#because Europe is better than here

[vole-mon-amour]

I wish I was a native English speaker and wasn't born in this country in the first place. (the country itself is not the issue, it's the government)

[comradecowplant]

so things are not going well with my new elderly socdem friend unfortunately.

[clamorybus]

every so often i think about when europeans colonized, they built new buildings using architecture from their homelands; those buildings worked fine in europe but where ecological disasters everywhere else

[aethersea]

another thing fantasy writers should keep track of is how much of their worldbuilding is aesthetic-based. it's not unlike the sci-fi hardness scale, which measures how closely a story holds to known, real principles of science. The Martian is extremely hard sci-fi, with nearly every detail being grounded in realistic fact as we know it; Star Trek is extremely soft sci-fi, with a vaguely plausible "space travel and no resource scarcity" premise used as a foundation for the wildest ideas the writers' room could come up with. and much as Star Trek fuckin rules, there's nothing wrong with aesthetic-based fantasy worldbuilding!

(sidenote we're not calling this 'soft fantasy' bc there's already a hard/soft divide in fantasy: hard magic follows consistent rules, like "earthbenders can always and only bend earth", and soft magic follows vague rules that often just ~feel right~, like the Force. this frankly kinda maps, but I'm not talking about just the magic, I'm talking about the worldbuilding as a whole.

actually for the purposes of this post we're calling it grounded vs airy fantasy, bc that's succinct and sounds cool.)

a great example of grounded fantasy is Dungeon Meshi: the dungeon ecosystem is meticulously thought out, the plot is driven by the very realistic need to eat well while adventuring, the story touches on both social and psychological effects of the whole 'no one dies forever down here' situation, the list goes on. the worldbuilding wants to be engaged with on a mechanical level and it rewards that engagement.

deliberately airy fantasy is less common, because in a funny way it's much harder to do. people tend to like explanations. it takes skill to pull off "the world is this way because I said so." Narnia manages: these kids fall into a magic world through the back of a wardrobe, befriend talking beavers who drink tea, get weapons from Santa Claus, dance with Bacchus and his maenads, and sail to the edge of the world, without ever breaking suspension of disbelief. it works because every new thing that happens fits the vibes. it's all just vibes! engaging with the worldbuilding on a mechanical level wouldn't just be futile, it'd be missing the point entirely.

the reason I started off calling this aesthetic-based is that an airy story will usually lean hard on an existing aesthetic, ideally one that's widely known by the target audience. Lewis was drawing on fables, fairy tales, myths, children's stories, and the vague idea of ~medieval europe~ that is to this day our most generic fantasy setting. when a prince falls in love with a fallen star, when there are giants who welcome lost children warmly and fatten them up for the feast, it all fits because these are things we'd expect to find in this story. none of this jars against what we've already seen.

and the point of it is to be wondrous and whimsical, to set the tone for the story Lewis wants to tell. and it does a great job! the airy worldbuilding serves the purposes of the story, and it's no less elegant than Ryōko Kui's elaborately grounded dungeon. neither kind of worldbuilding is better than the other.

however.

you do have to know which one you're doing.

the whole reason I'm writing this is that I saw yet another long, entertaining post dragging GRRM for absolute filth. asoiaf is a fun one because on some axes it's pretty grounded (political fuck-around-and-find-out, rumors spread farther than fact, fastest way to lose a war is to let your people starve, etc), but on others it's entirely airy (some people have magic Just Cause, the various peoples are each based on an aesthetic/stereotype/cliché with no real thought to how they influence each other as neighbors, the super-long seasons have no effect on ecology, etc).

and again! none of this is actually bad! (well ok some of those stereotypes are quite bigoted. but other than that this isn't bad.) there's nothing wrong with the season thing being there to highlight how the nobles are focused on short-sighted wars for power instead of storing up resources for the extremely dangerous and inevitable winter, that's a nice allegory, and the looming threat of many harsh years set the narrative tone. and you can always mix and match airy and grounded worldbuilding – everyone does it, frankly it's a necessity, because sooner or later the answer to every worldbuilding question is "because the author wanted it to be that way." the only completely grounded writing is nonfiction.

the problem is when you pretend that your entirely airy worldbuilding is actually super duper grounded. like, for instance, claiming that your vibes-based depiction of Medieval Europe (Gritty Edition) is completely historical, and then never even showing anyone spinning. or sniffing dismissively at Tolkien for not detailing Aragorn's tax policy, and then never addressing how a pre-industrial grain-based agricultural society is going years without harvesting any crops. (stored grain goes bad! you can't even mouse-proof your silos, how are you going to deal with mold?) and the list goes on.

the man went up on national television and invited us to engage with his worldbuilding mechanically, and then if you actually do that, it shatters like spun sugar under the pressure. doesn't he realize that's not the part of the story that's load-bearing! he should've directed our focus to the political machinations and extensive trope deconstruction, not the handwavey bit.

point is, as a fantasy writer there will always be some amount of your worldbuilding that boils down to 'because I said so,' and there's nothing wrong with that. nor is there anything wrong with making that your whole thing – airy worldbuilding can be beautiful and inspiring. but you have to be aware of what you're doing, because if you ask your readers to engage with the worldbuilding in gritty mechanical detail, you had better have some actual mechanics to show them.

