#Sun Island Resort

[loreandtempo]

Stay: Villa Park Sun Island Resort, Maldives 🏝️

[seekerofblades]

My entry for Stricklake month; Week Two (August 7-13) Shipwrecked/Resort.

Walter and Barbara were sailing on the sea as pirates with their crew until a big waterspout came and destroyed their ship. The crew didn't survive, but luckily Walter and Barbara did, and found themselves washed up on a island.

[acceberv]

There’s just something about video games set on a tropical island ❤️

[tatmanblue]

Spark of Love by icemanphotos Via Flickr: Buy my images on 123RF Buy my images on Adobe Stock Buy my images on ShutterStock Buy my images on Getty Images If you would like to see this in full size/no watermark. Contact me. icemanphotos © 2023, All Rights Reserved. Do not use without a permission, please. Photo posted with hidden watermark. Thanks for all visits, comments & Favs!

[nepalfmr]

Phroxy n Gladion at the VelociCoaster!!!

(Phroxy knows alot about it and is actively telling Gladion about it)

[trendynewsnow]

Winter Sunshine Escape: Cyprus Resort Offers Free Stay Guarantee

Chasing Winter Sunshine: Cyprus Resort’s Unique Offer As winter descends and temperatures drop across Europe, many travelers find themselves yearning for a warm escape. One five-star resort in Cyprus has come up with an innovative way to attract visitors during the chilly season: a complimentary future stay for those who visit this winter and don’t experience a sunny day. While it sounds like a…

[vinescreens]

Stardew Valley

[millersfinest]

the thing in your chest that beats | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5k

mini-series: california (you’re here) | oregon | idaho | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, mentions of fate, santa barbara arc, infected, shooting, lots of exposition, torture, violence, vulgar language, slow-burn romance, eventual smut, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption.

note: this first part is lowkey boring imo, but i hope the angst makes up for it. as always, please enjoy my hyperfixation!!

California

Ropes chafed at your skin; securing your legs and wrists on top of each other to the wooden post. Fog had shielded the setting sun from your skin—after many hours of being scorched. Your muscles ached and your bones were sore. The exposed skin on your shoulders and chest was dry and flaking, exposing an under layer of tenderness. Everything fucking hurt. But you were barely there; head nodding off from the scratching at your stomach and the dryness in your mouth ripping your lips apart.

How did you, a firefly, militarily trained, end up tied to a pillar at the cusp of a beach in Santa Barbara?

You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. This group searched for people like you—lonely and pillaged by the weight of the world. You were too distracted to foresee their deception; they got lucky with you.

Until the chemical reactions in your brain short-circuited, causing you to act out in the name of self-preservation.

Wrath, by definition, is a trait you’re easily overcome with. It’s not just something that passes through you like other traits and emotions. It holds on. It makes a home in your body and directs you like a rabid dog—a burdening feeling that nestled between your sore muscles. It filled you with adrenaline to kill and destroy—to get rid of the people who tried to get rid of you.

And, every time, you managed to find yourself feeling bad about it. There was no explanation for that. Just your heart being too sensitive for world you existed in—it was constantly broken. By yourself and your circumstances.

It was your own fault that you were captured by the rattlers. You should’ve never left Catalina Island for a pipe dream. There wasn’t anything better than the firefly base—you should’ve known that and never left. Perhaps, if you had remained under the duty of your earned dog tags, you wouldn’t have been thrusted into the situation that you were in.

Wyoming was a lie that you told yourself because you wanted to live a life that didn’t exist.

Locked in a debate with death, your body abruptly hit the dense surface of the sand. The ropes that bound you to that skewer had been severed by a fallen angel. A prisoner you had attached yourself to in the hopes of survival. Her hair was coily and reflected copper under the Californian sun.

You came to from the impact, finally beginning to hear the ongoing gunfire coming from the resort buildings. As you twitched in pain, she cut the bindings at your wrists and ankles. Tucking a pistol into your hand, she muttered words of hope. “Good luck out there, hotshot.”

Your lips moved to respond, but there wasn’t any sound. It didn’t matter, though, because she wasn’t around to hear it. The young woman at once took off in the opposite direction of the chaos with a bag over her shoulder.

Stuck in a dilemma, you didn’t move for a few moments. Eyes stuck on the weight in your weak hands. It was nothing but a black semi-automatic—it weighed nothing compared to bigger firearms. However, it sunk your hand into the sand as if it weighed a ton. You couldn’t even hold a gun with the same conviction that you used to. Yet, the fallen angel had faith that you could.

Taking in a deep wheezing breath, you tried to stand to your feet. You got up enough for your knees to bend, but once you extended them, you crashed back into the sand with a thud. In temporary defeat, you looked to the people still suspended on the pillars. They were unmoving, rotting away from the inside out. That could’ve been you if it weren’t for her cutting you down.

In mourning them, you gave standing another attempt. Keeping your hands low to catch your fall. But you didn’t fall. The muscles in your legs were weak, trembling as you stretched them. With a hunch in your back, you grabbed the gun, adjusting it in your hands. Your professional form remained the same as remnants of your training. Placing your hands over one another on the handle, supporting its weight. Aiming the barrel toward nothing specific, just to get the feeling again. It’s been months since you had opportunity to defend yourself.

With as much quickness that you could muster, you went through the resort to grab supplies. A backpack, medkit, and some food.

Setting your mind on leaving, you tried to sneak through the gunfire between the prisoners and the rattlers. But that simply wasn’t in the cards for you.

Before you could escape the resort, one of them had a bone to pick with you. It was the same rattler that was your deceptive captor. She used her femininity to convince you that she needed help—that she was weak and she needed your help. If anything, you have a bone to pick with her.

She had come at you with her bear hands, pushing your face up against a wall. She tore the backpack from your back, throwing it to the side. Where did her wrath come from? Somehow, you managed to get the upper hand. Straddling her body delivering punches that you haven’t in awhile. It felt natural to you to release such violence against another person.

Through beating her bloody, you found your power again. Tearing off the shimmering dog tags around her neck that had previously belonged to you. Heaving, you looked down at her. She had split your lip and broken your nose, but you could argue that you did worse to her. Her nose was cracked in multiple places, as she coughed up her own blood and teeth. It slipped down the crevices of her face, dribbling into her brown eyes.

“Fuck you.” You firmly speak, picking up your bag from its straps, swinging it around your shoulders.

From the fight, you had stumbled into a room of firearms. Still weak, you limped around. Causing you to walk away from the damage with a Beretta A300 shotgun and ammunition.

Like it was a prize after a big challenge.

You found yourself stumbling along the sand of the beach you were stuck on. This time, closer to the foggy waters of the coast. Ignoring the throbbing sensation in your thigh. You were barely sentient, running on nothing but fumes. But you knew you had to get as far from Santa Barbara as you could.

All of sudden, darkness began encapsulating your eyes from the outside in. Your limbs grew heavier, slowing down the pace of your movements—you collapsed into the sand like the damsel you had become.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were laying on an itchy couch. Waking up felt like awaking from a coma. Sitting up was a chore because of the tightness of your muscles. You felt it like a sickness in your chest. Trying to move your legs, you sucked in a pained breath. A hole that was cut into your ripped jeans was covered by white wrapping. Gauze.

A single lantern in the middle of the living room illuminated the space. It was placed on a dusty coffee table—off-center. Your backpack and weapons leaned against an entertainment center; a large cabinet that combined the use of compartments as well as a space for the tv to fit.

Blinking slowly, you tried to remember how you got there. Fingers gripping at the cushions, experiencing a crazy amount of brain fog. A wrapper crackled under the weight of your hand as you shifted. It was a granola bar tucked under the pillow that you laid your head on.

You stomach scratched at your abdomen, so you wasted no time in retrieving it—ripping open the wrapper and biting into the nutty granola. The side of your foot kicked over a metal canister, accidentally. Clashing toward the scratched wooden floors, it startled you. Reaching down, you shook it in your hands. There was a liquid inside. Screwing the lid off, you realized it was only water. Something else your body demanded of you.

Who put all this stuff here? It couldn’t have been you.

A creak from the side of the room, caused you to snap your head in that direction. Chewing slowly on the oats in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched. Your free hand felt your hip from the cool metal of that gifted pistol, but there was nothing but the fabric of your jeans.

By the time she came into your view, your body froze. Your gun was across the room, she had the advantage. She loomed in the darker parts of the room as if she were hiding from you—in a way that was prey-ish, rather than predatory.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up…”

Her voice was raspy, and she spoke with a slow cadence. When she came into the light, she kept her distance. By the corner of the entertainment center cabinet—on the opposite end of where your bag was laying. Her auburn strands were choppy and tucked behind her ears. She wore a white t-shirt that was filthy with, what looked like, blood and dirt. Hands fidgeting with each other in front of her body as she eyed you with concern. She was missing her pinky and ring finger from her left hand. “You’d been out for hours… I, uhm, stitched up a wound on your leg— thought you might’ve caught an infection.”

She lacked conviction when she spoke to you. Voice leaving with a sort of emptiness, or perhaps, guilt. “Where’d you find me?” You asked, gritting your jaw. Holding onto the metal canister tight enough to use as a weapon if need be. That last thing you wanted was to be fooled by a stranger again.

She cleared her throat. “The beach.”

That’s when it hit you. The memories of your weakness hit. You remember dragging your legs through the sand, catching the glimpse of a body sitting in the water beside a vacant boat, then falling into a deep sleep. Of course, you, somehow, offered yourself up to a stranger.

It was just your luck, huh?

“There were others you could’ve helped… Why me?”

A scoff fell from her lips. Scarred eyebrows jutting together; an attitude washing over her freckled features. As if your words were charged with something else besides cautious curiosity. “I was expecting more of a thank you...”

You blinked, sucked your teeth. “I don’t know you from a can of fucking paint— so, you should lower your expectations.” You retorted, boring your eyes into her slender figure. What alarmed her was how your voice scolded gently. It cut deeper that way. “I mean, what is that on your shirt? Blood? Would you wanna thank some stranger in a bloody shirt?”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?” Her thick eyebrow raised, voice dropping an octave. “You look like shit—“

You glanced at the shirt that clung to you perspiring body. It also had remnants of blood and dirt and sand. Leaning your elbows on your thighs, you leaned forward. “Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve been through—!”

“And you know what I’ve been through?” She countered, scoffing after her words.

You talked over each other—barking like unfamiliar dogs. Wrath came easy to you; and, apparently, it came easy to her, too. Her words silenced you, but you grit your teeth. “I should’ve left you where I found you— fuckin’ joke’s on me.” She ran a hand through her short hair, taking long strides out of the living room. Preparing to sink back into the corner she came from.

