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buuniebaby · 7 months ago

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HOME TO ME - HAMZAH X LATINA!READER 🎀

hiii! first of all i wanna make a quick note - very sorry for the inconsistency in posting for a few days. ive been struggling with writers block and summer bedrotting is getting to me a lil. 😓😓

there were A LOT of drafts of this fic that i picked up and then didn’t like. a big part of that is that i really wanted to make a fic that hits sort of close to home, and that’s what this one is to me! i was born in nicaragua and moved to the us at a young age, so this fic is based off of my experiences relating to that, even down to little things like my parents and their broken english lol. i still tried to make it pretty ambiguous to other latin-american countries, so I hope it isn’t too specific. it took me a long time to write, but im really happy with the way it came out after a day or two of really thinking about it.

this fic includes: lots of fluff, then it gets nasty. mirror sex, nothing too rough 🤗

wc: 3.4k

Your childhood summers haven’t changed since the last time you stepped foot here, even though it feels like it’s been lifetimes. you’re home, and you’ve brought your boyfriend along with you this time.

the sun shines down on you, a little too hot for your liking. it’s a lot hotter down here than the canadian weather you’re used to. it’s different, but comforting at the same time. what really makes the biggest change is the sight of your boyfriend, rays of sunlight beaming down on him, framing his curls perfectly. it makes you feel at home just as much as being here does.

the air is warm and sticky, thick with remnants of a heavy rain. sweat clings to areas of exposed skin, dampening his shirt collar and hair with a sweat.

you don’t think you’ve loved the latin-american summer as much as you have seeing hamzah bask under it.

showing your boyfriend around your home country feels like the world around you is unreal. it’s like two universes colliding - ones that probably shouldn’t coexist.

one of the things that really makes you feel like you’re out of your own body is walking down the same road that baby-you walked down to get to school. if you could’ve told your middle school self that you bagged a man this bad she would’ve forgiven you for not marrying her celebrity crush.

and the food is what really gets you - the flavor of nostalgia mixing with the taste of your boyfriend’s lips is an otherworldly sensation. although you can’t get him too full yet; that’s a job for your family.

speaking of your family - hamzah is terrified.

he tries looking extra nice at first. he wants to make a good impression, just like you’ve told him to - it’s why he’s surprised you’re bursting out in laughter seeing him walk out in full black tie attire.

“you don’t have to dress like you’re going to a wedding, hamzah-“ you giggle when he speaks over you, trying to defend himself.

“you told me to look nice, and we’re going to a dinner, y’know-“ he rambles, but catches himself. “and you’re wearing a dress!”

you roll your eyes, giving him a dead stare. “this a a sundress, hamzah. it’s not like.. fancy.” he looks at you blankly back. it’s like there’s not a single thought behind his eyes.

after your criticism and a lot of banter, you’ve got him dressed up more.. how you would have envisioned. he’s got those glasses on - the ones he usually edits with. and god, he looks good. he’s paired those with a polo shirt and a nice pair of jeans; he looks nice, presentable, but not over the top.

you’re knocking on the door while he almost shyly stands behind you before you know it. it takes a good few seconds for you to receive any sort of response, but you’re used to it. once someone eventually comes to the door, you’re greeted with the sound of children squealing in the background and music playing off a speaker - the loud environment you’re most used to.

you think you can see hamzah sweating.

your mom greets you with two little cheek kisses, as always, then smothers you into a hug. “muy linda,” she presses another kiss to your forehead, “mi alma.” she eventually finishes her ramblings about how beautiful you are and how much she’s missed you, then pauses as she pulls back. hamzah flinches.

she’s eyeing him down, eyebrows furrowed with a hand on her hip. It’s the death glare - one you know very well. if he wasn’t sweating before he definitely is now, and you’re even close to breaking into one.

hamzah doesn’t even have time to panic before her angry demeanor snaps into laughter. she’s giggling at the way his smile had dropped, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into that same little cheek kiss. he stumbles when she does it, not knowing what to do; an anxious fluster of sorts.

she pulls away looking at you, and her giggles turn into straight-up laughter.

“he look at me so scared.. he like, ‘i already messed up!’” she says, still laughing, now imitating hamzah’s flustered appearance. her English is slightly broken, as you expected, but it’s the way she tries for you is what really counts. she’s putting in the effort. you laugh with her, but not really at what she’s saying - it’s the way she’s already made herself comfortable around your boyfriend.

“y tu eres el novio, verdad?” your father says, pointing at hamzah, managing to creep up behind your mother without you even noticing. “you going to marry her?”

you awkwardly laugh at your father and how weird he has to make things, but that’s just how your family is. hamzah doesn’t mind it, he understands - nonchalantly smiling, looking down at you as he replies with a quick “hope so.”

you giggle back, but your smile is genuine - you know he’s serious about what he just said. “maybe one day.” you continue for him.

you two enter your house and he’s already being crowded by relatives of yours. he’s introducing himself to one of your tías when he feels something tugging on the leg of his pants, startling him. he looks down only to see your baby cousin staring up at him, big beady eyes and an open mouth, almost like he’s some sort of god.

around an hour later, hamzah is about a beer and two plates of food in to the family function. he’s sitting on the floor, a doll in his hand, playing with that same prima from before. you’re not even sure if they’re communicating, if that baby can even speak any language yet, but whatever they’re doing hamzah.. seems to be enjoying himself.

it’s funny, but it’s sweet at the same time, watching your boyfriend like this. it makes you think of your future together. marrying him, taking him into your family - even watching him play with your little prima makes you fall ill with baby fever. he would be an amazing girl dad.

by the end of the night, hamzah is starting to get a little bit plastered, and your mom is already calling him mijo. you’re trying to teach him how to dance to your country’s music (which he surprisingly happens to not be bad at) while also trying to sneak a few drinks yourself. you’re running back to the bathroom when your mom catches you, pulling you aside for a second.

you tilt your head at her, confused. you’re hoping this isn’t what you’ve been nervous about the whole night - you really, really don’t want a “we don’t like this boy” talk.

instead, she smiles, which wipes away most of your worry, but you’re still staring at her reluctantly.

“te vas a casar con este chico.” she mutters, smiling. she might be a little drunk herself from the way she’s talking, but you know there’s a truth to her words. you smile back a small grin, but it means more to you than what appears - your man is locked in. even your mom agrees, he’s the one.

thank the lord.

the party dies down after a while, baby cousin and older relatives drifting off to their bedrooms one by one. you somehow find yourself sitting on your parent’s couch, cuddled up in a blanket next to hamzah. you’re both a little tipsy, what you would say is fine enough to drive, but you already know your mother will argue against you.

“y’wanna get out of here too?” hamzah whispers, voice deep and soft in your ear.

“mhmm.” you say, comfortable in his arms. “wanna stay here for a second though.”

hamzah doesn’t complain, gently rubbing your shoulder underneath the blanket with his forefinger and thumb. it’s domestic, a gentle touch, and it makes you feel warm inside.

“was cute seeing you play with my prima.” you mumble, smiling to yourself at the memory. he laughs when he picks up on what you’re talking about.

“I don’t really think I understood what was going on like, that whole time.” he begins to ramble. “I think her barbies were like, beefing and shit.” he says, smiling down at you when he sees the way you light up with laughter.

“if we ever like, get married, i wanna have a girl.” you say. he’s quick to rebut you.

“that’s not how it works.” he argues back, stupidly.

“well then, like, we just have more.” you say, the mix of alcohol and sleepiness not giving you the energy to seriously discuss this with him. “you’d make a good girl dad, i think.”

he smiles at that comment. he’s seen it around on tiktok and other social media. he thinks it’s cute, and suddenly the idea of marriage and knocking you up doesn’t seem so scary to him. that gentle touch on your shoulders is moving down to your hips before you know it. you’re both aware that you can’t do anything on your family couch, but you know the intention behind his grip.

“i think you’d be a good boy mom.” he says back. “i could see you like, teaching him how to cook and stuff. i think if you had a baby boy he would be like, really respectful, not like brain-rotted.” you laugh at the stupidity of his comments.

“i think if you raised a boy, he would end up going down like, the alt right pipeline, and start watching andrew tate clips on youtube shorts.”

you both laugh at that - it’s obvious that you’re joking now, but you still enjoy the deprecating banter.

“if my kid doesn’t reach alpha male status, im sending his ass to the frontlines.”

you continue your painfully stupid chatter, not paying attention to how dark it’s getting.

your mother eventually creeps up to you, and you take it as a sign that you should probably start making your way out.

after saying your final goodbyes to your family members who are still standing awake, you’re making your way out the door. after a few cheek kisses and repeatedly denying the “no cab? you sure?” from your mom, you two are on the way back to your hotel.

hamzah’s hand is on your thigh as he drives. it’s another domestic touch that drives you crazy. the little things are really getting to you tonight.

“you’re good with kids.” you mumble, letting your thoughts out with no warning.

“yeah?” is all hamzah says, keeping his eyes on the road and his hand on your thigh.

“yeah.” you repeat back in a breathier tone.

“im not getting you pregnant right now, if that’s what you’re asking.” he mutters, still focused on the road. “I’ll cum inside you, but I can’t handle a baby yet-”

“hamzah!” you nearly yell. “i don’t mean- i mean yeah, that’s a part of it, but like- i guess you’re just like-“ you stutter, trying to gather your flustered self. “it’s like, a domestic thing I guess. makes me wanna settle down with you one day.”

despite how nonchalant he’s acting, he gets exactly what you’re saying.

“yeah. y’know, that little sundress you’re wearing?” hamzah starts, eyes tearing off the road for a second. “that’s like, wife shit.”

you giggle at the way he says it, but you’re flattered at the intention.

“kinda surprised you liked it that much. feel like guys think sundresses are just like, skin-tight skims dresses.”

“you look fucking hot in it, are you serious? like shit, maybe i will just get you pregnant if you’re wearing that.” hamzah pauses for a moment, looking over at you while your eyes widen. “i’m joking. by the way.” you let out a soft “aww,” making a soft smile creep onto his face.

“you don’t have to tonight. i’m joking.” you smile up at him. “but i do miss the feeling of you inside me.” you can tell that you’re at least getting to him a little bit; he’s starting to get riled up.

“duh,” he says, jokingly, but his tone changes with his next words. “ill cum all over that fuckin’ dress if you really want me to.”

there’s the hamzah you were looking for.

he’s already pulling the car you two rented into the parking lot of your hotel, and you can’t even speak before the silence is interrupted with his own thoughts.

“gonna be all over you the second we get to our fucking room.” he mutters, opening his car door. as both of you get out, you can see the hard-on already somewhat formed through his pants.

you love getting him worked up like this.

checking into the room is almost painful. he stands behind you as you speak in spanish to the hotel staff, cock pressed up right against your ass. you’re stuttering as she asks you for your reservation, knowing you’re about to get fucking destroyed.

he wasn’t lying about being all over you. the minute that keycard clicks and the door is open, you’re being shoved onto the bed, hamzah crawling on top of you.

it’s a pretty hotel room - you’re taking it all in as hamzah is on top of you. huge bathroom, silky sheets, relatively good size, yet there’s one thing that sticks out to you. there’s a long mirror, placed at the side of the bed.

it’s the perfect place to get fucked in front of.

you don’t even think hamzah has taken a glance at the architecture around him from the way he’s locked in on your body. you feel his hands gravitate against different areas of your body, resting on your hips, grabbing the soft flesh through your dress. he places a soft, warm kiss to your lips, but continues with a harsher, more sloppy one. it only continues on your neck, biting and kissing down to your collarbone.

he keeps his lips in a certain place for a second, and you already know you’re going to be covering up dark spots on your neck tomorrow.

“pretty,” is all he mumbles when he pulls off, moving down to add yet another bite to your neck.

he pulls the top of your sundress down a little bit, straps going over your shoulders. it’s just enough to free your bra, which he pulls off even quicker.

his mouth is all over your tits before you know it - as expected. he’s sucking at them, licking at the nipple while the other hand fondles the soft flesh around. you can feel him getting harder against your thigh, which you didn’t even think was possible at this point.

you can tell he’s getting frustrated with how fucking tight his pants are getting, cock getting harder by the second. he quickly unbuttons his jeans, pulling them down to his ankles - he’s a little too horny to take the effort to fully pull them down. when he pulls off his boxers he lets out a sigh, letting his cock free.

you readjust to do the same, pulling at the straps of your dress, but hamzah stops you, a large hand covering yours.

“want you to keep it on.”

yes sir.

you pull the straps back up to where they should regularly be, wearing your sundress like normal, just braless. hamzah takes a minute to catch his breath, but it’s hard when you’re under him looking like that. he takes in his surroundings a little bit more as he calms down, finally noticing the mirror to his side. you can tell by the look on his face that he’s got the same idea as you.

his focus lands back on you when he turns back to look you in the eyes, gently stroking himself. his hips roll softly into his hand, pumping himself loosely in his fist. he takes his other hand and pulls your dress up just enough to see your underwear.

he’s too lazy to get them off your body, so he just pushes them to the side, a finger sliding between the soft lips to your entrance. it emits a gasp from you, even though you were expecting it.

“you look so fucking good from here.” he says, breathy. your brows furrow for a second, confused as to what he means by ‘from here,’ but then you realize where his eyes are pointed -

- the mirror.

you turn your head to look at it too, and god, he isn’t wrong. the way his hands strain, groping at your thighs while he grazes against your cunt. it’s hotter than you had expected, the idea of seeing yourself get destroyed from multiple angles.

he presses a finger into you, and you flinch at the feeling. it’s not long before he’s sliding another one in with it, pulling at your hips with his strong arms to bring you down to his knuckles. you’re looking at yourself in the mirror as he does it, watching as he pushes you around like a toy.

he pulls his fingers out after curling them a few times inside of you, and you protest by trying to buck up your hips up again. he pushes on your womb with big hands, forcing you down.

“s’okay baby.” he affirms you in a soft voice. “wanna fuck you now.”

he grabs you by the waist, strong enough to pick you up with just his bare hands and flip you over. he presses your bodies close together once you’re on your hands and knees, your back against his chest. he nestles his head right above your neck, the perfect spot to whisper into your ear.

“look in the mirror,” he starts, and you immediately do what he says. “watch how fucking good you look while I touch you.”

your back arches as an instinct at his words, feeling his palms glide against your hips. your vision feels hazy, but you’re still paying attention to the way he clings onto soft skin.

you let out a whine, shutting your eyes and facing down when he touches your inner thighs, but it doesn’t last long. before you can finish his hand rushes to your jaw, grabbing your face, pointing your head back to the mirror.

“told you to look at yourself, baby.”

it’s hot, the way he’s in control of you, even if it doesn’t take much to get you to submit. he kisses at your shoulder blade softly, watching your desperate expression fade into excitement. he strokes himself one last time before the tip meets your pussy.

your breath hitches when you feel him slide into you, strokes slow. it fits in you nicely, the back of your thighs pressing against his when he’s all the way in. a finger and thumb caress the skin between your ass and hips while he bottoms out.

“c’mon baby,” he says, slowly starting to drag his hips in and out of you. “move those hips.”

you can’t argue with him, doing what he says on command. you roll your hips back the same way you roll your eyes, creating a rhythm with his thrusts. it earns a moan from him.

he grips your hips while his speed up, moving in and out of you with an unforgiving pace. it’s enough to send you reeling, squealing as you struggle to keep your focus on the mirror. you can barely keep your composure, the urge to shove your head in your pillow and just let him use you stronger than ever.