[txttletale]

I'm asking this genuinely, as a 19 yo with no education in economics and a pretty surface level understanding of socialism: can you explain the whole Bananas discourse in a way someone like me might understand? In my understanding it's just "This is just a product we can give up to create better worker conditions and that's fine" but apparently that's not the full picture?

alright so some pretty important background to all this is that we're all talking about the fact that bananas, grown in the global south, are available year-round at extremely low prices all around europe and the USA. it's not really about bananas per so--the banana in this discourse is a synechdoche for all the economic benefits of imperialism.

so how are cheap bananas a result of imperialism? first of all i want to tackle a common and v. silly counterargument: 'oh, these ridiculous communists think it's imperialist for produce to be shipped internationally'. nah. believing that this is the communist objection requires believing in a deeply naive view of international traide. this view goes something like 'well, if honduras has lots of bananas, and people in the usa want bananas and are willing to pay for them, surely everyone wins when the usa buys bananas!'.

there are of course two key errors here and they are both packed into 'honduras has lots of bananas'. for a start, although the bananas are grown in honduras, honduras doesn't really 'have' them, because the plantations are mostly owned by chiquita (formerly known as united fruit) dole, del monte, and other multinationals--when they're not, those multinationals will usually purchase the bananas from honduran growers and conduct the export themselves. and wouldn't you know it, it's those intervening middleman steps--export, import, and retail, where the vast majority of money is made off bananas! so in the process of a banana making its way from honduras to a 7/11, usamerican multinationals make money selling the bananas to usamerican importers who make money selling them to usamerican retailers who make money selling them to usamerican customers.

when chiquita sells a banana to be sold in walmart, a magic trick is being performed: a banana is disappearing from honduras, and yet somehow an american company is paying a second american company for it! this is economic imperialism, the usamerican multinational extracting resources from a nation while simultaneously pocketing the value of those resources.

why does the honduran government allow this? if selling bananas is such a bad deal for the nation, why do they continue to export millions of dollars of banans a year? well, obviously, there's the fact that if they didn't, they would face a coup. the united states is more than willing to intervene and cause mass death and war to protect the profits of its multinationals. but the second, more subtle thing keeping honduras bound to this ridiculously unbalanced relationship is the need for dollars. because the US dollar is the global reserve currency, and the de facto currency of international trade, exporting to the USA is a basic necessity for nations like honduras, guatemala, &c. why is the dollar the global reserve currency? because of usamerican military and economic hegemony, of course. imperialism built upon imperialism!

this is unequal exchange, the neoimperialist terms of international trade that make the 'global economy' a tool of siphoning value and resources from the global south to the imperial core. & this is the second flaw to unravel in 'honduras has a lot of bananas' -- honduras only 'has a lot of bananas' because this global economic hegemony has led to vast unsustainable monoculture banana plantations to dominate the agriculture of honduras. it's long-attested how monoculture growth is unsustainable because it destroys soil and leads to easily-wiped-out-by-infection plants.

so, bananas in the USA are cheap because:

the workers that grow them are barely paid, mistreated, prevented from unionizing, and sometimes murdered

the nations in which the bananas are grown accept brutally unfair trade and tariff terms with the USA because they desperately need a supply of US dollars and so have little position to negotiate

shipping is also much cheaper than it should be because sailors are chronically underpaid and often not paid at all or forced to pay to work (!)

bananas are cheap, in conclusion, because they're produced by underpaid and brutalized workers and then imported on extortionate and unfair terms.

so what, should we all give up bananas? no, and it's a sign of total lack of understanding of socialism as a global movement that all the pearl-clutching usamericans have latched onto the scary communists telling them to stop buying bananas. communism does not care about you as a consumer. individual consumptive choices are not a meaningful arena of political action. the socialist position is not "if there was a socialist reovlution in the usa, we would all stop eating bananas like good little boys", but rather, "if there's a socialist revolution in the countries where bananas are grown, then the availability of bananas in the usa is going to drop, and if you want to be an anti-imperialist in the imperial core you have to accept that".

(this is where the second argument i see about this, 'oh what are you catholic you want me to eat dirt like a monk?' reveals itself as a silly fucking solipsistic misunderstanding)

and again, let's note that the case of the banana can very easily be generalised out to coffee, chocolate, sugar, etc, and that it's not about individual consumptive habits, but about global economic systems. if you are donkey fucking kong and you eat 100 bananas a day i don't care and neither does anyone else. it's about trying to illustrate just one tiny mundane way in which economic imperialism makes the lives of people in the global north more convenient and simpler and so of course there is enormous pushback from people who attach moral value to this and therefore feel like the mean commies are personally calling them evil for eating a nutella or whatever which is frankly pretty tiring. Sad!

tldr: it is not imperialism when produce go on boat but it is imperialism when produce grown for dirt cheap by underpaid workers in a country with a devalued currency is then bought and exported and sold by usamerican companies creating huge amounts of economic value of which the nation in which the banana was grown, let alone the people who actually fucking grew it, don't see a cent -- and this is the engine behind the cheap, available-every-day-all-year-everywhere presence of bananas in the usa (and other places!)

