it all day, to get his mouth on this perfect cunt. He spreads you out, urges you to go wider, as far as you can. Licks over the fabric of your cotton panties, his nose nestled against your swollen clit, sucking on the wet patch on the gusset. The constant nudge of his nose against your clit is making you antsy, your chest rises and falls, your fingers itch to tug at his hair, but you’re an obedient girl so you keep them down by your sides. Clutch at the sheets till your nails break.

He continues to lick and suck at your leaky centre through the fabric for an eternity. You have your complaints, but you can’t say no to daddy. That’s, like, against the rules. So Leon has his fun, maybe a little too much fun. You let out a strained noise, and enough is enough, you’re being so good for him, so patient. His little girl deserves a treat. Once you’ve creamed your panties that is.

“God,” you toss your head back and melt when his tongue flattens over your bare folds, he’d thrown your panties into the laundry basket a minute prior, good aim.

“Hey, give me some credit, baby,” Leon takes a break from tongueing you down, “God’s not doing shit down here, it’s all your daddy.”

That makes you giggle. Then you call out daddy so sweetly his brain blanks. He spits on your sticky core, you’re wet enough, but Leon likes it sloppy, wants to feel your mess dripping down his chin. His teeth scrape your clit, pulls the hood back, kitten licks it, kisses it three times for good luck.

“Don’t cover your mouth, baby,” Leon places a big hand on your hip, holds you in place, “Daddy didn’t say you could do that.”

“Sorry… ‘M sorry, daddy,” you whine, the hand once clasped over your mouth falling limp, and you’re moaning like a fucking pornstar. He can’t handle it. That word does something to him, something evil and degenerate.

He pushes your cushiony lips together, pinches your clit when it sticks out, makes the nastiest sounds known to mankind. Messy eater. Schlurping, schmacking, gulping. What he’s gulping down? God knows. Two fingers slip into you, knuckle-deep, wriggle around, scissor you open, his palm mashed into your clit. Leon’s face is resting on your plush thigh, admiring his own handiwork. Your slick cunt, drooling all down his wrist, covered his face in it, now you're cumming in messy spurts.

“Atta girl,” Leon croons, lays it on thick with the praise ‘cause he knows you get shy about this, “that’s right, dollface, just let it all out for, daddy, huh?”

Panting, you curl into yourself, kick your legs a little when his nimble fingers find your sticky clit, he can feel you throbbing. “No more, daddy.” You beg, rubbed raw from the back-to-back orgasms.

“Too much, baby?” Leon’s hand comes to cop a feel, his nose pressing into the nape of your neck. “Can you get daddy off?”

The energy seems to zap back into you within an instant. You nod, head bobbing up and down like it should be doing on his dick. You love having your mouth full, keep his cock down your throat till you go numb. Suckle on it with pride and integrity. You gaze up at him with those eyes, heart-shaped pupils and all, blowjob eyes.

“How’d you want daddy?” Leon asks, you roll over, laying flat on your back, you want him like that? Alright, naughty girl. With your head between his meaty thighs, Leon guides his weeping tip past your swollen lips, you lap at the slit, collecting droplets of his precum on your tongue.

“Shit,” Leon gets out through gritted teeth, covers it with a cough, he shouldn’t really be saying bad words, not setting a good example for his baby. The suction is crazy, feels like he stuck his dick into the tube of a vacuum cleaner. Your cheeks hollow out as he thrusts his hips forwards, tip hitting the back of your throat, making you gag each time. Still take it like a champ though. You always do, his good fucking girl. “Doin’ so damn well, baby, makin’ daddy cum.”

Your little hand comes to rest on his abdomen, Leon eases up, lets his fat cock slip out of your mouth, he thinks you’ve had enough, but you go for his balls instead. Open your mouth wide as you try to fit ‘em in your mouth. “No chance, baby.” Leon smiles, patting your head, you lick along the seam and his dick is fucking throbbing. Hail fucking Mary. “Not gonna last, babydoll, can daddy fuck you now or ya need a break?”

You nod, he raises a brow, “No, daddy, I’m fine, daddy. Need daddy in me so bad.” You croak out, throat sore from the time spent with his cock lodged in your windpipe.

That makes him groan. The non-explicit dirty talk is fuckin’ weird, turns him on in ways he can’t explain. He loves when you avoid saying the word pussy, can’t say cock, makes it sound even dirtier. Maybe it’s the control aspect. You can’t say those words ‘cause daddy said so, ‘cause Leon said so.

His dick jumps the second he tries to slide in, bumps against your sensitive clit, shit, that hasn’t happened since he was twenty. Leon grabs your ankles, kisses one before he throws them over his shoulders, uses one hand to guide his dick to your sloppy hole and the other is intertwined with your smaller one. Tender, sappy, sweet. Oh, don’t make him tear up, princess. With age he’s softened up. For you Leon has softened up. Brought back part of who he was before it all went wrong.

“My pretty girl,” he pets your cheek like he does the neighbour’s well-fed cat, and you lean into it all the same. He fills you up so well. No matter how much Leon plays with your pussy, there’s always a stretch, and he can tell by the look on your face. Nose scrunching, lips parting, letting out a sharp breath as the weight of his cock knocks against your cervix. “All done, baby.” Leon tells you, and you open your eyes, sit up on your elbows to see where the two of you meet in a sticky, squelching embrace. “Well done, baby, you’re such a big girl, takin’ all of daddy, aren’t you?” Leon presses his hand down on your lower tummy, his cock angles upwards so he can hit that spongy spot deep inside, the one that makes you sob. “Is it there?”

The cry you let out is the confirmation he needs. He bullies his cock into you, fucks you rough ‘cause he loves you. Making love is for mornings, when you’re sleepy and pliant, nasty fucking is for after work. When he’s pent up, when you’ve been on his mind all day. Leon pulls out, only his tip keeping your cunt spread open, then he slams back in, and you begin to sniffle, squeezing his hand so tight you cut off his blood circulation.

“Daddy,” You drop his hand, nails clawing down his back, his lonely hand suffering from a severe case of pins and needles, “daddy, daddy, daddy— oh, daddy!” It’s the only thing you can say. Stuffed your cunt and your head is full of him too. Leon adores you. Prettiest girl in the whole world and you’re here speared on his cock. Dexterous fingers find your clit once more, helping you reach the edge.

“You can do it, baby, don’t worry, daddy’s here.” Leon dips his head down, kisses you and swallows up your sounds, stringy spit keeping the two of you connected. Red string of fate or whatever. “Daddy’s right here, daddy loves you.”

All it took was the L word, and you’re squirting. Pushing his cock out, dripping down his heavy balls, digging your nails into his back, chanting daddy like your life depends on it. And Leon can’t take it, he’s been ready to bust the second he got home, his stomach contracts, spills his seed into your wet cunt. Messy just how he likes it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Leon lets his full weight drop on top of you.

You grunt softly, “Heavy, daddy.”

“Yeah, I know, gimme a second.” Leon grumbles, teeth tugging on your earlobe. “How’d you rate me? Five stars? Ten out of ten?”

You yawn into his hair, “Stop bein’ silly, daddy.”

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader

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astraystayyh · 9 months

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If the world was ending

Felix x reader. Estranged childhood best friends to lovers. Angst and happy ending. highly recommend listening to If the world was ending while reading :)

Felix has always been there with you, from the moment you've met him when you were 8 years old, until he suddenly no longer was, and you were left to grapple with the consequences of his absence- and those of his return.

cw: description of a car accident, reader has a fear of loud noises.

skz song series masterlist

12 march 2011

Screeching brakes, a jarring collision, glass shattering all around you, shards of it embedding into your tender skin. You are too young to understand it all, but you know it's bad. You are suddenly upside down, the only thing helping you stay put is the seatbelt fastened around you. You didn't really like seatbelts but your mom always insisted on you wearing one.

Your mom, you can't see her face, she's upside down too, and she isn't talking. That's unusual because you're crying and she isn't turning around to comfort you. Someone is screaming outside of your car, and then you are pulled out. You don't know who's touching you, and you want them to stop. Where is your mom? Why did they not pull her out too?

An ambulance approaches you; its loud sirens feel like pine needles drilling into your skull. You try to cover your ears but your hands are covered in blood. The world around you is painted red- the flashing lights of the sirens and the liquid oozing from your cuts. It’s no longer your favorite color.

27 may 2011

You are playing in the playground near your home, waving at your mom from the top of the slide. She's gotten better, she smiles more easily at you now. And you are trying to be a good kid too; you help wash the dishes and you clean your room all by yourself. You don't want your mom to feel sad again and go back to that dreaded hospital.

You slide out, happy giggles leaving your mouth, before climbing up the tiny stairs once again. But as you reach the top, an ambulance rushes by the playground. You don't know what's happening, but you suddenly feel shards of glass on your skin once again. Your hands are shaking as you sit on the floor, curling around yourself in a ball.

"What's wrong?" someone asks and you lift your head tentatively. It's a young boy, he's looking at you worriedly, a tiny pout on his lips.

"I don't like ambulances," you hiccup, burying your head in your knees again.

Suddenly, small hands cover your ears, muffling the shrill sound of sirens. They are warm and sticky from the red popsicle he’s still holding.

"Now you can't hear them," he giggles, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents. Despite your raging fear, a smile finds its way into your lips.

"What's those on your face," you ask with a small voice, pointing at the faint marks dusting his cheeks.

"They're called freckles," he says proudly and you nod.

"They're pretty."

"Thank you!" he grins at you, his hands still covering your ears. The tightness in your chest seems to dissipate slowly before his kind smile- the shadows never stood a chance in front of the sun.

"What's your name?"

"Felix. And you?"

"Yn."

"We should be friends," he beams and you grin back, agreeing wholeheartedly. "We should."

15 november 2021

You are sitting on the grass of that very same playground, Felix still by your side. The night breeze is cooling as it brushes against your bodies, and you're wearing his red sweater. It smells like his cologne and your perfume- an intoxicating scent you've come to memorize by heart.

His nose tip is rosy from the cold, and you can't resist tapping it playfully. "Your nose is pink," you giggle, and he smiles, gently bopping yours in return.

"So is yours."

You look at him as he gazes up at the stars above. You love Felix, it has always been crystal clear to you. From the moment he planted the seed of his friendship into your soul, and throughout the years when it bloomed into something more, bigger than the two of you. It wrapped around your being entirely, binding itself into your every atom, until all you saw is his reflection in you.

And you were tired of treading the line between friendship and something more. You wanted, no craved being with him, your yearning so intense it spilled from you each time he was around. In rosy cheeks and shaky fingers and eyes that soften only when they rest on him- evidence of your love imprinted all upon you.

You take in a deep breath, before laying your hand gently on his cheek, turning his face to meet yours. His eyes widen slightly at the soft touch, and you lean in closer to him. You brush your nose against his, slowly, "to warm it up," you whisper, as his breath hitches in his throat.

He's close, he's so close, you can almost taste the brownies you shared earlier on his lips. You can see his freckles ever so clearly, constellations you often find yourself getting lost in. Your hand is still on his cheek, and you can feel it burning up under your palm.

You close your eyes, as his lips are now just a breath away from yours. It's electrifying- having him so near to the way you've always dreamed, fantasized about. But he needs to be the one to take the jump, all he has to do is lean in a bit, and you'd kiss him. You won't ever let go.

"Lixie...," you choke out, "kiss me."

"I want to." His voice is hoarse with emotion, as if fighting with himself for self-restraint.

"So do it," you ask, swiping your thumb gently across his cheek. Your breaths mingle with one another in a dizzying dance.

"I'm leaving," he says so faintly, you believe for a second that you've imagined it.

"What?" you ask, leaning a bit away to be able to look at him.

"I'm leaving," he repeats, his eyes tightly shut. "We're moving to another country, for my dad's job."

"You're leaving me?" you ask, bewildered.

"I'm not leaving you-"

"But you are. You won't be here anymore." You drop your hand, taking hurried steps away from him. Touching him didn't feel electrifying anymore, it felt horrible and nauseous, because you won't get to do it again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to-"

"How long have you known?"

"Yn..."

"Felix," you say, tone stern. "How long?"

"Six months," he whispers and a bitter chuckle escapes your lips.

"When are you leaving?"

"In a week."

The pain becomes unbearable, and you turn your back to him so he wouldn't see your rapidly falling tears. You are angry, as a disguise for the sadness threatening to drown you. Him leaving tasted like the salty water you gulp when you dive in too quickly into the ocean. And you did dive in, in him, in his soul and everything that made up Felix. And now he was leaving you, with no anchor to help you float again.

"Is that why you insisted on spending so much time with me lately? Because you were leaving?"

"You need to understand I didn't know how to tell you, I- I don't even know who I am without you." He pleads, his own eyes shimmering with unshed tears, reminding you of tiny diamonds. That's how it is with Felix, you found beauty in everything he did- even tearing your heart in half.

"Maybe you should've thought of how I would feel. You were thinking of leaving me while I..." Your voice breaks and you take a shaky breath. "While I was falling in love with you."

"I'm in love with you too," he quickly says, reaching out to hold your hand. "I love you, I always have." He's wrapping his arms around you, and you're letting him because it feels safe and secure. Because he’s still your Felix, even if he's leaving you behind.

You wonder what you must have done in a past life, what a horrible person you could've been for the universe to treat you this cruelly. To hand you everything you've ever wanted in a silver platter, and snatch it from your hands before you could dare to grab it.

"We'll make it work," he mumbles into your hair, placing a tender kiss on your temple. "We'll talk and we can be together."

"No, we can't. I'll just hold you back from living your new life, I can't have that."

"Don't talk like that, please," his voice wavers, words barely managing to slip out of his mouth. Regret overtakes your body so suddenly at the thought of his lips- you shouldn't have tried to kiss him. Maybe then he wouldn't have told you he was leaving.

"It's the truth. we'll grow to hate each other, distance will put a strain on us. I'd rather not talk to you than have you resent me."

"But-"

"Just hold me," you cut him off. "As if nothing's happening, please."

And he complies because Felix always does. Because he loves you and as much as he doesn't want to, he knows you're right.

•••••

It's been three months since Felix left- the days passed by agonizingly slowly, and yet the months went by in a blur, a hauntingly vivid reminder of what once was. At first, the texts between you two were frequent, but as time wore on, the messages grew sporadic, from your end, mostly. Seeing him flourish in his new life felt like salt on an open wound, a reminder that he was moving on while you were still anchored in memories of him.

You saw him in every corner of your city. The smell of brownies that he's made countless times, each time you felt sad. The way he kissed your cheek each time he won a game, while you were lying on his bed, bored. The way he hugged you whenever you were sick, gently tucking strands of your hair behind your ear. The way he covered your ears instinctively at each loud noise, knowing how scared it made you still.

And you've felt each of these emotions since he was gone. You were sad and bored and sick and happy and scared. And he wasn't here with you through them. Each moment away from Felix seemed to magnify what could have been- what should have been between the two of you.

There is a building construction next to you, loud cement blocks crashing to the ground. And you are curled around yourself in a protective ball, covering your ears with your hands, because Felix isn't here to do it anymore for you.

You and Felix have grown with one another, your soul carefully woven into his, like two threads intricately stitched into the same tapestry. Him leaving felt like half of your body was cut off from you, and you were left alone to figure out how to function with an incomplete heart.

17 july 2023

Summer break meant coming back home and sleeping in your childhood bedroom once again. Memories of Felix still lingered in there- posters he has given you and his red sweater that you've never found the courage to throw away. It doesn't hurt as much to remember him, the sharp pain morphed into a dull ache you've grown accustomed to by now.

You're watching the TV mindlessly when someone knocks on your door, and you go to open it without a second thought, expecting it to be your parents. It wasn't.

"Felix?" you stammer, stumbling back in shock. You blink repeatedly, in a desperate attempt to make sure he's not a figment of your twisted imagination. You haven't uttered his name in so long, and the syllables felt both foreign and familiar in your mouth.

"It's me," he smiles sheepishly, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

"You are here," you whisper, stating the obvious. He didn't change much, his kind brown eyes and freckles still as captivating as before. But his features were sharper, prettier, and the sight of him is making you dizzy once again.

"I am."

"What are you doing here?" You ask cautiously, opening the door a bit wider to let him in.

"I requested a transfer to your university. I wanted to come back. I missed home, and I missed you," he adds softly, making a turmoil of emotions surge within you.

You clear your throat. "So, you are back for good?"

"I am," he says, smiling slightly at you as if to gauge your reaction. You stay silent and his grin falters; his tongue resting against the inside of his cheek, a habit he hasn't let go of apparently. He then walks to the kitchen and you follow suit. You don't have to show him around, he knows your home like the back of his hand. He spent most of his childhood here after all, even though his house was only a few blocks away.

"How have you been?" he asks as he opens the cupboard to take out a glass. He closes its door softly, careful not to make it thud.

"I'm good. It's summer break so I'm finally back home, what about you?"

"I'm good too. It's nice to be back."

Your conversation is strained and awkward, so unnatural of you both. There was so much to say, so much to ask about, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak. He felt like uncharted territory to you now, one you didn't have the strength to discover once again.

"It's your mom's birthday tomorrow, right?" he smiles and you nod.

"Should we make her our cookies? Like we used to before I..."

"Before you left," you finish, bitterness dripping from your tone.

Hurt flashes in his eyes and you feel your heart suddenly clench in your chest. It was unfair for you to treat him this way. He was only seventeen and if your parents were to move away you would've followed them too.

"Okay, let's do it." You smile sincerely for the first time since he came back to you.

You both move seamlessly in the kitchen, each knowing your tasks like a choreographed dance. This was a tradition that started when you were twelve years old. You'd brown the butter while he beat the egg and sugar together. He'd sift the flour while you cut up chocolate. He'd mix it all while you preheat the oven. And then you'd roll the dough together.

Your hands brush against one another as you shape up the cookies, and it feels so intense you almost drop to the floor. You miss him, you miss him so much and he's near you and you can't seem to think straight anymore.

When the cookies are finally in the oven, he silently washes the dishes while you dry them. He abruptly pauses, hands still covered in soap before turning back to you.

"Can we talk? Please?" he says too quickly as if he's been overthinking asking this question.

"I'm busy today," you scramble to think of an excuse, you weren't ready to face him yet.

"Tomorrow?"

"I'm staying with my mom, then there is Han’s party."

"I'll be there too. We can talk then, please?" he asks, eagerness evident in his voice.

"Fine. Let's talk there," you concede and he nods, awkwardly shifting in his place. He finishes the dishes before drying his hands. You avoid his gaze and he sighs softly. "I'll get going. Tell your mom happy birthday from me."

"Will do." You smile tightly and he does the same, before finally leaving your home, and in his trail, a maelstrom of emotions you weren't certain how to deal with.

18 july 2023

You're at the reunion party Han is hosting with all your high school friends. You watch as Felix takes turns talking to everybody. He fits right in here, a puzzle perfectly clicking in place as if he's never left. He's telling a joke to Chan who laughs loudly, hitting Minho's arm repeatedly. Everyone is happy he's back, because they never had to gravel with the consequences of his absence. Because he's never ripped their heart out.

Felix is looking for you around the room- he hasn't seen you in a while. He assumes you're somewhere around the house, and that you'd like to talk when time has passed. The knot in his stomach tightens as the weight of your conversation dawns on him, he longs to be with you, to undo the past two years he has spent away from you. But he's afraid to mess everything up, once again, so he stays near his friends who are now pulling him outside of the house.

"We have a surprise for you," Han says excitedly before pointing at the sky, "look."

Fireworks, a dazzling show of blue, red and yellow. And Felix feels as if the colors were drained out of his face and splattered into the night sky before him.

"Where is yn?" he turns to Chan, eyes wide.

"Inside, I think. Why?"

"Stop- stop this, don't start any more fireworks," he urges the boy who's looking at him worriedly.

"Why, what's wrong? We have a warrant to start them, don't worry."

"No, no you don't understand. Yn hates loud noises," he explains frantically, before bolting inside the house.

He's yelling your name, and you are nowhere to be found, the sound of the fireworks so loud he isn't even sure you can hear him.

He opens door after door, and after painstakingly long seconds he finally finds you in the bathroom, sitting on the floor, your head buried in your knees. Just like you were twelve years ago.

Felix doesn't waste any time, kneeling in front of you to cover your ears with his hands, you look up at him, waterline brimming with unshed tears.

"It's okay, I'm here. Just focus on my voice," he smiles reassuringly at you, and you clasp your hands on top of his, doing your best to muffle the sound of the explosions.