“wasn’t- fuck- lying when I told you I wanna come all over that dress.” he says, struggling to get his words out. it only makes you clench around him, his words driving you to your own finish.

you’re screaming a “hamzah! can’t fucking take it-“ while he’s plowing into you, building up a well-awaited orgasm. he waits until he feels that clench-and-pulse sensation around his cock, signaling that you’ve came before he pulls out.

he doesn’t even need to touch himself to cum after seeing you like this - he lets himself go, ropes of his semen covering the floral patterns of your dress.

he basks in the sight of you for a moment, catching his breath after his orgasm. it’s a lot for him, fucking you after being pent up the whole day. overstimulating, almost. you’re just that attractive to him, poor boy can’t control himself.

he lays on top of your chest, grounding himself. the feeling of being against you bare skin is comforting to him, a sense of home that you two both find in each other. you run your hands through the curls of his hair.

that’s what he is to you - home. just like how it feels to be here.

#hamzah smut #hamzah x reader #hamzah x y/n #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzahsmut #latina reader

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wearebarca · 5 months ago

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8. Captured // Alexia Putellas x Original character pt. 8

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

synopsis: Rosalie has never stayed somewhere too long. When the opportunity of a lifetime presents itself at critical moment in her life, the photographer decides to once again leave behind what she knows and joins the staff of Europe's best football team.

Word count: 6,1k

Warnings: 18+ Smut

A/N: Feedback is always nice. Spanish is from google translate so please be nice. French is my first language so all should be good on that part. Enjoy

Rosalie knew all about stress. She had experienced a very wide variety of stressful situations. From race days to big games to work related situations, even personal stuff. But right now, sitting half naked in her bed with an array of clothes around her, Rosalie was experiencing a different type of stress.

She had spent time with some of the girls from the team but it always was in very casual circumstances. Tonight was different. They were set to go to a popular club in downtown Barcelona and from what she had translated in the groupchat, the girls were excited to show off their outfits. Rosalie wasn’t a big fan of clubs and bars and her wardrobe cruelly lacked in any club worthy outfits.

She was currently stuck between a few options but after sending each outfit to her groupchat with lia and leah, she settled for a short sleeve dress that exposed her back dangerously low. She left her wavy hair loose and did her makeup slightly darker than usual.

She was taking one last look into her bedroom mirror, feeling quite proud of the way it all turned out, when her phone rang and Keira’s name lit up her screen.

“Bonsoir petite merde.” She said laughing, knowing damn well that the blonde did not know what she had just called her. Lucy’s laugh could be heard in the distance, which told the brunette that the couple was likely close and calling to let her know.

“That was unnecessary.”

“Don’t act like you know what I just said.”

“Lucy’s reaction told me plenty.” Keira said exasperated. “We’re rounding the corner, the bar is a block from here so we’ll park in your street and walk from there is that alright?”

“Sounds good.” Rosalie said, putting away her makeup.

“We’re coming up so you better be dressed and ready.” Lucy said, the sound of a car door audible in the background.

“Oui madame.” The Canadian said before hanging up. A few minutes later, the couple barged in her little flat, and the sound of her cabinets being opened and glasses being set down on the counter was heard all around.

“By all means, Faites comme chez vous!”

“We're fixing you a drink, believe me you’ll need it.” Keira said, pouring an impressive amount of liquor in three glasses. She made a move to reach for the bottle of coke but the Canadian quickly stopped her.

“Non non non. You are not wasting this perfectly good whiskey with coke.” She said, reaching for two glasses and handing one to Lucy. Keira rolled her eyes and poured some in her glass nonetheless.

“You two are a different breed that’s for sure.” The burn from the alcohol soothed the brunette’s nerves a little as she downed her first glass with Lucy, quickly pouring another for the older woman and herself.

“You’re packed for national camp already?” Kiera asked, eyeing the bags near the front door.

“ Oui, I have a feeling that tomorrow I won’t be in the right state to pack a proper bag.” Rosalie said, sipping at the brown liquid.

“ Smart Frenchy, very smart. The flight is at 9 the next day, we’ll be downstairs at 6:00 and grab coffee on our way there. Sarina sent me your plane ticket by the way.” Lucy said, twirling the liquor in her glass. The French-Canadian nodded and took a seat next to the blond englishwoman.

“So, what is the plan, how is the night going to go?” The brunette said, taking a sip of her drink.

“We’re gonna walk to the club, it’s only three blocks away.” Lucy said, eyeing Keira up with a mischievous grin, the blond sporting a similar look. “And for the rest, you’ll have to see for yourself mate.”

They finished their drinks and left Rosalie’s flat soon after. The air was warm and a fresh breeze carried the smell of food from the many restaurants along with the sound of laughter and many conversation blending in the night. The streets were alive, buzzing with people, relieved for the start of the weekend.

Someone linking their arm with hers pulled Rosalie out of her thoughts. “You look amazing Frenchy, you gunnin for someone in particular tonight?” Keira said, twirling the French-Canadian like a dancer.

“Non, non, I don’t know what you are referring to.” Rosalie said, walking slightly faster to meet Lucy ahead.

“You know,” The older English woman began, “Looking like that, the cold and composed captain’s surely gonna lose control.” She said, hugging the Canadian’s shoulder. Rosalie’s face went beat red and she pushed Lucy off of her. By now, they could hear the distant beat of music and the traffic in the streets increasing.

The club was situated on a small pedestrian side street. A long queue of people was stretched in front of the already busy club. Most of the crowd waiting looked and sounded already under the influence which worked to the little group’s advantage as they were able to make their way to the bouncer without being recognized.

Once their little group reached the door with Lucy leading them, the bouncer stepped in front of them to block the way. Once his eyes met with Lucy’s, the realization on the young man’s face was almost comical. “Oh, yes, VIP section.” He said with a nervous falter to his voice. He crossed two names on his clipboard then, looked up to the woman who was unknown to him. “ Is she the photographer?”

His tone did not please Lucy who sent him a look that chilled him on the spot. He made a gesture for the doorman to let them in, eager to move on before embarrassing himself further.

The club was already packed, the music deafening and the air was filled with the smell of alcohol and sweat. It was electric, dizzying even, for the French-Canadian who had not set foot in a club this big since she had left England.

One thing she quickly remembered upon entering was just how much she hated these places. Her discomfort was almost funny to the two English women standing behind her. She made a move to back out but Lucy and Keira each grabbed one of the photographer’s arms and walked the brunette to an area at the back of the club with several sofas, tables and the entire team already halfway to their second drink.

When the girls saw their beloved photographer they all stood and cheered. Soon enough, Rosalie was being handed a drink and dragged by Mapi to a couch which was already occupied by Sarah, Ingrid, Sandra, Pina, Patri and Alexia. The little group all cheered and whistled at the sight of their friend, but Alexia stayed almost completely still. The only part of her moving was her piercing gaze taking in every inch of the brunette.

The captain knew that tonight would be hard. She had imagined many scenarios of how this night would go. She had told herself countless times how she needed to stay friendly and professional with the smaller brunette,but upon seeing the photographer in that dress, Alexia seemed to forget every word of her little pep talk.

The way that her dress hugged her athletic figure made the captain’s head spin. The photographer turned around and gave the captain a full view of the open back of said dress. She knew that the smaller woman had tattoos because of the small ones on her arms, but she had never seen the one that went along her spine. It was a fine line which seemed to follow no particular pattern. It snaked down her spine, like a path, all the way to her lower back. All Alexia wanted to do was trace the line with her fingers, with her mouth, kiss every inch of inked skin.

The blond rapidly shook her head, cursing herself for letting her mind go to such places so soon after the woman’s arrival. Even then, it seemed impossible for her gaze not to be dragged back to the woman in front of her. Her hair was down in waves, her makeup darker than normally which accentuated her piercing green eyes. Eyes that were now settled on her.

Alexia sent a shy smile her way as she raised her glass in the photographer’s direction. She answered with a bright smile and a similar gesture. Rosalie was already feeling the effects of the alcohol, thanks to the fact that she rarely drank, but the slight buzz gave her all the courage she needed to take a seat right next to the woman who made her so nervous.

“ Bonsoir Alexia, I am surprised to see you with a drink. I thought you didn’t drink during the season.” She said, eying the glass the blond had been nurturing since the start of the night.

“Tonight is special I hear.”

“Yeah, it certainly seems so” Their conversation was cut short by Cata with a tray of what looked like tequila shots. Rosalie turned towards the keeper, which made her almost face the blond, the warm skin of her exposed thigh lean on Alexia’s own.

“ It’s shot time chicas!” Yelled as she passed around the small glasses. She handed one to Alexia who refused, disappointing the keeper slightly. With the feeling of her first drinks already strong, Rosalie decided that tonight, she did not need to be careful. Tonight, she would let herself have fun surrounded by people who were quickly becoming family.

She reached over Alexia to pick up the shot Cata was handing her, placing her other hand on Alexia’s thigh to stabilize herself. That movement alone, the light squeeze of her hand, how for an instant Alexia’s senses were swarmed by the photographer. Her floral perfume mixed with something that was so unmistakably Rosalie. How her hair fell all on one side exposing the soft skin of her neck.

Alexia had to take a deep breath to try and re centre herself. “Dios mio dame uno de esos.” She said to Mapi who had ended up with the tray.

The tattooed woman sent her a knowing smirk as she watched her nervous friend down to harsh liquid.

The start of the night was slow. People were mostly sitting around and chatting. Rosalie was surprised to see how comfortable she was in such an environment, but with the buzzing of the alcohol in her system and her friends surrounding her, it was easy to forget how loud and full the club was.

She was still on the same couch, in between Alexia and Ingrid. She would not admit it but being this close to the captain was unnerving for the photographer who tried very hard to not show it. But of course Alexia, purposefully or not, made the task extremely difficult.

Engaged in a conversation with Mapi, who was on the other side of Ingrid, the Catalonian had her arm on the back of the couch, and was sitting back in a way that made the brunette feel like if she moved back an inch, she’d be leaning completely on the blond’s front.

Suddenly, someone a few seats down screamed something in Spanish and several of the girls cheered and left their secluded area towards the dance floor. Before she could react, someone grabbed her hand and dragged her to the floor.

“Oh non non I don’t dance.” She told the girl who still had a firm grip on her wrist.

“Tonight you do amiga!” The voice, who she soon realized belonged to Patri, said, as she dragged her towards a small group of Barca girls already dancing. Seeing the smiles and hearing the contagious laughter was what ultimately allowed the photographer to let loose and start moving to the rhythm of the music. No one was judging, it was simply a group of friends having fun and enjoying a night out.

From the VIP area, Alexia, Ingrid, Irene and Paños had a pretty clear view of the rest of the team. None of them were keen on dancing and had stood their ground against the younger players and exited girlfriend, in Ingrid’s case.

The Norwegian was smiling as she watched Mapi show off her most ridiculous dance moves to Rosalie who, with obvious difficulty, was trying to keep up with the Zaragozian.

It took at least a song for the group to utter any words. After a moment, it was Sandra who disrupted their little bubble in the middle of this hectic environment. She grabbed Irene’s shoulder and dragged her closer so she wouldn’t have to yell.

“This pining has to stop.” She said to her friend while watching the blond who’s gaze had not left the brunette since she had left.

“Ah si, it is excruciating to watch.”

“You know what we discussed in Sevilla? You think it is a good time to use this.” Sandra said, watching the way Alexia’s jaw tightened every time one of the girls was dancing too close to the Canadian.

“Si, it is now or never,” she said, sending a look to the blond, she laughed and turned back to the keeper, “ it won’t take much, she’s already on the brink.”

The Spaniards quickly briefed Ingrid in their little plan and soon after, it was set to motion.

“Ale! Come on! We all know you want to go out there.” Sandra said as she sat down next to the midfielder.

“No no I can’t dance you know that.” She said, finally tearing her gaze away from Rosalie.

“We all know you want to get out there with her.” Sandra said, leaning back on the couch while twirling the straw in her drink. “Who could blame you, look at her.”

As if on cew, the song changed to a slower beat, which had the brunette change the pace from fun and electric to swaying her hips to match the more sensual beat of the song.

“Oh believe me I am looking.” The captain said under her breath, but the comment did jot go unnoticed by the keeper.

“You should go before someone else swipes her away.” Alexia didn’t move. She looked deep in thought. When the goalkeeper realized that the blond wouldn’t move, she got up and started to walk towards the dance floor, but stopped right before exiting the Vip section.

“Your loss captain.”

Rosalie was smiling and she could not stop. She could feel the base all the way through her bones and it was like her body had a mind of its own. Gone was the stress that was clawing at her at the start of the night, all she could feel was the rhythm of the music guiding her movements.

She was currently dancing with Salma and Pina when she felt a hand settle on her waist and the heat of an unfamiliar presence behind her. She knew right away that the mysterious woman was not Alexia, but judging by the face the girls with her made, it was one of their own.

Rosalie did not think much of it. She just kept following the beat of the music, letting the warm hands guide her. As time passed , the general fun and carefree vibe of the club changed for something heavier, a lot more seductive.

The hands on her waist got bolder, pulling the photographer closer. Rosalie spun around, having guessed the identity of the taller woman behind her, and hooked her arms around the keeper’s neck.

“Not the person you were expecting right?” She said with a big smile on her face.

“No, but I am not mad about this either.”She answered with a matching smile. There was no need to argue her case. She knew that the goalkeeper was aware of what was going on. Rosalie might be on the dance floor, but she was completely aware of Alexia’s eyes on her and she had seen Sandra attempt to convince the captain to come out on the floor.

Paños leaned in, her lips brushing against the shell of the brunette’s ear. “She’s watching us now.”

On instinct, Rosalie pressed herself even closer to the keeper. “Do you trust me?” She asked, leaving a kiss at the junction of her neck and collarbone. The contact sent shivers down her spine.

Unable to respond, the Canadian simply nodded and focused on the feeling of the base travelling her body.

They kept dancing like this for a while, with Sandra making sure that the photographer was comfortable every time her hands wandered. Ingrid, who was still sitting between Irene and Alexia, sent a look to the older woman. She could not believe the nerves her teammates had.

Alexia was livid. She was sitting on the couch, completely rigid, her cold gaze pinned on the goalkeeper, her jaw tensing with every kiss laid on the brunette’s neck and every time her hands roamed a little too low.

As if Sandra knew, she lifted her gaze and held Alexia’s head on, daring her almost to come and interrupt her.

“How long do you think it’ll take before she storms on the dance floor?” Ingrid subtly asked, her eyes not leaving the captain.

“Any moment now.” Irene said. She felt a little bad for her friend, but she also knew that the captain needed a little push to go after what she wanted.

What made the captain snap was when Rosalie turned around in the goalkeeper’s arms and finally made eye contact with the blond. Her hips were swaying slowly to the rhythm of the music, the movement almost hypnotic to the footballer. And while Sandra was still pressed up against her, holding her waist and caressing the skin exposed by her dress, the photographer was looking at Alexia like she wished it was her.

Even in the arms of another, very beautiful woman, all Rosalie wanted was the midfielder. This was what did it for Alexia. That look, filled with desire, inviting her to come and claim what could be hers if she so pleased.

In a matter of seconds, the footballer had managed to make her way through the crowd and grab Rosalie by the hand, ripping her away from the goalkeeper, who was already grinning at her teammates still on the couch.

“Ale! What are you doing?” The Canadian asked as she allowed the catalonian woman to drag her towards the back of the club. The captain didn’t answer, she simply kept walking, never letting go of the woman’s hand. They passed several of their teammates who all had the same expression on their faces, knowing very well that they would not see the two of them for the rest of the night.

The club bathrooms were individual stalls with their own sinks. Alexia could not be more glad for this fact as she dragged the photographer behind and closed the door, locking them in.

For an instant, they both stayed silent, Alexia never letting go of the other woman's hand. A second later, this moment of stillness was interrupted by an intense pull, a need to finally close the space between them.