[hamadisthings]

HELP US STOP CHAT CONTROL!

If you live in the EU, you absolutely need to pay attention to what's to come. What is Chat Control, you may ask? In a (failed) attempt to combat child abuse online the EU made Chat Control, Chat Control will result in getting your private messages and emails to be scanned by artificial intelligence aka AI to search for CSAM pictures or discussion that might have grooming in there. And on top of having your private conversations handed to AI or the police to snoop in, like your family pictures, selfies, or more sensitive pics, like the medical kind, only meant to be seen by your doctors, or the "flirtatious" kind you send to your partner, you either have to ACCEPT to be scanned...or else you will be forbidden from sending pictures, videos, or even links, as said here.

Kids should absolutely be protected online, without question, but the things that Chat Control gets wrong is that this is a blatant violation of privacy, without even considering the fact that AI WILL create tons of false positives, this is not a theory, this is a fact. And for all the false positives that will be detected, all of them will be sent to the police, which will just flood their system with useless junk instead of efficiently putting resources to actual protect kids from predators.

It also does not help that politicians, police officers, soldiers etc will be exempt from Chat Control if it passes. If it's for the sake of protection, shouldn't everyone get the same treatment? Which further prove that Chat Control would NOT keep your data of private life safe. Plus, bad actors will simply stop using messenger apps as soon as they know they're being tracked, using more obscure means, meanwhile innocent people will be punished by using those services On top of this, the EU also plans on reintroducing Data retention called "EU Going Dark". Both Chat Control and EU Going Dark are clear violation of the GDPR, and even if they shouldn't stand a chance in court, its not going to prevent politicians from trying to ram these through as an excuse to mass surveil European citizens, using kids as a shield. Even teenagers sending pictures to each other won't be exempt, which entirely goes against the purpose of protecting kids by retaining their private photos instead. Furthermore, once messaging apps are forced to comply with Chat Control, the president of Signal, a secured messaging app with encryption, have confirmed that they will be forced to leave the EU if this is enforced against them.

If Chat Control also ends up targeting any websites with the option of private messages, you better expect Europe to be geo-blocked by any websites offering such function. I would also like to add that EU citizens were very vocal in the fight against KOSA, an equally bad internet bill from the US-- and it showed! Which is why we heavily need the help of our fellow US peers to fight against Chat Control too, so please, because we all know if it passes, the US government will take a look at this and conclude "Ooh, a way to force mass surveillance on citizens even more than before? don't mind if I do!" It's always a snowball effect.

KEEP IN MIND THE EUROPE COUNCIL WILL LIKELY VOTE ON CHAT CONTROL THIS 19 JUNE OF NEXT WEEK TO SEE IF IT WILL ENTER TRILOGIES OR NOT. Even if it does enter Trilogues, the fight will only be beginning. Absentees may not count as a no, so it is crucial that you contact your MEPs HERE, as well as HERE, and you can also show your support for Edri's campaign against Chat Control HERE.

You can read more on Chat Control here as well, and you can find useful information as to which arguments to use when politely contacting your MEP (calling is better than email) here, and beneath you will find graphics you can use to spread the word!

YOU CAN ALSO JOIN OUR DISCORD SERVER (linked here) TO HELP ORGANIZE AGAINST CHAT CONTROL NON EU PEOPLE ARE MORE THAN WELCOME TO JOIN TOO!

https://discord.gg/FPDJYkUujM

PLEASE REBLOG ! NON EU PEOPLE ARE ENCOURAGED TO REBLOG AS WELL CONTACT YOUTUBERS, CONTENT CREATORS, ANYONE YOU KNOW THAT MAY HELP GET THE WORD OUT ! Let's fight for our Internet and actually keep kids safe online! Because Chat Control and EU Going Dark will only endanger kids.

PLEASE REBLOG! NON EU PEOPLE ARE ENCOURAGED TO REBLOG AS WELL CONTACT YOUTUBERS, CONTENT CREATORS, ANYONE YOU KNOW THAT MAY HELP GET THE WORD OUT !

Let's fight for our Internet and actually keep kids safe online! Because Chat Control and EU Going Dark will only endanger kids.

[oblique-lane]

Spy tf2 and his identity

Character analysis (or at least my vision on him, if you believe my reasoning)

What do we know about Spy? He's a disguise mastermind. He can pretend to be anyone in order to infiltrate into the scene to do his job - quite literally, stab people on the back. But when he's not in the battle, what is he to his teammates? A suave Frenchman, a gentleman with taste, somewhat a leader.

At least, that's the persona he prefers to show. But is he really..?

What if I tell you that this person never drops his disguise?