"Your hands are still small," you attempt to joke, as hot tears trail down your cheeks. You hated how scared you still were.

"The perfect size to cover your ears," he smiles at you, his eyes softening when they take in your distressed state.

You hiccup, overcome by a new wave of emotion- for an entirely different reason this time. "You came."

"I'll always come. Even if the world was ending, I'll... I'll come to you," he smiles, biting his lower lip to stop his own tears from falling.

"It'd be useless if you came then. There would be nothing for us to do," you manage to say through shaky breaths.

"But I'd be with you," he insists, gaze unwavering, "It will be scary for you. I imagine it will be loud, the world can't end silently."

"Mine did, when you left." Felix's eyes go wide at your words, and you don't care that you are baring your soul entirely to him. "Please don't leave me again. I hate goodbyes with you."

"Why would we ever say goodbye again, hm?" he reassures, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly. "I'm never leaving you, as long as you'll have me, I'm here," he whispers, before pulling you into his chest.

Your hands find his back, and his cheek rests on top of your head. And you both close your eyes, an exhale of relief leaving you both at the same time. The world grows dark around the two of you, the only thing you saw was his heart and the overflowing love he still bore for you.

You felt as if you were wandering blind and you could finally see again, as if the string tying you to him wrapped tightly around the both of you, trapping you in his warm embrace.

You don't know what will happen next, but he's holding you now, and he'll hold you when the world is ending, and that is enough.

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inuyashaluver · 3 months

Note

Could we get an enemies -> lovers with Leila Ouahabi ?

liar - leila ouahabi

leila ouahabi x reader

description: in which a certain left back tackles you dangerously many years ago in the youth teams, giving you an acl injury. you hate each other and nothing will change that…maybe

warnings: swearing, spanish in bold italics

a/n: indeed you can, my love! thank you and enjoy!! ❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and leila ouahabi had a very difficult relationship. to say the least, you fucking hated each other.

you and leila were always around each other and it made your blood boil. your teammates often told you that your hatred for the girl was a little ridiculous but you wouldn’t relent.

leila on the other hand only hated you because you hated her. she didn’t really understand it but your attitude and mannerisms towards her made you insufferable for her.

—

it all started in the spanish youth teams, both of you just 15 and as eager as ever. you played in the midfield while leila played left back, she’d mark you occasionally but the two of you wouldn’t really speak. you were friendly with each other, saying hello with a wave when you saw each other at training.

until it all changed. you were all doing a little mini game to asses who would playing competition games and who would be benched. you and leila were considered the best of the best and you both knew it.

you both had an immense amount of respect for each other and the way you both played, that’s why it hurt so much when the hatred grew.

leila was marking you and she managed to get the ball off you through what she thought was a safe tackle, but you screamed in pain and fell to the ground with tears brimming in your eyes. you heard it, the dreaded pop that no one ever wanted to hear. it’s your acl.

“oh my god, (y/n), i’m so sorry-” leila rushes out, you look up at her with a glare, this was your opportunity to represent your country and it was taken from you because of her.

“i don’t want to hear it, ouahabi” you scoff, tearing your gaze away from her face of shock and fear while you get carried off the pitch by alexia and mapi.

from then on, you couldn’t stand leila. everything you’d worked so hard for was taken from you in the span of two minutes. now when the girls played, you’d have to sit in the stands with your crutches.

your scowl was evident on your face everytime leila had the ball. leila had made an immense effort to talk to you, to apologise, to offer you a helping hand but you dismissed her every time, she tried to confide in alexia but she knew you too well.

you were so stubborn and stood your ground, alexia tried to convince you to at least talk to the girl but you refused. it all went downhill from there.

—

it seemed that you and leila couldn’t get rid of each other. every club you got signed to, she did. you had the same friends, the same interests also but you just couldn’t get passed the fact that she caused you an acl injury.

sure, maybe you were being a little ridiculous but it was a big opportunity for you to gain recognition for spain and you just didn’t get it.

when you both signed to barcelona in 2016, everyone could tell the tension was still the same as it had been since you were both 15. you were both 23 now and you could still cut the tension with a knife.

your teammates desperately tried to get you two to get along, but it just didn’t happen. you’d send each other snarky remarks, filthy looks, the whole works.

it was truly disappointing for your teammates to see how you two just acted like children. the grudge you held being over 8 years long.

the thing is, leila wanted to be friends with you, she always had been. as the years progressed, you blossomed, not only in football but your appearance and intelligence also. she always thought you were beautiful but you only got prettier each day.

you also thought leila was gorgeous, who wouldn’t? that’s what pissed you off more, perfect leila clouding your thoughts completely. your distaste for each other was in reality intrigue and attraction but you and leila would never admit that. ever.

—

“fucking watch it, ouahabi!” you exclaim as you get slammed to the floor during a mini game in training, “you watch it, idiot” she grumbled, rolling her eyes when you curse her under your breath.

“enough, you’re acting like children!” alexia reprimands, pointing an accusatory finger with a stern expression at both of you. you give her a tight lipped smile and move to stand up, bumping leila’s shoulder with your own.

“ale, she started it” leila groans, hitting your shoulder back with hers, “she pushed me on the ground, ale!” you frown, alexia shook her head at both of you, you were exactly the same.

“and i’ll finish it, i don’t care, all i ask is for one normal training session, you’re adults” she grits, you and leila send each other a little glare before going back to the game.

you have the ball and she manages to get it off you again and you throw your head back in frustration, “oops, sorry” she mocks, winking at you when she passes the ball away.

you give her a little shove and run back up the field and her team gets a goal, her teasing laugh rings in your ears as you watch her celebrate the goal.

—

in the change rooms that day, you can’t help but look at leila as she changes, her cubby was in your direct view. she was perfect and it made you mad in a way you couldn’t explain.

alexia raises her eyebrows in surprise watching you ogle over her and you stop immediately, heading to the showers with a frustrated sigh.

though, you notice a certain someone in the shower directly across from you, her gaze lingering on your upper back as you showered. your cheeks grow slightly pink, you felt flustered.

“fucking hell, ouahabi, do you have to follow me everywhere?” you bark, leila laughs at you mockingly,

“oh please, princesa (princess) you don’t own the showers” she retorts, you roll your eyes and mutter nonsense that made leila smile secretly. you never change.

you get out the shower and flip her off, she does the same and smiles at you sickeningly sweet, making you shake your head before going to find alexia to complain.

only to receive a lecture that you were being childish, causing leila to walk past you with a teasing grin when she heard you getting scolded.

—

you played with each other for years at barcelona until you decided you needed a change. you wanted to give the wsl so you could gain some new techniques.

you’d gotten an offer from manchester city and it was just a no brainer to accept it. you signed the contract with a heavy heart but knew it would be refreshing

if only you knew who else got a contract.

it was to your great surprise when you walked into your first training session to see a certain brunette walking in the same time as you.

“you’re fucking joking” you say simply, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath when you see leila wearing the same training kit you were. she laughs, she genuinely laughs and takes in your appearance.

“can’t get enough of me, huh, princesa (princess)?” she smirks, walking up to you full of confidence. you wanted to punch her then and there, but also kiss her but that was right at the back of your mind and should not be acknowledged.

“you wish, clearly you can’t get enough of me because you follow me everywhere” you challenged, standing on your tiptoes to look a little more intimidating and she found it really cute.

“okay, nena (baby)” she shrugs, moving to the door to open it and leaving you behind. your cheeks are burning, she’s never called you that before.

—

you both get introduced to everyone and got pulled aside by a couple of people, mentioning the undeniable tension between the two of you and you struggled to give them an answer without feeling stupid.

during training, you can’t help but look at leila, the way she moved, the way she looked perfect after a full training session. you were fucked.

leila noticed it immediately, the way your gaze would follow her every move, she loved it, purposefully giving you a little show when she’d flex her arms or lift her shorts up a little higher. she loved to see you nervous, especially because of her.

you were placed on the same team for training activities and you managed to get a goal, “buena niña (good girl)” she says simply from behind you, your legs feel like jelly and you look at her in surprise.

she smirks and sends you a cheeky wink, your body is on fire. you’re supposed to hate her, snap out of it, you thought. but it was extremely hard when she’s looking at you like that and calling you all these pet names.

—

it was your first game for manchester city and you and leila were starting. it was daunting, your first game for your brand new club when you can’t even think straight due to a certain brunette.

she’s been subtly flirting with you for weeks, sending you cheeky looks, shamelessly checking you out. you couldn’t handle it, you chose not to entertain it but that doesn’t mean you didn’t enjoy it.

leila knew you very well, she knew your mannerisms and knew you enjoyed it, so why wouldn’t she pursue it?

the game was going well, you and leila proved your success in the team and everyone was thoroughly impressed.

you were in the lead 2-0 and the game was clean up until the second half. the other team grew in frustration and began to get sloppy, in their passes, tackles, everything. and unfortunately, you were the one that had to deal with it.

you got tackled by your marker and she studded your ankle, you fall to the floor with a gasp and the whistle blows immediately. the referee shows her a yellow card and you look up in shock to see leila shoving her.

“are you fucking serious?” a shove to the girl’s chest, “are you trying to take her out because she’s better than you or something?” another shove. she’s furious, she watched as you fell to the ground and she just saw red. no one hurts her girl.

the pain subsides, you feel good to continue despite the slight sting. you walk up to leila who’s currently being held back by lauren and grab her hand in yours. you’ve never been so attracted to someone in your life.

she looks down at you in surprise, her eyes scanning your face before dropping to your ankle. “i’m fine, leila” your eyes stare into hers and she reluctantly nods, gripping your hand tightly and sending your marker a little glare as she lets you pull her away.

leila looks down at your joint hands with a hint of a smile and you drop it immediately after following her gaze.

“you’re sure you’re okay?” leila looks right into your eyes in any words to trace for any lies, you nod and give her a small smile.

“i’m okay, thank you” you say softly, she grins and squeezes your shoulder gently “anytime, princesa (princess)” she flirts, walking back to her position and leaving you stunned.

after the game, you hang around after in the change rooms as the girls leave, coincidentally leaving you both there alone. you take a deep breath and walk up to her while she’s lacing her shoes, clearly about to leave.

“i just wanted to say thank you again, for defending me” you say sheepishly, looking anywhere but at her. she chuckles and watches as you squirm nervously. she liked how she had that effect on you.

“looks like you’re getting soft on me, hermosa (beautiful)” she smirks, you huff in frustration and look at her in fake annoyance. “i can’t be nice and express my gratitude?” you argue, leila smiles at your rambling.

“of course you can, you’re different, you know? you’re much nicer” she teases, you roll your eyes at her and cross your arms over your chest as you stare down at her.

“whatever, ouahabi, i still hate you” you grit out, the biggest lie you’ve ever said.

“mentirosa (liar)” she smiles, standing up to be directly in front of you, her eyes flickering between yours. “what?” you breathe out, the proximity making you nervous.

“men-ti-ro-sa” she breaks down each syllable, each one hitting your heart. you look up to drop the eye contact and she grabs your chin gently, directing your gaze back to her eyes.

you were killing her, with your wide eyes and pink cheeks, she couldn’t ignore her feelings anymore.

your hands dumbly drop to your sides as you look up at her, her hand holding your chin moving to cradle your jaw. she takes in your appearance with a gentle smile, her gaze lingering on your lips for a second before looking back into your eyes.

“so beautiful” she starts with a smile, “beautiful but so stubborn” she wrinkles her nose teasingly and you can’t help but laugh a little.

“you’re beautiful” you say earnestly, she grins brightly at that, her teeth catching her bottom lip as she looks at you. “softie” she taunts, leaning forward slightly, your eyes fall to her lips and she takes that as her cue, she moves forward to pull you into a searing kiss.

your hands go around her neck to pull her closer and her free hand rests on your hip, her lips was so warm and weirdly familiar, it feels like you’ve kissed before.

before she deepens it, she pulls away slightly and you whine at the loss of contact. she raises her eyebrows amusingly and smiles at you, “still hate me?” she says playfully,

“no” you whisper against her lips, “not for a while” you move forward to capture her lips in another kiss, conveying every ounce of affection you had for each other.

—

she took you on a couple of dates and you got together after a very short amount of time. falling into a loving relationship full of so much love you both couldn’t believe it, eventually moving in together in manchester.

you both decided to wait to tell your national teammates, you convinced leila to do so and she could never say no to you when you kissed her and gave her your best puppy dog eyes.

when you both had national duty, your teammates, especially alexia were pleasantly surprised that you weren’t at each other’s throats as usual.

it was until the mini game when you and leila were on opposite teams that you confirmed the relationship.

she tackled you and you fell to the floor, she smiles and holds her hands out to you, “sorry, bebé (baby)” she lifts you off the floor, “it’s okay, mi amor (my love)” you lean forward and place a quick kiss on her lips and the entire team screams in shock.

oh how you wish you had your phone when you saw alexia’s face, she was gagged.

leila laughs brightly and tucks you into her side, making an effort to slide her hand from your waist to your ass before moving back up again.

the way you both looked at each other with nothing but affection had your teammates believing they were hallucinating. “what the fuck is going on?” mapi screams, you and leila giggle before she kisses your temple as you explain the situation.

you and leila couldn’t be happier, and once your teammates saw the love you had for each other, they were ecstatic.

though it did take some getting used to seeing you two making out rather than shoving each other with harsh words but it was refreshing.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - just pretend it’s you, ily claudia xx

liked by alexiaputellas and 44,232 others

leilaouahabi: she’s so cute, she thought she hated me all these years but she was in loveeee

view all comments

yourname: i’m hating you a little right now for exposing me like this

↳ leilaouahabi: i love you?

↳ yourname: i mean, i love you too i guess

↳ leilaouahabi: lindaaaaa (cutie)

alexiaputellas: i knew she always liked you, it was so obvious with her little heart eyes

↳ leilaouahabi: oh same, she’s obsessed with me

↳ yourname: hello? why are we exposing my business?

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #leila ouahabi x reader #leila ouahabi

556 notes · View notes

theywhowriteandknowthings · 2 months

Text

I Hate How Much I Want You | Frankie Morales x Reader | Enemies to Lovers Part 2

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact.

Specific warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Food mention, weed and cigarettes mention/smoking, Frankie grovels, heavy petting, oral (F receiving), unprotected PiV (reader is on BC and trust around STI’s implied), Softdom!Reader, Switch Frankie, Use of “zorra(slut)” and general filthy mouth from Frankie, Florida Humidity.

Let me know if I missed anything!

[AO3 Link]

Thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta-ing this real quick. Thank you for the encouragement from @merz-8 @noxturnalpascal @covetyou @strang3lov3 @beefrobeefcal @medellintangerine and @speckledemerald for all your horny support <;3

Word count: 6k

Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

You did it, you texted him back embarrassingly quickly. Slick fingers fumbling with your phone to pause your porn as his message came through. You had been seconds away from coming. You can’t believe he still wants to help after you ejected him so forcefully him from your home. You send him a text, just about managing with one hand as you continue to toy with your clit. Francisco Morales is not about to cock block your hard-earned orgasm.

You: Fine, I’m free all day.

You’re about to swipe back to your porn when you see him starting to type away immediately. You bite your lip, your spine tingles as you slowly build yourself back up to your peak.

Frankie: I’ll pick up the parts and some lunch, see you at 12.

You don’t respond, nor do you resume the video. Instead, you opt to think about Frankie as you increase the pressure on your clit. The way his muscles flexed under the dark tank top he wore, his salt and pepper waves that curl slightly at the ends. You imagine what it’d be like to have him pressed against your back, bending you over the counter as he fucked you from behind. You ache to feel his scruff scrape along your jaw as he whispers filth in your ear.

You’re coming hard in seconds, Frankie’s name on your lips as you feel your slick drip down the curve of your ass. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you tilt your head back, stretching out in post-orgasmic bliss. You eventually get up, making sure to pee and clean up before settling back down under your sheets.

You’ve never been so excited to see Frankie before, in fact, you often dread it.

It seems that there really is a first time for everything.

~*~

Frankie sits in his truck, parked down the street from your house. The clock on his dash reads 11:47.

He’s early.

Just like you, he’s way too excited to be back here. His fingertips itch as he tries to decide if he should just bite the bullet and leave his truck now. It wouldn’t be seen as over-eager, surely? He’s just making good on a promise to a friend.

Except you’re not his friend, he has made that pretty clear over the last few months. Anxiety churns in his stomach as he wishes he’d brought something to smoke with him. Even a cigarette would suffice. Instead, he’s chewing his lip, torn up over you and the way you looked so desperately hurt last night. He removes his ball cap with one hand before running his fingers through his damp waves, the Florida humidity doing a number on his hair.

He looks over to the plastic bag from the DIY store and his spare toolkit. He sighs as he sees not one, not two, but the three different faucets he had picked out for you. He tries to reason it that he’s just giving you options because it’s the nice thing to do. Really, he just wanted to please you, make amends for his shitty behaviour. Then he looks at the takeout bag in his lap and his stomach growls.

“Fuck it.”

He sighs to himself as he replaces his hat before grabbing the bag of faucets and his toolkit as he heads out of the cab.

He ignores the clock on the dash that reminds him it’s only 11:50.

~*~

The knock at your door startles you, before you grumble internally once again over the fact Frankie is spurning your perfectly good doorbell. But your annoyance is quickly muted by the smugness that comes with a sudden realisation.

He’s early.

You almost dance on the spot with morbid amusement at the fact that Frankie is already here. You don’t bother lingering this time, practically sprinting to the door to gloat. You pull the door open in one smooth motion and your witty remark dies on your lips.

It’s unfair how good he looks. There’s you, in your jean shorts and tank top, suffering from the extreme humidity. Your skin is sticky, your brow is beading with sweat, and you shift uncomfortably as you feel the wet heat pool in your core.

Then, there’s Frankie, a light sheen to his skin as his toolkit hangs off his shoulder, his hair sticks to his forehead and neck. His thick thighs fill his cargo shorts as his belly swells a little over his white tank top. No over-shirt today so you have an unhindered, front row seat to the way his tan skin flexes over his strong arms. Not to mention his neck, thick and freckled. Fuck, you need to stop staring.

His face is flushed, cheeks rosy as he looks you over. There’s a darkness to his gaze that makes you shiver. Clearly neither of you are being subtle.

“So, the sink?” You squeak, your voice embarrassingly high-pitched as you turn away, your heart is hammering in your chest as you try and calm down.

“Sure, I got you a few different options to choose from,” Frankie explains as he trails behind you.

You can feel him, the heat rolling off him is palpable as he shadows your every move.

“You could have just gotten me the one, I’m not fussy,” you say without thinking as you lean against the counter next to the sink, you look up to see Frankie looking a little crest-fallen and you course correct, “But thank you, that was kind.”

“My pleasure,” Frankie says as he sets down the various bags on the kitchen table, “Don’t have to stick around, I promise not to fuck it up.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” you say with a shrug as you notice the takeout bag, it’s from your favourite burger place.

He remembered?

Frankie says nothing more as he resumes his place on the floor from last night. He gets to work, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrates. His hat rests next to him on the floor. It’s almost domestic, him fixing your sink as you watch.

You feel a twinge of remorse in your chest as you see the way he can’t keep your gaze. His eyes flit to you every few minutes, as if he can feel you staring. You head to the fridge and grab a pitcher of iced tea, grabbing two glasses from the cabinets. You set down one of the glasses next to Frankie’s cap on the floor.

“I’m real sorry about things went yesterday-,” Frankie starts just as you pipe up.

“About last night-,” you say but you both freeze, eyes locking across the small kitchen, and you can’t help but mirror the smirk that spreads across Frankie’s plush lips.

“Go on, you first,” you insist as you take a deliberate sip of your iced tea.

“I just want you to know I am sorry you heard that shit I said to Will and Alyssa,” Frankie says with a sigh as he rocks up onto his feet, “, I was in a real bad place.”

“That’s not a real apology, Morales,” you say with a smile, appreciating his honesty if nothing else, “Go on.”

“Right,” he nods as he rifles through the plastic bag with the faucets, “First up, which one?”

You cross the short distance and admire the three different options. All options are fairly modern looking, but you linger for a while, selfishly getting closer to Frankie as you pretend to contemplate the options seriously. In reality you don’t care, you just want a working sink. You also just want to be in Frankie’s orbit.

“I like this one,” you say softly, your voice a little husky. You place your hand on the plastic packaging lightly, fingertips lingering as you look up into Frankie’s dark eyes.

“Yeah, that was my first choice too,” he says as he picks up the package, his fingertips brush yours and you don’t pull away, letting the callouses on his hands scrape against the back of your hand. You see the way his neck tenses as you fawn up at him.