Clearing your throat, you swallowed your pride. There was a sincerity behind her eyes that you couldn’t ignore. Her anger radiated off her epidermis is such a way that it was familiar. “All right,” You sighed, positioning your body slowly to face her departing figure. She’d stopped in her path, peering over her boney shoulder. “I don’t recognize you from the cells… Or the pillars. Who the fuck are you?” Your eyebrows furrowed, voice weakening by the mention of your greatest failure: becoming a slave to the weirdest assholes known to man.

Wheels shifted in her mind, her olive eyes flickering around in the dark, in thought. Lips opening and closing, trying to formulate her words—but there was no use. She decided to resume her steps, sequestering herself in a bedroom. You heard the sound of the door shutting and locking the door behind her.

Groaning, you shut your eyes, leaning your head against the soft, itchy pillows, frustrated.

Unbeknownst to you, she’d locked herself in that room because she found herself overcome with emotion—hot, streaming tears. She didn’t know you as much as you didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to share her own greatest failures with you. If what you were saying was true, you were victimized. How could someone like her talk to someone like you? After the things she’s done… After the things she was prepared to do.

The sun ascended, with the two of you lingering in separate rooms. You had eventually fallen asleep after some hours in your thoughts. Wondering about the story of the woman sheltering herself from you. Multiple times, you had to stop yourself from dwelling. This is what got you caught up with the first time. Instead, you began to think about what your plans were.

Were you going to resume your journey to Wyoming, in the hopes of finding that settlement? Or were you going to hitch it back to Catalina Island? And hope to God that they take you back with minimal consequences. Dwelling on those thoughts, instead of her, is what brought you to sleep.

When you woke up, you finished the metal canister of water. Giving the room a proper once-over. Sun rays cascaded through the dusty windows like beams, illuminating the room, angelically. Taking a deep breath, you decided to walk around. The soreness in your body hadn’t changed—you still felt burdened by your own body.

The home was a single-leveled Tuscan inspired home. Its interior was riddled with browns and beiges. Dragging your feet against the wooden floor, you entered the kitchen. All the cabinets were blown open and searched through. You assumed it was that woman who you’d met—still, you didn’t know her name.

Looking down at the counters, there was a yellow-paged note on the furthest one from you. The island closest to her bedroom. It was lying under a pill bottle. You shifted as quickly as you could to the note, sliding the pill bottle to the side, but not without a glance. They were antibiotics.

Found the antibiotics in the cabinets this morning, there’s only two left. Take them both.

I left to go hunt for some food. Stay in the house if you know what’s best for yourself. There’s infected around.

I’ll be back soon.

— E

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “If I know what’s best for myself…” Pressing into the top of the bottle, you unscrewed it. With nothing but your saliva, you knocked back two of the pills just like she told you. However, not because she told you to. There were many reasons for you to catch an infection from the wound on your leg—the wound you didn’t even remember how you got.

“I can handle infected.” You muttered to yourself. It’s been awhile since you really dealt with them face-to-face, but it was an innate ability. Why wouldn’t you be able to defend yourself from infected? Your only limits were your body stuck in its state of pain.

But, where you come from, sometimes it took movement to heal pain. Pushing through soreness and tightness was the only way to move forward.

So, instead of waiting around for E to come back around. You decided to explore some of the nearby houses. Ones that were only a few paces away from the house that you were currently in—you weren’t that stupid.

You secured your backpack around your shoulders, hooking the strap of your shotgun around your arm, and sticking the pistol in the back of your jeans. The first stop was next door. Slowly, you had climbed through a broken window. Landing in a bedroom decorated with childish posters. Focusing, you found yourself busy with looting the home. Taking things of importance and putting them inside of your bag.

You didn’t run into anything shocking until the third place you visited—three houses down. Thankfully, there was no clicking, but there were the familiar wailings of a runner. Catching a glimpse of coily copper hair, huddled over sobbing in her hands, you crouched behind a wall. Eyes shifting from side to side, trying to digest the visual.

Good luck, hotshot.

Perhaps, it was her who really needed the luck. Slowly, you removed the gun from your shoulder, leaning it against the wall. The breaths from your lips fled in chunks, pulling the gifted pistol from your waistband. You had known her for the entirety of your stay at that treacherous resort—she was your anchor. She helped you with your anger, keeping you under an emotional routine. Later, it worked for the worst instead of the better, but she tried to help you in there. She was patient with you.

You stepped from the wall, aiming the chamber of the pistol at the back of her head. You didn’t know her for that long, but you knew she wouldn’t want something like this for herself. She had plans just like you did—she wanted out of California. Leaving her to stumble around this broken home would be fucked up.

She freed you. Now, it was time for you to free her.

“You deserved better than this, Honey.” She was sweet and tangy like honey; that’s why you called her that. It wasn’t even her name—you didn’t know her name.

Your index finger squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet straight through her unsuspecting mind. Her whines were more coherent, meaning that all of that just happened. The infection had just taken over. A tear had slipped down the fat of your cheek when her body hit the ground. The shot echoing against the walls and through the neighborhood.

She lasted no longer than a day on her own, and those rattlers were nothing but the blame. They drained you enough to make you suffer but keep you working. But, out on the road, you stood no chance.

There was a piece of notebook paper on the floor by the baseboards of the wall Honey’s body laid beside. With a lump in your throat, you plucked it from the ground, holding it delicately in your hands.

After months of captivity, I’ve found myself in a situation that I could have never imagined. I didn’t notice when the clicker bit me, everything happened so fast!

It hurts now, though, a lot. And the anticipation of the infection is worser than I expected it to be. This is the part where I put a gun in mouth to end it all.

I’m too tired to do that. For once, I don’t wanna fight.

I apologize to those who end up witnessing what I have become.

The palm of your hand covered your mouth in shock as you read the letter. Honey must’ve been horrified. And it hurt to know that she went through it all alone.

Catching you in a grieving state, E had vaulted through a broken window with her gun in hand. Her olive eyes landed on you, subsiding the subtle look of shock on her face. “I thought I told you to stay in the house.” She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans, sighing. “You’re in no condition to travel alone…” Her eyes casted onto your frame leaning over a marble counter, reading over the letter silently.

Hearing her footsteps, you folded up the letter and slid it into your back pocket. Taking a final look at the dead woman on the floor, a reflection of your friend that didn’t exist anymore, you brush past the the auburn-haired woman. Shoulders grazing as you achingly climb out of the same window she came in from.

Without saying, what happened to Honey worried you. Loneliness was a cruelty that many could afford—you experienced it. But loneliness along with bodily ailments wasn’t a problem you wanted. If it weren’t for E, you could’ve been in the same position as Honey. What made you worth saving and not her? A ball of fury, like yourself, should’ve been the first to go.

Yet, a level of gratefulness washed over you. Were you ready to thank the freckled stranger for her saviorship?

E followed you back to the house, binding the front door with furniture. Entering, you noticed two rabbits attached to a string laying on the tiled counter. Impressed, you hummed, while dragging your feet toward the couch you had slept on. You shrugged off your backpack and leaned your shotgun against the wall.

The auburn-haired woman peered at you, messing with rabbits, pulling them off the string to prepare to cook them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She breathed. Her voice coming out like a muttered sigh, but it was loudly quiet in the house. Therefore, your ears picked up on her words.

You ignored her, pulling out the note, and kicking your feet up onto the couch to read it again. Analyzing the messy handwriting on the page, tainted with dried tears and dirty hand prints. E had brought in a metal trashcan to cook the animals she hunted for the both of you. Every so often, peaking at you with interest and wonder.

When the rabbits were cooked, she brought it over to you in a chipped ceramic bowl. “Thanks…” You mutter, barely meeting her eyes.

“Yeah,” She answered, slightly taken off guard.

The two of you eat separately, on different sides of the room. E didn’t retreat back into the room had the night before. Instead, she propped herself on the stool by the island table. Where she could keep her intense olive eyes on you—attempting to read you without asking questions.

You were impressed by the rabbit presented to you. Back at the base, you were familiar with chicken more so than rabbit, though. There was a hesitation when taking the first bite. But the rumble in your belly was satisfied by the animal, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling a strong gaze on you, peering to the side was a natural reaction. She’d snap her eyes back to her plate before you could fully catch her. Sighing, you set the plate on the coffee table in front of the couch.

In your looting, a bottle of wine called out to you from the basement of one of the Tuscan homes. You limped toward the kitchen with your calloused hand wrapped around the sloped neck of the bottle. Placing the bottle at the middle of the island, you take a seat at the furthest end from her. “I thought I would properly thank you for saving my ass…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly. Choosing to keep your eyes trained on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s Cabernet, I think. The label’s kind of rubbed off.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

You pursed your lips, flickering your eyes to peer at her. “Hm.” You hum. “Okay, well, more for me, I guess.” You shrug, reaching for the wine. The plan was to drink it either way—if she wanted it, or if she didn’t. Peeling off the wrapper, you were happy to see that it was a screw top instead of an imbedded cork.

Taking the first sip, its sweetness spread over your tongue. The alcohol percentage was fairly high, so you were expecting a pleasurable feeling within the next few minutes. If you kept gulping at the bottle. You deserved a bit of man-made solace after what you’ve been through. After the things you’ve seen. Taking another sip, you prepare to go back to the couch you were sat on, with the bottle in your hand.

However, E places a hand on the cool tiles. “Wait…” She rolled her eyes. “One sip wouldn’t hurt.” In her silence, she realized that she also deserved a few moments of calmness—self-care.

The corners of your lips curled, sitting back down on your stool. You slid the bottle close enough for her to reach it, leaning your head against your fist.

Orange rays of the sun shifted through the room; setting so the moon could take her place. You and E had found comfort in the wine and in the space between yourselves. Scooting close to each other until there was only a single stool in the center of you. Talking about the more joyous parts of your lives—which, surprisingly, wasn’t much. The pair of you managed to keep the important information off the record. Upholding a level of vagueness between your truth.

When E had brought up her son and girlfriend, that’s when the energy shifted in the room.

“You have a family? Then… Why are you out here?”

A beat slivered between you, circling your bodies like a ribbon.

“I recognize those dog tags… You’re a firefly? I thought they shut down years ago.” She spoke with rigid shoulders, taking a swig of the Cabernet.

Your hand reached for the thin metal around your neck, decorating your exposed collarbones. There was a disconnect between you and the facility you had grown up in. While you loved the support of the community, as you got older, you wanted something different. “Yeah, after everything shut down, another popped up here—in California. It’s the only one left, I believe.”