For a man who always wears a mask and who's identity being secret is a sacred part of his role in this job, isn't this persona too much to show if it is real? Frenchman, rich, ladykiller... Wouldn't it be too easy to decipher his identity with so much clues provided? Wouldn't it be dangerous?

While Miss Pauling and the Administrator definitely know Spy's real identity, hiding it is a major thing for whatever reason. One could assume it might be because of Scout (obvious guess) but I doubt he's a sole reason. Spy very much enjoys being the Spy all by himself. Do what's the deal?

Let's start from the beginning.

Why did Spy join Mann Co. in the first place?

Let's take this assumption as a fact: people come here out of desperation. They are professionals in their field, yet in their past/casual life there is a pattern of them having difficulties that push them into joining this service. I don't see why Spy would be an exception.

The reason for joining is usually money. Some people question why Spy, a wealthy man from higher society, would join Mann Co. if he has it all already.

Well, probably because he really does not.

Have you ever met an aristocrat? Wealthy people don't get so protective about their expensive suits, they can afford cleaning or a new one. Regardless, rich people don't usually get stingy about material goods, especially if they're mass produced.

At least, not those who were born into wealth.

Spy's defensiveness about his "wealthy stuff", his pomp-ness, disgust and arrogance towards "plebs" gives off a man who knows what it means to live in poverty and who doesn't want to be associated with it ever again.

(Not even talking about his own filthy habits such as not washing his mask and pissing on walls? Jesus Christ)

Dare I even guess that he might be not French at all? His French is so broken. (Although, so is Medic's German, but at least he uses his language much more frequently and in more complex sentences, while Spy only uses French to say some basic expressions, occasionally confusing them with other languages). Definitely not a native.

If anything, he's not giving "rich man" at all, he's giving con man. And that fits my picture perfectly.

So, poor upbringing. How old is Spy? If he's Scout's father (and he was young when he was conceived), I'd say he's no less than 20 years older than him. I'd give him a few more years actually. So, approximately Spy is around 50 at the events of the game (1968-1972). Let's assume he was born somewhere in the 1910s.

Even if he's not French, I still agree that he's probably European. Hmm, what was happening in Europe at the time Spy was a kid?

Oh yeah. The Great Depression.

See my picture: imagine, a child from a lower class family during the Great Depression, his parents were most likely to not take good care about him (both because of the economical situation AND as an echo to Spy's struggles with his own fatherhood). He has to run away from home early and start to make money. Any way possible.

Unavoidably, it leads to crime.

Petty theft, blackmail, scams. Changing identities. Selling low quality products and services. Changing identities again. When older, seducing rich women to stay at their homes overnight, be fed and supported. Running away from the police. Walking into a trap of the mafia, and then joining them as their goon.

In this nightmare of a life he just had to keep pretending to be someone else, someone better and stronger, in order to his ego to not completely shutter. He had to imagine he was an invincible mastermind trickster of some sort, not just a poor boo-hoo victim of poverty who has never knew normal life and care.

And if you pretend for long enough, you become your role eventually... Right?

His true self was long lost forgotten under many layers of new identities. Worse, his true self was never known. And he didn't want it to be known in its ugly and disgusting vulnerability. Narcissism became his lifeline.

It's so much better to be Spy. To be rich and elegant and respected. His ego rebuilt.

[traveler-at-heart]

Undercover

Summary: Natasha and you play a happy couple for an undercover mission.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

-----

It’s mortifying.

As you lay in bed, looking at the ceiling, the moment replays in your head over and over and over again. How you wish you had an off switch for your brain.

This is supposed to be an undercover mission, and yet you can’t keep your true feelings hidden from Natasha.

Undercover as a married couple, no less.

Today, while you were sitting in the living room of your “newlywed home”, reading a book, Natasha approached you. Her hand rested on your shoulder.

“I’m going out for a run” she had said. You nodded absentmindedly, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.

“I’ll start dinner now”

And it wasn’t until you heard the door shut, that you snapped out of it.

You didn’t have to pretend inside the house. There was absolutely no reason for you to kiss any part of her like that, no one was watching.

Your cheeks flushed and your palms began to sweat. Feeling stupid and exposed, you tried to cook dinner, finding it hard to focus on what to do.

If Natasha noticed the slightly burned meatloaf, she didn’t comment on it. Even as you downed your wine quickly and poured yourself more, she remained stoic and acted as usual.

The night went by in a blurr and now you’re staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Natasha is in the study, doing surveillance and thank God, because sharing a bed after what you did today?

Impossible.

How do I get myself in these situations?

—

“The Maggia” Fury said, looking around the room. There were only five people there, which told you this was an important mission. “What do you know about it?”

“Family of criminals, from Europe, mostly Italy. Loose alliance at that, each family just stays out of the other’s way” you casually said. Hell, you could go on and on about them for much longer.

“Someone does their homework” Fury nodded.

“Show off” Natasha leaned forward, whispering in your ear. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, but you tried your best to hide it.

You feared your best wasn’t very good.