Alexia was the first to move, drawing Rosalie closer and tangling her hand in the brunette’s hair. As soon as Rosalie’s lips made contact with Alexia’s, a sight came out of her, as if her body had been waiting for this moment all night. Their kiss was frantic, sloppy almost, with every movement controlled solely by intense desire. Alexia pushed the photographer until her back suddenly hit the bathroom door, which made the woman gasp. The small sound gave the blond the opportunity to press her tongue inside Rosalie’s eager mouth. She tasted of alcohol and something that could only be her and Alexia decided that she definitely needed more.

Her hands left Rosalie’s hair and started to roam downward, along her sides all the way to her hips. Rosalie could feel her skin ignite everywhere Alexia touched.

The door knob was digging in the brunette’s back but she couldn't care less about it right now. The way the blond was currently attacking her lips was electric and the feeling of her hands getting bolder had the photographer reeling as she hooked one of her legs around the midfielder, dragging her impossibly closer.

The change of angle had the blond’s thigh wedged itself between the photographer’s, giving her the perfect opportunity to grind down on her leg. The shift of the muscles, along with the movement of her hips, dragged a loud moan from the brunette, which was swallowed in a hungry kiss.

This new position had Rosalie’s dress hike up significantly, revealing the skin of her thighs and stopping just below her waist. Alexia’s hand moved down to explore the new expense of skin as her lips kissed down her neck, nipping slightly at the skin.

Rosalie’s head lolled back , hitting the door with a dull thud. Her body was on fire. All of her senses were overwhelmed by the captain. The smell of her expensive perfume mixed with her strawberry shampoo was intoxicating. The taste of her lips on hers, the feel of her calloused hands traveling on her body. She knew her panties were most definitely ruined by now.

“Ale, we should..” the rest of her sentence was cut short by a gasp as she could feel Alexia’s fingers graze just past the fabric of her pantie.

The blond pulled back, her hand retreating from her spot under her dress. “Are you ok, do you want me to stop?” She asked with concern.

Rosalie’s answer came fast. “ Non non, god no.” She said, grabbing the blond’s face and pulling her in for a kiss. “ I just think we should take this somewhere more comfortable, if you want.”

Alexia didn’t need to be asked twice. In less than five minutes, the duo was exiting the club and walking towards the photographer’s flat. The walk was mostly silent, but filled with tension so thick you could cut through with a butterknife.

Finding her keys at the bottom of her bag seemed like an impossible task when the brunette could almost feel Alexia’s hot breath on the back of her head. She almost dropped the set of keys when the blond grabbed her hips and pulled her flush against her front.

“ Sérieusement Alexia give me a chance.” She said, dropping her keys this time when soft lips grazed her neck. Alexia chuckled as she took a step back, allowing the brunette to compose herself a little before unlocking.

As soon as the door is opened, Rosalie is dragged inside and pushed against the closed door, much like her previous position in The club bathroom. But this time, the blond waits to connect her lips to Rosalie’s.

Alexia takes a deep breath and wills her hands from wandering from their spot on the brunette’s hips. Their foreheads connect, lips only millimeters apart. Rosalie can almost taste them. All she needed to do was lean in a little more, but she was afraid to break the stillness, the intensity of the moment.

“Rosalia, are you sure?” Alexia whispered, softly. She tried to surge forward and capture the captain’s lips, thinking that actions were stronger than words, but was stopped by the taller woman pulling away and pinning her harder against the door.

“No no bonita I need to hear you say it.” She said in a low voice, as her lips were ghosting on the sensitive skin of her neck. She smiled, well aware of the effect she had on the brunette and revelled in the way she could feel her breath quickening and hear the soft moans that escaped the brunette’s lips.

Control was becoming an issue for the captain as well as she fought to not just rip off that beautiful dress and take her here and now, against her apartment door. Alexia’s lips moved down, close enough for Rosalie to feel the heat of her breath but not enough to actually feel the press of her lips on her skin.

Finally she reached where the hem of her dress sat at the base of her neck. She nipped at the spot right at the base of Rosalie’s throat, swiping her tongue on the newly formed bruise to soothe the skin.

Forming a coherent sentence was an impossible task for the photographer at the moment. She reached out to pull the midfielder further in but was stopped before her hands could get to the back of her head.

“Tell me you want this and I’ll do anything you want.”

“Please Ale, I need you.” It was like a switch was flipped. She grabbed the back of the photographer’s thighs and hoisted her up. The brunette let out a slight laugh as she let the footballer carry her to the bedroom.

She laid her down gently on the cover and stood up at the feet of the bed. Rosalie leaned back on her elbows, green eyes meeting hazel as the blonde’s gaze softened.

“Eres tan hermosa.” She all but whispered before laying down and capturing the brunette’s lips once more. Gone was the urgency from before, but the passion between the two was still burning strong.

Rosalie’s breath came out ragged as she could feel the blond’s lips kiss and suck at the skin just below her pulse point. In a surge of desire, she pulled at the bottom of the midfielder’s top, needing to finally feel the heat of her skin first hand. Alexia somehow managed to rid herself of the fabric fast enough that it was like her lips had never left.

“Can I take this off, bonita?” She asked gently as her hands were fiddling with the bottom of her dress.

The answer came with the photographer arching her back, giving Alexia the necessary space to push the dress upwards and finally allow the blonde to marvel at the newly exposed skin. Alexia almost growled at the sight of the photographer, left only in a black lacy tong, hair tousled and eyes dark and clouded by desire.

She kissed down the valley of her breast, lightly biting at the skin before soothing the bite with her tongue. Her hand travelled up to cup her breast while her mouth explored freely.

She took her time, kissing every inch, worshiping the photographer, showing her just how much she wanted her. Rosalie on the other hand, was reeling. She could feel her arousal pooling in her panties. She needed more. She whined and pushed Alexia’s head down in hopes that the blonde would understand the message, but the captain had other plans. She grazed her nipple with her teeth before biting down, which sent a shock straight to her core.

The moan that came out of the photographer’s lips was loud

Alexia’s hand travelled down until she reached the hem of the lacy fabric. There was still a part at the back of Rosalie's mind which was embarrassed about what would the blonde discover when her fingers would dip lower.

“What do you want, amor?” She said with a smirk plastered on her face.

“Please touch me.” The photographer whimpered.

“I am touching you.” She said, while she slipped down the bed to settle between the brunette's legs.

That confident, cocky side of her, the one that shone bright when she wore the red and blue kit along with the arm band, was peaking through as she gazed up at the smaller woman. Rosalie couldn’t believe that this woman had not been remotely close to where she needed her the most and she already had her begging.

Her hands were now caressing the smooth skin of her tights, squeezing her flesh, making the woman beneath her gasp at the feeling.

« Please I need to feel you. » reaching down only to have her hands pinned down on the bed. « I want your mouth on me, Ale please. »

“Ok bonita, lift your hips for me.” She said, hooking her fingers in the waistband of her panties and slipping them down her legs.

“Oh look at you baby.” The sight with which she was met was nothing short of heavenly. Her lips were glistening with arousal and Alexia could not help but leave a soft kiss right where Rosalie desperately needed contact.

“All this for me?”

“Oui, all for you.” The photographer said, lifting her head just enough to watch the midfielder finally lick down the length of her slit. She groaned at how her taste flooded her mouth, the vibration sending shockwaves through the brunette.

“You taste so good,” Her tongue found her clit and lapped gently and parts your lips with her tongue, collecting her juice at the same time.

Alexia is attentive to every breath hitch, whimper and moan coming from the brunette, reading her like an open book. It didn’t take long before Rosalie had lost all control of her own body and mind. All her senses were in overdrive, but there was something missing.

Alexia’s lips captured her clit and sucked lightly at the bundle of nerves. Rosalie saw stars clouding her vision. “ fuck Alexia s’il te plait, don’t stop.”

The mix of French and the pleading only motivated the blonde even more as she focused on her clit, altering between tight circles and sucking at the flesh.

“ Ale..” she said before a long moan interrupted her sentence.

“Que necesitas, bonita?”

“More,” She simply was not able to form a sentence in the state she currently was. Alexia’s hand left her hips to travel down between her legs and tease at her entrance.

“Is this what you want?” She asked smugly.

“Yes! Oui please.” Alexia smiled at the brunette’s eagerness and could not do anything but oblige after the photographer had asked so nicely. Her mouth fell open as her fingers finally stretched her.

Her name was on her lips, chanting it like a prayer. Her hand was desperately grasping at anything she could reach before finally finding and intertwining her fingers with Alexia’s free hand. The feel of her climax was approaching fast, like an all-consuming fire ready to swipe everything in its wake.

Her legs tensed, around the captain’s head and she could feel her walls clenching around her fingers. Her hips started to buck against her face.

“You are doing so good for me bonita.” She said before curling her fingers, reaching the spot inside her that

She lifted her leg on her shoulder and curled her fingers deeper inside her. The change in angles allowing the captain to reach a spot deep inside her that had the photographer completely lose it. Her heel was digging in the blonds back but she couldn't care less. Every swipe of her tongue, along with the steady thrust of her fingers brought her that much closer to the edge. Alexia could feel just how close by the way her walls were clenching, making it harder to keep her rhythm.

The brunette could hear Alexia speak to her softly in what she thought was Catalan. She couldn’t understand a word but it didn’t matter, the hushed soft sound of her voice alone was enough to guide her over the edge.

Alexia slowed down her trust but kept her mouth on her, lapping up everything the brunette was giving her. It had been a strong one. The kind that completely short circuited her brain and left her body limp on the sheets. When the feeling became too much, she pulled at Alexia’s hand to drag her up to her lips. The kiss was soft and slow, full of appreciation and a feeling that Rosalie was not quite ready to name yet.

They stayed quiet for a moment. Alexia’s head against the photographer’s chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. “Are you ok, Rosalia?”

Rosalie smiled and took a deep breath before shifting their position, ending up on top of the captain. The sudden movement stunned the footballer who let out a gasp as she found herself trapped under the smaller woman. “ qué estás haciendo…”

Rosalie didn’t wait for the end of her sentence and crashed her lips on Alexia. A new fire had ignited once the shock of her orgasm had faded. She wanted to make the blond feel as good as she just had.

“You don’t have to…”

“Non non, none of that.” The brunette said as her lips travelled down her neck to the valley of her breast. “I want to taste you Alexia, will you let me?.” She asked, looking up to the footballer. She looked so good at this moment, her hands caressing down her hips, hair cascading down one side, a silent question written in her eyes. Alexia groaned at the sight.

“Si, si, I want you to.” She said, as her head fell back on the pillow and her arms came up, covering her face. Rosalie’s lips connected with Alexia’s chest, teasing the skin with her teeth and soothing the bites with a kiss. They travelled down to Alexia’s abdomen where they were met with taunt muscles which twitched with every kiss and drag of her tongue.

This was probably Rosalie’s favorite part of the footballer. She remembered every time she had caught herself almost drooling when the midfielder would raise her shirt to wipe some sweat off her forehead, leaving her abs exposed. Now, Rosalie was finally able to map out every crease and ridge of her stomach.

She could see that the blond was growing restless underneath her, and she too, could not wait any longer. She slid down between the blond’s legs, spreading them slightly to accommodate her, and left a kiss at the waistband of her pants. Alexia lifted her hips, chasing the warmth of her mouth, which allowed the brunette to tug down her jeans and panties. Once free from the barrier between the brunette’s lips and her most sensitive parts, Alexia grabbed a handful of her hair and guided her towards where she desperately needed her. But Rosalie had other plans in mind, as she skillfully avoided the women's center, opting to kiss and leave little bite marks on the skin of her inner thighs.

A harsher tug pulled a moan from the photographer as she was brought back right in front of Alexia’s glistening heat. Green eyes met hazel, a teasing smirk dancing on the Canadian’s lips as she watched the captain slowly lose composure.

The first swipe of her tongue felt like heaven. Rosalie went slow, savoring what had officially become her favourite taste. She drew lazy circles around her clit, slowly working up the blond who seemed completely lost in the feeling. The carefulness with which she had previously touched the photography was gone. Her fingers were now firmly anchored in her hair, tugging and pulling every time Rosalie’s tongue swiped down to tease at her entrance. She was essentially grinding down on her tongue, chasing her high which was rapidly approaching.

Rosalie was contempt with the predicament she was currently in, happy to be used for the captain's pleasure. She was attentive to her reaction, switching from sucking at her clit to flattening her tongue before swiping down to finally breach inside. The groan that came out of the blond’s mouth was surely the most erotic sound the photographer had ever heard, and she made it her mission to be the cause of more of these addictive sounds.

Her peak was approaching fast. Her grip on reality fading rapidly as she was consumed by the feeling of the photographer’s hot mouth on her. She opened her mouth, trying to tell the brunette to keep going, that she was close, that her tongue felt so good on her, that she was being so good for her, but she did not know if she had been successful in speaking clearly. Hell she didn’t even know in what language she had spoken, but it didn’t matter. Rosalie seemed to know exactly what to do to make Alexia completely lose it.

Her climax came suddenly. It washed on her like a dangerous wave that drags you under and leaves you thinking you’ll never breach the surface again. Every part of her tensed to the point where it was almost painful, but Rosalie didn’t stop, she only slowed down her ministrations, helping the woman come down slowly. Rosalie kissed up Alexia’s body, before laying down next to her. Her breathing was slowly coming down as she wrapped her arms around the brunette’s shoulder and pulled her in.

“Was this ok?” The brunette asked shyly, as if she had not been buried between the woman’s trembling legs minutes ago.

“Dios mio, Rosalia si, it was more than ok, this was divine bonita.” The blond said, turning her head and kissing the photographer softly. Rosalie smiled as she buried her face in the blond’s neck. Soon enough, the photographer's breath started to even out, her body feeling heavier in the midfielder’s arms. She kissed her head before too, succumbing to the heavy pull of sleep.

#alexia putellas #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #futfem #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas x reader

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ghostsstolemymoxie · 4 months ago

Note

A request here for smut! enemies to lovers hot hate sex on a mission then people over the intercom back at the mansion here oops 🤭

AHHH OK I love this ideaaaa, just hoping I did it justice <3

【You're so gorgeous - then you start talkin'!】

Logan x F! Reader - Enemies to lovers: Hatefuck edition Divider credit @cafekitsune Tags: No use of Y/n, explicit content (18+, MDNI), unprotected p in v (be smarter than Logan and reader folks), rough sex, spitting, unintentional voyeurism, accidental exhibitionism Please don't click read more unless you're over 18 and willing to see 18+ content and the above tagged content. WC: 3k words

"He's the most arrogant, boorish, misogynistic, vile bastard I have ever met in my life!" You hissed down the comms, trying very hard to hide the scowl etched into your features. "Yes, but he's also your partner on this mission," Ororo replied, calmly, her voice crackling somewhat as it travelled into your ear through the wireless bud for your communications.

All around you, all you could hear was chatter, laughter and bawdy noises.

Serves you right, really. After all, you'd been so desperate to get back into the swing of things and get onto the missions since your injury, you had begged Charles to assign you the next mission, not even caring what it was.

Lo and behold, it leads to you and Logan being sent out on an intel-gathering mission at a casino just by the Canadian border. All you needed to do was listen out for some plan to do with Sentinels being built. Charles had been stingy with the details, though you weren't quite sure why. You supposed he'd given the brief more to Logan - the experienced X-man.

As though summoned by your distasteful thoughts, Logan soon joined you in the casino, already holding a glass in his hand. Whiskey, no doubt, with plenty of ice. He stepped up alongside you, glancing you up and down and taking in your black-tie attire with a smirk on his face. "You scrub up nice. Makes sense. You're only here as arm candy." He grumbled, taking a sip of his whiskey. In truth, it was a wonder that his muscles didn't burst free from the white suit he was wearing, but this was no time for gawking at the wonderful body attached to this awful man. "Has anyone ever told you that you're the worst person they've ever met?" You mock, even as you follow him to one of the tables. "Has anyone told you that you've got a smart mouth? That's not an attractive quality in a lady, y'know." Logan's retort was fast and icy, barbed in a way that only Logan's tone could be.