She chuckled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol accumulating in her system. “Hm. Are you gonna try and recruit me into your little cult? Is that why you’re still out here?”

Deepening your eyebrows, you peered down at the grout between the tiles under your hands. “Probably… If I still was a firefly…” Slowly, you enunciated. “I haven’t been one for months now.”

“Ah, you went rogue.”

“I wouldn’t say that… But, yeah, I guess.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the wine bottle. She put it in your hand, leaning her elbow against the counter. E left room for you speak, just boring her hazed eyes into your frame. “I was done with being an asshole for a living— I don’t want to just survive anymore… I want to live.” You take a large swig of the wine, lamenting subtly.

Look where desiring life got you. Locked up as a slave for another bunch of assholes. “I heard from some people that there was a place in Wyoming that wasn’t anything like the fireflies.” You inhaled, sharply. “I could live a normal life there— maybe it’s a stupid idea… I don’t know.”

E deepened her thick eyebrows, leaning forward. “Are you talking about Jackson?”

“Yeah, I think so. There was a map in my bag that had the name. I lost it when the rattlers got ahold of me.”

With scrunched face, she stood to her feet. Running her hands over her face, releasing a tired sigh. “It’s not that stupid of an idea…” Looking back at you, she placed her hands on her hips. “That’s where I’m headed— Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Oh…”

Was this the fated reasoning behind why the both of you met? Both harboring an inner pain and guilt for something or someone. Two damaged souls meeting in the middle—this could be a productive exchange. But what would E receive?

She swore under her breath, running her fingers through her hair, stressfully. “You could come with me, it’s not like you’d get far in your condition alone.” She blinked, casually. You scoff at her words, sucking your teeth. She could never just be kind. Sure, it was obvious that you were injured—in horrible shape—but you weren’t inherently weak. You were a trained individual, something that most people couldn’t say.

“I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t at least offer. It’s a long journey—“

“Oh, you still come off like an asshole, but I appreciate the offer.” You nod, jumping from the stool. “Those fucks threw me off track— I wouldn’t even know where to start up again… So, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You don’t make me regret this. I have a bad history when it comes to trusting strangers.” You pressed your lips into a line, leaning against the island for support. There was a slight sway to stance, as the world around you didn’t feel stable.

“Okay, well, you have my word.” She affirmed, sliding her hands into her back pockets. “Do I have yours?”

You inhaled, sharply, glancing at the ceiling. “Yes, you have my word… On the condition that you tell me your name.” She narrowed her eyes at you, the corners of her lips curling. “We can’t possibly travel together if we don’t know each other’s names.”

The auburn-haired woman picked up the backpack she threw against the lower cabinets, slinging it over her shoulder. She was preparing to huddle into that bedroom again. Before leaving you in the dim hue of the few lanterns in the room, she spoke. “Ellie. My name’s Ellie.”

She waited by her door for your answer, with a raised eyebrow. You gave her your name, plainly. Straightening the hunch in your back—feigning a level of stoicism.

The only response she gave was a hum, before locking herself away. Releasing a sigh of relief, you smiled. Wyoming wasn’t the pipe dream you thought it to be. Yeah, the experiences you had leading up to that conversation weren’t the best. In fact, those experiences scarred everything about you. But could this have been the reason behind your hellish encounters?

[moondirti]

anal on the beach w/ gaz. a spiritual continuation of that one cbf! dry humping blurb i wrote but can be read separately

kinda dubcon. anal (obviously). manipulation. semi-public sex (no one catches you). gn! reader

he texts you that he’s got an extra ticket to fiji. the message is brief, spontaneous like he tends to be. pack your bags. eta 1420. you planned on rotting home all weekend, already in your pyjamas and hair care, looking every bit a wreck as you feel. it isn’t exactly the opportune time for him to come by; though you know mentioning it won’t do anything to change the fact that he will.

frankly, the whole thing reeks of that kyle-specific class of manoeuvring you’ve come to know in recent. catching you off guard with something you can’t say no to, and using it to push you past what you’re comfortable with. you’re tempted to refuse. it’s too short a notice. pick someone else. but a week long beach trip sounds nice, actually. work has been killing you. your personal life’s a mess. every date you’ve managed to snag in the past month has ghosted you. and to top it all off, you miss your best friend – his odd quirks and all.

so your body’s way of protesting is to slip off the couch, refocusing on the effort it takes to haul your luggage out of storage rather than your several woes. by the time kyle comes by, you’re in a sweatsuit and sneakers, bag stuffed with all the swimsuits you’ve owned since high school; you doubt you’ll have time to wash one between swims.

and it’s nice. you sit next to one another on the plane, syncing your movies by counting down to three. yours is always a few seconds behind, but he waits for your reactions before delving into a spiel about how realistic it is to drive a knife into someone’s throat with just your teeth, à la dev patel. you listen, swinging off every word he says into your own conversations, and it goes that way until the old lady two rows back shushes you. you, specifically, seeing as kyle charmed her into deference when he helped her lift her bags in the overhead compartments. always so considerate.

still, you’re concerned about falling asleep next to him, lest you wake to find a hand kneading your inner thigh.

nothing weird happens, though. you touch down in fiji and check into a lagoon resort (we managed to find you that king room, mr. garrick – the receptionist adds with a smile, eclipsing the weary way you regard sharing one bed. but you’ve had your fair share of cramped family vacations, and are well-versed in the subtle art of pillow walls to keep his side and yours separate.) that first night, he gives you an hour to dress up for dinner reservations while he fetches snacks for the room. make it pretty, yeah? we’re meeting a few distant cousins f’mine. i told them we’re dating to keep the work questions off my back.

nothing weird happens. until—

you take a boat out to Fulaga after citing it as one of the least populous islands. with wisps of white sand, like baker’s flour beneath your feet, and limestone islets across electric blue waters, it’s hard to see why.

no matter to either of you. you lay your towel on flat patch of sand, smothering yourself in sunscreen to play a game of chicken and waves. a vain endeavour, of course. he’s always willing swim out further than you, diving under quivering waters to arch amongst sea turtles and ulavi.

eventually, you grow bored of watching him from the shore, ambling back to your set-up to make use of the oils you bought for an exorbitant price. they lacquer over your skin, the places you can reach, to reflect the light overhead. you recall a quote you read in uni as you slather – something about people broiling themselves as though they were nothing but cuts of meat – and falter for just a moment. it had seemed crude at the time, particularly in the context in which it read, but as you prep yourself for the sun, you can’t help but feel exposed. vulnerable. like predatory eyes are tuned in all around you, peeking from the foliage, the waves, and honed on your slippery flesh.

you tell yourself you’re being silly, and spread yourself back on your towel. the heat licks away at your worries, making good work of laving the salty stress off your neck. you measure time in how long it takes for the sand to flake off your feet, drying as the rest of you does.

when the soft stretch of your stomach starts to burn, you turn yourself over and bury your cheek into the fibres cradling you. sun-drunk, chafed, bruised a little from the choppy waters, you welcome sleep when it inches on your conscious.

“and what are you doing exactly?” kyle huffs, encroaching on your sanctuary. you can’t see him, though you can almost hear the water vaporising off his dark skin. sizzling. the heat sinks into your side once he flops down onto his own towel.

“sunbathing.” you mumble, reluctant to give more than a words response lest it shakes you out of languor.

“the water’s great. you’re missing out.”

“mm. later.”

“and what am i supposed to do?” he all but whines, tugging at the complicated strings that tie your bottoms up on your hips. it doesn’t feel as suggestive as it might be. all you can manage, in the wake of your scoured unease, is annoyance.

“read. dig. sleep.”

he doesn’t take to your advice, shuffling until his knee presses into your arm. “you missed a spot on your back.”

“get it, then.”

“where’s the lube?”

your head snaps up, eyes narrowed both to adjust to the brightness and in admonishment. “oil.”

“same difference.” his grin is wicked, white and impossible to upbraid. rolling your eyes, you settle back down, face turned the other way around to keep an eye on him.

“in my bag.”

he shuffles through your stuff until he comes up with the hot pink bottle, making no stop for confirmation before he squirts the contents over his hands. they feel every bit as big as they look when they press into your back, right below your nape. rough, barnacled with callouses, but softened a bit by the ointment so it doesn’t hurt when his thumbs run circles around your shoulder blades. you sound an appreciative moan.

“say, if you’re short on something to do, y’can always massage me.”

“yeah, yeah. doubt you’ll return the favour.”

“i would... later.”

he laughs. “whatever. isn’t what i want, anyway.”

“and what do you want?” you ask. not because you’re curious – but so long as entertaining him keeps his efforts on your sore muscles, you’ll keep at it.

“oh, y’know.” kyle hums. ambiguous. you don’t know, not really. not until one caress strays lower than it should, conforming to the rounded shape of your ass. your cheeks clench with the sudden touch. he takes it as confirmation that you must want the same thing, too. “these bottoms aren’t leaving much to the imagination, mate.”

“th-they’re old.”

“this pert thing is practically eating them. can’t see fabric anymore.” he squeezes the fat there, shaking it in a vice grip that doesn’t so much as allow you to sit up, to knock his assault off. “want me to look for it?”

“kyle–”

“kyle.” he mocks, snickering. your hesitation does nothing to dissuade him. instead, he rocks up to straddle your legs, hands moving away from your back to settle below the curve of your ass. you don’t know what’s hotter – the damp, sun-bleached sand cushioning you, or the way he spreads either cheek apart, groaning when your swim-suit slips to expose the tight rim under it. “fuck. you been hiding this from me?”

“i- i don’t… please don’t be w-weird about this.”

“dunno what you mean by that.” he says, then promptly proceeds to be weird about it as his knuckle grazes your hole. you’re stiff, printing an indelible mark on beach. “never had it touched before?”

“no. i’m not a freak.”

“ouch, darl.” but he’s already spurting a hefty amount of oil onto you, working it in with a thick thumb. effectively makes good on his stupid name for it; lubes you up, nice and slick, so the only pain that arises at his intrusion is the virgin stretch. “promise it feels good.”

and you hate to admit it, but it does. once you get over the foreign sensation of his finger pistoning where you’ve never been fucked before, it stirs a tumultuous heat in your belly. part of it, you think, isn’t so much the physical sensation as it is the taboo of it all. despite the beach being virtually empty, void of any life but hermit crabs and the two debauched humans at its centre, there’s a delicious thrill that curls with the risk of being caught. not only being conventionally raunchy, but having your ass gaped by your best friend. what a sight you must make, pinned to the ground, having your sense pared off you in slow, painstaking layers.

one finger becomes two, and two soon turns to three.

the sound is so lewd, borderline disgusting when set against the natural ambience. you squelch and suck around him, lube smacking between your nates. and you lament it in slow, drawn-out breaths. embarrassed, wailing, soughing with the briny wind. kyle’s determined to get you ready for something much bigger, it seems, because four digits cram into your hole and scissor apart.