“Who knew you had good taste?” You tease as you step away.

“Full of surprises, me,” Frankie says with a low chuckle as he clears his throat.

“On that note,” you say with a coy smile as you lean back against the counter, “You were grovelling?”

There’s a brief flash of emotion on Frankie’s face as he picks up his hat, securing it on his head as he grabs his glass of iced tea. His jaw ticks to the side as he takes a long gulp of the sweet drink.

“Right,” he says as he sets the glass down, turning back to the faucet as he disconnects the old one, “I was an ass,” he says with a sigh as his thick fingers make easy work with the tools and various intricacies of the faucet, “I can’t take it back, but I do want to say I’m sorry, for how I made you feel, and for the things I said.”

“I appreciate that, thank you,” you say with a nod, “I didn’t mean to ambush you like that last night either, I’m sorry too, you were doing me a solid.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frankie says with a huff, “I had it coming.”

“Maybe,” you concede with a smile, “But I don’t think I was completely fair, you’ve had your own share of shit to deal with.”

“My addiction, and my recovery, are my burdens. No-one else’s,” Frankie says with a stern look on his face. You hate how the shift in his tone makes you squirm; you know he’s not telling you off, but it doesn’t feel any less authoritative.

“Understood,” you nod as you gesture vaguely with your hand, urging him to continue.

“But I don’t do well with change,” he says as he continues working, looking away from you, “And Santi brought you into the group without so much as a heads up. I got defensive, I fell into an ugly pattern of behaviours. I’m sorry.”

“That’s very big of you, thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he says with a shrug as he stretches with a groan, “Looks like it’s good to go.”

You hover at his elbow as he tests the tap, the water flows freely and stops abruptly when Frankie flicks it off. The sound of running water halts and you’re left with your hip brushing Frankie’s thigh.

“I really appreciate you doing this, Frankie,” you say, nudging his side with your elbow as you look up to see his eyes already locked on you. He’s leaning his one arm on the counter as he towers over you, and you can’t help but clench your thighs.

“Like I said,” he mumbles as he turns his body towards you. His tongue glides across his lower lip and you can’t ignore the charged energy between you now, “Just helping out a friend.”

“It’s not just about the sink, Frankie,” you say as you tentatively brush your fingertips over his hand.

“Oh? What else is this about?” He asks and there’s a light dancing behind his eyes, a smugness that tells you he already knows but he wants you to say it.

“There’s another reason why I’ve been keeping my distance,” you admit softly as you inch closer to him.

“That right?” Frankie breathes, his voice shaky as he threads his fingers through yours. You can’t believe it, the shift in your dynamic is giving you whiplash.

“Despite everything, Morales,” you say as you bring your other hand up to rest on his sternum. The contact sends heat rippling through your body as Frankie hums deep in his chest, “I think you’re a good guy, and really fucking hot.”

“Yeah?” He rumbles, his free hand coming up to trail up your bicep the contact makes you shiver as you try to stifle a whine, “You think I’m hot?”

“I’m not saying it again,” you say with a little bite to your tone, “But I had to keep my distance, I didn’t want to get hurt.”

“I understand,” Frankie says with a subtle nod, his fingertips skimming your collarbone now, your cunt clenches in anticipation, “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” you say as you slide your hand up to cup his jaw, “But you can make it up to me, if you want?”

“Yeah?” Frankie rasps as he leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

“I want you to tell me what you want, Francisco,” you say softly as your fingertips move to the back of his head, threading through the damp hair there as you tug lightly, “If you want me so bad, I want you to beg.”

Frankie’s jaw falls slack as a strangled groan bubbles forth from the back of his throat. His half-hard cock stirs in his shorts as you close the gap between you both, pressing yourself against him. Your nipples harden as you feel the way his body shudders under your touch.

“I want to fuck you,” Frankie’s voice is a hushed rasp as he ghosts his fingertips along the angle of your jaw, “I want to make you scream,” he continues as the calloused pad of his thumb brushes against your lips, “I want to please you, querida.”

“Yeah?” You purse your lips against Frankie’s thumb, your lips tingling at the promise his touch brings, “You think you deserve to have me, Francisco? Do you think you can make good on your promises?”

“I will, or I’ll die trying,” his other hand tugs on your own, pulling you against him as he flattens his palm against the small of your back, “Let me try, please.”

You slowly open your mouth, tongue teasing against his thumb as you wrap your lips around the thick digit. A soft moan escapes you as you suck slowly, purposefully, as you maintain eye contact with Frankie. His eyes are glassy as he whines, brow furrowed as you release his thumb with a lewd pop.

“Bedroom, now.”

You order as you push back from Frankie, the sudden action jarring enough that you slip his grasp. A determined growl rumbles from behind you as you stride towards the stairs. You don’t bother looking back over your shoulder, you can hear his heavy footsteps gaining on you and there’s a primal thrill to it. You pick up the pace, practically jogging to your open bedroom door as adrenaline and arousal scorch through your veins.

You’re almost over the threshold when you feel the press of his palms on your waist as he pulls you back against him. You don’t have time to proffer a witty remark before Frankie’s mouth is on your throat. The rough scratch of his facial hair along the slope of your shoulder has you squirming as he nudges your head to the side with his strong nose.

“Going to make you feel so good,” Frankie says with a growl before sucking gently against the column of your neck. His one hand trails down your front and you gasp as he cups your sex through your shorts. His thick fingers tease at the denim where it covers your aching cunt; fingertips swirling over your clothed core, and you can’t help the desperate little sounds you make as pleasure rocks through you.

“Frankie, please.”

You yelp as his teeth nip at the shell of your ear and your panties cling to your cunt, you’re dripping for him.

“Call me Francisco, please,” he huffs into your ear as he walks you forward, “Sounds so good when you say my name.”

“Yeah? You like it when I beg you to fuck me, Francisco?” You ask as your knees hit the edge of the bed, but you stop yourself from falling forward just yet. You know that’s what Frankie wants, but you’re not about to give over control just yet. You feel him straining against you, not wanting to manhandle you aggressively it seems, but you can feel the need in the way his cock presses against your ass.

“I do,” he whispers in your ear, “Let me show you how sorry I am, querida.”

“Show me, Francisco, let’s see if you can make me scream your name,” you lean back as you speak, pressing your cheek against his.

His lips brush against yours as he angles his head down to you, it’s like being struck by lightning. You gasp as he kisses you, almost tenderly, before you let go completely. You kiss him back, pulling his lower lip between your teeth. You’re rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as his lips part for you. You lick into his mouth teasingly, asking for permission and he slots his mouth over yours in response.

His tongue slides into your mouth, dancing with your own as he tastes you. His groans rumbling through you as he delves deeper past your lips, mapping you out, claiming you. You’re pliable beneath his large hands as you feel him bending you at the hip. The hand cupping your sex increases the pressure. The heel of his palm grinds against your clothed clit as his fingertips knead at where your shorts are beginning to soak through.

“On your front,” Frankie growls as he places a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You do as he says, flopping forward onto the bed as gracefully as you can with his large hand still working at you through your shorts. It’s been a while since you last let someone take relative control in the bedroom. Often, you’re used to dictating the pace, your partners needing gentle encouragement – or sometimes a very firm hand – to ensure you got what you need from sex. But this is different, Frankie is different.

There’s a pause as Frankie removes his hand from your cunt, and you’re about to turn over and ask what the hold up is, when his hot palms spread you out. His fingers digging into the backs of your knees as he opens you up.

“Frankie, what are you-?”

You practically choke on your words as you feel him press his face into the apex of your thighs. He buries himself against the damp crotch of your shorts and inhales as he grinds his nose against your core.

“Fuck,” he hisses as you feel him mouth against your covered cunt, his hands travel up the backs of your thighs as he holds you open for him. You squirm at the depravity of his thick fingers pinning you down, his face pressed hard against such a sensitive spot. Being fully clothed only makes you wetter, like there’s something even more profane about the action while your shorts cling tight to your desperate pussy.

“Frankie please,” you whine, and you can’t stop yourself, you didn’t think you’d be begging so quickly, so easily for someone you were ready to kick to the curb only yesterday.

“What do you want?” Frankie asks as his fingertips slip under the hem of your shorts, trailing over the swell of your ass.

“I want your mouth on my cunt, take my shorts off,” you huff into the sheets as you feel the heat burn over your cheekbones.

“Yes ma’am,” Frankie growls as he places a kiss to your inner thigh before his hands are on your hips, “Turn over for me.”

You carefully rotate your body, mindful not to kick Frankie in the face in your eagerness. You lie back and you clench around nothing at the way Frankie is looking at you. His eyes are glassy and blown out with desire, his face is pink in places where the denim of your shorts has irritated his skin. You lower your gaze to see the painfully obvious bulge in his shorts and you swallow around the lump in your throat.

He’s big.

“So pretty like this,” he says absently as he rakes his eyes over your body. You’re still fully clothed but you’ve never felt so bare in your life.

“Frankie-,” you’re about to beg again when he makes a face at you as he hisses between his teeth.

“Please, call me Francisco, I really like it when you do,” there’s a hint of a challenge in his voice and you nod slowly as you stare him down.

“Please, Francisco,” you say as you bring both hands up to grope your tits over your tank top, “Show me how good you are with that dirty mouth of yours,” you spread your legs wide for him as you speak, and the way Frankie’s nostrils flare makes you squirm.

Frankie settles himself down between your thighs as he throws his cap off to the side. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but you aren’t focusing on the hat anymore. Frankie’s calloused hands trail up from your knees, scraping deliciously against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He dips his fingertips under the denim once more and you feel him shudder as they brush the outline of your lace panties.

“Don’t tell me you wore something nice for me?” He asks as he smirks up at you, his cheek resting on your right thigh as he waits for your response.

“No, Francisco, I wanted to wear lacey panties in the middle of summer in Florida, I like the way wet lace chafes just right.”

You’re taunting him and the way his cheek dimples, you know he’s loving it as much as you are.

“Poor baby,” he hums softly as he brings one hand up to pop the button of your shorts open, “Let me help you out. Let’s get rid of those wet panties, yeah?”

You don’t answer, the condescending tone of his voice makes your head fuzzy. You’re so used to being the one doing all the talking, it’s a blissful role reversal for you. You watch as Frankie slowly pulls on the zipper before you lift your ass for him to tug the oppressively tight fabric down. You keen upwards as you feel the humid air hit your slick panties.

“Fu-uck,” Frankie rasps as he drops your shorts to the side of the bed, his eyes firmly fixed on the slick, glistening lace just inches from his face, “I’d ask if this was all for me,” he says as he lowers his mouth to your lace-covered sex, “But I think we both know it is.”

You don’t have time to make a snide comment, nor do you think you could with how blissed out you are. Frankie’s lips latch onto your clothed clit and you cry out as his hot tongue swirls slow, lazy circles over the already drenched fabric.

“Francisco,” you cry out as he pressures your clit just right, you see stars behind your eyelids. You’re embarrassingly close already.

“So sensitive,” he hums as he teases a finger up and down the thin strip of lace covering your core, “So wet.”

You’re about to beg again when you feel the drag of his rough fingertips slide under the seam of your panties. You arch up, your head falling back against the sheets as you once again feel the warm air hit your slick cunt. You hiss a little as the fabric that clings to you peels away with a sharp pinch.

“S’okay, I got you,” Frankie whispers as he rolls your panties off your feet, you force your eyes open, looking down just as he swipes his tongue through your folds. It’s slow, deliberate, and makes your toes curl as the hot drag culminates with his plush lips kissing your clit. The press of his mouth on your most sensitive spot punches a strangled moan from your chest.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper, “Fuck yes, Francisco.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, instead he teases your clit in soft, barely-there flicks of his tongue as he sucks your sensitive bud into his mouth. The pleasure shoots through you as you writhe under him. He shifts slightly, draping your calves over his broad shoulders as he presses his whole face against your cunt.

“So fucking sweet,” he snarls as you feel him shake his head back and forth, lapping at your clit as he moves.

“Fra-,” you stutter, unable to form his full name, pleasure driving every conscious thought from your mind as you build to your peak.

“Go on, come for me,” he goads you as he holds you down with one of his strong arms. You feel the weight of it pin you down as you try and buck your hips. Your spine tingles with every flick of his tongue, every groan that vibrates through your clit.

“I’m-,” you cry out, loud and throaty as you clench around nothing, your gasping pleas filling the room as you come hard. You whine and scream as Frankie keeps going as your body is rocked with overstimulation.

“So pretty when you come querida,” he says softly as he eases off, peppering your slick folds and clit with gentle, teasing kisses, “Can you give me another?”

“Francisco,” you gasp as you feel two thick fingers tease at your entrance, “Want your dick, please.”

“So eager,” he chuckles softly as he eases the tips of his fingers inside you, teasing little pulses right at your entrance that have you arching your back as you whine in frustrated overstimulation, “Where is the fire from earlier? I thought you were in control querida?”

“Fuck you,” you hiss but there’s no bite in it, you know he’s right. You love that he’s right. It’s the kind of fuck you’ve been wanting for years, the kind where you can just let go, let him take what he needs from you while simultaneously giving you more than you’ve ever dreamed of.

“Like I said,” he smirks up at you as you struggle to keep your eyes open, “Come for me again and I will.”

“Stop teasing me and fuck me with your fingers, Morales,” you snap, wresting for some control of the situation.

“There she is, my little zorra,” Frankie hums in triumph as he eases his thick fingers inside you. You want to ask him what that means but you’re blinded by the way he sinks all the way down to the knuckle in one swift motion.

You moan at the way he doesn’t let you adjust, your slick walls already accommodating them with minimal effort. He curls them up as he drags them slowly in and out of you, pushing and pulling at that sensitive spot that makes your whole body twitch. Every time he hits it, he smirks, gauging your reaction as he works you right back to the blinding peak.

“God! Your pussy feels so good, squeezing my fingers so tight,” Frankie babbles, as if to himself before flicking the blunt tip of his tongue against your clit, “Come for me.”

You clamp down hard on his fingers as his verbal command sends you reeling. Your mouth is dry as you cry out soundlessly. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as he fucks you through your orgasm. The languid pace careful, controlled, as he works you through it.

“There you go,” he says softly, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh as he slowly eases out of you, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

You want to say something, anything, but all you can do is gulp in deep breaths as you try and ground yourself. You stare up at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity before you feel the soothing touch of Frankie’s fingers tracing patterns on your thigh.

“Back in the room?” He asks you with a smirk as he lies there, his cheek pressed against your knee as he simply watches you.

“Yeah,” you nod with earnest, “That was just fucking amazing,” you chuckle, and you’re rewarded with a deep rumble of satisfaction from Frankie’s chest.

“Good,” he says airily as he nuzzles his nose against your sensitive skin, “Want to keep going?”

“Fuck yes,” you huff through your nose as you prop yourself up on your elbows, “Just needed to catch my breath.”

“You got condoms?” Frankie asks and you’re suddenly sobered at the request. You’re so caught up in the moment you didn’t even think about using one.

“I do,” you say but you raise an eyebrow at him, “Do you trust me, Francisco?”

“Yes,” he says with a questioning look on his face as he palms his cock through his shorts, “Why?”

“I’m on the pill,” you say as you retreat backwards up the bed, “C’mere,” you say with a curl of your index finger and Frankie moves without hesitation, still fully clothed as you spread your legs for him.

“You been checked recently, Francisco?” You ask as he kneels between your legs, leaning back on his calves as he looks at you with a wry expression on his lips.

“A few months ago, all clear,” he says cautiously as he runs his one hand through his slick hair, “Why, you want me to take you raw?”

You stifle a groan at the harsh language, you’re regaining control over the dynamic slowly. No way are you breaking stride now.

“No, Francisco,” you purr as you manoeuvre up onto your knees, meeting his gaze as you toy with the hem of his tank top, “I want to ride you raw.”

Frankie’s mouth drops open as you push up the edge of his tank top, forcing it up to his armpits as you lock and suck at the swell of his belly. He pulls it up and over his head as he watches you with wide eyes.

He’s sweaty and musky on your tongue as you follow the light curls of his happy trail. You press your nose against his belly as you unbutton his shorts. You whine at the sight of his grey boxer briefs, and the way the fabric darkens over the head of his cock.

“Look at you,” you coo as you palm his length, “Francisco, you’ve been holding out on me,” you say with a smirk as you look up into his lust-blown eyes. He stammers as you cup his balls through his briefs and press a kiss to the tip of his clothed dick. You know he won’t last long, but you can’t help but tease him a little.

“Strip for me,” you whisper against the side of his shaft as you squeeze his balls gently. He groans softly before you pull away, already stripping your tank top and bra as you watch him do as he’s told. His eyes are glassy, it’s as if a switch has flipped in his brain. The realisation hits you immediately.

Frankie likes this. He likes being told what to do.

He pulls his briefs down in one swift motion, letting his thick cock spring free and slapping wetly against his abdomen as he hurriedly pushes his briefs and shorts past his knees. He resumes his position on the bed, kneeling as he rests on his laurels. You salivate at the sight of him, his foreskin straining against the head of his cock.

“Good boy,” you breathe, stomach churning delightfully as you see the way Frankie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, “Legs out,” you gesture for him to straighten his legs and he obeys almost comically fast.

You crawl forward, hands sliding up over his shoulders. Immediately his hands fall to your hips, steadying you as you hover over his lap. It’s surely far too intimate – fucking like this – especially considering how you were at each other’s throats only yesterday. But there’s something about it all that just feels right. You press your forehead against Frankie’s, closing your eyes as his tip notches at your core.

“Oh fuck,” you hiss as you sink down onto his cock, your slick walls clamp down around the intrusion as you split yourself open with his dick. You whine as you reach the base, you’re so full, so snug around his cock.

“Fu-uck,” Frankie echoes as he curls his arms around you pinning you against him, keeping you so impossibly close. You drop your head to rest in the crook of Frankie’s neck. Your lips latching onto his slick skin as you clench hard around him.

“I’m going to move,” you whisper against Frankie’s neck, “Let me use you, Frankie, want to fuck myself on your cock.”

“Please,” he whispers, as you nip along his jaw, “Use me.”

You whimper as you begin to roll your hips forward, lifting up as you savour every inch of his cock raking through you. You catch yourself just before he slips out of you, lingering for a moment, then pushing yourself back down. You cry out at the abrupt stretch as discomfort cedes to pleasure. Frankie’s grip tightens on your waist as you repeat the action again and again.

Each time more and more pleasure rocks through you as you use Frankie’s cock. You know he’s close, his brow is furrowed, and his breaths come in ragged gasps. You’re griding his cock inside you as you lean down to whisper in his ear.

“Fuck me, Francisco,” you say, “Make me scream.”

He groans at the sudden permission to fuck you, body curling around you as he pitches you backwards. He stays buried deep as you’re pushed down into the pillows, your thighs pressed against your chest as Frankie gets you how he wants you.

“Fuck. I’ve wanted this for so long,” Frankie snarls in your ear as he starts to move, his pace picking up rapidly.

“Me too,” you moan as he nudges your g-spot over and over again. You’re whining at every snap of his hips as pleasure arcs through you. Your fingertips dig into his back muscles as you cling to him. He snaps his hips harder and harder until you can’t hold on any longer.

“Francisco!” you cry out as you come hard around his length, your slick walls clamping down hard as you feel him stutter beneath you. He fucks down into you a few more times before he lets out a tight groan as he empties himself inside you. His hips still, your chests pressed together as you grin at one another.

You lie there for a few moments as you both try and catch your breath. Neither of you can stop smiling as you feel Frankie ease his soft cock out of you.

“We need to clean up and we both need to pee,” you say lazily as you roll onto your side. Frankie flops down next to you, a soft oof escaping his lips as he hits the mattress.

“We do,” he agrees as he brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheekbone, “You, ok?”

“Yeah, I’m good, more than good,” you babble as Frankie smiles at you, cheek dimpling delightfully.

“Good,” he says with a soft nod.

There’s so much hanging in the air between you. More than you can worry about right now.

“Let’s get a shower and replace the burgers you brought,” you say as you force yourself up, heading to the bathroom.

“It’s not my fault they’re inedible now,” Frankie grumbles playfully and you smile at him over your shoulder.

“Whatever,” you stick your tongue out at him as you turn on the shower, “Come on, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Alright, but I’m not the one telling Santi about us,” Frankie growls as he catches up to you, wrapping his arms around you as he nuzzles against the back of your head, “I’ll never live it down.”