“Their operations consist mostly of loan sharking, narcotics and prostituion” Maria continued. “But, we recently recieved intel that the family in New Jersey is playing something more dangerous”

“Potentially, HYDRA and the smuggling of Trinium”

“What’s Trinium?” Rogers, who had been following in silenece, finally intervened.

“Incredibly rare element and highly explosive if exposed to a special charge”

Of course, it was always about blowing something up.

“We’ve located the leaders of the Jersey family. You two will be sent immediately to start the undercover mission, as the timeline indicates that the purchase will happen in less than three months. Sorry for not getting you a gift, but your wedding was done in such a rush” Fury slid down the files towards you and Natasha.

You took it and were about to hand it to Steve, since he was sitting behind you, but Fury just chuckled, shaking his head no.

Maria had to bite the inside of her cheek to not laugh at your shocked expression, while you turned to look at Natasha with wide eyes.

“Oh, darling, I’ll make you so very happy!”

—

Just your luck, Natasha decides to stay and work from home on Friday. Your plans of eating junk food and wasting away watching reality tv to feel better after your slip up are down the drain.

Instead, you are out gardening. It’s part of the cover, you insisted since you moved. What kind of person would not make an effort to improve their house? One they were planning on living in for years to come.

And truly, you had outdone yourself. In the month you’d spent here, the grass went from dry to green, all kinds of flowers blooming thanks to your hard work and the knowledge provided by years of helping your mother.

It doesn’t matter if the sun is burning your skin or sweat is dripping down your back, you absolutely cannot spend the morning inside the house with the woman who you have a crush on, and who probably knows your true feelings now, thanks to that stupid, stupid…

“Hey” her voice snaps you back to reality, looking up to meet her green eyes, soft and gentle.

“Hi” you reply from your place in the ground, wiping your forehead. “What’s up?”

“You’ve been at it for hours now, and it’s getting too hot. Come get some rest”

“It’s fine, I just need to…”

She calls your name, more of a plea than a warning not to argue with her and you sigh, standing up. As you go up the porch, she hands over a glass of cold lemonade and you take it, realising that you were very much in need of some refreshments.

“What are you doing?” you mutter when you put the glass down, and she takes her hands in yours.

“You’ve been acting strange since yesterday”

“Natasha”

“Did you act on instinct?” she asks, her lips inches from yours.

“Y-yes”

“That’s what a good agent does. You act natural. It’s not something you put any effort in. You don’t drop the cover under any circumstance”

She is throwing you a life line, a gracious way to salvage some of your dignity -if you have any left, that is- because you both know, you are not that good of an agent.

“She’s walking towards the house” Natasha warns, your back to the street. You don’t look behind you, allowing the redhead to pull you into a heated kiss that steals your breath.

“Hey, neighbors”

You turn around, Natasha’s hand falling to your lower back. Waving at Beatrice Costa, the both of you fake smiles. It’s still hard to believe this regular looking woman is leading a criminal organization next to her husband.

“Your garden is looking spectacular!” she admires.

“Thank you, Beatrice. I’ll stop by to give you some flowers when the hydrengeas bloom”

“As long as your wife doesn’t get jealous” the woman jokes, and you feel Natasha’s hand snaking around your middle, pulling you flush against her front.

“She does” the redhead says in a teasing manner, making your neighbor/suspect laugh.

“Anyways, I came to invite you two over for dinner tomorrow. To thank you for last week”

“Oh, it was no bother, really” you say, smiling.

“I insist. Eight o’clock?”

“Sounds great” you nod, and once she says her goodbyes, Natasha turns you around in her arms, still not letting go of your waist.

“See? It’s working. You’re doing great. Nobody questions us” she eases your nerves over what happened yesterday.

Nobody questions you because you are really in love with her, that’s the truth.

“What are you doing?” you say, your breath hitching when she leans over, about to kiss you.

“She’s still around” Natasha says, letting you close the distance to meet her lips.

By the time she drags you back inside, so you can have lunch, the only thought in your head is the feel of her lips in yours.

—

It had been a simple ruse, so simple that it was a wonder it worked.

Natasha made sure Beatrice’s car would malfunction. She always parked outside, and you made sure to be Natasha’s lookout as she drained the battery.

Morning came, and true to her routine, the woman was ready to leave home when the luxurious Mercedes Benz refused to turn on. It just so happened that you were running by, and as any good neighbor would do, offered to help.

What a coincidence, your wife knew enough about cars to fix the issue and send the woman on her merry way.

Beatrice was too polite and too rich to waste the opportunity to thank you -and flaunt her wealth- so next morning she stopped by with a tiramisu from the most expensive bakery in town, to thank you both.

And fuck, it was good tiramisu.

Now, she would greet you and Natasha when either one of you would run past her house (part of your intelligence operations).

Four weeks after the start of the mission, and it had finally paid off, as you received an invitation into the lion’s den.

“So, what’s our game plan here?” you say, looking over yourself in the vanity mirror.

“Enjoy the evening” Natasha says, smiling at your reflection.