“is that re- really necessary?” you pick your sand- dusted face off the towel to huff into the thick air.

you feel him jostle atop your legs. shrugging, likely, in that deferent way he does when he realises acquiescence will better serve his purpose.

“whatever you want, mate.” there’s the sound of wet fabric scratching against itself, his trunks shucked down to rest mid-thigh. “i was getting impatient, anyway.”

if the excitement in his tone isn’t enough of a forewarning, he soon makes you regret saying anything at all when he notches his cock against you. it’s fat even at the end, the head too hefty to fit between your spread cheeks. it slips as it searches for purchase, rubbing against the excess lube he pours for aid, before pushing in. not in one fell swoop, but with five short, strong thrusts to finally anchor into your asshole.

you squeal, grasping behind you, onto his wrists for stability. you feel capsized, heeled over, thrown off kilter. shells and sparkling horizons dot the backs of your eyelids, liquid pleasure coursing through your veins. nothing about it is romantic, momentous like firsts should be. rather, you liken it to soap scum. spume. salt crusted hair. natural conclusions to things you overlook.

“s’fuckin’ tight, soft. can’t breath when you squee-eeze me like th-that. loosen up… up, mate.”

“k-kyle. fuck. ah! i c-can’t, you’re so… yersobig.”

“tried, didn’t i? b’you wanted to complain. next time i’ll make you t-take it dry… teach you how to count your, your blessings.”

and that turn of phrase – next time – is what sticks as he thrusts into you. not the implication that it’ll be painful, or that he intends to punish you for whatever it is you did wrong – but that this isn’t the last incident of its kind.

you had excused his homecoming – that first time he rushed you with a hug and came in his pants – as incidental, weeks of pent up energy. you try to excuse this – this, taking your ass on a vacation he probably booked precisely for the two of you – even while it unfolds, searching for justification in the distance between here and home.

but you’re not stupid. what becomes increasingly clear, as kyle fixes your waist in place and cants your hips higher, balls slapping your greased thighs, tightening with his looming orgasm, is that this was never meant to be a one time thing.

(won’t be, if he has any say in it.)

you resolve to think about it later. later; the coil in your stomach ripping a blinding release.

[wistfulpoltergeist]

Municipal Muses Museum invites you to the Art of Dreaming! Dive yourself into the mystic and sensual universe of Aidan Rossetti's paintings!

Today the debut of a young artist Aidan Rossetti started. Nine oil paintings in classic style and vivid refreshing palette will take us on the stormy sea of Tartosa and the peaceful Summer spot of Windenburg.

Aidan Rossetti born on Tartosa. He believes he got his talent from two moms - his artistic biological mother and the mother nature herself.

Portraits of Rossetti's partner and muse Arwin De Winter is 1/3 of the works presented in Municipal Muses Museum.

Among others was presented the mysterious picture of ancient warrior watching the raising sun. The model for this picture was Rossetti's brother Roland Blackmore.

Don't hesitate to visit Municipal Muses Museum today to embrace inspiration and fresh experience!

"The Art of Dreaming" is open from 9 Am to 9 Pm on Sunday, Saturday and Wednesday. Entrance tickets 25§

DOWNLOAD PAINTINGS (Patreon / Free)

More about the paintings under the cut↴

The huntsman's resting

Classic pre-raphaelite portrait of a young man resting on the rock. Rossetti called him a huntsman, but we don't see any weapons around which makes us wonder what is he hunting?

Cold Summer Sun

Rossetti described this portrait as a "Cold Summer Sun". A young man is posing at the beach, the wind is touching his hair and the deep blue sea with the snowy mountains lies behind his back. The sun is glistening on the water, but the atmosphere of colours is cold and gives you a chill.

The Portrait of Arwin De Winter (Dark Version)

This is the copy of the portrait of Rossetti's partner Arwin De Winter. As Rosetti refused to sell any original painting of his beloved we can only enjoy a small version of this beautiful art.

The Portrait of Arwin De Winter (Bright Vrsion)

A bright version of the Portrait of Arwin De Winter. How many of these portraits were made you might wonder? According to Rossetti, he pictures his beloved whenever he is in a special mood. As you might guess, quite often, and every time this mood is different.

The Sun Has Risen

On this mysterious picture Rossetti shows us a man standing in the shadows, but a vivid ray of sunlight already pouring on his chest. He's looking far ahead in anticipation, ready to action. Whatever he was waiting for is already here.

Silent Resort

"Silent Resort" is one of the earliest Rossetti's paintings. It's soft palette raises feelings of peace with bitter anticipation of loneliness.

Among the trees

"Among the Trees" pictures the vivid summer landscape of Windenburg. Rossetti's warm green colours under the eternally blue skies bring comfort and rest to eyes and soul.

Before the Storm

Rossetti's "Before the Storm" pictures the diversity and richness of Tartosa's tranquil colors. Bright waters seem calm, but there's something disturbing in the skies.

Soldier Island

Following some whim, Aidan Rossetti called this work "Soldier Island". Due to its solitude, hard and sharp ground that gives shelter and protection to lush greenery, or a line of alert-looking trees, standing at attention like a warrior battalion. Life is a battle, Rossetti likes to repeat, but only within it you find the fertile lands and tranquility of mind.

[irisintheafterglow]

hello!!! i saw your that your requests were open so i was wondering if you were able to write a hurt/comfort zoro x reader story about how the reader gets injured from a fight, but they don’t wanna be a burden so they hide it until they collapse on deck :)))

tell me that we’ll be just fine (opla!zoro x you)

wc: 1.74k

cw/tags: hurt/comfort with happy sappy ending, swearing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood and injury, mentions of drinking and alcohol, zoro just loves you and you worry the shit out of him

note: yassss i love hurt/comfort injury prompts (it's the innate desire to just be carried and be vulnerable and have someone care in my weakest hour and and and and) hope you like this, thank you for your request !!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“Guys, I am about to get so wasted.”

“We still have that good shit from Baratie, yeah?”

“Hiding in the back of the cellar, baby!” A loud smack rings out into the harbor as Usopp and Sanji’s hands clap together, deliriously excited after winning a scrimmage with a rival crew. Their proud vocalizations are added to by their captain and devolve into giddy skipping down the remainder of the dock as you make your way back to the ship. Zoro walks just ahead of you, glancing back every so often like he was worried you would collapse. You were planning to, but not now. Just get to the ship. Get to the ship and we’ll be fine.

“I vote Zoro for vomit duty tomorrow morning,” Nami mutters next to you, nudging your arm with her elbow. It’s a light touch but it feels like the world tilts sharply and you pray she can’t see the panic in your eyes when you try to remain upright. Despite her best efforts to remain mature and indifferent, her eyes were sparkling with self-assurance that you only saw from her when she felt a mission went well. She carries the folder of coveted Marine intelligence under one arm, her other hand holds up a bag of goodies you’d snatched from the base that would make good money down the line. “Plus, it gives us some time to take our share of this stuff. Nice finds, by the way. I’m impressed.” 

“Thanks. I learned from the best,” you reply, relief flooding you when she turns back to watch her idiot crewmates and not further inspect the limp in your step. Zoro’s eyes meet yours over his shoulder and you give him a strained smile, well aware that you probably looked like you’d crawled out of hell. When he turns away again, you exhale with great difficulty, fighting off another wave of nausea that threatens to send you stumbling into the water. It’s just a flesh wound, you figure. No need to halt their celebration just because you got a silly cut. “What’s your first pick out of the bag?”

“There’s a pretty little jeweled chalice I was looking at,” she says casually. The waning afternoon sun makes her hair look like a fire, bright and warm. “We could scrape off the rubies and pawn them at the next island.”

“Or, you could drink water from it and look like a pompous asshole.” Just keep it casual. Be normal. The pulse in your ears becomes slightly faster when you notice the foggy spots in your vision. “Freeze some of the diamonds from that candlestick and use them as ice cubes.”

“Very true,” she laughs and you force out a chuckle to mirror her, wincing at the aching pain in your side. Her eyebrows furrow and her mouth falls into a frown. Your attempts to seem fine were starting to fall through. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been walking a little slower than usual.” 

“I’m fine, I promise. I just got punched in the gut a little harder than I anticipated,” you lie straight through your teeth, well aware that it wasn’t just a fist that had you losing enough blood to fill the galley sink. To be fair, the guy’s second blade appeared out of nowhere. You were outnumbered five to one but still held your own; only when there was a single fighter left did he resort to cutthroat tricks. One minute, you’re parrying with ease; the next, a small dagger pops out from the fighter’s left sleeve, cutting a deep wound into your side before you can block it with the saber in your right hand. It was a dirty move and you mentally kicked yourself for not anticipating foul play much sooner. To make matters worse, you were only able to staunch the blood so much before Zoro found you in the courtyard. Though you sufficiently covered your injury, he was still eyeing you like he knew that something was off. Like clockwork, every minute he was checking on you. It was wordless, but you still knew he was inspecting you, waiting for you to reveal that something happened and that you needed help.

That moment came the instant your boots met the wood of the deck. 

In seconds, your vision violently careens to the right and you’re conscious just enough to expect the thud of your head against the floor. But, the crash never comes. When you fall, your mind registers another body that you fall into, strong and stable. One arm slips effortlessly under your exhausted legs, lifting you from the ground while the other supports your upper back. Your eyes blur the image of your panicked crew like an oil painting, smearing it every which way until the colors are bleeding together more uncontrollably than the blood dripping from your side. Everything sounds like you’re drowning, rising above the water for a moment only to be pulled back down into murky disorientation. 

“Idiot,” a low voice says. It’s wrought with worry, even though you can tell they’re trying not to hide it. It’s clear enough that you know it’s coming from whoever is holding you. “Why the hell did you wait?” You’re barely able to distinguish far-off shouting from Sanji, ordering Luffy and Usopp to grab his knives. But, if all three of them were over there and Nami was throwing open cabinets looking for the med kit, that means the person holding you was… “Fuck. I knew something was wrong.” You have half the mind to articulate a weak response, but it comes out as nothing more than a groan when you’re placed onto what feels like the galley counter. The pounding in your forehead starts to become airy, like when you’re walking down the sidewalk after a night of drinking until you were on the verge of passing out. Zoro doesn’t let you go, though. His calloused fingers gently brush the dirt from your face, quietly pleading for you to stay with me, stay with me, stay with me. “You’re okay. We’re okay. Just stay with me.” 