“Fine,” you agree with a smirk playing across your lips, “That means you have to tell the Millers.”

The statement hangs heavy in the air before Frankie curses under his breath. He realises too late his mistake and you just smile, leaning back into your former arch-nemesis’ arms, wondering how you got here; and what here even is. But you are sure of one thing.

Now you’ve had a taste of Frankie Morales, you’re never letting him go.

Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

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frost-queen · 5 months

Text

The moment I knew // part 7 (Reader!Bridgerton x Tewkesbury)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly,@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco,@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @cayt0123, @powwowsworld, @yomamacrusty, @mileyy22, @omgsuperstarg, @helen06dreamer, @misscaller06, @l4venderia, @dracoflaco, @loliakeoghan23, @emotionaldamageemotionaldamage, @reallysparklychaos, @ok-boke, @the-fifth-marauder7, @asgards-princess-of-mischief, @cherrysxuya

Summary: The social season goes on continuing with another ball. Yet this ball holds some surprises. Will it make a change for the better? [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3& part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 8 & part 9 ]

Tap

Tewkesbury tapped his finger mindlessly against the hard glass. His mind somewhere else, vision unclear. The upmost bored expression on his face. He heard his grandmother tsk loud for him to change his posture. – “Sit up straight boy!” – she called out as the carriage took a turn, riding on a gravely road. When Tewkesbury wouldn’t move she revealed her fan, giving him a hard slap against the hand with it.

“Au!” – Tewkesbury snapped awake, startled by the sudden whip on his fingers. His grandmother hummed loudly with a glance that it was his own fault. He exhaled deep rubbing his poor fingers. He straightened his posture, leaning back against the fabric as the carriage toggled a bit. His grandmother gave him a look for off judgement. Tsking her tongue again.

Tewkesbury tilted his head slightly knowing she just had a comment burning on her tongue. – “It’s the third ball already. When are you going to show any REAL interest in a young woman.” – she emphasized on the matter of real. – “I sure hope you don’t thinking to form an alliance with that wild girl.”

Tewkesbury knew she was referring to Enola. – “She was quite nice to return my child back to me, but good heavens her features aren’t standard. She has a heart too wild. Marrying a girl like that will only give you trouble, I’ll give you that.” – she spoke glancing out of the window. The skies light dimming out. A greyness colouring all that was bright away for the night to take over.

Tewkesbury turned to look out of the window. Watching the street lights being lighted up with their bright fires. Two men standing on a ladder to give the lantern light. A couple walking arm in arm just passing them by. – “What about the season’s diamond? She isn’t the fairest…” – his grandmother brushed her skirt with her gloves.

“Whatever possessed the queen to chose her. No foul words to her majesty.” – she quickly added as if speaking ill of the queen would cause her harm. – “Yet, she would be a good match. Marrying the season’s diamond always hyphen’s up once’s status.”

Tewkesbury sighed deep as a sign of protest. He wasn’t at all interested in the season’s diamond. There was only one calling his heart, yet she no longer wishes to commit herself to him. Perhaps it was partly his fault. He still didn’t know what possessed him that faithful night at the first ball. He had been exciting all day eager to see you again. A year. An entire year he hadn’t seen you. Only making him yearn for your presence more. It was nice to have you around. His feelings still a bit unclear at that moment. In the beginning it was merely out of boredom.

That was how it all started at the opera. The moment he found a willingly victim to laugh with him. To make the dreadful opera bearable. At first he teased a lot. Playing in on the signals you were sending him. A young girl gushing over a boy. Probably the first boy around her age she had met. As girls at that age were, falling hopelessly in love with each boy that flashed them a smile. Then he started to get to know you better. See more sides of you.

It was perhaps then that he had already started to fall for you, yet it wasn’t known to him yet. A bundle of feelings he couldn’t name yet, tumbling in his stomach. Spiralling and tumbling. It became clear to him the moment you returned the acorn to him. That stupid thing he foolishly had given to you in exchange for his ring. His father’s ring he should’ve never parted from.

Holding the acorn in his hand and watching you dance with someone else made him realize what he was losing. How much nights he had wasted with not being near you. It had created a drift between the two of you. – “No foolish sauntering this time. I expect you to be married off by the end of the season. It is my dying wish.” – she had clasped her hands together, looking up to the ceiling. Tewkesbury scoffed silently.

“To have me out of the house.” – he mumbled to himself. – “What was that boy?” – she snapped at him. – “Nothing grandmother.” – he responded quickly avoiding her stern eyes. – “Thought so.” – she flapped out needing to have the last word. Tewkesbury turned to look out of the window again seeing how much the sky had darkened already. The blinding estate of the next ball coming up in sight.

You had followed your siblings inside. Hand on Anthony’s arm. He sighed loud upon entering. You quirked your lips teasingly up. – “Oh how dreadful it is.” – you acted out dramatically with the back of your hand against your forehead. Your little act made Anthony look at you, puzzled. – “Another ball I have to keep my sisters save from. God forbid they find a match and leave from under my wings.” – you added sounding as silly as you could.

Anthony stared in shock at you as Francesca laughed loud. – “It isn’t funny.” – Anthony told you sternly. It made you press your lips together to withhold yourself from laughing at him. – “Oh come on Anthony.” – Benedict pitched in grabbing him by the shoulder. – “I thought Y/n did a great performance of you.” – he chuckled afterwards squeezing his fingers in Anthony’s shoulder. You let go of him arm, standing in front of him to curtsy as if being applauded.

Anthony brushed Benedict’s hand off him with annoyance. – “Poor Anthony being so teased by his younger siblings.” – Colin interfered wanting to have a say in it. Anthony turned to look at Mother. Violet tried her best to hide her smile, yet failed miserably. To Anthony’s annoyance as he stormed off. – “Oh Anthony don’t be so… it was a mere tease.” – Violet called out going after him.

Benedict came to your side, holding his palm up to you. You pressed your palm against him, snickering at your own tease. Arms locked in you followed mother who tried to reach Anthony. Anthony took halt by a set of vases. Half filled with flowers and peacock feathers. Francesca came running up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. – “You are so easily teased.” – she said with a smile. Anthony looked up to the ceiling not wanting to give in, but when you joined her.

Wrapping your arms around him at his other side, he couldn’t withhold himself anymore. Holding both of you for a warmful hug. The moment was ruined when Benedict decided to join in from behind, giving him a good squeeze. Nearly making him fall forwards. He nudged his elbow back at Benedict to get him off his back. Benedict let go of him, winking at you. Benedict stretched out making Anthony roll his eyes at him.

“I thought you had learned manner yet.” – Anthony spoke. Benedict lowered his arms from stretching up. – “Oh brother you must know me.” – he chuckled out giving him a hard slap against his back. A gentleman came over around Colin’s age. He invited him for a game of cards. Colin accepted dragging Benedict with him.

You stood with Francesca and mama, watching the dancers. A girl you had met before once came running over. – “They have peacocks in the garden!” – she called out unable to control her enthusiasm. Francesca and you looked at each other with delight and shock. – “Girls!” – Mama called out the moment the two of you started to run. Wanting to get to the gardens and see a peacock for real. – “Oh I wish it would open it’s feathers.” – Francesca huffed out pressing herself between people to get across.

Holding onto her hand tightly, you were behind her, trying to squeeze through those your sister just went passed. You were near the glass doors that lead up to the stone pedestal with steps downwards into the gardens. Many people wished to gaze upon the peacocks to be found in the garden. Francesca and you came to a brief halt as you locked eyes with a certain girl on your right.

The one who had danced with Tewkesbury. Her expression neutral. She went on going through the glass doors as Francesca followed taking the doors on the left. You had remained still, allowing your hand to slip out of hers as she got swept up in the crowd. Somehow the moment seemed ruined. No longer you contained any excitement for the animals. Moving a bit backwards, you went back further in.

Yet you didn’t wish to return to your mother who was clearly searching for Francesca and you. Neither did you wish to return to your brothers. Not even being allowed in the rooms where they played cards and gambled on the side. It was a secret, a hush-hush but everybody knew about it anyways. You decided to leave the ballroom for what it was. The music fading out when you went into the corridor. Most of the doors were closed. Others were open.

A group of people chattering and laughing loud with drinks in their hands. You passed them all feeling no need of entering a room full of strangers without the presence of your brothers. By the end of the corridor you were intrigued by a door partly opened. Not enough to peer inside, but wide enough to see a warmth glow come from inside of it. You neared the door staring through the creak to have a look inside.

Eyes widening at the sight of Tewkesbury. You gasped loud when he suddenly turned around spotting you. It had startled you, making you bump your shoulder against the door and trying to make a run for it. Tewkesbury hastened himself to the door, opening it more. – “Y/n!” – he called out. It made you stop. – “I mean Miss Y/n.” – he corrected himself. You took a step forwards not sure if you wanted to be around him. A second step was impossible as you felt a force keep you in place by your skirt.

Looking over your shoulder down, you saw Tewkesbury’s grip on your skirt. Your gaze went up to meet his. Full of sadness his eyes were. Perhaps yours were too. – “Please…” – he whispered, a hush almost unheard. Taking a deep breath, your shoulders slouched down. Unspoken you followed him back into the room, not sure why you did. The room was not that grand. Rather small. An armchair and small table positioned in the room.

White curtains with patterns on them. Here and there some trinkets. You went to sit down on the armchair, hands folded in your skirt. Tewkesbury stood up straight looking down at a small table. It contained a perfume bottle and a fan. It felt weird. Awkward to say the least. As if you were strangers again. Tewkesbury cleared his throat picking up the perfume bottle. You turned your head to look around the room.

Tewkesbury leaned forwards trying to sniff the smell. Accidently spraying in his face. He coughed loud, waving a hand in front of his face. Setting the perfume bottle back. – “I saw that girl head outside to see the peacocks.” – you said having the urge to cut through the silence. – “Enola.” – Tewkesbury replied as it made you hum confused.

“Oh…” – hearing him say her name made you turn your head away. It felt strange. Strange how your heart still yearned for him. Even in this moment. You wanted to run over to him, leap in his arms and hear him say how much he wants you. Tewkesbury understood the notion of your reaction, looking down at the table. He picked up the fan to occupy himself. – “Where is your suitor?” – he asked. You hummed confused looking up to him. Tewkesbury looked back at you opening the fan with a smooth movement.

It made you blink startled. – “That boy you danced with.” – Tewkesbury flapped the fan at himself keeping his eyes on you. – “I’m sure he has proposed by now.” – He went on unable to stop himself from yearning for you. For hoping you’d contradict his words. As a response you snorted loud. It made him curl up a smile not fully understanding what was this amusingly. – “I’ve danced with him once. Let’s not get too far ahead.” – you responded with a smile.

Tewkesbury’s smile got brighter feeling the tense atmosphere from before falter. – “Besides he’s not a prince.” – you added with a smile. – “Or a Viscount.” – Tewkesbury whispered out of ears reach. – “Enola seems nice.” – you told him. Tewkesbury flashed the fan in front of him again near his cheek. To you unknown, but to him full of words.

“She’s a terrible dancer.” – he commented making you laugh. – “Laugh all you want, I have the bruised toes to speak for me.” – he added as you started to laugh even harder. Hearing your laugh made him smile widely. In this moment it felt like heaven to him. He drew the fan down his cheek again to you. – “What are you doing?” – you questioned seeing it was the third time he had performed it. – “Fanning.” – he responded with a cheeky smile. – “It is hardly warm here… unless you are doing something else…” – you answered.

“Nothing else.” – he muttered out, looking away. Having a sense of time, you got up. Tewkesbury hasting him to your side. – “My siblings must wonder where I am.” – you spoke hearing your heart thump louder in his presence. – “Of course.” – he answered staring smitten down at you. You wanted to open the door as Tewkesbury was ahead of you. Opening it for you and allowing you to walk out. You went on, looking briefly over your shoulder back to him.

Unable to hide the fact you still much desired him. Your plans of marrying him still present, never buried away. You entered the ballroom once more. You watched a few more dances with mama at your side. Then there was a sudden announcement. Maken everyone hasten outside. The sky full dark now. Starless and cloudless. A blank canvas ready to be painted in with delights.

You neared the already standing crowd. Mama spotted Francesca going over to her. Not far from her you noticed Enola. Getting on the tips of your toes, you couldn’t help but see if Tewkesbury was near her. A part of you hoping he wasn’t. Your brothers were coming outside too, laughing loud. Colin holding a little sack in his hands. Probably the coins he had won with gambling.

They were getting behind some people to wait for what was to come. Setting your heels back down, you felt a presence near your right. Slowly letting your gaze go to your right to see who it was. Your heart leaped, expression softening when he stood beside you. Tewkesbury. Staring right back at you. Half a smile on his lips.

A whistle went off followed by a loud blow. It startled you and Tewkesbury as the night sky busted with colours. First a bright red. Then a bright blue. Tewkesbury and you looked up to the sky as the fireworks exploded. Bright yellow, green and red filled the night sky. Colours popping in the air. People were pointing and reacting startled with laughter.

You were amazed by the colours, watching them with excitement. A gentle nudge against your knuckles made you dim your enthusiasm. Trying to figure out what it was doing to you. Another nudge against the back of your hand. Pressing gently against your hand. A tingle went up your spine as you continued to watch the fireworks.

Slowly turning your palm and stretching your fingers out. Fingers glided over yours as they caught your hand. Another firework popped as the green colours reflected on your faces. Two hands intertwined for no one to see. Standing together in a heaven of bright colours.

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mrchiipchrome · 6 months

Text

Once In A Lifetime

W.C.- 3 k

prompt 103. -I won't let you down.

prompt 107. -I haven’t seen you in a long time.

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June 17th 2011, a date that was etched in your brain forever, for it was the day you met your soulmate. In a large town situated in the northeast of Australia, a shy Swedish girl met an outgoing Aussie girl, roughly her age.

It was hard not to notice the gorgeous girl, and even harder for your 7 year old self not to stare at her. The way her movements were so gracious made you slightly envious, the ball at her feet moving smoothly as she kicked it back and forth.

The ball smacking you right in the face breaks you out of the trance the girl with the pretty eyes had put you in, the sudden momentum brings you down to the ground. Your parents, like always, weren’t paying you any attention, they wanted you to be ‘independent’.

“I’m so sorry! I was just trying to kick the ball at the goal but it went over, and I’m sorry.” The pretty girl was kneeling beside you, her eyes locked on yours. Dora had taught you a lot, but not how to decipher quickly strung together sentences of pretty girls with Australian accents.

“It is…no problem?” The nameless girl helps you into a sitting position, her eyebrows knitting together at the strange dialect that came with your words. It was foreign, that much she knew.

“I’m Mary” She sticks out a hand towards you eagerly, nearly thrusting it in your face. You grasp her warm hand in yours tentatively, sweaty palm meeting hers.

“My name is Y/n.” You reply, face red hot from the heat of the new country and from the girl in front of you.

“So, Y/n , do you want to play football with me?” She flashes you her pearly whites in a full face smile. Mary points down at the ball laying haphazardly beside you, picking it up and throwing it between her fingertips.

She smiles again when your head moves up and down frantically, pulling you back up on your feet as she leads you onto the pitch.

“Okay, you go in the goal!” She points at the goal of the small pitch, barely letting you get between the posts before she sends a ball towards you.

The sky turns dark after a couple of hours of throwing yourself on the ground to prevent the ball from rolling into the goal. You had improved greatly in the last few hours, that much Mary could admit.

“Hey Y/n, come here tomorrow at 12!” She calls out to your retreating form, seeing your thumb pointing upwards in agreement.

And in between the goalposts she found you the day after, t-shirt and shorts letting the rough pitch scratch at your arms and legs as you threw yourself left and right.

“Where are you from?” She asks one day, sitting beside you on that pitch you’d first met each other only months before. Your English has greatly improved, with the help of the pretty girl beside you of course.

“Sweden” Short and curt, there were days where you just couldn’t find it in you to string together more than a few words.

“Can you teach me Swedish?!” Mary asks excitedly, the now 8 year old you smiling up at the slightly taller girl. She throws her arms around your shoulders when you nod, your back hitting the ground with a soft thud.

You wrap your arms around the older girl, albeit reluctantly. Affectionate touch isn’t something you were used to.

Days, weeks, months and eventually, years passed. Mary and you stayed best friends all throughout the phases of growing up. The chemistry you had on and off the pitch confused most people, they’d see you with your arms around each other, lips pressed to the other’s hairline or cheek. There was barely anything platonic there left, and everyone except you two seemed to know.

The once innocent 7 and 8 year old girls were now two deeply (and secretly) in love 13 and 14 year olds. The two of you were peas in a pod, never able to find one without the other, well until that dreadful October night.

Four knocks in rapid succession wakes the sleeping girl, the firm taps to her window differing from the soft patter of the rain against her roof.

She rubs her eyes sleepily, turning her desk lamp on as she makes her way over to the window. The blinds cover your devastated expression, although not for very long as she pulls them back, revealing your tearstained face.

The window opens with a creak, Mary grabbing the back of your hoodie to drag you in through the small opening. You hit the floor with a loud thud, groaning as your shoulder smashes into the hard ground.

Sitting up, you lean back against the corner of her soft bed, the soft bed you’d slept in so many times before. You refuse to meet the forward’s gaze, tears welling up in your eyes at the mere thought of telling her.

She throws herself down next to you, Mary’s arm pulling your body into her own. The simple touch releases the floodgates, sobs echoing around the room, her hand moving up and down your arm soothingly.

“What’s happening, huh? Why are you so upset?” Mary’s heart broke at seeing you so sad, so devastated.

“I’m fucking moving” The words are hardly audible, mumbled into her shoulder through sobs. Tears slip down your face, colouring the Australian’s sleep shirt a darker shade of blue.

“What?! No, this is some joke. Where?” Her hand stills for a few seconds before she continues her ministrations.

“Back to Sweden. They got a ‘better job’ there, they never think of how I’m going to react, they just say yes to anything.” You cry to the older girl, who clutches you that much tighter, her head laying on top of yours.

“When do you go?” She whispers into the damp October air, lips moving to the sound of her own voice. Sniffling fills the tense silence, moving your hand up wipe away the salty tears painting tracks down your face. It comes down to land on her knee, gripping it with all your might.

“Umm…two weeks or something.” She brings one of your hands up to her lips, pressing them to the back of it. Neither of you were ready to live without the other, you were dependent upon each other.

“Well then lovely, we’ll just have to make these next two weeks the best ever possible.” Her body pulls away from yours, starring you right in the eyes.

Neither you nor Mary anticipate it. It just happens naturally, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that has fireworks exploding in your stomach. The delicate embrace is a confession of love, a promise to love each other forever, even if it’s from afar.

It’s simple, the love you share. It’s deeper than an ‘I love you’, deeper than the deepest point of the earth. And yet the simplicity didn’t explain why, how, when, or anything really. It was just there, underlying.

The two weeks are spent sharing kisses with your best friend under the sheets of her bed. Thankfully, Mary’s parents had basically unofficially adopted you, so they had no problem with you staying with them until you had to move.

Your parents barely even noticed your absence, too caught up in work to even think of you.

With everything you had to leave in Australia, you left part of your heart. The people around you, your family, and most importantly, Mary.

“Promise me you’ll go all the way beautiful. That you’ll become the best.” You whisper in her ear, about to go through security. The resentment you held for your parents had quadrupled the last few weeks, your home wasn’t in Sweden anymore, it was in Australia. It was in the form of a brown eyed beauty that had captured both your heart and soul.

“I promise lovely, I won’t let you down.” She looks around, your parents as always were preoccupied with their phones, and hers? They looked away as soon as she shot them a look.

Your person takes hold of your face and places one last kiss to your lips, taking her time to make sure you feel all her love in the kiss.

“Hey, beautiful! You’ll always be my person!” She turns around, flashing you one of her signature smiles, tears streaming down her face like they were down yours.

With one last wave, the best chapter of your life closes.

“Kom igen Y/n, det är tid att åka hem.” Your ‘mother’ tries to give you a reassuring smile, her bony hand laying on your shoulder.

It falls with a swift movement from you, tearing your shoulder away from her.

“Sverige är inte mitt hem längre M/n, Australien är.” You mutter angrily, your mother’s firm glare locked on you.

“Y/n Y/l/n, jag vet att det inte är den bästa situationen för dig just nu, men vi är dina föräldrar och vi bestämmer.” The man who dared to call himself your father told you sternly.

“Mycket till föräldrar har ni ju inte varit, en sten hade gjort ett bättre jobb än er två.” The two strangers in front of you look at each other, not caring enough to reprimand you. They didn’t know you either.