“What?” you turn to look at her, confused. “We’re gonna be inside their house. We could bug it”

“Their phones are tapped. That’s all we need. And the man’s computer. But maybe I’ll excuse myself and break into his study”

“That’s too dangerous” you protest. Even if they act like normal people, they’re life long criminals with an extensive network. And you don’t feel prepared to take over anything if Natasha’s compromised. “Could you not?”

“If you have any idea on how to hack into their financial system, sure”

You huff, annoyed at her bored tone. As if she’s not risking herself over something that can be done a million other ways.

“Nat, I don’t want anything bad happening to you. We’ll find another way, ok?” you insist, putting on your heels.

“Ok, darling” she nods, as a spouse would do to calm their crazy wife and you glare, but take your win.

Without another word, you prepare to leave the room, when you feel her arms around your middle.

“What are you…?”

“Clothing tag was out” she says, fixing your sweater. “There. Perfect”

Her words, accompanied by a squeeze to your stomach make your head fuzzy. Clearing your throat, you nod and go down the stairs, picking up a bottle of wine from the kitchen counter.

“Trust me” you say when Natasha gives you an inquiring look. “Ready to go?”

“After you, sweetheart”

As you walk down the street to the Costa residence, Natasha takes your hand, running her thumb over the back of it. She might sense your nerves, or is apologizing for before. Either way, you keep a light conversation until she knocks on your suspect’s door, her arm firmly around your waist.

“Welcome!” Beatrice says, ushering you into her home. It’s elegant and big, but not too flashy or pretentious. “And what do we have here?”

“Just a little gift. It’s actually one of the bottles we got from our honeymoon” you take the lead, your hand in Natasha’s as you navigate the luxurious home all the way to the dining room.

“Oh, this is close to the place where my family is from originally”

Oh, what a shock. It’s not like you know everything there is about the Maggia, along with the history of the Gulf of Naples.

While Beatrice goes to the kitchen to check on the food -made by their staff, of course- Natasha looks around the room. You know that inquiring look, as she evaluates every threat and possible complication should you be compromised.

To help her ease into the environment, you take her hand in yours, feeling less exposed because you’re in front of other people who should believe your relationship is real. The mission is the only way you can justify your desire to feel Natasha’s touch.

By the time Beatrice comes back, Alessandro is right behind her and he introduces himself. His clothes scream old money, and the watch on his wrist screams fucking loaded of ilegal money as well.

“This wine is magnificent” he comments when you sit down and begin to eat.

“Le Lune del Vesuvio” you say, looking at Natasha across the table. “We spent our honeymoon in Italy and I just had to drag Nat to Pompeii for a tour”

“Are you familiar with the region?” Alessandro asks and you nod, having practiced everything.

“Yes, I did my dissertation on cultural identity in Pompeii”

“She’s a genius, my wife” Natasha says with a smile, impressed at how much detail you’re putting on everything to keep them engaged.

“Well, Beatrice’s family, the Fortunatos are from the same area. The Costas are from Sicily. So we are very happy to hear that you know it so well”

“How did you two meet?” Beatrice pivots, and Natasha is happy to answer.

“I was working on a client’s divorce settlement and needed an art expert. Y/N was the only one with the knowledge to help our lawfirm. A divorce brought us together” she says, looking at you with a smile.

Such a romantic.

“Oh, that’s lovely. Well, not for the divorced couple. But not everyone can get a happy ending, I suppose” Beatrice says.

It’s your turn to ask the usual questions and Natasha acts surpirsed, following up the way any normal person would, as if you don’t know every single detail about their lives and criminal record already.

When the conversation pivots to Alessandro, you perk up. This has proven to be the hardest part of the mission, as he keeps a tight leash on all their financial records through obscure third parties.

“You know, I also teach some finance classes. Would you be open to giving a lecture on art appraising? I think it’s an interesting market” he turns to you.

“That would be interesting” you say, groaning internally. Now you’re gonna have to actually work on a presentation, for fuck’s sake. Nobody told you you were gonna be quizzed to this extent during the mission.

Natasha hides her smile with the glass of wine, and you kick her under the table. Her smile fades just a little, but you can still see the teasing in her eyes.

She’s having too much fun with this.

—

The next morning you wake up to a note from Natasha. She’s picking up a “special” package, which means she’s coordinating with Maria the next stage of the mission.

You’re surprised to find a bouquet of flowers adorning the dining table.

Natasha is doing her share of the mission and you have to focus on yours, which is the fucking presentation. There better not be a Q&A session or you’ll lose your damn mind.

Moving to the study that also works as a surveillance room, you pull out your computer and begin to work. To be fair, you enjoy art enough to know more about it than the regular person. You had also been in contact with appraisers and auction houses back in your Interpol days, as you tracked ilegal art dealers.

For obvious reasons, you can’t mention that bit.

You’ve been working for a couple of hours when you hear the front door open, Natasha hurrying up the steps.

“Hey” she says with a frown.

“Everything ok?”