“They’re losing a lot of blood and I can’t find the damn med kit.” 

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Above deck, having a collective panic attack.” Nami’s voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away. 

“Figures.” Zoro’s, on the other hand, is the only thing keeping you rooted and stopping you from drifting off. It’s sharp and strained, nothing like you’d ever heard from him before. Sanji’s lanky steps enter the kitchen and you hear the zip of his knife bag somewhere close to your ear.

“This is bad; I need to stop that bleeding or they might–” Zoro’s grip on your hand is tight, physically holding you down to reality. Whether you laced your fingers in his or the other way around, you didn’t remember.

“Well, let’s fucking do something about it then, waiter,” is the last thing you hear before darkness wipes your vision. 

Your eyes blink open after what feels like seconds, but the starry sky outside the window tells you it had been hours. It takes a moment for the details to come back to you, as does the soreness where they must have patched up your wound. The hard stone of the counter has been replaced by your bed and the comforting sway of the ship tells you Luffy ordered the ship to depart. It’s healing, in a way, the rocking back and forth motion of the ship that reminds you how close you were to slipping away. After a minute, you muster up enough energy to look at the rest of your room and you can’t help smiling when you see Zoro sitting at your bedside, tensely sleeping with the Wado Ichimonji laid across his lap. His eyes fly open when you whisper his name, delicately setting his blade on the floor before crouching at your side. 

“You’re okay,” he breathes and it sounds more like a reassurance for himself than for you.

“I’m okay,” you confirm just as softly, threading your fingers between his and squeezing lightly. He squeezes back, looking at you like you painted the constellations outside your window. “How long have you been here?”

“Since Sanji and Nami fixed you up, about six hours ago.”

“You’ve been sitting there for six hours?”

“I would have sat longer. I’d wait for you, no matter how long you slept,” he says and it sounds like a vow. “You scared the shit out of me, you know that?”

“Sorry,” you apologize weakly, giving him as much of a shy smile as you could. He rolls his eyes in exasperation but can’t help the corner of his mouth quirking too. “I didn’t want to bother you all while you were celebrating.”

“You really think I’m going to give alcohol priority over you?”

“Depends on the alcohol,” you point out and he shakes his head at your teasing. Your hand fits in his like a puzzle piece and you’re struck by the overwhelming feeling of safety you have whenever Zoro’s around. “But, really. I’m sorry for worrying you.” 

His eyes darted to the side like you’d said something that embarrassed him. The only thing he could think to do in that moment was bring your hand to his lips and press the lightest kiss to it. A promise that he’d always take care of you. He never was the best with words, you realized in your friendship-borderline-relationship with him. The things you said tended to short-circuit his brain and it was fascinating to watch him try and think of a coherent response. In times like these, however, when he’s simply unable to find the words for how much he feels for you, his actions are infinitely louder. 

“You should go back to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Do you need anything before you rest? Water or blankets or something?”

“No, just you. If you got in here with me, I wouldn’t mind,” you suggest nonchalantly and you giggle when his face becomes pinker. He obliges, though, slipping into the covers with you and carefully pulling you into him until you’re pressed against his chest like your own personal heater. His breathing is slow and steady, but you swear you can hear his heartbeat racing. “You’re the only one I’ll ever need, I think.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart. Just don’t do stupid shit like get stabbed again.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[nadvs]

Blurb where reader and Rafe are friends but they are secretly in love with each other and they go swimming in the lake during moonlight and they end up kissing

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

content warning drug and alcohol use

You always knew that there was more to Rafe Cameron than people thought.

He had a reputation for being reckless and arrogant, but there was something about him that made you think he wasn’t as simple as the gossip made him out to be.

The summer after high school graduation was when he finally got up the courage to speak to you. He’d seen you around school and at parties. It was hard not to notice you.

He’d spent most of senior year wondering how the hell to talk to you. And the longer he delayed approaching you, the more he psyched himself out.

Finally, one night, Rafe saw you standing alone and looking bored at a house party. He chugged the rest of his beer, crossed the room, and jokingly asked if you knew that parties are supposed to be fun.

You spent the rest of the night talking, your conversation flowing so effortlessly that before you knew it, the sun was coming up. Rafe wanted to kiss you, but you left so quickly that he lost his chance.

The next time you saw each other at a party, you both got so high that you decided to run out to the beach and lie in the sand under the stars. All you did was talk - about how fast life was going by, about your plans for the future, about what life beyond the island you both grew up on could be like.

Eventually, the conversation trickled to insecurities. Why the hell you were so easy to talk to, Rafe didn’t know, but he opened up about what he hated about himself. You did the same. And neither of you agreed with the negative things you had to say about yourselves.

He wanted to kiss you, but again, he couldn’t find the right opportunity. Later on, he even resorted to bringing up other girls to you just to see if you’d be jealous. You didn’t seem fazed at all.

He was obviously just a friend to you. The tightness in his chest once he realized this was more painful than he was prepared for.

Once Rafe started asking you for dating advice, it was clear he didn’t return your feelings. You pretended to be okay with it until you eventually were.

You dealt with it because your assumption was right; he wasn’t what everyone said he was. He had a depth to him that he hid behind layers of phony self-importance. If what you had with him was purely platonic, you’d take it.

In August, one of your mutual friends planned a getaway at their family’s lakehouse over one of the last weekends of the summer.

The finality of the season ending, the knowledge that everyone will soon be going their separate ways, is an unwelcome presence wedging its way into the humid air.

You’re sitting around the bonfire with everyone on Saturday night, wood crackling and crickets chirping over overlapping conversations.

After months of friendship, Rafe thought it’d get easier to accept your lack of feelings for him. But as he watches the flames cast shadows on your pretty face, he realizes he’d rather take the hit of your rejection than the agony of never knowing if you feel something, too.

Once your friends start to retire to their rooms, Rafe waits for an opportunity to get you alone. You’re at the bottom of the stone steps leading back up to the house when his warm hand cups yours.

“Let’s swim,” he says into the warm night air.

“Are you serious?” you laugh, looking up at the moon, a crescent in the black sky.

“Don’t tell me you forgot how to have fun again,” Rafe jeers, referencing the first thing he ever said to you.

“Rude,” you say, nudging his shoulder. “I know how to have fun.”

“Then come on.” He tilts his head towards the large lake behind him.

“God,” you sigh with a roll of your eyes. But you step past him, walking towards the water, glancing back at him. “What, were you bluffing or are we actually doing this, Cameron?”

Rafe smirks to himself and follows you.

You strip down to your bra and underwear and plunge into the cold water, swimming up to the surface and shuddering from the cold.

He’s standing on the dock, boxers only, hands on his hips as he looks down at you. It gives you a moment to take in his broad frame and taut muscles in the moonlight. Being friends with him is especially hard in these moments.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he teases, dimples deep in his cheeks.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter, treading water. Rafe laughs and ruffles his hair. “Wuss.”

He is a wuss, but not for the reason you think. He’s been nothing but cowardly, keeping how he feels from you for so long.

Rafe dives into the frigid water. It’s a shock to his system as he bobs up beside you, his body breaking out in goosebumps.

“Fuck,” he shudders.

“It’s painful, right?” you say, matching his laughs. “What a stupid idea.”

Rafe gazes at you, eyes dropping to your bright smile.

He’s quiet for so long that you worry you hurt his feelings. You remember him telling you that he’s insecure about his intelligence. Your heart twists with pain.

“I’m messing with you,” you say. “Sorry. It wasn’t stupid. You’re not stupid.”

This - the opinion you have of him, the way you emphasize that a joke is just a joke after he gets quiet like this - is what made Rafe fall for you. Shit. This isn’t just a crush. He’s falling for you.

“Something’s off,” you say.

“Huh?” His heart is hammering.

“You haven’t insulted me back,” you reply. “You feeling okay?”

You put a hand on Rafe’s forehead, pretending to take his temperature, and the feeling makes his stomach flip. You retreat and break contact.

“What?” you laugh after he doesn’t respond. You gaze at the water droplets scattered over his handsome face as you rock together in the cold water.

“Remember when we got shit-faced on the beach?” he asks.

You think back how loudly the waves crashed on the shore that night as you lay in the sand with Rafe, gazing at his profile while you talked about anything and everything. It was your second time hanging out. And it was unforgettable.

“Yeah,” you say.

“I don’t…” Rafe looks to the side, eyeing the cabins on the far edge of the lake, yellow lights peeking through rectangular windows. “I don’t talk with anybody like that.”

Your throat suddenly goes dry. Rafe is not one to get touchy-feely. It must be the nostalgia of the summer ending that’s making him so sentimental.

“Me, neither,” you respond honestly.

“Be honest with me,” Rafe says. The sound of water ebbing as you float together hums beneath you.

“I always am.”

“Was there…” He breathes out a nervous chuckle. “Did you ever think we’d be more than friends?”

“What?” you say, unsure you heard him right.

Rafe gazes at you through heavy-lidded eyes. The shock in your tone sends a pang of disappointment through his body.

He realizes if he continues to wait for the right time to kiss you, it’ll never come. He can’t keep waiting.

Your heart thrums as he drifts closer to you, eyes darting to your mouth. He cups your cheek and you’re in disbelief that this is happening.

“I said,” he murmurs quietly, “did you think we’d be more than friends?”

“No,” you respond. He stills. “I mean - I hoped. But I didn’t think that you…”

“You hoped?” he says. The sanguinity in his deep voice is soft, but it’s there. You know it’s there.

You nod, your eyes locked on his.

“Say it,” he tells you.

“I hoped we’d be more,” you admit. “But you were…”

“What was I?” he asks, shifting closer, his nose nudging against yours. You realize your breaths are shallow.

“You were asking me about other girls, Rafe.” His lips are inches away from yours, the anticipation twisting inside of you.

He hates himself for playing games. He lost a whole summer with you because he was too gutless to risk rejection. And he refuses to waste any more time.

Rafe’s warm lips press against yours. His touch is so much gentler than you expected. But this is what Rafe does. He surprises you, again and again.

You part your lips, deepening the kiss, head numb from the sensation he’s giving you. You’ve imagined this, daydreamed about it. But you never thought it’d be a reality.

Every time you looked at him from across the room or laughed with him or shared innocent touches, he was longing for you, too. It makes your head spin.

When you pull apart, you stare with anticipative expressions, as if you’re expecting the other to say this was a mistake.

But neither of you do. You smile and he smiles back, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone.

“You were the girl I wanted,” he rasps.

“Were?” you say, unable to ignore the opportunity to mess with him.

Rafe huffs a laugh, his tongue jutting under his cheek.

“Are,” he corrects himself.