Hugging the blanket Mary had given you the night before closer to your chest, you could feel the love radiating off it.

———

A few years in Sweden and you were back home, back in Australia.

As soon as you turned 18 you moved out, changing your last name to one of your grandmother's maiden name, your so called parents had nothing to do with your footballing success. After all, you had signed your first professional contract at the age of 16.

And apparently you had a worthy enough season with your team that you were called up for the World Cup.

Of course you had your emotional support blanket with you, the old thing had lost all of her scent long ago and yet it was still there with you as a good luck charm.

“Y/n how are you not falling asleep right now?” Nathalie Björn questions you, seemingly amazed by your ability to stay awake for hours upon end.

“BabyBjörn have you forgotten that I’ve done this so many times before?” She looks at you astonished, maybe you had forgotten to tell them after all…

“Did I forget to tell you all that I lived in Australia for nearly seven years?” You ask, scratching your head in confusion.

“WHAT” “NÄE DET GJORDE DU JU INTE” and more expressions of surprise cling out through the plane.

“I have pictures to back me up, wait a sec and I’ll pull them up.” Your computer holds all your old memories, all the pictures flooding from the folder you had them in.

The interested parties crowd around your seat, pushing and shoving each other for a better view.

“Right so this is at the airport, basically the only picture my biological parents took. I think I was seven there.”

You continue to click through the photos, narrating as you go along. When you eventually reach the last one, the questions start flooding in.

“Who’s that girl in all the pictures?” One of them asks, you turning to look at your captain in confusion.

“Me?”

“No, the other girl” She slaps the back of your head lightly.

“Oh, she’s the best person I’ve ever met, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.” The soft smile that paints your lips at the thought of her made your teammates smile too.

“You were in love?” Another one of the yellow clad players asks, them all having seen the pure love in your eyes as you looked at the pictures of the girl.

“Am” The team decided to leave you alone after that, you deciding to look at the pictures in the folder once again.

“Is it just me or did that girl look like Mary Fowler?” Filippa asks Björn, the two of them agreeing silently.

—————

Getting knocked out in the semifinal hurt. You were nearly there, in the final. But now you had no choice but to settle for the bronze medal match.

Like usual, you were starting on the bench. You couldn’t even be mad at the decision, Zesse had been playing magnificently all tournament long.

As the first goal came along you were screaming and jumping up from your seat, causing complete ruckus. One step closer to victory.

At halftime the elation can be felt all throughout the locker room, many slapping Zesse’s back for her incredible saves so far. The tactics and pep talk reinforces the spirit of the team before the second half begins.

In the 47th minute the host country gets a corner, a corner that results in your goalie laying on the pitch, clutching her head.

The medics are out quick, your coach looking at you.

“Y/n, go stretch, you’re going on.” The coach tells you, the bright bib being pulled off hastily. The substitution board goes up, showing off your number to be subbed in.

You feel the eyes of thousands on you, maybe the most people you’d ever had look at you, and yet her eyes are the ones you want to look at you the most.

The eyes that captured your soul all those years ago, the eyes you ultimately met when you walked past her and onto the pitch. The eyes that didn’t quite seem to recognize you fully, the eyes that scanned your tall frame.

Under the watchful eyes of thousands of Australians, you had what might’ve been the best game of your lifetime, leading your team to victory over the hosting nation.

Loud cheers in Swedish follow the three loud beeps of the whistle, the bronze medal finally yours. You run towards your friends, capturing them in big bear hugs and spinning them around.

But when you look at the Australians, more specifically Mary, you don’t have it in you to celebrate anymore. Instead you approach a few of them who are standing up, conversing quietly with tentative steps.

You speak up quietly, telling them that they did amazingly and even getting a few compliments in return. But the women could see that your eyes were drifting away from them every few seconds and towards one of their teammates. Excusing yourself politely, you make your way over to her sitting form.

You plop yourself down beside her, arms over your knees as your fingers pick at the grass. You can feel her eyes studying you, looking at your side profile.

“I’m sorry for not keeping in touch with you beautiful, it was pretty hard when you didn’t have a phone.” Your eyes are fixated on a ball in the distance.

Her sniffles remind you of when you told her you were moving, only this time it’s you who pulls her crying form into your now taller body.

It’s only when you look into her eyes properly that she seems to recognise you fully.

“Y/n?!” Reminiscent of all those times when you were younger, the older girl throws herself into your arms, yours wrapping around her protectively. Her tears wets the skin between your shoulder and neck, the two of you laying on a pitch like you always had been.

“I know pretty girl, we haven’t seen each other in a long time.” She smiles up at you, rolling off your body and onto the floor.

Holding hands, the two of you can’t help but catch up. It had been a few years since you’d talked after all.

“I’m proud of you and the person you’ve turned out to be, Y/n.” The tear that falls down your cheek is wiped away by the girl, hands warm as ever.

“I’m proud of you too, Mary.”

“Can I get your shirt?” She asks timidly, hands fiddling with her own.

“Of course love” Taking it off and handing it to her, you’re standing in only the usual sports bra, waiting for her to give you the Australian jersey that sits upon her shoulders. Instead you see her eyes shifting to the left, mischievous spark lighting them up.

In a millisecond, she takes off running with your shirt still in her hand. Chasing after her, you’re not nearly as fast as the forward and still you chase her, yearning for the usual laughter that follows it.

The freeing feeling of running around the pitch catches up to you, Mary’s laughter echoing in your ears. It makes you laugh too, in the end you’re both laying on the ground laughing like maniacs.

“Can I get your jersey now, beautiful?” You ask when the laughter has died down, her hands moving to peel her jersey from her body. When it’s off she hands it to you, putting yours on.

“You look good in Swedish colours, beautiful.” You kiss her hand softly, twirling her around so that you can see her from all angles.

“And you’d look even better in Aussie ones, love.” You hummed in response, looking around at your teammates who had looked on in confusion.

“I think we might need to tell them all why we’re hugging and laughing” Her hands clutch onto your arm as you lead her over to your team.

"Tjejer, det här är flickan från bilderna.” You tell them, the girl beside you waving timidly in your goalkeeper kit.

“Hej!” She says, the other women around you lighting up at her use of the Swedish greeting.

As everyone else is talking with your girl, you can’t take your eyes off her. But you do see the satisfied expression on Angeldahl’s face as she nods to Björn. Those two were always up to something…

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Translations;

Kom igen Y/n, det är tid att åka hem - Come on Y/n, it's time to go home.

Sverige är inte mitt hem längre M/n, Australien är - Sweden's not my home anymore M/n, Australia is

Y/n Y/l/n, jag vet att det inte är den bästa situationen för dig just nu, men vi är dina föräldrar och vi bestämmer - Y/n Y/l/n, I know that this situation isn't ideal for you, bur we're your parents and we decide what's best.

Mycket till föräldrar har ni ju inte varit, en sten hade gjort ett bättre jobb än er två. - You two are barely my parents, a rock could've done a better job at raising me than you two.

BabyBjörn - a type of baby carrier from sweden

NÄE DET GJORDE DU JU INTE - NO YOU DIDN'T

Hej - Hi

#woso x reader #auswnt x reader #aussie week #mary fowler #mary fowler x reader #auswnt #woso #woso imagines

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tailschannel · 11 months

Text

Super Silver, Knuckles the Dread, Thorn Rose to debut in new Sonic Forces Mobile events

SEGA HARDlight, the developers of Sonic Forces: Speed Battle, shadowdropped new characters ahead of three scheduled in-game events throughout June and July 2023.

Speed Battle players will have an opportunity to collect cards of Knuckles the Dread and Thorn Rose from Sonic Prime, as well Special cards of Silver the Hedgehog's super form.

Knuckles the Dread

Knuckles the Dread, the Angel's Voyage captain, joins the battle! Unlock him in his brand-new event ‘Knuckles the Dread’!

Here are the in-game statistics for the pirate captain, Knuckles the Dread, scheduled to appear between 15 to 22 June 2023.

Fireball: Put the heat on the opponent in front of you with this ball of flame.

Invincibility: Run faster, safe in the knowledge that nothing can harm you. Just don't fall off the track!

Broadside: Summon a line of cannons and fire away to destroy your rivals!

Knuckles the Dread will be equipped with a speed and strength stat of 8/10, and an acceleration stat of 5/10.

Super Silver

Super Silver is charged up! With the ultimate power and unlimited energy, he is ready for battle! Join the event to gain Special cards for Super Silver!

Next, the in-game stats for Silver the Hedgehog's super form, scheduled to appear between 22 to 29 June 2023.

Whirlwind: Puts the wind up your opponents and steals Rings as it spins.

Super Form: After collecting enough Gold Rings, transform into Super Form and blast down the track at incredible speeds!

Tornado: Send your opponents into a spin and pocket any Rings they drop.

Super Silver will be equipped with a speed, acceleration, and strength stat of 6/10.

Thorn Rose

Thorn Rose, the defender of the jungle joins the battle! Unlock her in the brand-new event ‘Thorn Rose’!

Last but not least, here's the in-game stats for Thorn Rose, scheduled to appear between 13 to 20 July 2023.

Hammer Slam: Catch-up to your rivals with a short-sharp boost, then slam your hammer to blast them with a powerful pink wave of slow-you-down!

Jungle Run: A rapid boost which leaves behind brambles to trip up your rivals. Charge this up to drop even more!

Lilytrap: Opponents will have to time their approach just right or they'll be blasted into the sky by a jet of water!

Thorn Rose will be equipped with a speed stat of 7/10, an acceleration stat of 6/10, and a strength stat of 9/10.

(with files contributed by the Tails' Channel Newsfeed.)

#silver the hedgehog #super silver #knuckles the echidna #knuckles the dread #amy rose #thorn rose #sonic prime #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sega #sonic forces #sonic forces mobile #sonic forces speed battle #sega hardlight #gaming #gaming news #sonic news

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cookierunauprompts · 3 months

Note

OOO I have another one that came to me in a dream! Basically the kingdom yn lives in hosts a ball which anyone can attend and yn let's say they're a maid/Butler attends and shadow milk (I'm obsessed with him right now) asks them for a dance and as they're chatting while dancing the yn notices that shadow milk knows a bit more about them than he should and as the dancing goes on he becomes more dominant practically not letting yn step in their own two cookie feet! And as the music stops a dread suddenly dread enters the dance floor and the only thing yn remembers happening after that is shadow milk leaning down to their shoulder and whispering something before they passed out.

bestie you are literally tickling my silly brain right now, also i may have diverged from the prompt a bit and just made the thing a whole little fic instead of a prompt like I'm supposed to be doing.

Request Prompt #8 - 💓

Reader is fem btw, popping this one under a cut because it is LONG

" Princess- No, Reader Cookie. Do you even realize how foolish you're being right now?" Your best friend and private advisor warned as they followed you around your room. " You father explicitly forbade you from going to the ball tonight! if he recognizes you there then I fear you may never leave your room again!" " He can't just expect me to miss out on every important social event until he deems me 'worthy enough to be queen'!" You argue back, already grabbing your masquerade mask and dress. " Besides, my mask is enchanted! There's no way he'll know it's me." You said, holding up your supposedly enchanted mask. " I wasn't aware of how far you planned this... to even sneaking out to purchase a dress for the ball beforehand." Your advisor mumbled in an exasperated manner, you simply just nodded along with their words. Truthfully, you'd gotten the dress and mask as a secret gift upon your windowsill one day. you'd originally planned to sneak out as a waiter... but actually partaking in the festivities sounded a lot more fun. " Oh calm down Crab Claw Cookie," You giggled. " It'll all be fine, I'm still a queen-to-be no matter what my father says. I am his only child after all, and it's not like anyone will be marrying him anytime soon." You spoke with a dismissive wave of your hand, you could still feel Crab Claw Cookie's worried eyes upon you, but you'd be fine, right? Plus, there was that odd dream you had a few days ago. A strange, shadowy cookie had appeared in the darkness, offering to give you your freedom in exchange for what you valued most. You had accepted, not thinking much of it at the time, but now that you thought about it... the dress had appeared once you woke up. And then there was the fact he'd said that he'd come to collect the other part of the deal at a later date. You shook your head, you should just continue to get ready. You have a night of freedom to attend to!

-✢-

The ball was in full swing, and yet here you were sitting off to the side. Why weren't you on the dance floor dancing away with the other cookies? Simple, you were completely unprepared for this kind of event! Because of your father and his overbearing nature, he never allowed you to attend any social events when you were younger. You must have gotten so used to your isolation that you had no idea how to actually interact with real people...! Crab Claw Cookie's social interaction simulations paled in comparison to the real thing... And maybe you were scared of your father noticing and recognizing you in the crowd. In short, you were completely lost. " Oh?" You here a voice speak, and looking next to you you can see a Cookie in quite the fancy blue and black suit, his white and blue haired mostly combed back into a sophisticated style while some covered his left eye. The eye that was uncovered was a rather nice shade of blue, like the ocean illuminated by the light of the full moon, or perhaps a blue moon? The mysterious cookie smiled at you, and you took note that it was rather cat-like. " What's a lovely girl like you doing over here on your own? Shouldn't you be having fun and dancing like the rest of the cookies here?" He asked with a tilt of his head, the playful grin never leaving his face for a moment. You hesitated before you let out a sigh, deciding to air your grievances to the stranger. Because isn't everyone a stranger at a masquerade ball? And yet, there was something familiar about him... " It's just that... I've never had the chance to go to a proper ball before. And now that I'm here, I have no idea what to do..." " Is that so?" The cookie mused with a hum, soon extending his hand after a moment. " Well, why not come dance with me? I can show you the ropes if you don't know how~" He offered, his expectant gaze imploring you to take his hand. So, and almost without question, you place your hand in his. Letting him lead you to the dance floor. The waltz was pretty simple, the music changing to signify that the current song was meant to be waltzed to. You knew how to waltz, but you still let him take the lead despite the fact that you( if only slightly) were the taller of your pair. It wouldn't hurt to strike some quiet conversation, right?

" It's so... odd." You mutter, your soft words having caught the ear of the cookie you were dancing with. " Hm? What is?" He asked, staring up into your masked eyes. Something about his gaze felt as if he were searching your very soul... But that was just a weird feeling, it was nothing. " It's just that..." You look down at your feet, yet a subtle movement from your partner caused you to make eye contact with him once again. " Who are you? I feel like I've seen you somewhere before..." You mumbled to the amusement of the other. " My dear Little Star, are we not at a masquerade ball? We aren't supposed to know who the other attendees are." He said with a chuckle, leading you further into the dance. You felt like you've heard someone call you that before, but where? You aren't sure. Are you even dancing anymore? It feels more like you're being puppeteered. You took a quick glance around, you weren't sure if the people watching you were anything more than shadows. " Princess," your partner begins, and your attention snapped back to him almost instantly like a dog hearing their favorite toy squeak. " You do know that you should keep your eyes on your partner while you're dancing, right~?" He hummed with a light giggle, taking your hands in his own. The music has stopped, in fact, you weren't even sure when it had. The entire ballroom was blanketed in shadows, the people you saw no more than silhouettes painted with glowing blue eyes. You felt like you were dreaming, hell, even your eyelids felt heavy as you continued to sway to the command of your partner. Soon enough, you lost your footing, collapsing into the other cookie's arms as you struggled to stay conscious. You could hear the cookie let out a slow, almost villainous chuckle. " Oh princess~ I've come for your half of the bargain~" He purred into your ear, leaving that as the last thing you heard before passing out.

-✢-

" Sire! Terrible news!" A pair of castle knights hollered, interrupting the king's morning. Reader Cookie hadn't even bothered to come down for dinner the prior night, even though he ended the ball early just to make time for her. If she kept up this pettiness then she would never be fit for the role of queen. " Yes?" He gruffly spoke, " Get on with it. Has another rebel group formed to usurp my throne? Is it an escaped Prisoner? It doesn't matter, we can handle all of those things." He said with a dismissive wave of his hand. " You don't understand sire!" The other knight cut in, stepping in front of the first knight. " It's Reader Cookie, she's gone missing!" It was as if a fuse had gone off inside the king's head. " WHAT!?" He yelled, almost spitting out his coffee. " What are you standing around for? Find her immediately! Her misbehavior will not be tolerated in this kingdom!" He barked out the order, with the knights saluting him and immediately running off to get to work. He slumped back into his throne, Reader Cookie was well above the age to know that her behavior was vastly unfit to be queen. Then, he heard it, that witches forsaken giggle that slowly turned into a cackle. " My my! It seems like your little princess has run off, your majesty!" The voice the laughter belonged to said in a mocking tone, with a certain jester stepping out from the shadows. " What a shame, truly!" " Shadow Milk Cookie." The king hissed, glaring at the jester with searing hatred. " You should know that you, nor any of the other beasts, are not welcome in this or any other kingdom!" He hollered, pointing directly at the beast. " Oh, your coldness wounds my heart..." He sighed dramatically, putting a hand over wherever his heart was supposed to be. " But, if you're going to be so rude, then I might as well just... not tell you what's happened to Reader Cookie." He smiled smugly, knowing that the King was falling right into his trap. " You! What have you done to my daughter?!" The king roared with frustration, which only caused Shadow Milk to laugh even more. " I swear, if you've hurt her then-!" " Then what?" Shadow Milk said with a sickening grin. " What will you do, your majesty? You and I both know that you've cared more about your kingdom than you do her, you just want her back because she's the only blood heir to the throne." He cackled at the revelation, and the horror dawning upon the king's face. " But if you want to prove me wrong... Then give up your kingdom, and I'll make sure she's safely returned." He proposed, eyes glinting with delight as he saw the hesitation in the king's stance. Oh how he loved to watch as cookies tried to decipher whether he was telling them the truth or not, not a single one had managed to catch him in a lie before it was already far too late. Such are the perks of practically embodying deceit, he supposed. He turned on his heel, waving goodbye to the king. " I'll give you a day to think it over. Either give up your kingdom and have your daughter returned to you... Or fail her for the last time, and live with the guilt." He left without another word, fading back into the shadows.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run au #cookie run au prompts #crk #shadow milk cookie #cr kingdom #beast yeast #cookie run x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #in case you're wondering whether Shadow Milk was lying to the king or not... He was telling a white lie #Reader cookie is fine btw. She's chilling in Shadow Milk's domain #might make a continuation later...#might also draw?? from this au?? who knows

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emeritusemeritus · 9 months

Text

Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight. Pt 10.

[Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley]

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Title: Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Timeline: Predominately set between GOF and OOTP (some canon has been altered to fit the story)

Summary: Both twins like Gryffindor!reader. Reader likes both twins. How will she decide who to chose in the end? Amortentia might be able to help, or not.

Warnings: Smut, oral sex, p in v sex, established relationships, threesomes, friends to lovers, all the good stuff. NO Twincest. Mentions of illness, Brief mentions of vomiting. Tiny bit of angst, possessiveness, talk of kids. Mentions of dominant behaviour. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Love potions? But none are actually used. Not beta-read nor spell checked, we die like Sirius ❤️

Okay this one is admittedly a necessary filler so the reader can work out her feelings, but I promise we’re moving into the good stuff next chapter 🤍

You tuck your letter away under your placemat as you eat, not wanting to open it up in the middle of lunch, even though the others had done so.

Truthfully, you were dreading whatever news your dad had for you and you would rather read it in private, knowing he rarely wrote to you so it must be some form of news, most likely bad.

George kept flicking his gaze to you at he ate, clearly checking on your well-being but you simply pretended that you were fine even though you could feel the pit on anxiety building up inside.

After lunch, you'd all decided not to go back to the lake but to shower and chill in the house as the sun was at its peak and quite frankly, you couldn't sit in it much longer. Hermione had packed already and had everything ready for her leaving later that afternoon, so you took some time to just spend her last few hours all together.

You were all sat around in the lounge, the coolest room in the house, some of you reading, some playing exploding snap and others just chatting. It was nice just to all spend time together even if you weren't all interacting as you escaped the heat in the coolest room.

"Wanna play a game? Like truth or would you rather or something?" Ginny asks after winning another round of exploding snap. "I'm not doing dares with these two here," she says, nodding towards the twins.

"What's that?" Ron says, confused.

"It was on a muggle movie we watched, they take turns and ask each other questions," she shrugs, not really able to elaborate further. "Sometimes it's like would you rather chose A or B."

"We're in," the twins say in unison, moving to sit closer around the coffee table.

You, Hermione and Harry were sat on the sofa, Ron in the armchair and Ginny and the twins were sat around the table on the floor, padded out with cushions.