"Both of you, you need to focus on gathering intel, not on bickering." It was Scott's turn this time, shrill down the comms as he made sure that both of you heard. From the scowl on Logan's face, he heard perfectly.

A friend of Bolivar Trask was on the roulette table tonight - and apparently, he got loose lips after enough scotch. So, Logan took his seat at the same table, keeping his head down and focusing on looking inconspicuous, whilst you lingered at his side, playing the part of the pretty girlfriend attending alongside her man. Logan chugged the rest of his whiskey, holding out the glass to you. "Get me another one, won't you sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. God, that was the worst word he could use for you. It only made you angry. He had that stupid smirk on his face, too, that said he only knew how mad it made you. Despite his mockery though, you kept your composure, putting a smile on your pretty, painted lips. "Sure thing, hun." You said, leaning in, feigning a kiss on his cheek as you whispered: "Call me sweetheart again, and I'll cut your dick off."

He replied only with a scoff, as you headed to the bar, a scowl plastered on your face. The only way you knew it was because you glimpsed it in the mirror whilst waiting to be served. Once seen, it was schooled quickly, though that didn't stop a passerby from noticing.

Whilst you waited for the bartender, idly listening over your comms to hear whatever was being said at the roulette table, you barely noticed his presence, until he sided up right alongside you. He was a handsome guy, though regrettably not as handsome as your begrudging date for the evening, who remained at the table, unaware.

"Now, what could possibly make such a pretty face look so grumpy?" He asked, cooing the words so condescendingly. "I'm not grumpy." You reply, sourly, before forgetting that whilst you can always hear on comms, they can always hear you. A creak across the room sounds as Logan turns to look at you, and a look of something spreads across his face at the sight of the younger man quite obviously coming onto you. You didn't know what that something was, but it lit a strange, desperate spark in your stomach for just a brief moment.

Still, you needed to deal with the interloper first, so you turned back to him. "I'm kind of in a rush. I'm just here to get my partner a drink." "Partner, huh?" He chuckled. "I get it. Long-term relationship but no ring… has he convinced you that being partners is just as good as being married?"

He had clearly gotten the wrong end of the stick, though it was probably more your fault for saying partner rather than boyfriend. "It's not like that." You reply, trying to think of the best phrasing to get him to just leave you alone. "Then what's it like, gorgeous?"

The moron was grinning, missing the point as if he was a professional. All you could do was just roll your eyes and try to catch the bartender's attention. Sooner rather than later.

As you turned to speak to the bartender, the guy spoke up again, this time laying a hand on your arm as he did so. "Come on, Honey, you can tell me. I've been told I'm a wonderful listener. I've had my shoulders wet once or twice. I've got something else I'd love for you to get wet too."

The crudeness wasn't lost on you, and the thought of doing anything with this guy made your nose crinkle in disgust. But before you could reply with anything, you felt the guy's grip get snatched off of you as another, larger hand slid its way around your waist.

"Somethin' I can help you with, bub?" Logan's voice rumbled from behind you, and it clearly rattled the other guy to be challenged by him. After all, Logan was 300 lbs of muscle and adamantium and had the mug of a mean bastard to go with it. Even if that mean bastard was ruggedly handsome and carved from the finest Canadian oak.

You could have defended yourself. You knew this easily, and you were certain Logan did too, though the intensity of his gaze whilst he stared down the other guy forced a needy sensation in your core, betraying any lingering sense of feminism you had.

"No, just talking to the lady here." The guy replied, as politely as he could muster up, despite the fact he was no doubt shitting his pants. "Botherin' her, more like." Logan scoffed. "That cologne of yours is vile, by the way. You should probably try and wear something that doesn't smell like shit next time you try and flirt with a lady. Especially one who's spoken for."

The guy stammered, tripping over himself in trying to respond, his eyes running from you, then back to Logan, lips flapping comically but with no sound coming out.

Logan took this opportunity to tug you away from the bar instead. "C'mon, Sweetheart. Let's go have a talk." He snarled. "Logan, what are you doing? You need to focus on the meeting! Now is not the time for it!" Scott's voice down the communicator was cut off when Logan tore his out of his ear and yours as well (though he was uncharacteristically gentle as he plucked it from your ear).

He stuffed them both in his pocket, dragging you past the roulette table and the blackjack and into the men's bathroom. A single cubicle, with a lock on it that he immediately clicked shut the second that you were both in.

"What the Hell are you thinking?" You snap up at him, tearing your arm from his grip. Logan didn't reply instantly. His nostrils were flared, his beautiful mouth twisted in a vicious sneer and his whole body vibrating with the kind of energy that was more animal than human. His arms were tense, you could see the seams of his jacket nearly fraying at the effort, whilst those Hazel eyes of his burned into yours.

"I'm thinkin' about how furious I am." He snarled in reply, after a moment to think. "I'm thinkin' about how idiotic you are for even strikin' up a conversation with that guy in the damn first place. I'm thinkin'…" One tantalising step forward, and all of a sudden you were braced against the tiled wall. Thankfully the casino was clean, or at least looked it. Logan loomed over you, his breath heavy and stuttering, and for a moment you wondered if he had finally snapped and was going to drive those claws of his into your chest and finally be done with it. "I'm thinkin'… Dammit, that dress is good on you."

You blink, a few times as you look up at him, trying to confirm that you'd heard him correctly, that his eyes truly were raking down your body like that and not that you'd just dreamed it.

"Logan-" "Shut up." He snapped, cutting you off. "Just… shut up. Stop talking. God, you're so gorgeous and then you start talkin'!"

Despite your indignation, you didn't get a chance to reply. In moments he had gripped at your ass, squeezing full handfuls and lifting you from the ground, only to move you, seating you along the counter where the sink was, his eyes burning into yours all the while. He dropped you onto the counter with a thud, and in moments he was ruching up the fabric of your dress, the fabric slipping upwards from your ankles up to your mid-thigh. Hastily, you tried to tug it back down but he was far stronger, and it was a better option to have the dress lifted than torn, especially considering you'd both need to head back out to the floor. Now that there was a little give, he burrowed his strong thigh between your own, until his body was firmly planted between your knees.

"God, what am I doing?" He groaned, hanging his head, his hands planted on either side of your hips, trapping you in place. "You don't want this. You hate me as much as I can't stand you. But… I can't take this anymore. The… the tension, the burning, the need. The ache." His voice trembled as he spoke, his shoulders jerking with his difficult breaths.

As if all at once, you seemed to realise his intention here. He wanted you. Needed you. In a way almost primal and carnal, that seemed completely separate to the mission, or their usual distaste of one another.

A searing hot coil tightened in your gut, pulsating with desperation you didn't know you had in you. It had been a while, that much was for certain. 6 months? A year? Longer? Too long, by all measures. Too long since you'd shared your body with someone so vulnerably, so intimately.

And God, how you longed to share it with Logan.

"Shove me away." He demanded. "Shove me away. Smack me. Tell me I'm a brute and a bastard and you don't wanna fuck me. Do it. Because if you don't, I'm not stopping, mission be damned."

Instead, disobedient to his pleading, you slid your hands up his chest, feeling every ridge and valley even through his tuxedo. There were no words shared, no refusals or acceptances. Only a gentle touch between the fiercest of enemies.

His eyes flared, bright and incensed, and in moments he had shrugged off his jacket, tossing it haphazardly backwards, not caring where it landed, before dropping to his knees.

His hands planted themselves defiantly on your inner thighs, holding them open as he brought his face towards your core, whilst your needy fingers kept your skirt bunched up and out of his way. Logan didn't even bother to pull your panties aside, at first. He pressed chaste kisses at first to the seam of your womanhood, feeling how it slicked at his attention, enjoying the way you reacted to his attention, the way the scent of your desire seemed to permeate the air around him from every angle. He hummed into his kisses as well, the vibration only making that coil in your gut tighter. At the attempts to close your thighs, he only snarled, his grip getting firmer as he held them apart, shooting a glare up at you as if to warn you that if you didn't stop, he wouldn't keep going.

You relaxed your thighs, and he quickly crooked a finger around the gusset of your panties, tugging them to the side, taking in the sight of you with a cocked, eager eyebrow.

"You got a pretty pussy, sweetheart. She's a needy thing, huh?" He teased, before toying with his thumb, running along the seam a moment before holding you open, just in time for him to dive in again.

He kissed you as if he wanted to devour you like a hound starved for days on end would lap at the sweetest, most delicious meal. Quickly, he shrugged your thighs onto his shoulders, holding you against his face, as he slung one arm around you, holding your thigh in place on him and sliding his hand over the plane of your hip before he began to rub at your swollen clit, whilst his tongue diverted his focus to your weeping honeypot.

There couldn't be a finer sight anywhere in the world. You didn't care you were in a casino bathroom, or that you were meant to be working tonight on an important mission. Life or death meant jack shit compared to the sight of Logan kneeling between your legs and devouring you. He even seemed to hum in delight as your hand tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, nearly drowning him in your need.

He pulled back a moment later, strings of your desire still connecting you to his lips, before he swiped them away, licking them from his fingers.

At your whine, he only scoffed. "You don't finish anywhere but on my cock. You understand me?" He grumbled, standing up again, and unfastening his trousers, letting them and his boxers fall in a puddle on the floor in one swift, easy movement. When you glanced down, you could see he was already at full mast. Larger, thicker, veinier than any you had ever had before. It throbbed in his hand, with 3 beads of precum already leaking down his shaft. He palmed himself a moment, letting out a groan, holding his head in line with your clit as he rocked back and forth, gently. Just enough to soak himself in you.

"Mmm… I don't think you're wet enough." He grumbled, a smirk on his face. You were dripping on the counter, you could feel that already, so you knew he was lying, leading up to something. "So what are you gonna do about it?" You ask, locking your gaze with his own.

He pumps his fist along his cock still as he grins back at you, not averting his gaze as he spat, a thick glob of saliva landing right where his cock met your cunt. He smeared it on himself, on you - on where you both would soon become one - and he chuckled. "I always wanted to spit on you. Never thought you'd get so red from it." "I'm not red from tha-" You went to protest, but before you could finish, he had bucked, his entirety sheathed inside of you in one agonisingly ecstatic movement. All of him was buried in your warmth, and your walls shuddered around him. You didn't know which one of you had let out that moan - but you had a sneaky feeling it was both of you.

Your hand gripped his shirt, holding onto the fabric tightly, seeking to anchor yourself however you could, feeling how your body pulsated around him, acclimatising to his invasion. "Fuck," He cursed, resting his forehead on your shoulder, forcing himself to remain in place, not moving until you'd gotten used to him. "What, has it been so long since you've had a dick you re-virginised? You're so tight…" He ground his hips against your own, not yet pulling out, but making sure to give you that friction that brought another moan from your lips. "This pretty pussy's been needing a stretch. Don't worry, Princess, I'll give her a workout."

With that, he pulled back, each inch that he rescinded leaving you clenching down on nothing, feeling desperate without him. Against your will, you whined, tangling your fist further in the fabric of his shirt, urging him back again. Even after pulling out so slowly, he bucked in fast, torturous and barbaric in his speed. He bucked so hard that your entire body jolted with the collision between you, but he pulled back as if he wanted to watch you crying at the loss of him.

"What's the matter, Princess? You look about ready to sob." He mocked, before grunting as he thrust back in, just as hard, and you cried out in your mixed delight and pleasure. "You're the worst," You retort, through gritted teeth, trying to maintain your brain function even as every slight movement of his cock penetrating you seemed to make you want to melt into him, drooling and moaning like a moron who knew nothing other than taking Logan's cock. "Am I?" He purred in return, grinding his teeth as he let out three sharp thrusts in succession, robbing you of your breath as you forced your nails into his chest, drawing a groan of animalistic delight from him.

"Sounds to me like you're 'boutta cum, Princess. If I'm the worst… maybe I'll just stop." "No!" God, your voice sounded so breathy as it echoed back around the room, and Logan lit up at the sound. "No?" He parrotted, lips pursed and eyes amused, before he tutted. "No what? Use your words." "No, don't stop." "You don't want me to stop. 'cause I'm not the worst, right?" "N-not the worst…" You repeated. "Not the worst. Good girl, Princess. I'm the man who's 'boutta make you cum all over my cock, ain't I? I'm the best I am at what I do. And what I do is fucking girls like you 'til you're stupid. Right?"

By now your tongue had gone numb. You couldn't form a word in your mind, let alone in your throat or mouth. Instead, all that passed your lips were gasps and mewls and needy moans, as you forced yourself to nod, trying to get your point across.

It seemed Logan was too far gone as well, as he grinned down at you, feral and angry and delighted.

He leaned in, pressing heated, feverish kisses all over your neck, up and along the column of your throat before his forehead rested on yours.

"Fuck, Princess. I'm not gonna last much longer…" He panted out, his thrusts becoming faster and faster, no longer taunting you, and instead chasing his peak. His free hand reached down as well, his fingers splayed over your womb whilst his thumb played with your red, sensitive clit, eliciting another loud moan from you.

"Where'd you want it?" Logan snarled. "Tell me, and fast before I… ngh." He bucked, his movements sloppy and desperate. You longed for his warmth inside of you. To feel him spill and buck and ride out his afterglow whilst still nestled in your perfect pussy. To watch the look on his face as he pulled out and saw his own seed oozing from you. "Inside," You demand, the only full word you've managed in a long while. "P…please… inside. Inside." "Wish is my command, darlin'." He grunted out.

His lips crashed against your own, tasking of whiskey and pine and your own sweet nectar, the sensation of receiving a kiss from Logan so tender and desperate finally being enough to tip you over that final cliff.

Your legs wrapped around his middle, tugging him closer, as your pussy fluttered all around him, milking him for all he was worth, as a wave of white-hot euphoria rolled over your mind. Your moans were swallowed by Logan's mouth, as he kept kissing you, letting his own moans and grunts escape as well, the shared sounds of your pleasure rumbling in the caverns of your mouths. "Just like that." He rumbled, between open mouth kisses, murmuring into the plush flesh of your lips. "Cum all over me baby. Make my fuckin' day."

You barely even felt the sensation you'd so longed for as Logan buried himself as deep as he could inside of you, spilling every drop of his cum inside of you, whilst you squeezed every ounce he was worth, the pair of you riding out your orgasms at once.

It took a few seconds for you to catch your breath. Both of you had heaving chests and red faces. Logan pulled free from your lips, though not before offering one teasing, apologetic lip to the seam of your mouth, as though to apologise for kissing so hard and leaving you swollen.

You slid an arm around his shoulders, a silent plea not to pull away, as you pulled him in for one more kiss.

But he froze halfway, and glanced down at his trousers, his eyes growing wide and his jaw tensing.

"Logan? What's the matter?" You ask, leaning forward and glancing down as well, brow furrowed. "I didn't mute the comms." He replied, bluntly.

Didn't mute the comms. The comms that had been in his pocket, and would have picked up their activities.

"Get back to the blackbird, you two. Now. Before you're kicked out of the casino." Scott's voice, tinny and furious, escaped the two comms, even from where they were buried in Logan's discarded trousers. "And don't think for a moment you're not going to be punished for this."

Logan chuckled, reaching down to fasten his trousers back on, returning his gaze to you. "I dunno about you, Princess… but I don't care if I get punished. We're doing that again on the way back. C'mon."

You slid your panties and your dress back into place, stood from the counter and took his hand, heading out of the casino with him, already brimming with excitement for round two - this time with muted comms.