You take the initiative to kiss him this time and his heart buzzes. His friendship with you was a collection of hopeful maybes, but now he’s certain. He’s sure you feel the same way. And he’s not wasting another minute hiding his feelings for you.

[onsomenewsht]

She may be the song that summer sings

About the time you look at her, she laughs, and you keep literally falling with each other

》 Aitana Bonmatí x Reader

》 word count: +1.2k

》 La guardavo e m'innamoravo

Accepting Barcelona’s deal on a summer day during your vacation is really not that difficult of a choice. 

The tropical island you’re on for the off-season is treating you even better than the season itself - and you managed to win the domestic treble with your club, so saying it was a good year may be an understatement. 

When your agent’s number appears on your phone one morning, too early to be acceptable, you’re tempted to refuse the call altogether and blame the remote resort you’re in. Then you remember you’re out of contract for the first time since you started playing professional football at the impressive age of 16 and the idea of hearing the woman’s voice is suddenly very exciting.

“You know it is barely six in the morning here, right?”

“Yes, but the sun is up in Barcelona”

“You’re in Barcelona?”, you ask, still not functioning enough to realise what she’s implying.

“Not yet”

As the saintly woman she is, despite the time difference and being an entire ocean away from you, your agent manages to wake you up enough to have you on the phone with a Barcelona’s representative just an hour later. 

Cutting your vacation short is not a big deal after that, too eager to be on the first flight to Spain and have an in person conversation about your future. You’re ready to sign without even reading through the contract properly, but thanks to your people’s rational response to your trepidation, you manage to negotiate a deal worth your actual value. 

There was no chance you’d have accepted an offer for any other club anyway.

You meet Aitana that same day on your way out of the club’s offices. 

She radiates pure joy and genuine excitement, greeting you with a hug as you’re long time friends who finally reunite. At that point, you’d count on one hand the previous encounters you two had on and off the pitch.

This is the first time you’re close to her long enough to realise how enchanted by her you are, captivated by her effortless charm.

“I can’t wait to see you in pre-season”, she says with a cute accent around her words and a knowing grin on her face.

“I haven’t sign anything yet”

“You will!”

The Catalan rushes her goodbyes, late for a meeting herself.

“At least try to not drool”, your agent says suddenly, startling you.

You totally forget she’s next to you in the first place.

~

The next time you run into Aitana, you literally run into her. 

Trying to avoid a pissed Lucy Bronze, who you waist no time to tease for the surprisingly low rate of success she has against you when you both played in the WSL, you’re too distracted by her sprint to notice Aitana on your path.

You trample over the midfielder, making sure to soften her landing as you both fall down with a mixture of giggles and legs.

“Could you not threaten the old lady’s knees and the well-being of our Ballon d’Or winner this early in the season?”

You haven’t seen Keira walking beside the Catalan, who is still trying to catch her breath with both her hands on the sides of your head. She has a really beautiful smile.

“You have a two time Ballon d’Or winner right there, you will be fine”, you retort while pointing at Alexia, gaze still fixed on the brunette on top of you. 

Aitana’s response comes in the form of an even louder laugh. 

It takes you a moment to realise you’re the only one still on the ground, more and more of your new teammates gathering around you with questioning smiles on their faces.

“¡Val, benvinguda a Barça!”

~

Picking up a new language is never easy, but you had no idea learning Spanish could be so difficult.

The club provides you with an excellent - but most important, patience - teacher. Yet, you’re struggling to come up with simple and coherent sentences. It’s getting on your nerves. 

The girls are nice enough to talk in English when you’re around, but you want to be able to understand your manager’s instructions during practice and games or just order on your own when you’re out.

Aitana notices right away your discomfort whenever your teammates slip into their mother language without malice, cutting you out. You know she doesn’t like to speak English if she absolutely does not have to, but she always slows down her excitement to let you rejoin the conversation.

You mean it as a joke, asking her to help with your Spanish.

The sportscaster just thanked you for your time after a Champions League’s game. The Catalan answered some questions, but happily let you take the lead as you didn’t ignore a subtle implication hidden in a comment from the studio broadcasting the interview.

She seems so happy about the idea of teaching you that you have no intention to correct her assumption.

“You’re talking too fast again, Tana”

“Esto es exactamente– no, en realidad, no es verdad!”

Your raised eyebrow and her half finished sentences make her frown in realisation, just a little defeated by not being able to turn you into a fluent speaker in the amount of time she tutored you. 

It’s been barely a month.

“Your Spanish is awful”, she declares, dropping the elementary grammar book between you two on the sofa to cross her arms.

“I have a shitty teacher”

“Don’t you dare!”

The tickle battle you started ends pretty quickly when she pins you on your back, fallen on the ground with loud laughs filling your apartment. The midfielder may be shorter than you, but any display of her actual strength it’s always a surprise.

“Take it back”

“Or what?”

“Or I stop teaching you”

“Bold to you to assume that’s not exactly what I want”

It’s not, it’s definitely not what you want. The afternoons she spends in your apartment are the highlights of your week and what you look forward to after a particularly intense day. Even if you understand very little of what she says most of the time.

“Mentirosa”

“Ah! I know what that means”

Aitana drops her fake disappointment to join your giggles, helping you sit back on the sofa and picking up the book to resume her lesson.

“¡Ándale, I’m turning you into a proper spaniard!”

“I thought you were turning me into an independentista”

You know that could spark a fire into her, loving the way the brunette sits upright to start speaking with great passion about all the things you absolutely need to know about Barcelona, Catalonia, the culture and the people, even how you should be learning Catalan too.

She slips into her mother language pretty early in her dissertation, you’re too enchanted by her excitement to point it out.

The rest of the afternoon is filled with Aitana’s enthusiasm and your never ending fondness.

~

It takes you an entire year of double lessons and the immense amount of patience of your actual teacher to be able to hold your own in a Spanish conversation.

Sometimes your teammates still have to speak in English with you, but you don’t feel cut out anymore if they rant slow enough and you can be left on your own devices around the city.

You’re able to ask Aitana out on a date in Spanish, surprising her with yellow weavers and red poppies as you pick her up at her place. You put an effort to speak the language for the entire day, driven by her infectious laugh and your intertwined hands.

~

fine.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sex pollen!Steve Rogers x Reader

Here's a little oneshot I came up with! Word count: 3018

Y/N and Steve were on a mission to retrieve a rumored bioweapon from an off-group of Hydra.  There was very little information on what it was or what it did, but they had followed some leads to find the Hydra agent heading toward a resort in Malta to a big buyer.  They had arrived a few days prior to the agent, playing the part of a newly married couple on their honeymoon.  Y/N had enjoyed the vacation part of the trip, being by the pool, exploring the little island’s sights and selfishly indulging in the faux affection between her and Steve in public.  She had feelings for her Captain.  Who wouldn’t?  With that handsome face, which for some inhumanly ridiculous reason looked even more handsome with the beard he grew, the longer hair he’d grown out, looking sun kissed on the Maltese beaches and cobblestone streets, and those deep blue eyes that made her weak in the knees.

“The fun has arrived,” she said quietly, her sunglasses hiding her gaze.

Steve was laying on his stomach on the beach chair next to hers, his head lifting slowly when she spoke.  “Hm?” he replied.

“Two o’clock,” Y/N murmured.  Steve got up from the chair like he was going to resituate himself, subtly looking at the agent.  He stretched and took a drink of the beer he’d ordered, then sat next to her on her chair.

He leaned forward, caging her to the chair with his huge arms, and kissed her cheek, his lips traveling down her jaw to her ear.  “So who's our buyer?” he whispered in her ear.

Y/N tried to concentrate on the agent moving amongst the guests sitting around the pool, Steve’s lips trying their best to distract her.  The agent stopped in front of a couple of young men laying out on chairs, greeting them jovially with wide spread arms.  They all got up and greeted him equally, with one of them shaking his hand and speaking quietly to him.  “Frat boy number 3,” she whispered in his ear. 

Steve’s hands moved to grip her thick thighs, sliding his palms up to her hips as his head moved further down to her collarbone.  “Any others?” he asked.

Y/N watched the men from the corner of her eye as she leaned her head back, her hand moving up to run through Steve’s hair and the other gripping his shoulder, feeling down his muscled back.  “No, the rest are just the trust fund baby’s bodyguards,” she breathed, scratching his scalp.

“Good girl,” Steve replied, nipping at the swell of her breast before pulling away.  If she didn’t know any better she would have thought the look he gave her when he brought his face back to hers was adoring as he leaned in and nuzzled her nose.  “Let’s go plan our next move.”

Y/N smiled at him and nodded.  He stood and held his hand out to her, helping her stand up from her chair, then held that hand as he led her away from the pool and back to the resort.  They didn’t speak again as they rode the elevator up to their room, still holding hands, but the moment they were behind closed doors they let go and walked their separate ways.  Y/N quickly covered her swimsuit-clad body with a robe as Steve put on his shirt.  

“They’ll be at the resort ball tonight,” Y/N started, sitting down and pulling out the little screen from her purse.  The screen projected a holographic map of the resort layout, focusing on the ballroom.  “There’s multiple rooms they could go to just off the ballroom to meet in and do the exchange,” she said, pointing at the different rooms.  

“So we’ll just need to be paying close attention,” Steve said, sounding annoyed as he sat across from her, looking at the map intently.

“Or,” Y/N said suggestively, “I could cozy up to Frat boy.”

Steve’s eyes darkened.  “On our honeymoon?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.  “I won’t initiate it, just be in the right place at the right time,” she said.  “Don’t get jealous now, fake husband.”

Steve rolled his eyes.  “Just don’t wanna blow our cover, fake wife.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Y/N reassured him.  

***

That night Y/N headed towards the ballroom alone.  She wanted to give off the idea that she was alone at first, giving the Frat boy false hope.  She placed herself in his line of sight, sipping on a glass of champagne.  She’d gotten dressed and left before Steve was ready or could see her.  She had a feeling that if he’d seen this dress she’d have gotten a Captain-ly talking to.  The dress was blood red with curve-hugging ruffles that moved with her like waves as she walked.  It had a thigh high slit running up her left leg, and a low bust line that she had to use boob tape to keep in place, showing way too much cleavage.  The Frat boy’s eyes found her quickly, widening then darkening as he eye-fucked her.  She gave him a flirty smile, turning back to the bar and jutting her hip out, showing off the loose strapped-up back of the dress.

Within moments she felt fingers tickle up her spine.  “Hey beautiful,” the Frat boy greeted her, his fingers moving from her back to down her arm.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, keeping a smile.

“I’m Jack Malick,” he introduced himself, reaching out for her hand.