“You didn’t answer my text. Have you even taken a break to eat?” she puts down a heavy box in front of you.

“Sorry, I was preparing for the lecture”

“I got you your favorite food for lunch. And did you see the bouquet?” Natasha insists.

“Uh, I did… but is there a reason for…?”

“You seriously don’t remember?”

“Is it our fake first date anniversary, baby?” you tease, leaning forward. Natasha’s so worked up it's almost comical.

“Y/N, it’s your birthday”

“What?!” you turn to look at the calendar. “Holy crap, how could I have forgotten my own birthday?”

You are so focused on the mission, this completely slipped your mind. What were you supposed to do any way? Being undercover meant cutting off contact with the rest of the world. The timing sucks, but work is your priority right now.

“Work on that thing tomorrow. You should be resting and having a special day”

“Nat, it’s fine. It won’t be the first or last birthday that I’m stuck at work” you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

“Please?” she reaches for your hand, and the gesture is so gentle that your heart skips a beat. Natasha is very serious about taking the day off.

“Ok” you nod, and the hint of a smile can be seen on her face as you take her hand. She gets plates for the both of you and even agrees to watch Project Runway, which she loathes and you love. Without either one of you noticing, you end up across the couch, your legs on her lap.

“Our dinner reservation is at seven” she says, her hand going up and down your thigh.

“Dinner?”

“What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t take you to dinner?” Natasha smiles, making you blush.

“Well, no one really knows it’s my birthday, so…”

You leave out the most obvious part of how her logic is flawed: you are not even married.

“I know it’s your birthday. Come on. Just let me spoil you once?”

You clear your throat and nod, afraid that if you speak, your voice will give away how much those words affect you. Natasha telling you she wants to spoil you?

That alone is the best birthday gift you’ve ever gotten.

—

It’s honestly a lot more than you could have asked for. The restaurant is beautiful, the food is amazing, and Natasha is looking at you in that special way that makes you feel so happy and confused at the same time.

If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn you saw love in her beautiful emerald eyes.

“How’s your food?”

“Here” you take a forkful of your pasta and offer it to her.

“Really good. Almost as good as the one we had in… where was it? Naples?” Natasha teases, and you smile.

“That’s the city. The whole region is actually really beautiful… maybe I should take some of that time off and travel again” you ponder, thinking about how life has been all about work for the past years.

“Where would you go? Aside from Naples?”

“Sorrento, Lecce, maybe Positano. I don’t know, I guess I’d spend it around the south, just because the food is that good” you sigh, dreamily.

“How come you know so much about it?” Natasha inquires, smiling softly.

“My parents owned a house, because my grandparents were from Salerno. So we’d all spent every summer there, until they sold the property” you explain, letting the waiter take your empty plate. The memory of hot days, cold water and delicious food comes back to you, coupled with the places you’d visit, driving everywhere with your family.

“So, maybe you were destined to be on this mission” Natasha says, smiling.

“I don’t know if destined or it was Fury messing with me” you slip up, hurrying to take a sip of your wine. He had teased you endlessly about your crush on Natasha, and he was probably laughing his ass off as he prepared your identities.

“Whatever it was, I’m happy we’re in this together” Natasha admits, smiling to you.

“Me too” you agree in a low voice. Then, you look at her and smile mischeviously. “So, since it’s my birthday, can we get a nice dessert?”

“I’m already on it” Natasha raises her hand, the man bringing a plate with a slice of chocolate cake and a candle. “Make a wish”

What could you possibly wish for? You wanted to spend time with Natasha, get to know her, have her look at you the way she was doing right now.

Your wish was granted already. Still, you smile, and lean forward to blow out the candle.

—

“Maybe this is a bad idea”

Natasha is hovering. Hovering and following you and asking all kinds of questions while you prepare your bag.

“It’s gonna be fine” you say, again.

“It’s too risky”

“All I have to do is place this phone next to his computer” you lift the device that Maria sent. “And we’ll have access to his files”

“What if he notices?”

“I better run fast then” you joke, but Natasha doesn’t laugh. “I’m a SHIELD agent, not a history nerd with no fighting skills”

“Except you are a history nerd” she mutters and you turn to glare at her.

“You know what, Romanoff”

“Can I at least drive you there?”

There’s a moment of hesitation on your side. Does she think you’ll screw up the mission? Or is she actually worried about you? Either way, she looks conflicted and there’s no reason to not give her some peace of mind.

“Alright”

On the way to the lecture, you review your notes, missing the way Natasha smiles at the things you’re saying about the subjective value of art and how it has changed throughout history.

Such a nerd.

“I’ll be in a cafe monitoring everything. Call me when you’re done and I’ll pick you up”

“Yes, darling wife” you say with a slightly mocking tone, the same way you always call her your wife in public, but with no one else around.

As you exit the car and walk towards the university, Natasha calls for you.

“I didn’t get to wish you good luck” she explains, pulling you close and kissing you softly. “Good luck”

“T-thanks” you say, out of breath.

Natasha nods, letting you walk as if she didn’t just do the sweetest thing in the world.