I hope you enjoyed and hope I did this justice - I've not really written enemies to lovers before so this was super fun <3 Feedback is super appreciated so please let me know if you enjoyed!! If you're interested, my requests are open so please feel free to send me any questions, ideas or headcanons you'd like me to explore (please just make sure you've read my pinned post first) TYSM for reading and hope you enjoy <3

#logan x reader #logan howlett #james logan howlett #wolverine x you #logan smut #logan howlett smut #wolverine #wolverine xmen #x men #wolverine imagine #logan howlett imagine #logan imagine #james howlett #james howlett smut #requests open #moxxxie answers

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simplygojo · 3 months ago

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Costume Party I - Toji Fushiguro

Author's Note: Hi friends! I hope you guys enjoy this mini series! I allways gotta start these with Toji for some reason...I just think he knows how to fuck if ya know what I mean...anyways, ENJOY!!

The only Kinktober request I am accepting are from my Kinktober Prompt List, thank you <33

Alsoooo Happy Thanksgiving weekend to my fellow Canadians out there, remember to be thankful and to recognize the land we are on.

Pairing: Toji Fushiuro x f!reader

Kinks: Semi-Public Sex, Mirror Kink

Word Count: 1.7K

Kinktober Taglist: @nanamisrighthand; @simplyyyuji; @megumisdivinedogs; @lovleyredheadfairy

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, light choking, fingering, aggressive sex, alcohol use.

The party was already in full swing by the time you arrived.

Music thumped through the walls, loud enough to feel in your chest, and the crowd inside buzzed with excitement and laughter.

You'd barely had time to throw on your costume after rushing home from work, but you knew Toji was waiting for you inside—dressed as a fox, of all things.

You smirked to yourself, adjusting the bunny ears perched on your head and smoothing your hands over the scandalously tight bodysuit you wore.

The outfit was borderline obscene—the kind of thing that left little to the imagination: black, lacy, and hugging every curve.

The fishnets and heels only made it worse—or better, depending on who you asked.

Your heart raced a little as you entered the venue, scanning the room for him. It didn’t take long. Toji stood in the corner, leaning casually against the bar, a drink in hand.

His dark eyes were glued to you the second you walked through the door. His costume wasn’t as elaborate as yours, just a black T-shirt and jeans, with a fox mask pushed up on his head.

But even in something so simple, he looked ridiculously good.

His tall, muscular frame and the sharp lines of his face made him stand out in any crowd.

But it wasn’t his looks that made you grin. It was the way his entire body went rigid the moment his eyes landed on you.

You could see the flicker of shock, the heat that followed as his gaze raked over you, lingering on the curves of your breasts, your hips, and those impossibly long legs wrapped in fishnets.

You saw the exact moment he realized just how hard he was getting, and you bit your lip to hide a smirk as he subtly shifted, trying to adjust himself.

He lifted his drink to his lips, trying to act casual, but his eyes were glued to you, dark and hungry.

You made your way over to him, hips swaying more than necessary, loving the way his jaw clenched as you got closer.

“Nice ears,” you teased, trailing a finger along the fake fox tail hanging off his waistband. “You here to hunt bunnies?”

Toji's nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing in a way that sent a thrill straight to your core.

"You should be careful, princess," he muttered, voice rough.

"Foxes eat bunnies for breakfast."

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear.

"Is that a promise?"

His grip on his drink tightened, and you could see the strain in his muscles, how much he was holding back.

It was delicious. And you weren’t done teasing him just yet.

Throughout the night, you made sure to stay close enough for him to watch, but far enough to drive him crazy.

You danced with other people, laughed at the bar, making sure to catch his gaze every time you bent down to adjust your heels or flipped your hair over your shoulder.

Toji’s eyes followed you everywhere, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of his glass, jaw clenched so hard it looked like he might break his teeth.

It wasn’t long before you saw him break.

The last straw was probably when you 'accidentally' brushed up against him, your ass pressing right into his lap as you leaned over the bar.

The way he cursed under his breath, hands clenching at his sides, sent shivers down your spine.

Without a word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you through the crowd, his movements determined, almost rough.

You barely had time to react before he was dragging you into a dimly lit bathroom at the back of the venue, locking the door behind him.

“Toji—” You started, but your words were cut off as he spun you around, pressing your back against the cold tile wall.

His body caged you in, the heat from him radiating through his clothes. The hard line of his erection pressed against your stomach, and you bit back a moan.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me all night?” His voice was low, almost a growl, as he gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Walkin’ around in that tiny little costume, fuckin’ teasing me. Y’think I wouldn’t notice?”

You smirked, hands sliding up his chest.

“Oh, I knew.”

That was all the confirmation he needed.

With a groan, he crashed his lips against yours, kissing you like he was starving.

His hands were rough, needy as they roamed over your body, squeezing your ass, gripping your waist, sliding up to your chest as he shoved the fabric of your bodysuit down to expose your breasts.

You gasped as he bent down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.

His hand slid between your thighs, cupping your heat through the thin fabric, feeling how wet you already were for him.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your skin, pushing your bodysuit aside and slipping a finger into you.

“Already this wet, huh? You really are a little slut for me, aren’t you?”

His words sent a shock of arousal through you, and you bucked your hips, desperate for more.

Toji chuckled darkly, adding another finger, stretching you as he pumped them in and out at a torturous pace.

“Please,” you whimpered, grinding against his hand.

“Please, what?” He murmured against your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear.

“Say it.”

“Fuck me, Toji,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “Just please fuck me.”

The moment the words left your mouth, Toji growled, pulling his finger out and spinning you around to face the mirror hanging above the sink.

His eyes gleamed darkly as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back just enough so you were forced to look at yourself.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust as he pressed his body against yours, his hard cock teasing your entrance.

“You see what you do to me?”

You could barely manage a response, your breath coming in shallow gasps as your eyes met his in the reflection.

The sight of yourself bent over, Toji’s broad frame towering behind you, only heightened the dizzying pleasure coursing through your body.

Without warning, he thrust into you, burying himself deep with one rough motion. You cried out—loud, your eyes fluttering shut, but he wasn’t having it.

“Nuh-uh. Eyes open,” he demanded, tugging your hair harder, forcing your gaze back to the mirror.

“I want you to watch yourself while I ruin you.”

His hips snapped against yours, setting a punishing pace, every thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

Your hands clutched the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white as you struggled to keep upright.

The intensity of the moment—the way he filled you so perfectly, the way his rough grip kept you exactly where he wanted you—had your body shaking.

“Toji—” You gasped, eyes fixated on the image in the mirror, watching the way your body jolted with every thrust.

His cock pounded into you relentlessly, your skin hot, sweat beading along your brow.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hand sliding from your hair to your throat, gripping just tight enough to make your head spin.

“Look at how desperate you are. So fuckin’ wet for me.”

You moaned in response, the sound catching in your throat as he squeezed just a little harder.

The sight of yourself, cheeks flushed, lips parted in helpless pleasure as Toji took you from behind, was almost too much to handle. You could feel him pushing deeper into you, your walls stretching more than they ever had.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door.

For a split second, the reality of where you were crashed over you—a public bathroom, at a party, with Toji fucking you senseless.

The knock came again, harder this time, followed by an impatient voice.

“Hey, someone in there?”

You barely had time to process the interruption before Toji let out a low, dangerous growl.

He didn’t stop his movements, he continued to fuck you just as hard, just as deep, as he glared at the door.

“Fuck off,” he barked, his voice harsh, filled with irritation. “Busy.”

The person outside hesitated, clearly taken aback by his tone, but Toji was already refocused on you, slamming his hips harder into yours.

The knot of pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you as his cock filled you to the hilt with every thrust, your body trembling under the pressure.

His hand slid back to your clit, fingers rubbing tight, teasing circles, bringing you to the edge of oblivion.

“C’mon, baby,” Toji rasped, his breath hot against your ear.

“Cum for me. Show me how much you like watching me fuck you in front of that mirror.”

The words alone were enough to send you spiralling.

Your eyes squeezed shut as the orgasm ripped through you, every muscle tensing, your vision going white with the intensity of it.

Your body clenched around him, and Toji groaned deeply, his grip on your waist tightening as he thrust into you harder, chasing his own release.

With a final, guttural growl, Toji buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came, filling you completely.

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, your body shaking from the aftershocks, Toji’s forehead resting against the back of your neck as you both caught your breath.

“Fuck…” He muttered, a smirk pulling at his lips as he finally loosened his grip on you, pulling out slowly.

His hands lingered on your hips, the possessive touch making your heart race all over again.

You glanced up at the mirror one last time, meeting his dark, satisfied gaze.

“You really do know how to make a scene,” you teased, voice breathless.

Toji chuckled, leaning down to press a rough kiss to the side of your neck.

“You love it.”

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sc0tters · 1 year ago

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Owed It | Jack Hughes

summary: you’re less than happy with how things ended between you and Jack so when the Devils come to Vancouver to play you decide to give him a piece of your mind, but what happens when he has the same idea?

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, p in v, face riding, use the of the word slut once, swearing.

word count: 2.25k

authors note: I sort of merged a request of some prompts for Jack and a part 2 of Misconceptions and Confrontations. Although I have left it on a cliff hanger I’m not going to make this into a full blown series which is why there hasn’t been a Masterlist made for this.

pt 1 | pt 3

To say you were surprised when he showed up at your door it was an understatement.

After your conversations died down in December you pushed him to the back of your mind. Sure it was hard at first as you missed staying up until the late hours of the night giggling as you would be on FaceTime with Jack. But when Tito moved to the Canucks within a month of things pretty much ending with Jack you didn't complain. The Quebec native was fun, sure you two hadn't done anything under your clothing yet but that didn't mean that there weren't a few shared kisses when you two got far too drunk for your own goods or after big games as your own celebration for him.

The Canucks player had come over to grab his suit jacket that had he had left after you two went to watch a movie "thanks again," he smiled as you walked him to the door.

The gesture was innocent as he placed his hand on the small of your back "don't mention it," you shook your head as you opened your front door "Jack?" Your eyes went wide as the two of you were met with the middle Hughes boy.

Jack mirror your reaction as he looked at Tito. The boys had met each other on numerous occasions when the Canadian was still with the Islanders "Beauvillier," he scowled as he sent the older boy a glare.

The creased shirt on the Canucks player was not helping your cause, because to the untrained eye it seriously looked like you were letting him out after you two spent the night together.

Tito wasn't one to be scared of Jack or most players for that matter but the look that he was receiving would have made him a dead man if looks could kill "I guess this is my queue to leave," he murmured as he gave you a side hug before the older boy scurried out of your apartment.

The Devils player was still trying to comprehend what he had just seen "what the fuck?" Jack let out an exasperated gasp as you pulled him into your apartment.

You let out a growl "keep your voice down," you grumbled as it was barely eight o'clock in the morning.

It caused the boy to scoff "so now you care about if others can hear you?" The hockey player shook his head as he placed his hands on his jean pockets.

The comment caused you to grow irritated "last time I checked you are not in the position to parent me," you shot back as your eyes went into a glare.

It pissed you off how nonchalant the boy was "you're the one who left me on read," Jack had been left hurt after you ignored his question asking if you were planning on joining Quinn for the Hughes Christmas family dinner, an event that she was always an honorary guest to.

You grabbed the orange juice from the counter that you had been drinking "you're the one who decided that you wanted to see other people," you pointed out as you waved your finger at him "and I'm not one for sharing." Your voice was a low grumble as you brought the glass to her lips.

Jacks once irritated look was now a smirk "were you jealous?" He asked as he knew you were talking about the rumours that he had gotten back with his ex girlfriend.

The reminder of what happened lit a fire beneath you "you know I actually missed you," you scoffed as you couldn't believe that you wanted to see him.

You saw why you hated him so much back then.

The devils player rubbed his hand against his jaw "I missed you too," he blurted out as he walked over to where you were in the kitchen

"Bullshit," you blurted out as you sent him a glare.

The Hughes brother placed his hands on your hips as he pulled you closer to him "come sit on my face and I'll show you how much I missed you." He murmured as his lips were a mere few inches from your own.

Darting your eyes from his down to his lips your voice went croaky "Jack," you mumbled as you kissed him.

Oh how you missed the feeling of those lips on yours. Weirdly enough though the the amount of hatred in it was next to nothing when compared to the first time he kissed you, dare to say it but it was almost like there was a hint of love in this kiss.

As Jack pulled away from you he caught your lower lip in between his teeth as he gave it a small tug "where's your bedroom princess?" He asked as he cocked his head.

Your furrowed your eyebrows almost like you were confused by what he was hinting at "end of the hallway," you let out a soft gasp as you realised what he was hinting to.

So like any horny girl, you locked your hand with his as you pulled him in the direction of your room "you're so eager," the hockey player teased as he reached under your baggy shirt that was clearly one of Quinn’s as he helped you out of your panties.

As you stepped out of them you couldn’t help but roll your eyes "fuck off," you warned as you shook your head.

Jacks lips turned into a pout "that's not very nice," he had this shit eating grin as he sat on your bed bringing you closer by your shirt.

With his other hand he let it trail over your slit "god Jack just," your voice was breathy as you tried to grind on the individual finger.

The boy lay down flat on your bed "come here," he motioned for you to join him on the bed.

But when you only sat next to him he wasn’t happy "up here honey," Jack tapped his lips as he hooked his hand behind your leg helping move you closer.

As you hovered above his face you couldn’t help but remember why you were so irritated "you got a lot of ner-" you were quickly cut off when Jacks tongue darted inside of you.

You never really thought that Jack was the kind of boy to be a munch but god were you wrong "right there," you groaned as his nose continued to knock your clit.

The sensations were something that you weren’t used to. Sure you had been eaten out before but never like this "fuck!" Your one had gripped at the headboard as your other locked onto his hair.

Jacks eyes never left yours “so good," you moaned as you continued to grind on his face.

His lips moved with a pop as he replaced it with his fingers "you like this don't you?" He asked in a teasing tone.

You nodded as you watched him move back to his original position "yes Jack," you repeated your words as he kissed your clit "fuck yeah I do," your voice was broken as you tried to remain calm.

The smirk on his face was clear and you had to break him "this is what you've been missing out on," your comment drew a moan from his lips.

Playing with fire seemed to be your forte "what Tito had been getting whenever he wanted." You cooed as you forced him by his hair to make him look at you.

You got your wish of pissing him off "off," Jack tapped your thigh as he pulled his mouth away from your clit.

The build to your high was quick to become unraveled "wha-" you grew surprised.

He repeated his words "get off.”

Not wanting to piss him off you listened "I'm gonna fuck you so hard that you'll forget that guys name." Jack warned as he sat up to kiss your lips.

You loved the way that you could taste yourself on his lips "you want me to forget Tito?" You asked making sure that you put more effort into the boys name.

It caused Jacks eyes to grow dark "see that you've still got that mouth on you," he murmured as he ran his thumb over your lower lip.

Nodding with a smirk "would never lose it for you," you explained as the boy pulled your top over your head.

Jack let out this guttural groan "missed these," he reached out to cup your bare breasts.

It drew a giggle from your lips "just my boobs?" You asked as the hockey player got up.

The boy tucked your hair behind your ear "missed all of you," he placed a kiss on your lips.

You watched as he grabbed a condom from his jeans "you knew what was gonna happen didn't you?" A scoff fell from your lips as he nodded.

He smirked as he pulled his shirt off of his head "cause my baby is my cock hungry slut," Jack rolled the condom over his cock “want you on all fours," he added as he motioned for you to flip over.

Your lips form a pout "got a thing for not seeing my face?" You teased as you let out a giggle.

Jack was surprised that you made that comment no matter how playful your voice was "thought you didn't want me to see your face when you came.” He explained as he pulled you closer now deciding that missionary was going to be the preferred position.