“Tess,” she replied easily, shaking his hand.

“No last name?” he probed.

“You’ll have to earn that,” she teased.

Jack chuckled and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.  “Oh I plan on it,” he said.  “Though I could have sworn I saw you at the pool earlier today with someone.”

Y/N smirked at his reaching.  “Yes, my husband.  We’re on our honeymoon.”

“And where’s said husband now?” Jack said, glancing around.

“Oh, having a pity party in the suite upstairs,” Y/N waved noncommittally.  “Married squabbles.”

“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack smirked, not looking the least bit sorry.  “How about I buy you a drink?”

“Thank you,” Y/N nodded.

She spent a good amount of time schmoozing Jack, and he brought her back over to his group of other frat boy-looking bodyguards.  She flirted with him, waiting for the Hydra agent to appear.  Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long, seeing him coming close with a small silver case.  “Ah, there you are,” Jack greeted him.  “Come on, beautiful,” he pulled her up and led her towards one of the side rooms, the agent following him while the bodyguards stayed put.  She followed him, taking a quick look around.  She saw Steve watching her from the bar, a scowl on his face.  She winked at him and saw him start moving along the edge of the packed dance floor.  Jack guided her into a conference room with the agent and locked the door behind him.  “You just stand over there looking pretty while I handle some business real quick,” he said to her.

Y/N nodded and stepped to the other side of the long table while Jack turned to the agent and talked to him quietly.  She tried listening but could only get snippets of the conversation before she glanced and saw the exchange of the agent’s case while Jack typed into his phone.  He took the case from the agent then shook his hand, the agent walking out and Jack locking the door again.  He approached Y/N with the case, opening it and pulling out a small vial.  “You up for a real party, Tess?” he asked, opening the vial.

Her eyes widened at how nonchalantly he handled the bioweapon.  “What is it?” she asked.

“The best aphrodisiac on the planet,” he replied.  He wound an arm around her waist, pulling her against him as he lifted the vial to her mouth.

“I don’t take random drugs,” Y/N said, trying to push away.  

“You’ll like this, beautiful,” Jack said, handling her more harshly.  “Pleasure beyond control.  I’ll have you sucking me off for hours.”

He shoved the vial to her mouth.  Y/N tried to keep her lips closed, but he was faster and forced it past her lips.  She yelped as the liquid in the vial hit her tongue while Jack held a hand over her mouth to stop her from spitting it out.  A loud wrenching sound came from the door and Steve barrelled in, a murderous glare on his face as he zeroed in on Jack.  “Get your hands off my wife,” he growled, nearly throwing himself across the room and tackling Jack away from Y/N.  She fell back, giving a wide breadth to Steve as he quickly knocked Jack unconscious.  She tried spitting out the liquid, but it felt like it was absorbed into her tongue, leaving a minty burning sensation.  

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, hurriedly moving to her, holding her face in his hands.

“It’s in me!” Y/N said frantically, her eyes wide as she gripped his wrists.  “He forced me to drink the bioweapon.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he frowned.  “Fuck,” he swore.  He grabbed the empty vial and put it back in the small silver case, closing it and grabbing her hand, pulling her off the floor.  “Let’s get back to the room.”  

Y/N nodded absentmindedly.  She didn’t feel any different so far.  Well, she was feeling hot, but then again it could just be the rush of adrenaline from what had just happened, or her fear at what could happen to her from the bioweapon.  They knew so little about it that the information Jack had given her was all they had to go off of.

“He said it was the best aphrodisiac on the planet,” she said quietly once they reached the elevator.  Steve looked down at her worriedly.  “He called it ‘pleasure beyond control,’ and that he would have me sucking him off for hours.”

Steve’s frown deepened, his jaw ticking.  She stared at his jaw.  God thats so fucking hot.  “What?” he asked, looking surprised.

“What?” Y/N replied, looking at him confusedly.

“You just said…nevermind,” Steve said, shaking his head then pulling her out of the elevator to their room.  She stumbled to the couch in the main room of the suite, fanning herself with her hand as Steve double checked the vials in the case.  He walked over and kneeled in front of her, his hands going back to her face.  “How are you feeling?” he asked, looking her over carefully.

“Hot,” Y/N said, her breathing getting heavier.  “Is the heat on?”

Steve shook his head as he held the back of his hand up to forehead.  “Jesus, you’re burning up,” he whispered.  He went to the little kitchen area and grabbed the ice in the freezer of the refrigerator, bringing it back and holding it against the back of her neck.  Y/N sighed at the cool ice on her scorching skin.  The ice melted fast.  

“Fuck, I’m…everything feels like it’s burning,” she whimpered.  She shivered when the first wave of pleasure wracked through the lower half of her body.  “Holy shit!”

“What?  What’s wrong?” Steve asked, sounding more worried by the second.  

Y/N started shaking as what felt like a small orgasm rippled through her pussy.  “Oh my god,” she moaned.  Steve looked at her incredulously.  “Please don’t judge me,” she whined as she peered up at him.  He shook his head.  “I’m…fuck, I’m so horny it hurts,” she huffed as her pussy fluttered around nothing.

“You’re…I’m sorry, what?” Steve frowned.

“Steve!” she cried out as she nearly came again.  She laid back against the couch.  “Please, get this off,” she said, pulling at the straps of the dress, freeing her breasts that were feeling more sensitive and sore by the second.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Steve scoffed as he looked away when she started stripping herself.  “I…I don’t know what to do.”

Y/N started crying, a big, fat, ugly cry, heavy sobs making her chest heave.  She was panicking.  Steve helped her get the dress completely off, and as he helped pull down the positively soaked thong she was wearing his fingers brushed against her inner thigh and she moaned loudly.  He looked at her with a stunned expression.  “I think…I think you need to help me,” Y/N sniffled.  

“How?” Steve whispered, his eyes raking down her naked body hungrily.

“Touch me…please!” Y/N shuddered again as her pussy clenched.  Steve exhaled sharply.  “You’ve been good at it until this point pretending to be my husband.  Please just fuck me like a husband would.  God fucking dammit!” she yelled, the pain rolling in her belly.

Steve paused for just a moment then leaned down and picked her up off the couch, carrying her bridal style to the bedroom.  They’d been sharing the bed because it was a huge California King size, but never gotten much closer than they had while out in public pretending.  He gently laid her down on the bed, then stepped back and started stripping himself.  “Okay, honey,” he said lowly, using the pet name he called her as his fake wife.  “I’ll take care of it,” he huffed, kicking off his pants and boxers.  Y/N looked down and gasped.  He was huge everywhere, and she felt herself get embarrassingly wetter at the sight.  He climbed on the bed and hovered over her.  “One last time, are you sure about this?” he asked, his eyes narrowed and his lips tight.  Y/N nodded, reaching up and running her hands down his large chest.  “Words, Y/N,” he commanded, using his stern Captain voice on her.  

“YES!  Fuck!” she screamed, her voice sounding gravelly with how much she’d been grunting and fighting back moans.  “Steve please!”

Steve nodded and looked down at her pussy finally.  “Holy shit you’re soaked,” he breathed.  He gripped his hard cock and rubbed it through her lower lips, coating himself in her slick.  “You ready?” he asked.  

“Yeah…yeah yeah yeah yeah,” she begged, her hips itching to have him fill her.

Steve started to push in, moaning loudly at how wet she was and how easily he was able to slide in.  “Holy FUCK honey!” he grunted, fully filling her in one thrust. 

The pain in Y/N’s belly significantly subsided once he was inside her, and she sighed heavily.  “Fuck me,” she whined, her hands scratching down his back to his ass, pulling him into her.  

“Yes ma’am,” Steve chuckled, then snapped his hips.  Y/N was a moaning, babbling, incoherent mess, her tears finally stopping but her body shaking under him with each thrust.  Steve’s super soldier stamina came to play as he helped her cum once, twice, three times, each time as her pussy clenched around him making him shudder, but he refused to cum yet.  

After her third orgasm he moved her to lay on her side with both her legs perpendicular to his hips, entering back into her quickly.  He smacked her ass over and over again, pulling wanton groans and dirty words from her mouth.  Steve pulled her top leg up straight and hooked her foot behind his neck, creating a deeper angle to reach inside her.  His fingers expertly played with her pussy as he fucked her, flicking her clit then tapping it quickly before rubbing it gently.  The arm she had tucked underneath her moved to grip her own hair as her hand closest to him gripped his bicep holding her leg up.  “Steve…” she whispered, her eyes rolling back for the umpteenth time.

“That’s it, honey, give me more,” Steve growled, a sweat finally breaking on his brow.  “You can do that, right?  Just one more?  I’m so close.  God you’re so pretty,” he kissed her calf, nipping at her ankle.  “I’ve been wanting to do this forever, you know that?”

Y/N looked up at him in surprise.  “You have?” she panted.

“Yeah,” he smiled down at her.  He put her leg back down and leaned over her, kissing her arm and grabbing her breast closest to him, sucking her nipple into his mouth, making her keen.  He continued his kisses up her sternum to her neck, sucking at her neck and licking her jaw.  “Been wanting you for so long, honey.  Pretending to be your husband?  I wasn’t pretending,” he smirked at her.  “I volunteered to do this mission when I found out it was going to be with you.”

Y/N’s mouth was agape in shock, her brow furrowing as her pussy fluttered once again, warning about her next orgasm.  Steve shivered when he felt it.  “I wasn’t pretending either,” she whispered, looking at him hopefully.

Steve fully smiled.  “Will you be mine, Y/N?” he asked, his thrusts becoming hurried.

“Fuck yeah,” Y/N smiled back at him.

Steve repositioned himself so he could reach her lips and kissed her deeply, his hips smacking into her so his cock hit that spot deep inside just enough while his fingers flicked her clit just right and she came again, screaming his name against his lips.  Steve finally came right after her with a raspy, loud moan, filling her so much that his cum flowed from between them, making a mess on the bed.  The broiling pain and pleasure finally dimmed in Y/N’s body, and she slumped against the bed in exhaustion.  She almost passed out, and on the edges of her consciousness felt Steve kiss her cheek before pulling out of her.  He left for only a moment before she felt the bed dip and a warm washcloth against her core as he cleaned her up, wiping up what he could from the bed.  A few moments later he was climbing into the bed with her again, pulling the blanket up to cover her and him as he pulled her into snuggle against him.  “Rest honey…my wife,” he whispered in her ear. 