"Yeah sounds good to me," you say, placing your bookmark into your book and placing it down next to you on the floor.

Everyone mutually agreed and you all began huddling round, deciding on the rules.

"Okay youngest to oldest," Ginny says, hearing immediate protest from the twins. "You chose first yesterday and today, time for a switch up." You laugh at her bossiness, having to sometimes remind yourself that she was the youngest but the twins, Fred especially, had a soft spot for her and actually didn't protest further.

"Right, Harry, truth or would you rather?"

"Umm, would you rather," he says, touching his glasses nervously.

"Would you rather spend the entire day with Draco or Dudley?" She asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He huffs out a little nervous laugh as he thinks before answering Dudley.

"Ron, truth or would you rather?"

"Would you rather," he says confidently.

"Would you rather, er, throw up slugs again or dance with Snape at the yule ball," Harry says with a devious grin. You had to admit the last one was good but it was much tamer than you originally had thought it would be.

"Vomit slugs, easy," Ron says, brushing his hair out of his face. "Hermione?"

"Um, truth?" She says, unsure of herself.

"Oh erm, ughr," Ron mumbles, not knowing what to ask. Immediately the twins begin to mock him and you even inwardly groan, finding the game boring already. "How many books have you read this summer?"

You roll your eyes and openly groan along with the twins, all three of you finding the questions too boring.

"I'll answer that for her, too many," Fred says, jumping in. "Right I'm switching things up." He immediately stands and walks off, coming back a few minutes later bringing an empty bottle with him, necking the last of the drink before he puts it on the coffee table.

"Whoever it lands on has to answer the question, then they get to ask the next question," He says, spinning the bottle until it lands on Ron.

"Ronald, still a virgin?"

You have to hold back a little chuckle at the sudden shift in tone at Fred's brash words and even without looking you know that Ron is beet red.

Ron manages to huff and puff, squirming in his seat as he does indeed turn bright red.

You found yourself dissociating away from the game as others answered, trying to squirm away from the harsher questions the twins were coming out with. You excused yourself and walked to the kitchen, feigning getting a drink as you sat at the table, pulling out your letter, unable to wait any longer.

"Dear y/n,

Your friend has written you a letter but did not know the address of the friend you were staying with; so please find their letter inside. Hope school is going well and you are staying out of trouble. Best wishes, dad.

You almost rolled your eyes at the bluntness of the note, feeling overwhelmingly relieved that it wasn't a true letter from your father. Casting the note to the side, you pulled out the second letter, written on both sides of regular notebook paper that had been folded somewhat neatly, the girly but messy writing already making you smile.

"My dear y/n,

We miss you so much, when are you coming back to see us? You've not really missed much, apart from Johnny has a girlfriend now! Weird right? It's actually kind of disgustingly cute. School is shit, just like normal but only one term left before college. Everyone misses you, the band just isn't the same without our rock chick.Dad's taking me to London after work on Friday, remember that coffee shop we found last time? I've made him promise to take me and he said that he'd eat the banana bread that you loved so it would feel like you were there with me! Hope to hear from you again soon. Love you! Val, Still your best friend x

You reread the letter multiple times, perfectly envisioning her voice as you read it. You missed her terribly, along with all of your friends, but Val had always been you're closest friend back home.

You sensed a presence behind you and turned to see George watching you with concern. You smiled at him and he looked instantly a little relieved, moving forward to stand behind you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

"Is everything okay with your dad?" He asks cautiously, knowing that the relationship was rocky and sometimes a sore spot for you. You snorted a laugh and nodded in reply.

"He was just forwarding a letter from my friend," you explained.

The beginnings of an idea were forming in your head as you looked at George, a rising hopefulness gathering in your belly.

"What time are your parents taking Hermione to the train station?" You asked, looking up at him questioningly, before craning your neck to look at the clock near the staircase.

"Um about two I reckon, why?" George asks, moving to sit beside you at the table in Arthur's usual spot.

"Do you think they'd let me go with them?" You asked and George immediately looked bewildered, "not to catch a train, I wanted to nip into London."

"I don't see why not, why do you want to go to London though?" He asked, thoroughly confused.

"My friends going to be there, I was hoping to surprise her and to be honest I could do with some new stationary before we get back to school," you explained, "maybe a new textbook or two."

"I don't like the idea of you going alone angel, can Fred and I join you?" He asks, warming your heart a little more at his concern. You burst into a smile and nod enthusiastically, it would be nice for you to go with the twins.

"I'd like to meet my friend alone though, no offence," you said, treading carefully. He smiled in understanding.

"Of course angel, you can meet me and Fred after, it would make me feel a lot more comfortable that way," he says nervously and you immediately reach over to kiss his cheek at his sweetness.

"Oi! Fred!" George bellows suddenly as you pull away. Fred walks out not a minute later after hearing his twin calling for him.

"Wanna go to London this afternoon? Y/n wants to go," George says, nodding towards you.

"I'm in," he shrugs, sitting down next to you at the table.

And that is exactly how you found yourself in the centre of a bustling and muggy Diagon Alley on a Friday afternoon with most of the Weasleys. Molly had jumped at the chance to go shopping and Arthur had gone along with it for the sake of his family. You knew where Val would be later that afternoon and hoped to be able to catch her but until then you strolled around Diagon Alley with the twins, having dropped Hermione off at the station and then broken away from the others as you weaved in and out of the stores.

Your first stop was Gringotts to exchange a muggle cheque your father had sent at the start of term for your school supplies before heading to Flourish and Botts for some new supplies.

"Wonder if they still sell Lockhart's shit?" You laugh as George opens the door for you.

"Doubt it, though fiction books always sell better," he laughs, following you towards the textbook area with Fred lingering behind.

Seeing a potion book you didn't own, you briefly flicked through it before putting it back on the shelf, realising it was utter trash. You briefly wondered if Professor Snape would let you borrow any of his own books this year, knowing that though they were much more advanced, they were immeasurably more informative.

You picked up a new textbook that you needed for your defence against the dark arts class and began wandering towards the back section when an overly excited Fred ran up to you and George, wielding a book.

"Twelve fail-safe ways to charm witches!" He says excitedly, laughing whilst flicking through the pages to show you a few diagrams and read out a couple of passages.

"And you need that why?" You asked defensively with a frown, not finding the underlying meaning very funny. He immediately senses your displeasure and his eyes bug out as he stumbles over his words as he tries to explain.

"Not for me princess, obviously, merlin, I meant for us to give it to Ron!" George immediately laughs at the plan and you absently nod, feeling a little off from the whole thing. You begin wandering away from them, making your way back to the potions area as they excitedly flick through the book.

"Professor?" You say smiling, spotting a familiar face within the potions section, his characteristic black hair and flowing capes always recognisable.

"Miss y/l/n," he says, turning in surprise at your voice, an almost smile tugging at his lips in recognition as he looks down into your basket. "I would have thought you already owned a copy of the necessary textbook for my class," he says with a hard but familiar tone, as if there's humour buried deep within it.

"I do sir, I was hoping to find something more advanced but they're all utter drivel," you said honestly, gesturing to the green book you'd looked at earlier. He huffs out a little puff of laughter though he tries to hide it before turning away to look up at the shelf. "Yes," he says, drawing out the syllable of the word before reaching up to the top shelf and pulling down a small, leather bound book that was hidden between two much larger books. He checks the spine and briefly flips it over before handing it to you with an almost smile, "this should be of use to you, it is well beyond the ability of a typical sixth or seventh year but you've exceeded all of my previous expectations, what's one more."

"Thank you Professor," you say as you reach for the book, trying desperately not to blush at his praise.

"Angel- oh, Um, Professor Snape," George says as he bounds around the corner, coming to an immediate holt as he spots the Potion master. Fred, clearly not anticipating his brother's sudden stop, barrels into George from behind as they both look up to see you and Snape conversing.

"Anyway," Snape says, his tone and features immediately hardening as he looks at the troublesome twins before looking back at you, "good day."

You follow him with your eyes, looking down at the book he'd given you before looking up again, just in time to see him cast one last glance at you before exiting the store.

"What did old Snapey want?" Fred said, throwing his arm around your shoulders.

"He recommended a book for me, said it would help me with my NEWTS," you shrugged, not directly trying to knock Fred's arm off of you but also not actively trying to keep it around you, still feeling a little uneasy about the misunderstanding with the book from earlier.

You walked and paid for the two books before shoving them into your little crochet shopping bag and walked over to Quality Quidditch supplies with the twins so that they could fawn over the new brooms and array of merchandise.

Checking the time, you briefly wondered when you should set off for the little muggle coffee shop just outside of Diagon alley that you knew Val would be visiting and decided to have another thirty minutes with the twins before going.

You ran into Molly and Arthur who were sat outside one of the tea shops sharing a pot of tea. They waved excitedly at you all and carried on with their little date that mainly consisted of people-watching and laughing.

You nipped to fetch a new quill and some parchment before eyeing up a new school skirt in Madam Malkin's but couldn't justify spending the money when you're old one would do, at least for the rest of this year. Fred, true to form, had quietly muttered some sexual innuendos about never having enough skirts and how much he liked you in them but you ignored him and instead left without the skirt.

"Okay, I'm going to meet my friend, not sure how long I'll be, where will I find you?" You turned, addressing the twins.

"Take all the time you want. We'll probably be in Gambol and Japes, if not we'll meet outside Ollivanders or come to you?" George said, pointing towards the joke shop on the corner. You nodded and reached out to subtly grab his other hand as you said goodbye. You turned to Fred and he subtly leaned in, looking like he was whispering in your ear and kissed the side of your head gently.

George then reached up and grabbed your shopping bag off your shoulder with a smile, "don't want her seeing any of this do you?" He slung it over his own shoulder and you had to bite your lip at seeing the 6 foot 3 Weasley boy lugging around a rose patterned crochet bag, but it didn't even faze him after wearing a lifetime of Molly's knitted creations.

Walking towards the coffee shop, your nerves were all over the place, firstly hoping that you could catch her and secondly that she would respond well to the surprise if you had your timings right.

Walking in, the little bell above the door chimed and you took a moment to look around at the customers, not seeing her signature blond hair anywhere.

"What can I get you love?" The barista asks and you ordered a caramel macchiato, something that you would never be able to find in the wizarding world. You reached for your little coin purse of muggle money and paid with the change, waiting to collect your drink at the end of the bar. When your drink was ready, you walked over to a table near the window and were immediately thankful that you'd bought along your book so that you'd have something to distract you and that the coffee shop had working air conditioning. Each time the bell chimed, you looked up in hope but then went straight back to reading your book, waiting for the next time.

"You have to get the banana bread!" You heard as the bell chimed and it immediately alerted you to the voice. You grinned as you spotted a shirt female with familiar blonde hair stood beside her absurdly tall dad who had dark brown nearly jet black hair.

They ordered their drinks and cakes, paid and then moved to wait by the end of the bar just as you had. Seeking an opportunity, you stood and walked over to them discreetly before putting on a voice, "excuse me?"

They both turned around with polite but confused smiles on their faces and you couldn't help but laugh at the reaction as waves of recognition passed over them.

"Oh my god!" Val squealed as she threw her arms around you, not a single care in the world about her absurd volume. You beamed and laughed as she rocked you in her arms, thankful you were able to see her again. "What are you doing here?! I thought you were in school? Did you get my letter?" She began to say frantically as she pulled away to look at you. You simply laughed and nodded, not even knowing where to start. She pulled you in for another hug and you held her just as tightly; only realising now how much you'd missed her.

You looked over her shoulder to Adam, her dad, seeing him smile widely at you both. When you pulled apart, he held out the plate of banana bread towards you, gesturing for you to take it as he pulled you into a side hug, having been close since you were five years old.

"No I can't, you have it," you said, trying to protest. He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair, "I don't even like it, I was just doing it to shut her up. It's really good to see you, kid."

He walked off with his drink to sit down near the table where your stuff was, happy to give you both space and to flick through his mobile phone for a while, something you hadn't seen in a long time.

You were desperate for a catch-up with your best girl friend and truthfully, you needed some one to talk through your problems with, someone with an unbiased, outsiders perspective; someone who didn't know the twins at all. The whole Amortentia incident was still fresh in your mind, only worsened by smelling the whizzbang smoke the other night and you were more conflicted than ever about your feelings for both of them. Val was the only one who wouldn't judge you for what you were doing, who you knew you could trust to talk openly to, at least without mentioning the magic.

Val grabbed her drink from the counter and moved over to your original table so that you could chat. She went first, immediately telling you about how she was seeing a guy at school and that her dad didn't know so you had to be cool about it. She told you more about what college she had picked and how the rest of your friends were doing and some chatter about new muggle movies and music you needed to experience

"So, what about you?" She asks, picking the last little bits of her cake off the plate. You huffed out a sigh and placed your drink back down on the table. "Oh no, what happened with Fred?"

You'd told her all about your crush on Fred a few years ago but had never mentioned much about his twin, though you'd spoken about him in a friend way. You figured there was no time like the present to offload all of your complicated feelings.

"It's, complicated," you say, picking at the lid of your coffee, "did I tell you that Fred told me he had feelings for me?"

Judging by her almighty gasp, you assumed not. "Problem is, so did his twin brother." Another almost comical gasp.

"Then I realised that I might also have feelings for you George and things are now a little complicated, to say the least." You were quiet now, just a little above a whisper to avoid someone overbearing.

"So what did you do?" She asks attentively, giving you her full attention. You sighed and looked up at her as you replied.

"I'm kind of dating both? For now, please don't judge me."

"I would never!" She says reaching her hand towards yours, "so you have to decide eventually?"

You nod. "That's the problem. Every time I feel like I'm starting to decide, something tips the scale and I'm right back to the beginning."

You rub your hands over your face trying to relieve some of the tension but of course it doesn't work.

"Who do you see a future with?" She asks, keeping her tone even as she takes a sip of her coffee.

"Well that's the thing, I've been staying with them this week and both of them have said the cutest things about the future and it's got me even more confused. We had separate dates earlier this week and I had a night with George first, well kind of the day and night because Fred was sick and we talked about what we were doing after school and how we both wanted one or two kids etc, and it was such a nice thought. Then the other morning I came downstairs and he was in the kitchen reading the newspaper, shirtless and looking hot as fuck and it made me think that it could be my future you know, husband in the kitchen making breakfast blah blah blah." You took a breath and carried on explaining as she listened to you, "but then with Fred, the other night, he was saying about how we'd live together and he's hold me every night and bring me cups of tea in a morning and god the constant marriage references," you took another breath, trying to remember not to overload her and forcing yourself not to mention the Amortentia outright.

"The thing is, I love them both but in different ways. George brings me comfort, he's gentler and more sensitive, real proper husband material. I can see our future completely and I'd be happy but then there's Fred. We'd have a happy, fun filled life, it would never be boring and I'd be happy with him. But now I know what it's like to be loved by both of them and I can't even bare to think of choosing one and losing the other."

Silence lingers around you both as you finish offloading your thoughts. The weight of your words hangs in the air and you have to shoot a look at Val to check that she's still with you, and then around to check no one was listening.

"What about quick fire questions? We write out the answers or tally them and you can see who you favour?" She asks and to be honest, it sounds like a good plan.

"At this point I'd do anything."

She immediately scoots over to sit beside you rather than across from you and leans down to pull a notebook and pen from her bag. She flicks it open to a blank page and draws a little tally chart with their names at the top.

"So I'll ask you a bunch of different questions and scenarios and you have to say the first one that comes to your mind," she explains as you enthusiastically nod along with her. She suddenly leans in to whisper in your ear. "Quick one, have you slept with them both?"

You nod slowly, feeling as if she would judge you but she simply nods with a neutral expression, as if it was just a regular thing to ask someone.

"Okay, who's messier?"

"Fred."

"Who's grumpier?"

"Fred."

"Who's the most romantic?"

"George."

"Who's funnier?"

"Fred."

"Who's more sensitive?"

"George."

"Who hugs you more?"

"George."

"Who kisses you more?

"Fred."

"Who's hornier?"

"Fred."

"Who gives better head?"

"George."

"Who has a bigger dick?"

"Fred," you say, quickly adding, "only by a fraction though." She nods, then begins changing tactics.

"Does Fred want kids?"

"Yeah, but he wants more than George."

"Who's more attractive?"

"They're identical twins," you say blankly but she reaches out and flicks you on the arm.

"And you can tell them apart so there must be differences," she reasons and you can't fault her logic.

"Um Fred? George's nose is a little bigger and his features are a little sharper I guess."

"Okay next set of questions," she says, looking up from her notes, "If you did chose one, who would take the rejection worse?"

"George," you reply, your heart doing a little twang of sadness at the very thought.

"Okay, fast forward five years, it's a Saturday morning, no work, no plans, explain what it would look like with George," she says, preparing to make notes again.

The memory of him in the kitchen the other morning, shirtless and reading the newspaper flashes into your mind.

"I wake up and he's not in bed but there's a hot cup of tea on the bedside table. He's in the kitchen, sat shirtless at the little table, reading the newspaper and sipping his tea. He pulls me into his lap, rests his head on my shoulder and reads the sport scores out to me and any news bits he knows I'd like. I make breakfast for us and we sit and eat at the little table laughing and chatting until we inevitably end up back in bed," you say, listing out each part of your little dream.

Val let's out a little 'aww' as she makes her notes before looking back up to you with a smile, "same scenario but with Fred."

"I wake up and he's sleeping next to me, still holding me from the night before. He wakes up and we don't leave the bed for another hour at least. He makes me tea and we make breakfast together and then we sit watching terrible tv, mocking the actors and awful storylines. He pulls me closer to him to cuddle on the couch and we spend the day just like that."

"Okay different tactic again, I want you to give me the pros for dating Fred or listing his best qualities," she says, flipping over the page and starting a new one entirely.

"He's funny and mischievous, kind to me, very protective. Hot obviously, like little stupid things like running his fingers through his hair or rolling up his sleeves. We're best friends so there's no weirdness and most people think we're dating anyway."

"Okay now George."

"Funny, sensitive and sweet, more considerate than Fred and more likely to notice somethings wrong. More likely to think ahead, and to apologise. He's comfort for me."

"And now worst qualities of Fred."

"Doesn't always think things through, can be impulsive and not think of the consequences. He can be a little mean, to his brothers and stuff, just a little more brutal than George is. He can be a little grumpy sometimes, usually about other guys or whatever like he's a little possessive. Not always the most responsible and can be a little unreliable."

"And George?"

"Follows Fred diligently, a little insecure, not as confident in himself, same as Fred that he doesn't always think of consequences."

"Okay last one, what are the pros and cons of being in a relationship with them in general?"

"Pros; wonderful family, great parents in law, I get along really well with their other siblings, share the same friends. I'd be happy."

"Cons?"

"Um well I guess there family isn't rich or anything, not that it bothers me, but for some maybe that's a thing? The only con is hurting the other brother."

"Right, your conclusion," she says, adding up the tally before looking back at you.

“You’re screwed.”

#emeritusemeritus #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #emeritusemerituswrites #fred weasley imagine #george weasley x you #george weasley #fred weasley masterlist #weasley twins x reader #george weasley x reader x fred weasley #george weasley smut

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sailorjojogames · 3 months

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100+ maxis match hairs for black sims + cc links | cc showcase

Watch video

Many thanks to all the cc creators. This showcase is also more of an archive. 📚🧾

Women

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@savvysweet 8.

@oplerims 9. 10. [my fave accessory with this hair @candysims4 Flower crown] 11.

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@vernonsvault 42.

@imvikai 43. 44. 45 and 46.

@greenllamas 47. 48 and 49. 50.

@sheabuttyr 51. MORE

@old-dogsill ( @dogsill ) 52.

@dogsill 53. 54. 55.

@leeleesims1 56. alternative 1 2

@old-dogsill ( @dogsill ) 57.

@simstrouble 58. (OLD CC- download at your own risk) 59.

@simancholy 60.

@ebonixsims 61. MORE

@nolan-sims 62. MESH is ^ 61.

@aladdin-the-simmer 63. 64.

@wondercarlotta 65.

@shespeakssimlish 66.

@simtric 67. 68.

@shespeakssimlish 69.

@shysimblr 70.

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@savvysweet 74. nala 75. wendy wavy buns

@shysimblr 76, 77 and 78. also has a child and toddler version ❤

@renorasims & @imvikai 79.

@candysims4 80.

@savvysweet 81. hasina 82. frankie fro v2 83. frankie fro

@shysimblr 84.