His cock teased your clit before he thrusted inside of you “you gonna be a good girl and take it for me?” Jack asked as his thumbs teased your breasts.

The moan you released was your worst enemy “not a big challenge,” you were proud of yourself for getting the words out.

They seemed to egg Jack on as he pulled your legs over his shoulders. It gave him access to fuck you in a much deeper angle “you liking that don’t you?” He smiled when your face scrunched up as his hand went to your clit.

You wanted to reach up to hit him but as he increased his pace it caused your hand to land on your boob “god,” you groaned letting your fingers tease the nipple.

Jack loved the way that you were so responsive to his actions. Sure other girls had been like that in bed with him before but this all felt different.

The girl that he had been pining over since he was a kid. Yes you thought he hated you but of course your mothers were right, Jack had liked you from the moment he saw you on that swing. The reason why he pulled you off of it? That’s simply because you weren’t listening to him.

You let out a moan “you’re so good Jacky,” you cried out as you made grabby hands at him.

It might have been a childish gesture but you missed the feeling of his lips on yours “my little girl wants a kiss?” He asked as he let his lips hover above yours. The angle that he was now thrusting into caused him to be best friends with your g-spot.

Given the new level of pleasure that you were felling all you could do was nod. And luckily for you Jack wasn’t in the mood to tease you. So his lips went on yours as his tongue swiped across your lower lip as he wanted to feel the feeling of his tongue fighting with yours.

When you let out a moan you granted his wish. Jack swore that the moment forced your head into the mattress that he loved you. Seeing you in the position that you were in made him feel like he was on cloud nine “I’m gonna come,” you announced as the boys motions on your clit quickly sped up.

He wanted you to see reach your high first because Jack was literally seconds behind you “go on my pretty girl.” The hockey player smiled as he kissed your neck.

It was crazy how that little moment caused your orgasm to not only come but also it hit you like a truck.

You repeated a string of “oh my gosh” as your pussy almost suffocated his cock “this pussy was made for me fuck,” Jack cursed as his high was met shortly after yours was.

The boy let out a soft laugh as he took in your sensitive state, it was like that simply didn’t change from the previous time you two spent together.

As he slid out of you your body shuddered “sorry honey,” he apologised as he hook his fingers under your jaw so that he could place a peck on your lips.

But when your phone went off you two each looked at the other with wide eyes.

Quinn x: I’ll be up in three minutes

Quinn x: Got you breakfast.

Sure you shouldn’t have been surprised by this, it was your tradition before every home game “fuck,” you groaned as you quickly got up.

You didn’t seem to care that your legs felt like jelly as you quickly tried to get ready “what?” Jack asked as he hadn’t gotten a chance to see the messages.

You didn’t get a chance to answer his question when you heard the front door open “I’m here!” Quinn called out as he shut the door behind him.

You and Jack were now truly fucked.

#jack hughes smut #jack hughes x you #jack hughes x reader #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey smut #nhl smut #oneshots #imagines #amber writes fics

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muffinpink02 · 2 months ago

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can we get a small preview of taking your crown 2? 🙏

Of course! 18

“Where's this special room then?” Mapi smirked as she drank from her glass.

You laughed, giving her a wink. “Down the hallway.”

“Hmm. What room?” Alexia furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as she looked between you and Mapi.

“She has a special room.” Mapi swirled the ice in her glass.

“Oh.” Alexia’s eyes widened in surprise, suddenly looking a little timid. She gulped before she took another sip of her vodka.

“Do you wanna see it?”

“Yes!” Mapi shouted excitedly.

You looked at Alexia who still looked a little shy, but the curiosity in her eyes was evident.

“Sí.” She whispered before taking another sip.

You led them down the corridor to the last door. You turned the handle and turned on the lights.

Both girls' mouths gaped open as they took in the room in front of them.

“Wow.” Mapi smirked, taking a slow step inside.

The room glowed in a deep shade of purple and red. The decor was a bit different to your room at your place of work, this room had a lot more on show.

In the middle stood a replica of the king sized bed in the room you first met Alexia in. To the left was a purple leathered rack, with an arrangement of paddle boards attached to the wall. To the side of that wall sat a black leathered table that resembled a massage table, but this particular one had handcuffs attached at the top and bottom.

To the right of the room stood a floor length mirror that covered the entire wall, red strips of light framed the outside of it, giving it an almost red light district feel. Another wall had an abundant array of different toys, restraints, leashes, collars, and whips. Some for pleasure, some for pain, but even the painful ones were someone's pleasure.

Closets to the door and your most impressive bit of equipment, there stood the St Andrews cross. Even though it looked like a torture device (I mean, it kind of was) it was surprisingly really comfy. Imported from Germany, stitched with real Italian leather, and formed with Canadian wood, it was your most prized possession, a beautiful piece of equipment or some would even say art.

The room was impressive to say the least.

“You have good taste.” Mapi said absently mindedly as she stroked the thick wooden post of the bed.

“Thank you. I’m proud of it.” You said honestly before taking a sip of your drink.

You looked over at the blonde who still hadn't said anything, but she didn't need to, her face said it all.

Alexia felt a chill run up her spine as her eyes drank in the room. The familiar smell of vanilla instantly brought her back to the first night she had with you and so far the only night. The memories of you and herself flooded her mind, it was as if she could feel the paddle on her skin, the hot wax, your thick strap, your talented tongue.

For the first time she regretted allowing Mapi to join her on the trip.

Her fingers nervously twitched around her glass, as she imagined her and yourself using the room for its exact purpose.

You watched Alexia’s thoughtful eyes. You could see the cogs turning in her head. A shy smile crept on her lips as she caught you looking at her. She looked like she had been caught red handed, even though her dirty thoughts were in her head and sadly not being played out right now.

She nodded and awkwardly cleared her throat. “It's beautiful. I-I like it.” She took a gulp of her drink, you didn't miss the way her cheeks turned a shade of pink.

You felt your own skin heat up, picturing the blonde in all the different positions you could have her in. It was as if you both could see the other's exact thoughts. You didn't realise you were staring until Mapi cleared her throat.

“Aye, come on! I’m only here for two nights. Can you not control yourselves until I leave?” The brunette looked between you and Alexia.

“Did you bring headphones, Mapi?” Alexia asked, but still looking at you.

“Sí?”

“Good, you'll need them tonight.”

You couldn't stop the embarrassing noise you made as you choked on your drink.

—------------------

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dustedmagazine · 2 months ago

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Dust Volume 10, Number 11

Photo of Alan Licht by Stu Lax

One of the oddest, most disturbing developments in recent years is the devaluation of expertise. If a souped up auto complete program can write a screenplay, who needs writers? If scientific guidelines about how to stave off a plague make us angry or confused, who wants them? Anybody can be anything, given enough cash in their pockets, thought, evidence and fact be damned. So, it is somewhat unfashionable that Dusted continues to seek out artists who are good at what they do, whether they are conservatory trained or DIY, steeped in historical tradition or trying something new. Our monthly Dust highlights another batch of them. Bill Meyer, Andrew Forell, Tim Clarke, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw, Ian Mathers and Bryon Hayes contributed.

John Butcher / Florian Stoffner / Chris Corsano — The Glass Changes Shape (Relative Pitch)

This autumn, English saxophonist John Butcher celebrated his 70th birthday. For the occasion his fellow musicians donned t-shirts proclaiming, “You can only trust yourself and the first ∞ John Butcher albums.” Yes, he puts out quite a few, and no, I’m not up to date. The completist’s task is even more daunting when one considers just how much music is packed into each of the nine improvisations on this concert recording, his second with guitarist Florian Stoffner and percussionist Chris Corsano. Timbres, volumes and modes of attack change from second to second, living up the album’s title; not even the music’s form I fixed. No one’s resting on laurels here. Corsano plays with rare spaciousness, and Butcher often seems to be playing up the contrasts between his horns’ tonal fluidity and the jagged edges of Stoffner’s contribution. Pardon the paradox, but each track is a subdivision of ∞, and there’s no end to the time you could spend getting profitably lost in one.

Bill Meyer

Cybotron — Parallel Shift (Tresor)

in 2019, legendary Detroit producer Juan Atkins rebooted his 1980s electro project Cybotron with Laurens van Oswald (nephew of Basic Channel founder Moritz) and Tameko Williams (Detroit In Effect). Atkins takes the technological matrices of his hometown’s now largely defunct manufacturing plants and Kraftwerk’s “Autobahn” and twists them through an afro-futurist wormhole. The trio’s latest 12” single “Parallel Shift” sets Atkins’ robotic vocals and lockstep machine beats against melodic synths and warm bass tones. As Atkins insists on a “parallel shift”, smuggled elements of Clintonesque funk and drifting reverie suggest subversion of strictly linear time. The B-side “Earth” is a more straightforward piece of electro with the emphasis on syncopation. The track flickers with sci-fi synths as Atkins posits human rhythms as a form of cosmic consciousness. Volume up and eyes closed, you will be transported.

Andrew Forell

Dean Drouillard — Mirrors and Ghosts (self-released)

This instrumental solo album by Canadian guitarist Dean Drouillard is a series of hazy noir scenes. At its brightest and most melodic, as in “Portland” and “Gorgasuke,” it’s reminiscent of the vivid, playful miniatures of Opsvik & Jennings’s A Dream I Used to Remember. Elsewhere, the album is decidedly more atmospheric and ambient, akin to the widescreen explorations of Daniel Lanois’s Flesh and Machine. The album’s largely introspective nature is no surprise when you learn Drouillard played and recorded all the instruments himself. His guitar playing in particular is evocative and tastefully restrained. At once intimate and widescreen, Mirrors and Ghosts feels both eerily melancholic and gently uplifting.

Tim Clarke

Fievel Is Glauque — Rong Weicknes (Fat Possum)

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Though Fievel Is Glauque are technically a duo — songwriters Zach Phillips (Blanche Blanche Blanche) and Ma Clements on keys and vocals, respectively — for new album Rong Weickes they assembled a crack team of six other players. Musicians on drums, bass, electric guitar, woodwinds and brass flesh out a dizzyingly complex and gratifyingly daft soundworld. Think 1970s prog-folk; think Napoleon Murphy Brock–era Frank Zappa; think Julia Holter spiraling down a jazz-fusion black hole. Rong Weicknes is a LOT. Tellingly, many of the album’s most accessible songs, including singles “As Above So Below” and “Love Weapon,” plus the beautiful and relatively calm “Toute Suite,” arrive early in the track list. Opener “Hover” is perhaps the best example of the band’s bonkers “live in triplicate” working method, in which multiple takes are stacked one on top of another, then chiseled down to reach a final mix. It’s chaotic, like multiple candy-colored Escher staircases spiraling off in different directions at once. In this realm of music-making, too much is never enough, and the line between virtuosic brilliance and over-the-top absurdity bends and blurs. Given the chaos is cumulative, listening to the album from front to back tends to result in ear fatigue during the second half, no matter how many brave attempts it takes to tackle it all in one go.

Tim Clarke

Helena Hauff — Multiplying My Absurdities (Tresor)

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Hamburg DJ and producer Helena Hauff’s debut EP for Tresor is three tracks of full-on throwback acid trance. Expertly structured over 22 minutes of build, crescendo and release, Hauff combines thumping beats and bass tones with a detached darkwave cool and a healthy smear of analogue soot. Think Roland drum machines & 303 bass, squelching synths, arpeggio runs and all nature of odd grimy ghosts grumbling in the machines. Hauff reaches her apotheosis on “Punks in the Gym”, named for an Australian rock climb known as the hardest in the world (and now closed as an Indigenous Heritage site). It starts hard, with the bass in the red zone and the drums not far behind, and arpeggiated synths screaming like a drill sergeant. The plateaus, when they come, are mere toeholds for the next ascent. It’s a relentless, punishing piece. And when, near the end, Hauff drops everything but the kickdrum, it’s like watching the sun rise at an outdoor rave to, hearing nothing but your beating heart.

Andrew Forell

Rafael Anton Irisarri — Façadisms

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Rafael Anton Irisarri creates music with the grandeur of a vast, wasted landscape. He brings his experience as a mastering engineer to bear on all his recordings, rendering them dense and immersive, stacked high with thick waves of guitar and synthesizer tone. Façadisms is no exception and features two highlights. “Control Your Soul’s Desire For Freedom” features searing cello from Julia Kent and angelic vocals by Hannah Elizabeth Cox, and “Forever Ago is Now” features string arrangements from T.R. Jordan, which carry the album’s most anthemic chord progression. Façadisms’ blasted textures are never less than compelling, but these tracks are twin peaks within the record’s glowering sonic geography.

Tim Clarke

Charlotte Jacobs — Atlas (New Amsterdam)

Charlotte Jacobs’s songs are a little shy. They lurk in corners and grow up from cracks. They venture fluidly out of empty space, eddying and cascading through echoing caverns, with just a little glitch beat or a surge of synth tones to ground them. Jacobs is a conservatory Belgian composer and singer here making her first solo album. Her voice comes in breathy flutters, a little like Mirah at her most acoustic and spare, but she hedges that fragile bloom in masses of digital sound. A devotee of Ableton, she makes the synth sound like all kinds of instruments, a quacking oboe in “Celeste,” a ghostly choir in CYTMH.” Records seldom sound simultaneously this bare and this layered. There are many elements in play, but all scrubbed clean and hemmed in by silence.

Jennifer Kelly

Alan Licht — Havens (VDSQ)

With Havens, Alan Licht flips the attack-decay-sustain-release envelope of the guitar on its head, folding notes and chords over each other in waves. He does this with a heft to his tone, so that chord progressions become waterfalls and melodies emerge like vine-like shoots, growing in many directions simultaneously. Licht’s songs mesmerize with repetition, but the tones resonate such that they fold back on themselves, creating entirely new patterns for us to discern. The cover art reflects his steel string sorcery, as a dull-colored house surrounded by twilit swirling clouds emits beams of red, yellow, and orange light from its many orifices. A variety of energy levels and frequencies are represented here, and they reveal themselves in surprising ways. Throughout his career, Licht has straddled the worlds of indie rock and the avant-garde, and Havens tugs at both sides, creating a new universe entirely: one where resonance rules over everything else.

Bryon Hayes

Longobardi + Cecchitelli — Maloviento (LINE)

Italian sound artists Ernesto Longobardi and Demetrio Cecchitelli create minimalist environmental works built from droning sub-oscillations that emerge from a haze of white noise. The four pieces on Maloviento, titled by duration, are arctic. Slow, evocative of shifting ice and wind swirling across bleak landscapes.. 14’24” is frigid amalgam of staticky cracks and sheets of white noise that rise and fall with increasing intensity. The duo intersperses these with sounds of dripping stalactites and pings of some distant beacon signaling into the abyss. It immerses the listener in an alien and alienating environment in which you find yourself clinging to these noises as the only way to get your bearing. 21’18” is slightly kinder. More recognizably human sounds emerge. Breath labored by cold, a trudge of footsteps and a muttering voice culminating in the introduction of a flute. Tentative at first, it gathers strength and warmth before being absorbed into the ice. Riveting stuff.

Andrew Forell

Man/Woman/Chainsaw — Eazy Peazy (Fat Possum)

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Young London sextet Man/Woman/Chainsaw emerged from the scene that includes bands like Black Midi and Black Country, New Road with whom they share a similar omnivorous musical DNA. Vocalists, bassist Vera Leppanen and guitarist Billy Ward have been playing together since they were 14. Now approaching 20, and joined by contemporaries Emmie-Mae Avery on keys, violinist, Clio Harwood violin, Ben Holmes on guitar and drummer Lola Waterworth, M/W/C play punk infused theatrical rock, not quite as knotty as their near contemporaries, but fully embracing the chaotic energy of musicians pushing themselves to fit all their ideas into songs that dance delicate and furious. The acutely observed kitchen sink dramas of “The Boss” and “Sports Day” burst from the speakers, withering in word, and balanced by Harwood’s sawing violin and Avery’s delicate keys. Leppanen a powerhouse on the former, Ward all snarling self-deprecation on the latter. In contrast “Grow A Tongue In Time” is almost dainty with its curlicue of violin, bass, and keys tempered by Leppanen’s rasp that speaks of a desperate frustration echoed in the washes of cymbals that swarm towards the end. A band with space to grow and one to watch out for.

