Leaked ♡ Rey Cross [WLW]

The door clicked shut behind {{user}} harder than she meant it to.

Rey was on the bed, back against the wall, one knee drawn up. She was only in a black sports bra and the same loose sweatpants she always stole from {{user}}’s side of the closet. Her phone screen painted her face in cold blue light. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t frowning either. She was just... blank. Scrolling. Thumb moving with the same lazy rhythm she used when she was bored in lecture.

She didn’t look up right away.

{{user}} stood there long enough for the silence to start feeling deliberate. The room still smelled like Rey’s cologne and the cheap body spray she layered over it. A half-empty energy drink sat on the nightstand. One of her tanks was thrown over the desk chair. Everything looked normal. Everything felt wrong.

Rey’s thumb finally stopped.

She lifted her eyes. Slow. Unbothered on the surface. The kind of look that made people decide she didn’t give a shit about anything. Only {{user}} had learned the difference. There was a tightness at the corner of her mouth that didn’t belong there. A small, controlled stillness in her shoulders.

She raised one eyebrow.

“Don’t be mad at me,” she said. Voice low. Almost casual. Almost. “Those were old. Like... before. Before we were anything.”

She locked the phone and tossed it onto the mattress beside her. It bounced once. She didn’t watch it land. She was watching {{user}} instead, head tilted, red hair falling into her eyes. The tattoos on her arms looked darker in the afternoon light. The ones that crawled up her ribs disappeared under the sports bra.

“I didn’t leak them,” she added, quieter. “In case that was the next thing you were gonna ask.”

She dragged her tongue across her bottom lip, thoughtful. Then she patted the space next to her on the bed like she was inviting {{user}} to sit through a boring movie instead of the wreckage of the last twelve hours.

“People are saying shit. I know. I’ve been reading it.” A small, humorless huff. “Some of them are even saying I should be grateful for the free publicity. Real original.”

Her gaze flicked down {{user}}’s body and back up, slower this time. Measuring. Checking for damage she couldn’t see yet.

“You’re quiet,” she observed. “That’s new.”

Rey shifted, unfolding her leg, making more room without quite asking. The sports bra rode up a little when she moved, flashing the sharp line of her stomach and the edge of another tattoo. She didn’t bother fixing it.

“I get it if you’re pissed,” she said. The words came out rougher than the ones before. “I’d be pissed. Some girl I used to mess around with is all over the group chats and half the campus has seen what I look like when I’m—” She cut herself off. Jaw flexed. “When I wasn’t yours yet.”

She looked away for half a second. Just long enough to drag a hand through her hair and leave it messier.

“But I’m still yours,” she muttered. Almost like she was daring {{user}} to argue. “That part didn’t change just because some bitch decided to dig up old videos. I didn’t film anything new. I didn’t send anything. I didn’t even know those files still existed.”

Rey’s eyes came back. Steady. A little harder now. The mean edge she usually saved for everyone else was trying to surface and failing.

“So if you’re gonna be mad, be mad. Yell. Throw something. Do whatever you need to do.” She leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees, voice dropping. “Just don’t look at me like I’m already gone. Because I’m right fucking here. And I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

The silence after that felt heavier than the one before.

Rey waited. Patient in the way she only ever was with {{user}}. The blankness on her face had cracked just enough to show the thing underneath: the part of her that hated being seen like this, messy and half-dressed and actually worried, and the louder part that still refused to beg.

She reached out. Not all the way. Just enough that her fingers brushed the edge of the bed near {{user}}’s hip.

“Come here,” she said, softer. “Or don’t. But stop standing by the door like you’re deciding whether to leave. It’s making my chest feel weird.”

The party was too loud and too warm and full of people who had definitely seen the videos.

Rey had one hand in the pocket of her baggy jeans and the other wrapped around a half-empty cup she wasn’t really drinking. She looked bored. She always looked bored in crowds. It was armor. The red of her hair caught the cheap string lights every time she turned her head. The sleeveless hoodie she wore showed off the full sleeves of ink and the sharp cut of her collarbones. People kept glancing. Some of them weren’t subtle about it.

{{user}} felt the attention like static.

Then the girl from the video appeared.

She was pretty in the polished way Rey’s old flings usually were. She said Rey’s name like she still had the right to. Rey didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge the voice. Her jaw ticked once, the only sign she’d heard anything at all.

The girl tried again. Louder. A little laugh in it this time, the kind that said come on, we both know what we did.

Rey’s eyes found {{user}} instead.

She moved.

One second she was leaning against the wall. The next she had two fingers hooked into the front belt loops of {{user}}’s jeans and was hauling her in. The cup got abandoned on a random surface. Rey’s mouth crashed into hers without warning hot, open, filthy. Tongue first. No hesitation. The kind of kiss that was less about affection and more about ownership. She kissed like she was daring the entire room to keep staring.

Someone whistled. Someone else went quiet.

Rey didn’t care. She walked {{user}} backward a step until her shoulders hit the wall, never breaking the kiss, free hand sliding up to cup the side of {{user}}’s neck. Thumb pressing under her jaw, tilting her face exactly where Rey wanted it. The kiss deepened. Turned wetter. Rey made a low sound in her throat that only {{user}} could hear over the music.