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87. danika dreads 88. lana 89. lana v2 unavailable 😥 alternative

90. bali braids 91. ava afro puff (large) 92. drida dreads 93. didi dreads

94. danni dreads 95. daya dreads 96.unavailable 😥 alternative

97. libby locs v2 98. brook braids (loc’d up) 99. brook braids

100. casey curls 101. fatima fro 102. alisha afro with pearls

103. badu bantu 104. ava afro puff small 105. amari afro with clips

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Savvy X Grim (now @akalukery) 107.

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Headwrap

1 & 4. @frenchiesimgirl

2 & 3 unavailable :( download at your own risk 😥 ) Link

Bonnet @qwertysims

Men

@candysims4 110.

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@savvysweet 115. chris cornrows (shorts) 116. chris cornrows (medium)

117. chris cornrows (long) unavailable 😥

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Toddler & Child

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@shysimblr 139.

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Just in case some of the links don’t work 😥... try wayback

if you have any question feel free to dm me.

@sailorjojosimsccfinds @maxismatchccworld

#happy bhm #TheSims #the sims 4 #the sims 4 cc #the sims 4 maxis match #the sims 4 maxis mix #the sim 4 black hair #TS4 #ts4cc #ts4 cas #ccfinds #Black Simmer #black simblr #blacksims

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thebibutterflyao3 · 5 months

Text

Day 10 - Prompt: Alone @jegulus-microfic December Daily Series - 497 words

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

“Keep up, Pads.”

James clicked his tongue at the dog trailing behind him. He wandered from one side of the path to the other with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Padfoot’s ears perked at his name and he promptly surged forward to catch-up. He rubbed his head eagerly against James’s hand, then grinned when he stroked his fingers along the Newfoundland’s wide nose.

Padfoot was a kindred spirit. When Sirius brought him home from the rescue, he’d announced that he found James in dog form, and he was right.

The clumsy ball of fur with paws bigger than his head turned out to be a gentle giant desperate for affection and filled with an abundance of energy. He was a bit obnoxious at times, but only in eagerness to please. James could relate far too well.

“What do you think of the ocean, Pads?” he asked, gesturing at the expanse of sea-weed laden water alongside the park’s path.

Padfoot followed his hand instead of the gesture and hopped up onto his hind legs to regain his pats. He was often distractible, but when he had James or Sirius’s attention, he was single-mindedly focused on soaking up every scrap of it.

“Yeah, alright. I can’t say I’m all that excited about the water when it’s too cold to swim in either, mate.”

He was rewarded with a soft woof that James took as agreement.

“I guess you’re happy to have me all to yourself for a bit, yeah? Since we’re alone, we can be as wild and crazy as we like!”

James’s feigned excitement wasn’t fooling the dog anymore than it was himself. Padfoot cocked his head to the side and studied him for a full minute before resuming his needy demands for pats. It was as though the dog was saying, “Are you good?”

“No, I’m not,” he admitted, scratching Padfoot’s head. “I hate being left out.”

Padfoot bobbed his head in either agreement, or an attempt to deepen the pressure of the scratches. James decided it was agreement, but leaned into him just in case.

“Not that what I want matters.”

James knew better than to get his hopes up. Sirius would pull him aside and gently inform him that he had it all wrong…again. The dread was churning in his gut already.

The dog huffed loudly, then came to an abrupt stop. With his hand buried deep in the animal’s fur, James wasn’t prepared for it and stumbled. He grabbed for a tree branch to steady himself and it snapped.

“Fuck!”

When he landed on the ground, James didn’t bother trying to save himself. He caved to the inevitability of his public humiliation and sprawled on his back. This was just who he was.

Another’s misstep was his life in a nutshell. Curiosity led to blind confidence, which never failed to humble him in the end. It was better this way. At least he recognised the fall before he was too invested this time.

Next Part>>>

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #starchaser #sirius black #jegulus microfic

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kotias · 5 months

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An Arrangement in Black (part 9) - angst war contribution

@daneecastle @gleafer @vavoom-sorted-art @lauramoon1987 @gahellhimself-blog @goodomensafterdark @hakunahistata

Beginning - Part 8 - End

Almost there! One last post after this one, and this story will be done!

Word count: 492 words

Trigger warnings: religious trauma and behaviour, mutilation on the body

“What do you wish to speak of, my child?”

On a better day, Crowley would have laughed over that ridiculous phrasing, but that was not the day for it. He pressed his head against the wood separating them, his hands lodged between his legs, and he felt the heat and the pain of the consecrated materials eating at his skin, one burn at a time. His nails lodged into his fingers, scratching and scratching, tearing the skin off him.

“Father, I wish to confess a sin… I have brought devastation upon this world.”

Aziraphale said nothing for a moment, which Crowley very well understood as the weight of the revelation he could feel coming, and may have pieced together already. “Please, my child, why do you believe that?” His voice was so very soft, so extremely gentle, a kindness that didn’t have to, and quite frankly shouldn’t extend to a demon and burned him deeper than the celestial grounds he was currently sitting on.

“The plague going around the continent…” he heard himself tremble, barely able to accept his own words, the reality he had lived with for the past months. “I instigated it.”

Like the men falling from the disease, deafening silence imposed itself upon them. He wheezed and grimaced from the dread of continuing his explanations. “I was given this task by my hierarchy. I was given, um… rats. Or more precisely, flea-infected rats.”

He heard only a soft, shaking hum from the other side. “I, um… I am the cause for… all of this. The bodies, everywhere. The deserted towns.” He could feel his voice going up, and yet becoming more feeble, more of a whisper, as a ball grew in his throat, trapping the air inside his lungs. “People dying in their beds. Children barely breath-” His words were infused with soft sobs, as he pressed harder against the wood, accepting the divine punishment that was inflicted upon him continuously. “I am confessing to this sin… to have forced the stench of death upon the entire continent,” were the last words he could muster before he fully broke down.

It wasn’t dramatic like his last time; there was no yelling, no screaming, no ripping himself apart entirely. It was discrete, timid. There were a few sobs, muffled by his hand on his mouth. There were tears, wiped away by his sleeve. In this church, on this bench, never so torn away from Hell, Crowley could express the pain, the agony of following such commands.

Aziraphale stayed silent, though Crowley was almost certain he heard the loud beating of his heart through the board separating them and the shuffle of his clothes as he pressed against it, like a response to his anguish.

It took a while before he finally was able to calm down enough to speak again. “It… feels like I am bringing the world to its knees. It… it feels…”

“Like the end of the world?”

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #angst war #GOAD #good omens after dark #writing #fanfic #church

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violetmina · 11 months

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Chokehold - Ch. 8

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii @123passwort @sanscas @lulzbrokenbyfantasy @icantevenchoose @marksassybanana @a-rogue-tiddy-bot @itsyellow @lmarina2000 @d3adite666

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7,577

Warning: Swearing, adult themes, my bad attempt at wriiting flirting, lots of tension of multiple types, choking, and good ol’ Butcher himself.

A/N: I know, I know, It's been too damn long. And so is this chapter, longest one to date. Despite it being, in my opinion, kind of all over the place, I really hope you guys enjoy.

Scalding and fresh from the pot, the coffee glimmers like a black mirror in your work mug. Your reflection peers up at you but you're too elsewhere to notice it, its pensive glare or the hint of fatigue on its face. It mimics your dazed pose, one hand on the cupboard handle above you in the break room.

"It's not a magic eight ball."

You jerk, finding Hughie entering the break room beside you. He looks split between amused and mildly concerned at you. "What?"

"Your coffee," he gestures, side-stepping you to rummage for his lunch in the fridge. "You're staring at it like it's got all the answers or something."

With a shake of your head, you pull yourself out of your daze, rummaging through the cupboard for the fixings for your drink. "Wouldn't that be nice?," you sigh. "Caffeine fix and all my questions answered in one little mug."

Hughie settles at the table as you deposit your drink there and fetch your own food. "You wanna talk about it?"

You can't help but stiffen a little as you dig through the fridge, and hope he doesn't notice. Talk about it? About how this morning you'd woken up in a sweat, disoriented at finding yourself lying on your back instead of straddling the subtle v of Butcher's hips? Talk about the brutal shock of cold shower spray and chattering teeth it took to zap you back to reality?

Or talk about the nerves coffee couldn't fix but now made worse? You were strung on a tightrope of mild dread and anticipation for tonight's upcoming jiu jitsu lesson. After feeling his eyes burning along your spine, you were just a bit nervous of how Butcher planned to go forward from here.

"Just a lot on my mind," you shrug, taking up the chair next to him.

He gives a brief glance at the doorway as you shuffle out a sandwich then asks, "About future work projects?"

It's become an easy code to decipher between the two of you; the upcoming gala mission. Admittedly, it's another gnawing concern of yours. So you nod. "Yeah, a bit. There's some minor details that got me thinking."

"Like?," he asks quietly.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, opening it to the text from MM you'd been reading just before you'd zoned out. Hughie takes it, eyes quickly absorbing the vague message there. His brow furrows. "Um…am I missing something here?"

"It's a little info on the work project," you answer.

"Okay. Again, am I missing something?" He subtly peers about once more and lowers his voice. "It's stuff you'd find on an invitation. Venue, time, dress code-"

"Bingo," you sourly cut him off into your mug.

Hughie lets out a laugh. "Wait…A dress code? You're getting rattled by a black tie dress code?"

"Yes, exactly. Black tie. That means I have to wear an evening dress."

"You've worn dresses before," he replies between bites of his food. "Why is this any different? What's special about an evening dress?"

You rub at the bridge of your nose and sigh. "It's not about wearing a dress. It's about wearing a full-length dress, and heels, which are mandatory for black tie. And those are extremely impractical in shitty situations. Like not having full range of motion, or being able to run! I…" You lower your voice in admittance. "...I don't like potentially not being able to protect myself."

Hughie's face drops for a second as he takes that in. Then places a hand on your shoulder. "Okay, that makes more sense. I don't like that either. Hey, what if I talk to Annie?"

"Annie?," you ask, perplexed.

"Her whole job is about kicking ass in a costume, right?" He flashes a lop-sided grin. "I'll ask her if she can stop by and see you after work sometime. I'm sure she'd have more than a few pointers to share. It'd get her out of the tower for a bit. You find something that you'll pass dress code and feel more comfortable in. I think it'd be a win-win."

"And they say you're not the smart one," you wink. "I appreciate that, Hughie."

"Don't mention it. Do you want me to see if she's available tonight?"

You shake your head. "No," you reply after swallowing a thick bite of food. "Already got plans. Maybe night after next."

"Y/N's got plans? Somebody call the five o'clock news."

You and Hughie both find Victoria leaning in the doorway. A knot flips in your stomach and you do your best to not look suspicious as she strides in. She leans on the table, and you give her a little wave between bites.

"I know, right?," Hughie chimes in, jumping in before it can get weird. "I was just…offering her and Annie an opportunity to cut loose. Girls night, or whatever."

"Aren't you sweet? Good luck getting this work horse to slow down, though," Victoria says as she nods in your direction. Then turns fully to you. "Must be good if you're postponing an all-nighter in the cases. Don't tell me…" She wiggles an eyebrow at you. "Hot date, perhaps?"

You can't help a nervous snicker before shaking your head. "No," you answer into a napkin. "No, not a date."

"Now that's a shame," she says with a playful pout. "Here I thought somebody finally recognized your worth. God knows what I'd do without you."

"You joining us for lunch?," Hughie interjects.

"I'm afraid not," the congresswoman sighs. "I was going to ask Y/N to take some pressing cases over to your team to work on tonight. But maybe you could pick them up, Hughie?"

"I can still drop them off, at least. Before I call it a night," you shrug. "I'm not scheduled here tomorrow, so I'll be there most of the day anyway. I can start on them first thing in the morning."

"See?," Victoria waves in your direction before standing. "Like I said - work horse. I'll have one of the interns drop them by your desk before you clock out tonight. But I insist you wait till tomorrow to start on them. I'll cut you some slack, just this once." Then mutters as she turns for the door, "God knows Butcher doesn't know the meaning of the word."

"You never know. He has his good days," you call after her.

She pauses just outside the break room, casting you both a flat expression. "You kidding? If I had to work with him as much as you do, I think his head would explode. If not, it would definitely be mine."

After the sound of her high heels in the hall disappears, you and Hughie give each other a look. That was a little close for either of you, and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God she's not a supe," you whisper into your coffee.

^^^

The rest of the work day goes by at its usual tedious pace. By the time you're flipping through the files you were to deliver, your nerves make it difficult to read through them and retain anything. Agitated, you stuff most of them into your work bag and clock out. When you get home you have just enough time to grab a bite to eat and change for the impending training session.

You settle on a small snack, something light that'll give a pep of energy, and wash it down with a glass of water. You'd quickly learned that rolling with a full stomach is not even remotely pleasant, and an empty one wasn't much better. Nerves aside, you manage to keep that little nourishment down and quickly shed your work clothes for something better suited for rolling.

You're admonishing yourself for feeling so jittery when your phone buzzes on the bed. You finish tearing the t-shirt over your head and read the new text from Frenchie.

Hughie says you have files for us. Mon couer and I left early today. We all have something for you as well. See you tomorrow, mon amie.

Will do, you promptly reply. Then almost as an afterthought, Congrats on convincing Butcher to let you off early! What kind of mood is he in now?

Frenchie's reply comes in just as you finish locking your front door behind you. No clue. He's been gone all day. Kimiko says to take it easy tonight. Or else.

The playful threat isn't what makes your shoulders tense. It's wondering what kept Butcher away from the office all day, and if it has anything to do with what you're about to walk into.

Relax!, you snap at yourself. You're reading way too much into this. You're just training. You have a job to do. Focus on the job.

Remembering that feeling of eyes on your back though makes you pick up your pace as you reach the pavement. Then quickening again when you check the time. You're going to be cutting it close. Maybe too close.

…Don't try my patience, love…

And what if I do?

You shake your head as you try to dash through the crowd over the crosswalk. That was definitely not focusing on the job. Being able to handle yourself was still one of your main priorities but this whole shift, whatever happened last night…well it's making you question your priorities.

Is that really necessary?, the little voice sneers from its corner of your brain. You're just getting awfully flirty with a handsome, murderous widower. That's all.

That makes your step falter and you manage to stay upright, but only just. Widower. After all that time and the fucking mess Vought had wrought on them, a widower. And only for a matter of months now. The fact that that feels more pressing and not the murderous part is an issue of its own entirely.

The hell am I doing? Having a crush is one thing. But this feels…a bit disrespectful. To Becca. And to him. A trickle of doubt pools in your stomach. Has he even stopped for one fucking second to grieve? Really grieve?

Not likely, the little voice whispers. Butcher feel his feelings? If it weren't for him trying to step up for Ryan, he'd be washing them away in supe blood… or smoke, drink and fuck them away. Maybe that's what this is. Maybe you're the rebound, it cackles.

You swallow with a thick, dry click. If that's true, you think as you return to the quicker pace you didn't realize you had dropped, should I care? Would that be so bad?

But that's not what you want? Is it?, the voice sneers again.

You grit your teeth and ignore it, willing the constant noise around you to drown it out. You've got a job to do. You have supes to hunt, Hughie to convince, and people counting on you to do your part, play your role. And you have no time nor room to question your role with Butcher.

For all of your sakes.

^^^

The elevator feels particularly slow as it ascends to the office. It takes some effort but you keep from tapping your foot like an impatient child. It was five after eight when you had entered the building, and you had questioned Butcher's definition of punctual the moment the elevator doors had closed. Just how many minutes could you push it tonight?

The familiar ding finally comes and you dash out for the office doors. Your hand wraps around the handle and you burst in. Only instead of into the office you burst into the door. You jolt from the shock to your shoulder, glaring at the handle when it doesn't turn. You glance up and find, to your surprise, that there are no lights on inside. It's locked tight.

Perplexed, you fish out your keys and find your copy to unlock the stubborn handle. You can't help a scoff at the sight of the vacant office. "Don't be late," you mutter in your best Butcher impression, which is laughable at best. "Boss me, ditch work all day, and not even be on time? Oh I'm gonna give you shit for that…"

You open the door just enough to side-step in, fingers skittering along the wall for the light switch. It crosses your mind that maybe something had held him up, that something might have happened to him. A knot of apprehension slips through the dark and coils in your chest. But you swat the thought away, no need to panic over a few minutes late. You breathe a sigh when the switch finally greets your fingertips, giving it a sharp flick…

Nothing. Just shades and shapes in the office. Even the city glow only does so much for visibility. A groan slips out as the apprehension begins to coil again, making the hairs on the back of your neck prickle slightly. You drop your bag against the wall and fumble with your phone to turn on its light, slowly tiptoeing into the room to find the breaker. "Damn it, Frenchie!," you hiss into the dark. "What did you do now?"

You only take a few shy steps in before holding the light high, hoping it would reach the far wall. A wisp of memory comes to you, telling you the breaker should be closer to the front of the office. Surely Frenchie would have had the courtesy to tell you there were technical issues, knowing you were dropping by!

You pause. You suddenly realize if he had forgotten, Kimiko certainly would have reminded him, or text you herself. Standing stock still, light still glaring into the space, another realization creeps over you, thick as the uncanny silence.

The hairs on the back of your neck aren't prickling now. They're standing on end.

Click.

You're just whirling to run for the door when a thick arm wraps about your neck, a hand clapping tight over your mouth. In a snap you're back at the warehouse as you frantically squirm, it'd been just like this, it's happening again! Panic bursts hot in your chest for a split second before a tug of muscle memory kicks. Do something!, it screams.

You try to yank on the arm round your neck, go for a hip throw. It gives you perhaps centimeters to breathe but you weren't fast enough, you're not throwing them forward. At your attempt, your attacker yanks hard, dragging you backwards across the floor.

Adapt! Fight!

You try to drop, lower your center of gravity, make the bastard work for it! Again, they yank, this time picking you clear off the floor. You shift your hips as you're lifted up, swinging hard to plant your feet back as far as you can. When they hit the floor again you scramble, hooking an ankle around the back of your attacker's leg. They stumble and it gives you just what you need; you facing opposite your attacker, their arm in your grip. If they're not going to go forward, then you're taking them backwards.

You shift your hips, shoving them hard into where you guess is the bastard's back, and pull with a yell, adrenaline-fueled force far greater than in practice. The sound of impact booms across the hardwood and a twist of angry satisfaction flits through you at the groan of pain that follows. But it's brief, you turn and scramble hopefully away, utterly disoriented in the dark. You spot your phone, light still on, and the door behind it, like a lighthouse beacon.

You barely manage two steps before your ankle is snatched. Your hands protest against the solid contact with the floor, your face barely missing the same fate as the wind is nearly knocked from you. Fingers stretching fast, you just get the phone in your hand before you're yanked back. Muscle memory kicks in again - Not your back! Don't give them your back! - and you twist off your stomach as you kick blindly-!

Blind! Blind them!

You turn the light towards the attacker, pulling back your free leg again, ready to break their goddamn nose as your own eyes try to adjust. Past the flares and dots swimming in your vision you grit your teeth and face-!

Butcher.

Your jaw drops, and he recoils, squinting in the bluish glare for just a split second. Then he swats the phone out of your hand, sending it across the floor again. "If they're going to teach you how to read a room," he rasps, pulling you roughly until he leans over you, "they've got their fucking work out for 'em." He tsks at you, shaking his head. "Fucking stupid, love."

"You-! You-!," you rasp back. Then your lips peel back in a snarl, fists flailing at him in the dark. "You asshole! You fucking asshole! Should've fucking known!"

Your blind punches are short-lived as he manages to wrangle your arms across your chest. "Alright! Knock it off! Knock it off!" You squirm and yell before he grips your wrists tighter and leans heavy into you, making you grunt out a breath. "I said…knock it off."

"You-!" You swallow thickly, cotton-mouthed, panting. "I thought it was-. Again. The warehouse. You- you almost-! Gave me a fucking-! Panic attack!"

"I had to. And you're about to have it again if you keep fucking hyperventilating," Butcher growls. "Now breathe, goddamn it. Real slow like."

He keeps hold of your wrists and leans up enough to let you take full breaths again. You glare at him as your eyes adjust, sucking air through your nose, shakily breathing out through your mouth. Adrenaline is still white hot in your veins, spiking through your spine. Along with the anger. God, you want to throttle him! After a minute or two, you attempt to speak again.

"Had to? The hell do you mean 'had to'?"

"What I said. I had to know how you'd react in crisis. Especially if it were anything like what happened to you before."

"I think you're full of shit, but fine."

"I told ya," he says, hard and glaring back. "Over anything else I taught you, you can't lose your head."