Andrew Forell

The Modern Folk — Primitive Future III (Practice)

This expansive collection spans 20 songs and nearly as many years for the folk centric but ambi-curious guitarist Joshua Moss (who, full disclosure, recently started writing for Dusted). His music here takes many forms, from the blues rock chug of “Shiver Shaker,” which could pass for an alternate universe outtake from Jon Spencer’s Heavy Trash to the cosmic twang of “Hippy Sandwich,” running closer to Ripley Johnson’s Rose City Band or the Heavy Lidders or whatever Matt Valentine is doing this week. There’s room, too, for lucid, radiant blues-folk picking, twined with bowing in “Braided Channels” or abetted in shimmery gossamer by Jen Powers on dulcimer on “You’ll Have That,” or left to strike out unadorned on luminous (and aptly titled) “Subdued.” Some artists try something different to prove they can. Moss lets the change grow out of old roots, supple, green and lovely. One other item of note: all proceeds are earmarked for hurricane relief.

Jennifer Kelly

Paprika — S/T (Iron Lung)

Paprika had already released the excellent, caustic Let’s Kill Punk LP this year, so this new EP is an unexpected November surprise. Are you thankful? It’s pungent and nasty stuff — Paprika sounds like the grittiest elements of NYC punk rawk, c 1976, partying with the hepped-up hardcore of Government Issue or Dirty Rotten EP-period DRI. If that sounds like fun, it sort of is, if you can listen past the nihilistic sentiments expressed in tunes like “Catatonic Pisser” and “Wasting Time.” This reviewer especially likes the self-lacerating qualities of “Supply Chain Wallet,” which explores the ways in which even filthy, greasy punks have a variety of fashion sense, implicating them in capital’s machinery. The band is more direct: “I’m chained to my wallet / Don’t you fuckers know? / Money is dirt.” Word.

Jonathan Shaw

Rock Candy — Swimming In (Carbon)

Rock Candy is Krysi Battalene (Mountain Movers, Headroom) and Emily Robb. Both are guitarists of just renown who, if they decided to open up an optical shop, would specialize in third-eyewear. Together, they refrain from six-string calisthenics in order to focus on nuanced expressions of motion. “Swimming In” is all about drift, albeit with enough surface tension for a stuttering guitar figure to loom over the undulating organ-scape. “Across A Mirage” sets slide vs. reverb, each fighting for footage on a mechanical Clydesdale beat. The cost of vinyl being what it is, some folks might question the point of picking up singles. This year, Rock Candy is the angle that dispels such faithless notions.

Bill Meyer

Sif — Aegis of the Hollowed King (self released)

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If you were going to make solo instrumental doom metal about video games, Dark Souls is certainly one of the few that feels like it actually fits. What makes the second LP from New Orleans-based Sif work as well as it does, though, is how much Aegis of the Hollowed King engages with what’s actually compelling about the FromSoftware series beyond any surface level trappings of swords, monsters and boss fights. Here focusing on what even they admit is an “understandably maligned masterpiece,” Dark Souls II, these four tracks don’t try to overwrite the game’s fantastic actual soundtrack (by Motoi Sakuraba and Yuka Kitamura). Instead they invoke how much of the experience of painstakingly making your way across Drangleic is suffused with melancholy horror (yes, occasionally leavened with moments of brutally-won success). That atmosphere has been translated into a doom metal idiom, but that just means even the most elegiac elements here continue to crush.

Ian Mathers

Sulida — Utos (Clean Feed)

The phrase “good old-fashioned free jazz” could be applied to this Norwegian trio’s album, no disrespect intended and none dealt. Marthe Lea’s gruff tenor sax balances the unbridled emotion and considered poise of Ayler and Tchicai, and Jon Rune Strøm and Dag Erik Knedal Anderson negotiate points of structure vs. flow in ways that would do Hopkins and McCall proud. There are also moments that bring to mind Don Cherry if he had given full allegiance to the Swedish woods instead of the world. And yet, the character of each musician shines through, so that this music feels alive rather than merely reanimated. Ready to rumble by unfailingly lyrical, Utos is a friend in unfriendly times.

Bill Meyer

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glassdiy · 1 year ago

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hawkland · 1 year ago

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Art Masterpost: The Beginning Story by emmbrancsxx0 (@valleydean) Art by sidewinder (@hawkland)

When I saw an endverse story up for claims in this year's @deancashorrorfest — particularly one exploring the beginnings of how it all came to be — I knew I had to get my grubby, greedy hands on it. When I found out it was written by none other than @valleydean, I may have made some hqppy screeching noises to rival Castiel's true voice. Getting to do art for one of my favorite writers is always exciting, if sometimes anxiety-inducing, but I ended up having an absolute blast working on these with Mallory and am really happy with how they turned out. Thank you for being such an amazing partner to work with, and I'm so excited for everyone else getting to read the story now!

Thank you as well to @kingdumbass for organizing Horrorfest once again, and creating one of my favorite little Destiel communities on the net. It's always a ton of fun and I love how you keep the server going & engaging year round.

Some rambling comments on the art & my process below the cut.

As usual these were all done in watercolor with a little bit of black & white acrylic pen work for fine details and lines. I used rough/cold press paper for all of these to keep a consistent feeling and because it's always my favorite for doing any portraits and where I want a lot of blending control.

The hardest thing for me was deciding which of the many memorable scenes and moments I wanted to illustrate in the time I had available. I had a pretty clear vision for the title art early on: to show Dean & Cas at the beginning of it all, with a collage of elements of destruction behind them and doing the title text in the "Croatoan graffiti" style. There were a bunch of different reference shots combined for that one: screencaps from 5x04, a later-season shot of Dean & Cas walking together to get their positions how I wanted, etc. My Cas "face" reference was actually from Stonehenge Apocalypse as I wanted him looking a little more human/hopeful than standard s4-5 Cas as he's pretty low on grace but still has a little "angel mojo" left.

(As Mallory commented when I shared it as a WIP, "That's a man who's about to be destroyed!" :D D:)

I'm also really glad I was able to get the painting to Mallory at DC-Con! You can see in the pic that it's pretty big (16"x20") to get all that detail in!

For the next piece, there's a small scene of Dean and Cas on the road under smoke-filled skies, past a "God Saves" billboard that just struck me. I'd just driven out to Pittsburgh and back on the PA Turnpike so used some quick reference snaps I took combined with photos of the hazy skies from the Canadian wildfires earlier this year to get the atmosphere I wanted. I tried to keep some of the same washed-out colors and feeling of the title piece for that, save the color of the sky.

For the rest, I wanted to do one piece each of Cas and Dean at critical moments in their journey through the story. Cas facing himself in the shattered glass of a pharmacy cabinet was a moment I knew I had to try to capture. It reminded me of that amazing shot of Misha in Gotham Knights, with Harvey and the smashed mirror, so that was definitely in my mind as a visual reference.

Cas himself is a combination of some Purgatory screencaps and some out-of-character Misha pics from here and there to get his hair the way I wanted it to look (even if I ended up painting over most of it with interference silver watercolor to create the effect of the shattered glass. Here's an in-progress look:

The Dean rooftop piece is one I'd had in my head as soon as I read the passage in the story, but it was the last piece I tackled. The city in flames behind Dean was pretty much done in one shot as a spontaneous wet-in-wet wash...though it was a little eerie and unsettling working on it this past week with current events playing out on the tv while I painted.

Finally, I really wanted to do a piece showing Dean and Cas as they are near the end of the story compared to how they started out. This one came together in a really fast burst of inspiration - I think one day drawing and two days painting because it's smaller than the others (12"x6") and I wanted it to be really close up and intimate. Drawing:

Poor boys have been through a lot. And it's only going to get worse )-:

Anyway, that's more than enough from me. Have you gone to start reading the story yet? If not, go there now! Bookmark! Read! Leave lots of love in the comments! Reblog and check out the rest of this year's Horrorfest collection while you're there!

#deancashorrorfest #my art #sidewinder art #hawkland art #deancas #destiel art #watercolor painting

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flownwrong · 7 months ago

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no tether (star trek: discovery fic)

Burnham/Rayner, rated M; tags: post s05e05 Mirrors, PWP, praise kink, ~3200 words

A/N: Fair warning: I'm not very familiar with Star Trek universe. I am here mainly through the misfortune of being obsessed with a certain Canadian actor. So if anything doesn't make sense — you know who to blame.

read on ao3

The hour is just about to turn from late into early when Michael finds him tucked into a narrow nook, in a hallway that's mostly deserted during all shifts.

He's sitting on the floor, tucked into the corner, one knee pulled up, a hand with a drink resting on it. Likely too wired to sleep, too suffocated in the solitude of his quarters. That's why she comes here, anyway. It's rare for them to be off the bridge at the same time; figures that they would end up in the same spot.

She approaches slowly, makes sure she doesn't creep up on him. Rayner doesn't move, eyes fixed on the floor, or, no—his profile is illuminated by soft bluish light. A screen, then.

"Hey," she says, leaning against the wall. "You wouldn't take the chair, but you'd steal my hiding spot, huh?"

"Good morning to you too, Captain." Rayner looks up and raises his glass in a toast. "Hiding spot?"

"Well, isn't that what you're here for?"

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Oh, I'm just catching up on my reading."

"Kellerun classics?"

His mouth lifts at one side, that quiet pleased almost-smile she never quite expects. "Terran, actually."

She leans down to see, raises her eyebrows. "Odyssey. You're full of surprises."

He shuts it down and shrugs. "A good book can save a life." He gives her a flash of a wink.

Michael laughs, caught off guard. He watches her and takes a sip of his drink.

She lowers herself to the floor and scoots until her back meets the opposite wall. The toes of their boots touch in the middle. He doesn't move away.

"So, what's keeping you up?"

"Could ask you the same question." Rayner's eyes are fixed on her face, intense, and for a second, she struggles for words.

"Nothing. Everything. All of this"—she waves her hand, trying to point it all out, the rest of the ship, the mission—"is new. Like nothing I've done before."

He huffs an approximation of a laugh. "You could say that." He doesn't sound nearly as bitter as before, and it's a relief she didn't know she craved.

Still, she's not sure where they stand on this, where the lines are drawn, here, huddled away when they should be sleeping. She clears her throat.

"The things I saw—in the time cycles, and today."

She tries to think of an explanation. Rayner keeps silent, waiting.

"The could have beens. They're hard to shut out."

He shrugs and looks up, out the viewport. "Yeah. Never did well with those."

"Neither have I." It's late, and they're both exhausted, and she's been through way too much weird to bother, so she nudges his boot with her own. "What are you going to do? After, I mean?"

He hums dismissively. "Does it matter?"

Yes, Michael wants to say, of course it does. I want to know what you're waiting for. I want to know if you'll stay. Instead, she says, "Oh? Nowhere you would go? Home?"

Rayner looks uncomfortable, hunches in on himself. When he speaks, his voice is low, like he hopes she won't hear. "Kind of supposed I'd go out before I go home."

She'd be taken aback, except it sounds exactly like him. "Just like that?"

He gives her a challenging look, a rare one that make his face unreadable. "Would you choose any different?"

Would she? He's thought about this, Michael realises, is used to the thought. She forgets, sometimes, how much older he is. Her thoughts are filled with hope, fear, longing—she hasn't chosen how she wants to go, not yet.

Still, there's something here he isn't sharing. She files it away, out of both curiosity and necessity, and reaches out to squeeze his knee. "I don't believe you."

"No?" His sharp features are tense, his cheeks hollowed like he's gritting his teeth.

"No. For one, it would take the heat death of the universe to put you down."

He snorts. "That's flattering."

She ignores him, goes on while she has an in, "But what I mean is that there's too much wonder in you, Rayner. You don't want to go down fighting. You're out here because you want this"—she nods at the stars—"to last." And there's something you left undone, she doesn't add.

He worries at his bottom lip, one of his minute tells. His eyelashes brush his cheeks, a startlingly gentle image.

Michael tilts her head, trying to catch his eye. "Am I wrong?"

Rayner's still for a moment, then shakes his head, lips a thin line, like it costs him. "No. You're not."

"Yeah." She strokes her thumb lightly across his knee. His skin feels feverish through the fabric of his uniform, and she remembers the Kellerun run hotter than humans. He looks down at her hand, swipes his eyes up, over her knees, her chest, shoulders. When he meets her gaze, very slowly, there's a quiet, almost sweet expectation in his look.

She clears her throat. "You haven't finished your drink."

"You want it?" His smile is soft.

She hums an agreement and reaches for his glass, less than a finger of light amber liquid left in it, and he passes it carefully, his fingertips brushing hers. She expects the drink to be acidic, sweet and excessive in all the ways something called citrus mash should be, since she heard the name about seventeen times today, but it's—wow, it's a whiskey. Strong, fragrant, with an aftertaste she can't place, a sharp burn.

She coughs. "Wow. This is good."

"Fair warning, this one kicks." He looks pleased at her surprise, his whole shape looser, waiting.

Michael shakes her head, showing him what feels like the tenth smile of the night. "Thanks for the heads-up. It's good."

"Yeah? There's more where that came from."

"Not the bar?"

"Oh, no. My quarters."

"Oh," she says, appreciative. "You have a bottle with you?"

"As I learned today, keeping a good bar can prove motivational," he says, dead serious.

"Very practical."

His eyes flicker down to her hands and back. "What can I say, I'm a practical guy."

She chuckles. "Yeah, you are."

They breathe in silence for a little while, just watching each other, and Michael knows it will have to be her call. And, oh—she wants it. Wants to not think about the clues, and failed relationships, and the bridge, wants to feel good and make someone feel good—and this is oddly uncomplicated. If there's anyone on this ship she can trust with this, it's Rayner.

"I could join you. For another glass, I mean." She counts down the steps. Three.

He gives her a hard, no-bullshit look. Waiting for her to cave. When all she does is look back, he says, "I suppose you could." Two.

They get up silently, in sync. It feels good, them on the same page, an already familiar hum, the only new thing in it the simmering anticipation.

One.

As soon as they clear his door, Rayner turns, blocking her way into the room. "Captain."

"Michael," she says. She won't do this in command, not to him, and not to herself.

He nods. "Michael. Do you actually want me to pour you a drink?"

An out, then. For her or for himself, though, she's not sure. She's halfway through a no, not really when he raises a hand, halting her words, staring her down. Fine.

"Yes," she offers, as firm as she can. "Later."

He watches her with narrowed eyes for a second, then turns to go in. She catches his wrist and tugs until he looks back at her. "This isn't part of your job," she says, wanting him to know—he must, but this isn't something she can afford to misjudge.

He barks out a laugh, looking genuinely amused. "That what you think of me?"

"Shush," she says, before he locks down and this whole thing breaks. He looks shocked at the word. "This is not part of your job."

She holds very still until he tugs his wrist free, his mouth twitching in an abortive smile. "Fine." He raises his chin, but his eyes are still laughing.

Rayner drops the empty glass onto a bedside table, dims the lights, disappears into the bathroom. She lingers back, takes it in. She expected his room to be stark, impersonal. It's not. Mostly dark, now that he's turned the warm lights down. There's a soft-looking blue throw, not Starfleet issue, over the bed that's tucked neatly against the wall. An unfamiliar vine with round purple leaves framing the viewport above. A bottle with two matching glasses in the cabinet on the far wall. It's sparse, but nothing like the ascetic box she'd imagined.