[cher-rei]

Heyy,

Could u write a Jamal Musiala x reader fic

Where they are both on vacation and just go swimming on the beach but she doesn’t like swimming because she fears deep water,so he helps her

and he propose her later ,at dinner

I know it’s kinda kitschy

xoxo

bottled up– jamal musiala [ J.M ]

I will always love you [godsped– frank ocean]

pairing: jamal musiala x fem!reader

summary: a much needed trip to the maldives ends in a wave of emotions and unforgettable memories.

genre(s): fluff and a whole lot of emotions, suggestive content but it's chill

[wc: 2.3k] masterlist

notes: screaming. crying. throwing up. me when????

your jaw dropped at the breathtaking sight of the resort in front of you. jamal had surprised you with a trip to the maldives, saying that it had been so long since you too have been alone together without any interruptions.

and you were so glad that the thought dawned on him because the way that the sun soaked island looked from your hotel room was gorgeous. the azure waters, flourishing greenery, and the vibrant hibiscus flowers set a perfect backdrop for your much needed holiday.

jamal had been looking forward to this trip for weeks, eager to spend quality time with you without any pressure. he shut the door to your suite behind him, a smile on his lips as you gawked at the view from the window.

"this view is making me emotional," you joked and took a few pictures of the sunset scenery.

jamal hugged you from behind, letting his chin rest on top of your head to admire the view and appreciate the feeling of you safe in his arms. "yeah?" he laughed at your eager nod in response to his answer and gently peppered the crook of your neck with kisses.

you felt the featherlight touch of his lips start to roam, causing you to giggle. you shivered at his touch, absentmindedly tilting your head to give him more access. this probably wasn't the best thing to do at a moment like this, especially when you still had unpacking to do.

jamal's kisses grew more insistent, his hands roaming over your body and you turned around to face him, needing more. your lips met instinctively, your fingers tangled in his hair which caused him to let out a satisfied moan.

taking this as a sign, he took a few steps back that had the two of you stumbling back toward the bed, your laughter mingling with the sound of the crashing waves outside. the energy between the two of you was playful, nothing short of a giggling mess. but you loved it.

"I know I said that I was tired when we landed." his kisses moved from your lips to your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone. "but I think I'll be good for another hour."

disregarding your laughing state, he gently pushed you back onto the mattress, the playful twinkle in his eyes never leaving as he looked down at your smiling figure.

you covered your face with your hands in attempt to hide the blush forming on your cheeks. "an hour?" the shock in your voice made him smirk, and he pulled your hands from your face.

"baby, if you want two then I'll be more than happy to--"

"--jamal!"

the following morning, you woke up feeling more relaxed than ever. the atmosphere was enough to lull you to sleep for at least a week, but there was still much exploring to do.

jamal made sure to have you up and ready for breakfast in record time so you could be out for some sightseeing. his excitement for this trip was jarring and it warmed your heart knowing that he finally got a chance to rest after the season he's had back home.

it was filled with ups and downs and you recalled the evenings where he would come home from practice and lay himself down on your chest. no words were exchanged in moments like those, instead you'd gently trial your hand on his back.

in minutes you'd have him fast asleep with his head resting in the crook of your neck, his light snores of exhaustion tugging at your heart as a reminder of how hard he worked. all this at the ripe age of 21, so you knew that your role wasn't just to be his girlfriend, it was to be his support and home.

which was what you were doing now in your hotel room after taking a tour of the resort and eating lunch. jamal's grip tightened on your waist as he cuddled further into your side, basking in your warmth.

"I'd kill to have vacations where we could just lay like this," he muttered through a smile, a warmth spreading through his chest at the low hum vibrating from your chest. and he was just about to fall back to sleep when a wave of realisation washed over him.

he lifted his head to look down at you, flashing his trademark smile. "are you ready to hit the beach?"

you smiled back at him, though with a hint of apprehension. "sure, but you know how I feel about the ocean right?"

the ocean, or rather the depth of it was one of your greatest fears. you were one to appreciate the way it looked, and the beauty of the waves crashing and how it looked on the horizon but when it came to swimming in it, your chest tightened.

jamal understood this better than anyone and ruffled your hair teasingly. "don't worry, I'll be holding your hand the entire time. and we'll just dip our toes in, okay?"

screw jamal and his power over you, because not even 10 minutes later, you were on your way with a bag full of snacks, sunscreen, and a ridiculously sized inflatable flamingo that he insisted on bringing. when you arrived, the beach was everything you'd hoped for— clear waters, soft sand, and surprisingly empty.

your boyfriend wasted no time and set your things beside your lounge chairs, making sure that you were comfortable. before he got too excited you wave him over and took out the sunscreen.

"j, take your shirt off. you can't get it wet," you said and applied some sunscreen to your arms and legs. you were wearing a cute cream linen two-piece— shorts and a button-up shirt with your swimsuit underneath,

janal sat on the lounge chair with you standing between his legs, with a pout on his lips, clearly not wanting to put the sunscreen on. "you just wanted a reason to touch me, I know how you think."

you rolled your eyes as you smoothed the sunscreen onto his shoulders, just the sight of his toned upper body had your heart pounding but you couldn't give in.

he must've been tipped off by your lack of reply though and took it as an invitation to tease you further. there was silence as you applied the last of your sunscreen but your breath hitched at the feeling of jamal fidgeting with the hem of your shorts.

not having any of, you gently slapped his hand away. "we're done here, thanks."

to your surprise, he gladly took his leave and made sure to drag the flamingo to the water. after 10 minutes of relaxation and peaceful sunbathing, he called out to you, saying that it was time to get in.

you happily declined however, and said that your presence and the fact that you took of your shirt and shorts was enough as is. there was no need for you to get in the water instead, you stood on the water's edge and watched as he played around.

"but the flamingo is lonely without you," he whined with a pout, bringing the flamingo floaty closer.

you shook your head and kicked the water beneath your feet, which sent an unwanted chill up your spine. "no thanks. I'm fine over here."

jamal was a baby at times like this, where he would whine and beg because no matter what, he knew that you'd give in eventually. he came up to stand a few steps in front of you, the floaty still at his side.

"come on baby." he extended his hand out for you to grab. "for the flamingo?"

what was up with him and this famn flamingo?

with a deep sigh, and a roll of your eyes, you relented, watching as his eyes lit up. "fine, but if I drown, it's on you."

"deal," he said and took your hand in his, slowly taking a few steps further into the water. "I'll even throw in a free cpr lesson."

a scoff left your lips and the two of you continued to wade into the water which was now resting just above your knees. the comforting grip of jamal's hand on yours made the situation ten times better and you found yourself enjoying the feeling of the water on your skin.

"see. this isn't so bad," he said and lightly splashed you with some water and you splashed him back.

it took a bit but you were more or less fully covered by the water that was now resting at your chest. you floated around on the flamingo calmly while jamal stayed at your side in the water. it was more relaxing than you thought it would be, and you quite enjoyed the feeling.

as the afternoon went on, the two of you enjoyed the water, had fun with the flamingo and took a bunch of pictures with it, and laughed until your sides hurt. by the time the sun began to set, you were both comfortably bobbing in the water, watching the sky turn into a masterpiece of warm hues.

a few days later, you and jamal found yourselves back at the beach, this time with a picnic basket and a sense of excitement. the flamingo floaty was noticeably absent, but there was a twinkle in jamal's eyes that you couldn't quite place.

after a lazy afternoon of sunbathing and snaking, jamal suggested that you should take a walk along the shore. you were a but suspicious at first since it was starting to get late, but agreed seeing as that you wanted to spend more time with your boyfriend in this setting.

as you strolled, hand in hand, jamal kept glancing around, seemingly searching for something. you took notice of this and couldn't help but wonder. "jamal what are you looking for?" you lightly nudged his arm and he turned to look down at you with his lips pursed.

"I have a feeling that the flamingo is following us," he deadpanned, causing you to laugh. his blank expression didn't last long though, and his focus was fully on how beautiful you looked.

the way that the setting sun reflected your complexion was awing and he couldn't help but stare, his heart pounding in his chest. you were breathtaking and it took jamal a while to realise that you were talking to him.

you waved a hand in front of his face. "hello? are you okay?"

he cleared his throat and smiled. "yeah, you're distracting me that's all."

a scoff of disbelief fell from your lips at his comment but you continued to face forward, your interlocked hands swinging at your sides. the stroll continued for a bit but finally he gasped and directed your attention to something.

"it's looks like there's something in it." you squinted, spotting the bottle bobbing in the gentle waves.

jamal who couldn't contain his curiosity ran to the waters edge and picked up the bottle, inspecting it before attempting to remove the cork. he was struggling by the looks of it, and waved you over to help him.

you rolled your eyes but joined in, both of you tugging at the bottle until jamal finally popped it open, almost falling over in the process. he laughed sheepishly as he handed it over to you with a sigh.

"open it, I'm too tired I need to catch my breath," he said dramatically and took a few steps to dramatically fan himself off. you watched your boyfriend with a disapproving look as he walked off but gave in.

you uncorked the bottle and pulled out a piece of paper, laughing at how this was probably something like a few kids did a while ago. nonetheless, you unrolled it was a smile until your eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

the paper read, "will you marry me?" but what confused you was that it was obviously in jamal's handwriting. "j, wha--" your sentence abruptly came to a halt when you turned around to look at your boyfriend who was dropped to one knee, holding up the most gorgeous ring you've ever seen.

a knot of emotions formed in your stomach and you were honestly about to throw up. words were lodged in your throat, your gaze softening as you looked at jamal who was nervously smiling. "I love you. I am, who I am because of you— you are every season, every hope and every dream I've ever had, and no matter what happens in the future, everyday that we're together is the greatest day of my life."

the tears were falling down your cheeks in record time, but you tried to wipe them back as jamal carried on speaking and all you could think of in that moment was how much you loved and appreciated every single thing about him.

a small chuckle left his lips as he watched you blink away your tears. "I have so many things to say right now but you're making me nervous-- seriously you look so gorgeous right now." the trail off was unintentional and after a beat of listening to you laugh, his heart swelled.

"just like the grains of sand that make up this beach, you make up every part of me. so before I start crying— will you marry me?"

your heart raced, a of laughter filling the air as you didn't waste a second to nod your head with an excited "yes, of course I'll marry you!"

jamal slipped the ring on your finger, picking you up and spinning you around as you both laughed. he set you down and kissed you deeply, the waves lapping at your feet as you sunk into the sand and the feeling of utter bliss.

it was when you pulled away that you heard a few more familiar screams echo through the air causing you to look behind you. at a nearby rock, sophia, aaliyah, kai and florian appeared. they were carrying— of course— the flamingo floaty, now decorated with flowers and a banner that read, "she said yes!"

you burst out laughing and looked at jamal who pulled you closer to his chest, kissing the top of your head. "I told you the flamingo was following us."