"Well I'm off to a great start," you huff.

"Weren't that bad," Butcher shrugs. "You used your training. Even adapted that hip throw. That was good. Real good."

You blink back surprise. Maybe you're still a bit out of it…but did he just give you a little credit?

"But you still lost your head a bit, right there at the start. You panicked. That's why that first throw didn't work for shite."

And he's back. Realizing you've been in this position for a while, you shift slightly against the floor. "So what now?," you ask as he lets go of your wrists. "You jumped me, now we fix the lights and warm up? Or is that it?"

"I dunno," Butcher drawls, a mischievous curl in his lip. "You feel pretty warmed up to me."

He shifts off you, and you're grateful for the brief moment to process. Butcher had always been blunt. But you hadn't exactly expected him to openly flirt this soon. Then again when did Butcher ever do as expected? Maybe it's a tactic? Throw you off your training tonight?

"And the lights stay off," his voice cuts through your musing, as he takes one of your hands to haul you to your feet.

"Why? How am I supposed to train when I can barely see?"

"I distinctly recall telling you not to be late," he quips. "Besides, you gotta learn to adapt to conditions anyway. That gala ain't no morning brunch."

"I'm sure they paid the light bill," you utter, looking about for your phone. You locate it beaming under the lip of your desk just next to you. When you stand back up with it, you nearly jump feeling Butcher's hand slide to your lower back.

"What's matter, love?," his voice ghosts over your ear. "You afraid being all alone with me in the dark?"

The nervous giggle that titters out of your throat is borderline embarrassing, but you counter quickly, "More like afraid of getting used to not seeing that mug of yours. Might give me another panic attack when the lights come back on."

He gives a begrudging chuckle as he steps back, shifting his hand to hook lightly in the crook of your elbow. "For not being able to see, you came pretty fucking close to stomping in me mug. Turn off that torch before ya blind us again. Step this way."

You can discern outlines and you do see sections of the office where light from the hallway to the elevator and the windows is a bit brighter. But it doesn't do much to boost your confidence. "How do you see in this?," you ask sincerely, shuffling after him, hesitantly turning off your phone light.

"What? You think we do all our work in bright, shiny spaces? That those cunts want us to be able to see 'em coming?" You can just make out his head shaking. "Nah. And I would think as often as we are in this place, you'd have it mapped out like I do by now."

He stops you in one of the faint outlines of the windows on the floor. In your murky vision you see that he's already cleared the area. "Down here," he prompts, tugging on your elbow and you both sink to the hardwood.

"So are you gonna tell me what you were planning on doing with me?," you tease, nibbling on your lip when you hear a more suggestive tone than you had intended.

Butcher's long legs stretch out along either side of yours, and you feel a laugh rumble in his chest when he pulls you back into him. "I've been planning since last night. I've got plenty of ideas for you."

Christ, he's not beating around the bush is he?

You refrain from biting your lip again as you become aware of something else. With your vision impaired, your other senses are trying to compensate, to help you reorient in the room. But it's leaving your skin more attune to his proximity, the warmth radiating off him. And your hearing is gonna be the death of you. Butcher's voice had always been one of your weaknesses, and now your ears are keened in on every rough, baritone syllable, every rumble, every damn hum that passes his lips.

He's being a tease. A fucking tease!, you think with a wave of indignation. Putting those SAS interrogation tactics into a game. Bastard is trying to get me to break!

Your pulse kicks up, you feel it begin to patter a quick rhythm in your veins, against your chest. And pressed against your back, apparently Butcher can feel it too, as he loosely settles his arms around your torso. "Feeling alright there, sweetheart?," he croons with faux innocence. You can practically hear the smug look crawl over his face.

You. Fucker. A smug look of your own twitches at the corners of your mouth before you recompose. Alright, Billy. You wanna play a game of who breaks first? You're on.

"Just getting my head into training," you reply coolly. "What are we working on?"

"We're starting with this. Showing you exactly why you shouldn't let anyone take your back." His arms move up to cross snugly around your shoulders. More of a warning than anything else. His legs move over yours till he hooks his ankles just behind your knees.

"Thought you just did that when you jumped me?," you mutter.

"A little. But that was what some sloppy thug would do. If someone really wants to hurt ya, they're gonna incapacitate you first, then drag you off. So you're gonna learn a rear naked choke. How to do it, what it feels like, and how to get out of it."

"What it feels like? Why?"

Butcher's hands slide up to your shoulders. "If you're going to work with the team, get your hands dirty, you gotta learn to be uncomfortable. You've been in that cushy office at the bureau for too long. And again, you gotta learn how to act in crisis. Not gonna get out of it if you don't know what it feels like neither."

"So you're desensitizing me."

"Only to certain things," he replies slyly, draping one arm over your left shoulder. His tone becomes serious when he speaks again. "Now listen close. This is gonna be right uncomfortable. I'm gonna put the choke on you slow. You're gonna push through for as long as you can, which won't be long at all. But don't be daft about it. Tap when you need to, I fucking mean it. If I have to put you in recovery position 'cause of your ego, we'll have problems when you wake up. You understand?"

"I think I can handle a-"

"Do you understand?," he growls hot in your ear, beard scraping along the delicate skin.

You nod, then firmly answer, "I understand."

You watch Butcher's right arm slide up and across till his wrist is just across his left elbow. Then he secures it by curling his left arm back till his fingers just cup the back of your head. The action brings his right elbow to cradle your windpipe with practiced precision, your neck now firmly encased in his arm. But the muscle and bone feel like thick, iron bands and you suck in a surprised breath, hands shooting up to cling at his arm on impulse.

"Easy. Not gonna put it on ya full throttle. Take a calm, deep breath when you're ready," he says as you take a couple shaky breaths. Then low, low enough that you feel more than hear it, "I got you."

You fasten your eyes on the office door, willing yourself to relax. Which isn't much, being wrapped so tightly into Butcher, getting ready to be potentially choked out. After a moment, you remind yourself to tap, give a quick nod and fill your lungs.

Butcher executes slowly, but nonetheless your fingers clutch his arm again as the pressure increases, eliciting an instinctual response from your body to try to get away. But his legs give you nothing to work with and you quickly realize why he had you take a deep breath. You can still breathe, or wheeze rather. But the pressure in your head is firm, quick and thunderous. Blood choke, you think distantly, a ringing beginning to rise in your ears, throughout your skull.

It's mere seconds, but he was right. It's damn uncomfortable. No, actually, it's flat out scary as the edge of your vision begins to fog out the office doors. With a strangled sound rising from your throat you slap his arm in rapid succession. Butcher's response is quick, releasing you within the second hit, arms dropping to your torso.

"You alright?," he asks, craning round your shoulder to peer into your face as you gulp in a mouthful of air. You nod, blinking rapidly when the motion brings a wave of lightheadedness. "You seeing stars?"

"Fuck." It comes out drunkenly. "Lotsa stars."

"I bet there are. Lean back, get your bearings." Butcher pulls you back into him, untangling his legs to set them aside yours again. "You'll be right as rain soon enough."

"Always thought that was an air choke," you sigh. "That you could just hold your breath and try to get out."

"Not a chance," he shakes his head as you rest your dizzy one on his shoulder. "Now you understand why you can't panic. 'Cause there ain't no time for it. You lasted about three seconds, and that's me being sweet on ya. You might last five, maybe even ten seconds if you fight real hard, if they don't cinch it right the first time."

Seconds. Mere seconds. Just to pass out. How long before the lights never come back on..?

"Please tell me you won't make me do that again."

"No," Butcher says firmly. "Not tonight. Doing that too many times too quick is hateful dangerous. Like mucking about with matches; it's all fun and games till you get fucking burnt. Besides…" The arm draped across your hips pulls you in snug. He ducks his head into the dip of your shoulder as you feel fingertips trace the curve of your hip over your t-shirt.

"...I got far better ways to leave you dizzy and panting."

Even with your brain recalibrating - and those calloused fingers brushing by your belt not helping the matter - you manage a smile. Then ask, "Does it involve you actually teaching me more positions? Or are you gassed out already?"

You feel a chuckle hum in your shoulder where his head still presses. "Don't you worry. I'm just getting started."

Before you can respond, verbally at least, to the heated promise - threat? - in his words, he pulls you into a loose version of the choke again. His legs move back to hooking behind your knees. No sense of danger, but now your hyper awareness of being at his mercy returns.

"Let's kick this up a notch, eh? Get a little tricky. I'm gonna tell you how to slip out. Once you do, you're gonna try to take mount, and not let me take your back again."

"Shouldn't be too tricky to get out of your grasp," you shrug, as if you're unbothered. Even though you're definitely a little bothered.

"Slipping out ain't the tricky part. Just remember that. Now, turn us onto the opposite side I'm choking with. My rights at your throat so…That's it," he says as you roll you both onto your left sides. "Reach back with both hands, grip my hand I got against your head and yank it over. Good, don't let go of it till you try to take mount. You're not going anywhere until you untangle yourself from my legs, now are ya?"

"And I thought you wanted to keep me between them," you sass.

"Question is if you wanna stay there, or if you want to mount me," Butcher quips back without skipping a beat. A flash of his hips under you in your recent dream appears in your mind's eye, the very ones now tucked into the back of yours, and a bolt of heat shoots through your core.

"If you want out," Butcher cuts through your haze, "you'll put your right foot on my left leg, good and solid, slip out your legs, and move yourself to the left. Once you're perpendicular, you flip over onto your belly and see if you can top me. And I bet that's a big 'if'," Butcher sneers.

With a scoff at the challenge, you go for it. It takes a bit but you manage to wrangle out your legs, pivoting your body hard. Once in line with his shoulders you twist, pulling his hand out of the way. You recall the one pass you learned in your early gym days, sliding your knee across Butcher's belly to keep low and straddle his waist. You sit up high, grinning, "How big is that 'if' now-?"

You realize you fell for the setup when you see the glint of Butcher's grin in the light from the window. Which is a millisecond before you feel his hips throw you. You barely catch yourself from flying into the floor and in a blur you're spinning, right onto your back. By some miracle you manage to wrap Butcher into closed guard as you land.

He gives you no moment to recuperate, a broad hand sliding under to cup one of your shoulders. Going more off feel than sight, you manage to wrap your arm around his and clamp it to you just as he starts to pry. You pull your shoulders as flat against the floor as you can, and pull him forward and off balance with your legs.

"Well, well, well!," Butcher crows above you. "I do believe the spazzy white belt might be picking up on this afterall. You countered me once. But how long before I take your back again?"

"Try it," you challenge, a lop-sided grin on your features. "The next time you see my back is when I walk out that door."

"You are in over your head."

Butcher goes again for your arms, maneuvers to turn your shoulders for leverage. You squirm, shift, counter in what little way you know how. It's no easy task. Even now adjusted you're still half-blind, and Butcher is stronger and more agile than you've seen before. You know he's not going full force, but he's certainly making you work for the lesson.

Only as the moments pass, there's a shift again. It feels less like a lesson this time. With each counter, with each second you begin to sweat from exertion, each curse from both of you, a complex air wraps around you. When you try to trap Butcher in close, almost like a bear hug in an attempt to limit his movements, you realize what it is. As he mocks your amateur attempt and pries himself free of your arms, you realize that it doesn't feel like the militant sparring from before. It's more like…rough housing. You're actually having fun with this.

By now the two of you have scuffed and shuffled over the floor, the office door now down past your feet, the bathroom just by your heads. It gives a little more light to see by, glittering through the glass from the hallway. You take advantage of it, catching Butcher just in time to see that he's moving his elbows to go for the less pleasant guard pass. Before he can dig his elbows in you shoot up an arm, managing to grab the back of his collar.

He counters in a flash however, raising an arm and leaning back in a snap, preventing you from getting in the other hand. You see his eyes widen, a little laugh slipping out between panting as you continue to hold your grip. "Cross-collar from guard? You thought you were gonna be that sneaky with me?"

"What's the matter, Billy?" You smile back as you try to seize the brief moment to catch your breath. "Maybe feeling a little slow? Or did I make you a bit nervous just now?"

He reaches back and pulls off your slipping grip. A devious smirk appears. "I think now is a good time we covered stacking." Before you can reply, he wedges an arm under and around one of your thighs. You squeeze your legs tighter, certain he's trying to break your guard. Until he moves off his knees, straightening his legs, and pushing forward. You let out a curse as your lower back comes off the floor, and your hips protest as Butcher's weight begins to inch your knees up towards your chest.

"Nice little stretch, innit?," he says with a waggle of his brows.

"Nifty trick, trying to fold me in half," you grit out. You try to push back with your legs. But even with your hips just barely off the floor, you've essentially lost your leverage. You give a strained chuckle as the pressure increases minutely in your hips. You try to reach down to grab at him, pull yourself back to the floor, but he's too far at this angle. "Real nifty. I guess I did make you nervous."

"Nervous, eh?," he asks, eyes narrowing. "With all that panting and sighing, and filthy words coming outta your mouth?" Butcher pushes a little more before shifting back. Just when you think he's letting you up he jerks on your hips and slides back up, slotting himself between your thighs. You let out a gasp when you feel the firm bulge in his jeans begin to press against your core, his weight heavy on your hips again as he leans into you.

"That feel like nervous to you, love?," he husks against your cheek.

Words fail you as your fingers splay on his shoulders, uncertain whether to pull him in or…or what? Butcher's fingers, however, are far more decisive, one hand slipping just under the hem of your shirt to grip your hip firmly. Your brain is a tangled mess at this point, a tiny portion still in rolling mode, prompting you to do something. The rest is fixated on his fingers, and his beard scratching along your jaw, and the heat and the friction…

"Oi," he mutters, raising up enough to leave mere inches between your faces. You swallow when he traces your lips with his gaze. "I'm still waiting for an answer…What's it feel like?"

You rifle through the haze, searching for words as you hear your breathing mingle, your pulse soft in your ears and…the elevator ding?

"... I swear, mon coeur, it'll take two seconds."

A cold shock of realization wrenches you firmly out of your haze. Butcher's eyes widen like yours for a millisecond before his face turns murderous. "Fuck!," he snarls under his breath, eyes darting about. "Roll! Roll!," he hisses, hooking your legs at an awkward angle.

You gasp, then let out a muted squeal as you're spun and rolled in a tangle of limbs with Butcher. It takes a moment to orient up from down when you find yourself on your ass on the bathroom floor, your back firmly against Butcher's chest again. Inky blackness snaps around you when he pulls the door shut. The lock clicks with a flurry of his fingers just as you hear the office doors open on the other side.

You try to slow your breathing, placing a hand over your own mouth as you will your heart rate to please not be so fucking loud! You'd heard and seen for yourself that Kimiko's hearing was far better than the rest of the crew. But you weren't certain just by how much. And by the way Butcher was controlling his breathing, one palm cupping over your hand at your lips, he must have been thinking the same thing.

"Oh, you think I left our apartment key on purpose? What purpose? I'd much rather be snuggling with you at home than back…" There's the sound of a switch being irritably flicked once or twice. Frenchie's voice turns from teasing to confused. "The fuck…? This fucking place! Hold on…."

As you listen to Frenchie shuffle along, and the boot tapping on the floor most likely being Kimiko's, you try to stay still. To be calm. A task not made easy with Butcher's half-hard length pressing against you, and your own lust still pulsing at the apex of your thighs. You dare to slowly shift your hips to try to find a less distracting position. But Butcher's other arm ensnares your waist, a strangled grunt cut short in his throat, giving you a silent command to not fucking move.

Kimiko's boot stops tapping.

Shit, shit, shit!

"Found it!," Frenchie calls. "Goddamn breakers been flipped. Just a little flick of the wrist and…"

In Butcher's haste to lock the bathroom door he must have bumped the light switch. Or someone had left it on before. But you both flinch when the lights suddenly hum to life with a stab to your eyes. You will to whatever powers may be that neither of them notice the light under the bathroom door.

"...Let there be light. Now the key should be…" There's rustling of papers, a desk drawer opening. Then, "Aha! Just as I thought. Alright, mon coeur, lets-! Huh? What's weird?"

There's a pause, the sound of their steps coming back to the office door. "You're right. That's Y/N's bag."

Your gut drops. Your bag. The one you had left by the door when you came in earlier. A whole litany of curses run through your mind as you and Butcher both tense.

"Hughie did say she had plans tonight. Maybe she was in a hurry? Just wanted to drop it off, perhaps? We'll leave it on her desk, she'll be back tomorrow anyway."

There's shuffling again, the sound of something placed on a desk surface. Your phone, where was your phone? Was it out in the open? You couldn't remember where you had left it, and you hoped they wouldn't spot it. You listen to Frenchie begin to flirt with Kimiko as he turns off the office lights. Followed by the sound of the door closing, the sound of the lock again. With straining ears, you both hear the muffled sound of the elevator doors closing. Only then you pull both his and your hands from your mouth and heave a sigh.

That's two close calls today. Jesus.

"Fucking hell," Butcher grumbles, dropping his head back against the wall with a dull thump. You turn your head just enough to see the sour look on his face. "Too damn close, that one. Gonna have to find somewhere else. We can't keep meeting like this."

You nod. Then start to snicker. He glares down at you with a confused brow. "What?," you smile. "Don't wanna get caught like two teenagers playing seven minutes in heaven?"

Your snickering intensifies as his sour look turns to a snort. Then a wheeze. The nerves from the last few minutes finally spring loose in your chest, and you burst into a full on fit of giggles. It amplifies when you feel Butcher's shoulders shake with a fit of his own, and you see the first actual smile on his face in months.

"Couple of twats hiding in an office bathroom. Fucking stupid!," he wheezes as you try to fight the ridiculous wave of giggles. The sight of his eyes crinkling with humor, a rare sight if there ever was one, makes you smile hard enough that your cheeks start to hurt.

A sudden buzz and tune rattle on the bathroom tile, and you jump. You bite hard on your lip against laughter as Butcher unwraps your waist to wrangle his phone out of his pocket. "What the fuck now? Hold on, hold on. Keep it down." Clearing the laugh out his own throat, he answers, "MM! Fancying a chat are we?"

When Butcher's face morphs to serious, your fit finally subsides. The situation and current setting finally kick in, and after a minute of debating, you seize the lack of hold on you to stumble to your feet. Butcher gives you a disbelieving look as you step over his legs and out into the office, before shuffling to follow.

"Yeah, I heard ya. Which one?," he continues into his phone as you sweep the floor for your own. You find it under another desk again and snatch it up to tuck in your pocket. You lean back against the desk, watching Butcher carefully as the conversation unfolds. "How long we got?...Right now. Of fucking course," he scowls. "Alright, see ya soon."

"What's wrong?," you ask as he severs the connection.

"MM just intercepted a call to Vought from one of the hospitals," he says, shrugging on his coat with agitation. "Someone was dumped at the ER checking off that special list of symptoms."

"Persuasion?"

"Most likely. And we gotta get to them before the company lackeys show up."

You grab your keys from your bag, doing your best not to disturb it on its spot on your desk. "Training for another night then? Well, good luck at the hospital. Keep me posted."

"Now hold on. The fuck you think you're running off to?" Butcher stalks towards you with heavy eyes. "You're part of this crew. We got a job to do. And I didn't say we were done tonight, now did I?"

"Yes. And you heard Frenchie. They know I have 'plans'," you explain as he braces his hands on the desk, caging you in. You smile coyly in response. "And if I show up, especially when MM only called you…They’re all gonna have questions, right?"

Butcher gives out a dissatisfied growl to the ceiling. "We ain't done here," he intones.

He had almost done it. You'd nearly broke there on the office floor. And it had been so very tempting to see what would have happened had you not got up and left the bathroom. But now that you've had a moment to reset, and duty calls…well he can't have all the fun now can he?

"You're running out of time. Wouldn't be a good idea to keep MM waiting."

Butcher stares you down, a knowing smirk on his face. He nods slowly. "I'll be damned if those fuckers beat me to it," he concedes. "But like I said…"

Before you can blink, he hooks a finger under your chin and presses his lips to yours. You had expected it to be heated, greedy. But you're startled at how soft it is. A borderline tenderness you had never seen coming, sideswiping you hard enough to make your breath hitch. You feel him smile at the sound and he pulls back just before you find it in you to kiss in return.

"...We ain't done." His thumb idly swipes over your bottom lip just before he's out of reach. In a few long strides he's out the door, leaving you recovering from the whiplash of the evening.

As fun as it is to tease, you muse, sneaking a taste of him on your lips, I wonder how I can kill one cockblocking Frenchie without Kimiko gutting me alive.

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys fanfic

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