He walks back into the room, barefoot, and stops, a little awkward, two steps in front of the bed, not wanting to—presume? Michael realises just then she was hoping—once they got past the questions—for urgent, for tumble into the room, fall into bed, shut everything out sex, and barely manages not to laugh out loud. Good pick of a partner here, Burnham.

So she steps closer and looks up at him. He's tall enough that she's used to it, but up close it's a new feeling. He seems to be holding his breath when she raises her hands to his neck. She undoes his collar and keeps hold of it—she could probably drag him wherever she wants like this. He exhales on a laughter, like he's getting the joke, and folds himself down to sit on the bed.

"Here," she unzips his jacket, slides it down his shoulders, until he shrugs out of it. It's weird to be undressing someone wearing the same uniform. She wonders how long it's been since he wore anything but. She bares his soft undershirt, regulation, same as hers. He smells good, spicy, not unlike his drink. Getting to look down at him—she's struck by his angles, his pale shoulders almost narrow. Nothing like Book.

And here's the truth of it, isn't it? She could say she's getting it out of her system, a distraction from the one thing she can't have, and it wouldn't be a lie, but—she wants Rayner, here. He's sharp, and audacious, and oddly easy to provoke into uncertainty, and his eyes go warm and a little lost when someone—when she's proud of him.

So she reaches out, palm on his cheek, and he turns immediately to mouth at it, slow, eyes fluttering closed. It's dizzying. "Good," she says, has to say, and he shudders with it. She traces the edge of his ear with a finger, light, sees the start of a blush right at the tip. He leans into it. This, here. Michael wonders why he's doing this. What it is he's looking for, or trying to shut out.

His eyes still closed, Rayner opens his mouth to speak—and she drops her knee onto the bed, between his legs, warm and close. His eyes fly open, bright and stunned. She slides her hands back to cradle the base of his skull. The short buzz of his hair there is soft, silky.

"Okay," he says, and moves in, stretching up to press an open-mouthed kiss just below her ear. She draws a sharp breath. Good instincts. He moves lower. Her clavicle. The dip between her breasts. She isn't guiding him. His lips are hot through the fabric covering her ribs, hotter on her belly. He goes to slide off the bed, to his knees, and she strokes the back of his neck, and doesn't let him. He scoffs—of course he does, and looks up with almost comical annoyance.

Michael scoffs right back. "You don't hold back in uniform—this is where you start?"

Rayner laughs then, full-on, a grin splitting his face. She's heard his annoyed laugh, incredulous laugh, hiding-something-important laugh. This one is a first. "Me on your knees for you is holding back?"

Blunt—there we go, blunt is familiar territory, and she raises her eyebrows at him. "Do what you want, not what you think I want, yeah?"

He watches her for a second, like he's considering the concept, then slowly, deliberately sits back, spreads his legs further.

"Good," she says again, presses her knee right where he's—yes, hard for it, and waits out his low, uneven moan.

"Come on," Michael says, shucks everything off until she's left in her top and underwear. He grabs at her blindly then, reaches her elbows, her waist, slides further up the bed and lies down, pulling her in. She climbs up after him, not quite straddling his hips, says, "come on, Rayner,do your part," and he rises just enough to match her, bare but for his uniform top and shorts, allows her hands to settle at his face again. She thumbs over his cheekbones, over the scar crossing his eyebrow, and he spreads his fingers over her lower back, pulls her down on a hard exhale.

She takes his hand and slides it right there between them, says "go ahead", has to grind down on his knuckles as he palms at himself, rocking up into his own hand, holds his face firmly until he's gasping with it. He's slick when she finally gets him out; bites off a curse when she slides down his body. He doesn't feel any different than what she knows—coarse grey hair at the base of a long, flushed cock; soft, vulnerable sack below it. There's so much heat under her touch when her fingers circle him, a vague reminder of his origin, and that's all she gets to file away before Rayner sinks his fingers in her hair, green light, going in now.

He's quiet and almost still as she takes him in, but that's to be expected, and she closes her eyes, goes slow, gets really into it for a while, until he sucks in a shaky breath, squeezes her neck and arches up hard, says "fuck", sharp and meaning it, and "please", and that's so mind-meltingly hot Michael moans around him and can't manage more than five seconds before coming up because she needs to see him, now.

Rayner's eyes are shut tight, teeth bared. His hands slip down her arms, shaky, his chest is moving with harsh, shallow breaths. "God, Rayner," she says, taking him in hand and pumping slowly, "you're—you're good, you're so good—" and he actually keens at that, an odd high sound.

"Stop," he says, "Michael," and she doesn't, and oh, to see what this costs him.

"What do you want?"

He gasps for breath for a moment, shakes his head. Michael sighs and stills her hand on him.

"Rayner. Look at me."

He makes a cut-off sound of frustration, almost a snarl, breathes in, and meets her eyes dead-on, clear and precise. "Fuck me."

She can't help her smile. "Thought you'd never ask."

She rolls over onto her back. His eyes are all pupil as he lands on his elbows above her, and she throws her legs around him, high on his waist, draws him in.

"Wait," he says, "let me," and strokes just the tips of his fingers under her top, watching her carefully.

"Yeah," she says, "it's alright," and he helps her take it off, nuzzles her neck, then down to her breasts. She feels him hard, leaking against her thigh, and she presses her heel sharply into his lower back until he thrusts against her with a gasp, slowly, and again, keeps it up as he kisses her nipples, her shoulder, the inside of her elbow. She groans, because fuck, he's honest about this, wanting her, wanting her approval, and she whispers, "hey, come here already," and then he's inside her, his hips rolling smoothly, stroking in, and she holds his shoulders, murmurs to him, "yeah, that's it, it's good, you feel good, come on," hears his breath hitch. He closes his eyes, and in the soft creamy glow in the room the planes of his face blur a little. His hair is damp at the roots, a soft white lock falling down against his forehead.

Michael rides his steady rhythm, closes her eyes, too, his long, heated body oddly malleable under her hands and heels, and then his breath is suddenly hot and close, and she looks up to see him unsure again, doesn't get it until his hand cups her cheek and he drops his head an inch closer, hovering, waiting for permission. Oh, God, he's so—Michael draws him into the kiss, soft and wet and scratchy with his beard, and he moans into it, sounding so relieved she has to kiss him harder, fists her hands in the back of his shirt and clenches around him until his hips snap forward harder, again and again, and then he's gone.

After—when he's stopped shivering, when he's finished her off with such care she didn't know what to do with it and kept her hands fisted in his hair, holding on—they lie next to each other, on their backs, for long, quiet minutes. It's peaceful. It's what she came here for.

The room is warmer than what Michael's used to. She thinks about dressing, then discards the idea, sits up and stretches instead. Rayner's eyes don't follow her.

"I'll take that drink now."

He snaps out of his daze and looks at her. "Oh. Um, that way." He nods in the general direction of the cabinet. She finally gets to see the bottle up close—thin, pearlescent material, the liquid inside almost sparkling as the light reflects off it.

She returns to the bed with her glass, sits down, hugging her knees. Rayner hasn't moved, watching her from where he's stretched on his back, hands behind his head, bare but for his shorts. She takes a drink and strokes his shoulder, lets herself look back.

There are scars on his body, paler against pale skin, more than he'd get on a ship—even in battles, even in decades. She doesn't know if he was hiding them, and if he was, why he'd show her now, after. He looks calm, steady, but his face is pale and tired, the lines around his mouth more pronounced.

She slides a hand into his damp hair, smoothes it back. "This time, do get some rest, okay?"

"Aye-aye." He catches her hand and kisses it. His long fingers circle her wrist, thumb stroking gently at the base of her palm.

Something sharp shifts in her throat, a fierce protectiveness. This, she knows, goes both ways.

She takes one more chance. "I'd like to keep you, after. As my number one."

Rayner frowns and lets her hand drop. "Let's see how this one goes first."

Michael sighs and shakes her head at him. "You don't have to swear to it. Just consider it." She gives his shoulder a parting squeeze and gets up to collect her clothes.

As she sits down on the edge of the bed to tug her boots back on, he puts a warm hand between her shoulder blades. "Thank you," he says to her back.

"And you." She raises her hand to her badge, but turns back to give him a smile, and, for once, he doesn't look trapped. "I'll see you on the bridge, Commander."

#jesus christ i am so embarrassed by my need to write smut for a fandom i barely know bc My Dude is in it #that i was seriously considering posting this anonymously #but i keep being told that writing fic is supposed to be—among other things—self-indulgent #so here i am. indulging the hell out of that self #it took me way too long to write this and i don't so much consider it done as i am just sick of looking at it #which is a sure sign it's time to let it go #hey this is the first thing i wrote since christmas. odd #my writing #star trek discovery #michael burnham #michael burnham/rayner #rayner

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prucanfieldsurquestions · 1 year ago

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hello gil and mattie. here's an ask for both of you: what do you do when the other person is sad or stressed?

Multicolour leaves fluttered around Matthew as he sat on the stairs of the deck, enjoying both the crisp autumn air and the sight of Gilbert as the man went about checking their large backyard garden. The sound of German being gleefully spoken to an almost-ripe pumpkin was interrupted by a buzz from Matthew’s phone. He turned the screen on, the image of a maple leaf in a puddle flashing briefly on his blue-rimmed glasses, then checked his notifications and grinned.

“Gil! We got our first ask!” He called out to the man kneeling in the garden.

“Holy shit, already?”

With a grunt to rival a dad at a barbeque, Gilbert got up from the soft dirt and jogged over to where the phone was being held out for him. He plopped down beside Matthew on the stairs, took a look, and beamed. “Told you we’d be popular!”

The blond chuckled and kissed his lover’s head before swaddling him in sweater-covered arms. “You did, and I guess you were right. It’s a good question, though… how do we comfort each other?”

- -

Notes from an acoustic guitar and whistling to accompany it eased through the unusual silence that had permeated the cottage for the better part of the day. Matthew sat in the hall, back against the closed bedroom door, and strummed to stave off whatever had sunk it’s claws into his lover’s brain. Something had upset Gilbert, and true to form, he’d isolated himself in the bedroom for hours now. Texts to ensure he was still breathing were met with either a single emoji or radio silence.

Giving space when needed was definitely important, but when the Prussian occupation of the bedroom neared the four hour mark, Matthew realized this might require his intervention. As he began to sing the first words of his chosen tune, one that held a special place in both their hearts, he heard the mattress squeak and groan under the weight of the man rolling off of it. A small nudge to the door, the distinct sound of a body sliding down to mirror his position, and Matthew couldn’t help but smile a little. Seemed like the siren song was working.

Practiced fingers played the love song as they had for decades now, and when it was done, a sense of peace replaced the hollow sadness that had previously been in the air. The door shifted behind Matthew, an indication that the man on the other side had gotten up and then sat back down. A torn piece of paper with a message written in smudged black pen emerged from under the door:

Taking requests?

Matthew chuckled softly and moved the scrap to the side, where it would no doubt be joined by more. “How about three more songs, then you tell me what’s wrong?” He called out.

Deliberation on this offer took a few minutes that were filled by idle strumming. Finally, another note was passed under the door.

Make it four.

“Deal.”

Five songs later, the Canadian set the guitar down and rested his aching fingers on his lap. He leaned his head back against the door and heard his lover sigh in annoyance. The next note passed under the door had been crumpled, smoothed out, had words scribbled over and a hole where something hadn’t been crossed out so much as it had been obliterated.

It’s stupid.

“Can’t be stupid if it’s making you this upset. And even if it is, I won’t think any less of you. I promise.”

…Fine. Give me a minute and I’ll tell you how fucking dumb this is. Write to you? Whatever. Give me a minute.

Matthew smiled softly as he read the last message and waited for the profanity-laced soul of the man he loved to be bared on a scrap of paper, no matter how many tries or how long it took.

That night, crackles followed the smoke from their backyard campfire heavenward. The pieces of paper that bore Gilbert’s dumb feelings were crumpled up and tossed in, and as crimson eyes watched the sheets go up in flames, the remaining tension in him went up with them. With a sigh of relief he rested his head on his lover’s shoulder.

“Feel better?” Matthew asked as he handed the man a stick with a marshmallow on it and watched in muted horror as the treat was stuck directly into the fire.

Gilbert, knowing full well that his method of roasting marshmallows was apparently abhorrent and loving every second of it, could only snuggle in a little more and hope the unspoken message was received:

Yes. Thank you.

- -

There was no joyous cry of Gilbert's name when Matthew walked through the door, home at last from a meeting that had gone about three hours too long. In fact, there wasn’t much of a greeting at all. The front door slammed shut, which was unusual and most certainly got the Prussian’s attention. From the kitchen he watched his beloved’s leather messenger bag sail down the hall as if it were full of angry wasps. Gilbert set the wooden spoon he was using to stir dinner down on the pot’s handle and quirked an eyebrow as Matthew trudged into the kitchen, collapsed in one of four mismatched chairs and laid his forehead on the wooden table. A sound that was a pitiful mix between a groan and a whine left him like the air being squeezed out of an accordion.

“...Well, I guess I don’t need to ask how your day went.”

Matthew turned his head just enough to look at Gilbert, to silently agree with the man’s assessment. Gilbert watched the atmosphere swirl in eyes darkened to near-indigo by stormclouds for long enough to figure that this probably required his intervention. Without a word he fetched the fuzziest pair of pajama pants Matthew owned and handed them to him.

“Put those on and I’ll ice you down.”

The unspoken gratitude was palpable on Matthew’s face. While Gilbert went to the freezer, he shimmied out of the stuffy suit he’d been forced to wear and threw the offending clothing into the living room, somewhere near the bag that he was pretending didn’t exist for the time being. A sigh of relief crossed his lips as soon as the red plaid pajama pants, complete with pockets, were on. A hair tie was fetched from the junk drawer, a chair was turned backwards and straddled, and Matthew sat expectantly with eyes closed and his hair in a loose bun.

Gilbert took but a moment to appreciate Matthew’s shirtless form before he walked over and stopped behind him. He held an ice cube in his hand and, as a special surprise, had one in his mouth as well. A frosty kiss on golden locks, a gentle hand on his shoulder to steady Matthew, and the ice cube was pressed to the back of his neck.

The effects were immediate. Gilbert heard a soft gasp and felt all the tension melt out of Matthew’s shoulders. He stepped just a little bit closer, to press his torso against the man and feel him readily lean back into the contact. The ice didn’t stay in the same spot for very long. A slow, chilly trail was blazed across the Canadian’s collarbone, eliciting a few small noises of approval that earned him a few more kisses peppered to his head.

Gilbert moved his hand from his lover’s shoulder to take gentle hold of his jaw. Matthew easily allowed him to tilt his head up and to the side for more ready access to the rest of his neck. Instead of moving the ice there, however, the albino bent down and left a trail of delightfully cold kisses that left Matthew breathless. Long fingers threaded through snowy hair to keep Gilbert there, to feel his lips as he whispered sweet, sub-zero nothings in German against Matthew’s soft skin and left deliciously cold trails across his shoulders.

It was almost a shame when the last of the ice melted. Gilbert pulled away after one last kiss to Matthew’s neck, leaving him with a dreamy smile and the same soul-filling feeling as a hot drink on a cold day. He returned to making dinner and began to prattle on about his own day, as was tradition. Soon enough, though, he heard the chair scoot as Matthew got up. It was but a moment before he felt arms wrap around his waist and a chin rest on his shoulder. Though he continued to talk, he made sure to give Matthew’s hand a little squeeze to let him know the unspoken message was received loud and clear:

I love you. Thank you.

#thanks for the ask!#hws prussia #hws canada #prucan #gilbert beilschmidt #matthew williams

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