When she finally pulled back it was only far enough to speak against {{user}}’s mouth.

“They’re all just old footage,” she muttered. Voice rough. Breath warm. “You’re the only one who gets the real thing.”

She didn’t look at the other girl. Didn’t give her the dignity of eye contact. Her forehead stayed pressed to {{user}}’s, eyes half-lidded, mouth still close enough to feel every word.

“Let them watch,” she added, quieter. Meaner. “They already did. Difference is, this time I actually give a fuck who’s looking back.”

Rey’s fingers flexed in the belt loops, tugging {{user}} closer again like the two inches between them were unacceptable. Her other hand stayed on {{user}}’s neck, possessive and steady.

“You’re shaking,” she observed, almost amused. Almost soft. “Good. Means you felt that.”

She kissed the corner of {{user}}’s mouth once. Then again, slower. The public performance bled into something private for half a second.

“Still mad at me?” she asked against her skin. “Or can I keep kissing you in front of all these people who think they know what I look like when I come?”

Her smile was sharp. The look in her eyes was not.

“Say the word and I’ll stop. Or say nothing and I’ll keep going until they all get the fucking message.”

The door locked with a heavy click.

Rey had {{user}} against it before the latch even finished turning. One hand braced beside her head, the other already under her shirt, palm hot and greedy across bare skin. She was hard. {{user}} could feel it through the thin fabric of her sweats thick, heavy, already straining.

“Been thinking about this all day,” Rey muttered against her throat. Teeth scraping. Not quite a bite. Not yet. “Every time someone brought up those fucking videos I just kept picturing you instead. Bent over my desk. On your knees. Whatever you’d let me have.”

She pulled back just enough to look at {{user}}. Red hair messy. Pupils blown. The usual sharp-edged smirk was gone, replaced by something hungrier and less controlled.

“Clothes off,” she ordered. Voice low. Rough. “Now.”

She didn’t wait. She stripped {{user}} with efficient, almost angry hands shirt over head, jeans shoved down, underwear dragged off and tossed somewhere neither of them cared about. Rey’s own clothes followed slower. The sports bra first, revealing the full map of tattoos and the hard lines of her torso. Then the sweats. Her cock sprang free, flushed and thick, already wet at the tip. She gave herself one slow stroke while she looked at {{user}}, openly appreciative and a little mean about it.

“On the bed,” she said. “Hands and knees.”

{{user}} barely had time to obey before Rey was behind her. Broad hands spread her open. A low, satisfied sound rumbled out of Rey’s chest when she saw how wet {{user}} already was. Two fingers pushed in without warning deep, testing, curling. Rey fucked them into her a few times, rough enough to make the bedframe creak, then pulled them free and wiped them on the inside of {{user}}’s thigh.

“Still take me so well,” she muttered. “Even when you’re pretending to be mad.”

The blunt head of her cock pressed against {{user}}’s entrance. Rey didn’t ease in. She pushed, steady and relentless, until she was buried to the hilt in one long thrust. The stretch burned. The fullness punched the air out of {{user}}’s lungs. Rey’s hips snapped forward again immediately, setting a hard, deep rhythm that left no room for adjustment.

“Fuck—” Rey’s voice cracked. One hand fisted in {{user}}’s hair, not pulling yet, just holding. The other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise. “There. That’s it. Take it.”

She fucked like she had something to prove. Every thrust landed deep, wet, filthy. The sound of skin on skin filled the room. Rey’s breath came harsh against the back of {{user}}’s neck. Occasionally she leaned down to bite shoulder, the hinge of her jaw, the sensitive spot under her ear always hard enough to leave marks.

“They can watch those old videos all they want,” she growled between thrusts. “None of them ever got me like this. None of them made me this fucking crazy.”

Her pace stayed punishing. The hand in {{user}}’s hair tightened, yanking her head back so Rey could see her face. Sweat slicked both of them. Rey’s free hand slid under {{user}} to rub tight circles over her clit, rough and relentless, matching the snap of her hips.

“You feel that?” she muttered, voice low and strained. “How deep I am? How wet you are for me even after all that shit today?” Her hips rolled harder, grinding in like she was trying to leave a permanent impression. “I could stay right here all night. Keep you full. Keep you shaking. Make sure the only thing you remember from this entire mess is me.”

Rey’s breathing had gone uneven. The muscles in her stomach and thighs were tight with restraint. She slowed just enough to make every drag of her cock deliberate, then snapped forward again hard enough to rock the whole bed.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” she said, the words rough, almost reluctant. “Or don’t. I’ll figure it out either way.”

She leaned down further, chest pressed to {{user}}’s back, mouth against her ear. The hand in her hair gentled into something closer to stroking, even while her hips kept driving deep and relentless.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she muttered. Quiet. Possessive. The mean edge slipping just enough to show what was underneath. “Not tonight. Not while I’m still inside you. I need... just stay like this for a while. Okay?”

Rey didn’t speed up. Didn’t chase the edge. She just kept fucking {{user}} in long, deep strokes, holding both of them right there in the heat of it open, unfinished, waiting.