You try not to think about how much you’ll miss this when the mission’s over.

But now you have to stay focused.

Alessandro waves his hand in the air, and you walk towards him with a smile.

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this”

“It’s not a problem, really”

It totally is, you criminal motherfucker.

“Oh, I forgot my laptop, could I use yours? I have the deck on a flash drive”

Alessandro hesitates for a second, but his mask slips back to place instantly. If you really were a regular person, you never would have noticed his concern.

It means he keeps everything hidden there.

“Sure. Let me just…” he quickly types his password, and you look around the classroom, pulling out the phone and placing it on the table next to his computer. “All set”

“Thank you”

As the slideshow is projected in the auditorium, you look around the room, feeling more confident.

“So, how much would you guys pay for a banana taped to a wall?”

—

“I’m telling you, he keeps everything there” you say to Natasha, browsing through the device. “There’s some encryption, though”

“My expertise”

“Show off”

“Let’s get something to eat” she changes the subject.

“You don’t wanna go back home and check if it’s working?”

“I think a few hours won’t make a difference. We won’t be long, detka”

You think Fury would disagree, but she’s calling you detka and your gayness outweights your sense of duty.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything you want”

“Pizza”

“Anything but pizza” she says, making a face and you laugh.

“Natasha!”

“Sushi” she proposes.

“Fine, sushi it is”

The evening is spent talking about everything but the mission, and by the time you’re driving back home, all you want to do is get in bed and sleep.

“Where are you going?” you ask when Natasha walks to the study.

“You did your part, now I have to work” she explains with a smile.

“Fine” you close the door to the bedroom, joining her in the study. “Either way you’re gonna wake me up when you come back to bed. Might as well help you now”

“Sure” she says, even though you know next to nothing about code and hacking.

While she works on the computer, you look at the window, yawning and stretching in the couch.

Natasha finds out that Pluto is the banking organization they use for their covert operations. To access the accounts she needs a code-string of numbers.

“How many numbers?” you ask, half asleep.

“Six”

“Not coordinates. Could be dates. Most of them like to write down the dates of their oldest founders' tombstones anywhere they can, like a fucking tramp stamp” you joke, falling asleep. “Get into the database and try those”

“Maybe…” Natasha begins to say, but when she turns around you’re snoring.

And what does she know, you are right, the key to the algorithm is based on tombstones’ dates. Talk about morbid.

“Nerd” Natasha says affectionately. Deciding it is enough work for the day, she closes the laptop, helping you up to your shared bedroom.

Truth is, she’s not ready to finish this mission.

—

The end is near, you both can tell. With the encryption finished and the communications that you have intercepted, SHIELD has enough to arrest them.

According to the conversations you recorded, the exchange is set to happen two weeks from today. So you have two more weeks of fake domestic bliss. And then back to being just colleagues.

“I’ll be home as soon as I have a response” Natasha says.

“See you later” you say from your spot in the couch.

“No good luck kiss?” she jokes, referring to the time she said goodbye to you before the lecture.

But you’re not messing around when you stand up and place a chaste kiss on her cheek. If these are the last two weeks you get to do this without being questioned, you’ll make the most of them.

“Be safe”

“You too” she smiles, squeezing your hand.

The sun is setting, but you don’t feel like cooking anything or watching television. Instead, you decide to go out for a run, passing by the Costa mansion out of curiosity.

“Hey, neighbor” Beatrice greets with her signature wave. She often looks like royalty waving at the commoners. “Want some refreshments?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m just out for a short run”

“Come on, you could use some rest! I’d love to hear how the presentation went”

Feeling cornered, you nod, stepping foot inside her mansion. Beatrice has a glass of lemonade ready, which surprises you, but you take it and sip slowly.

Damn, even her lemonade tastes amazing.

“Heard those students were fascinated by your presentation” she encourages you to speak, and you nod, the movement making you a bit fuzzy.

“It was fun… yeah”

“Everything ok?” Beatrice comes close to inspect your face, and you try to step back. Your leg gives in, so you end up on the floor.

“I’m not sure…”

It isn’t until the very last second you understand the woman drugged you.

—

Everything is upside down or so you feel as you struggle to open your eyes.

“See? I told you she’d be fine”

“Oh, shut it. We’ve been waiting for hours” a man says and you blink several times. Their names come back to you slowly.

The mission.

Was your cover blown?

“Y/N, dear, I do apologize. My wife may have overdone it with the clonazepam” Alessandro says. You try to move, but your hands are tied behind your back. “Yes, about that. Don’t worry, we won’t keep you here for long. We just really need to use your connections in the art world to smuggle a tiny, tiny thing”

Good news (for you). The cover is safe.

Bad news (for them). Natasha is gonna kill them.

It looks like you’re in an abandoned warehouse, and judging by the sound, it’s close to the river.

“Yeah, uh… look. I don’t know how to say this, but you’d be better off crossing the border, whichever one. South, north”

“I’m not following” Beatrice says.

“Well, I’m afraid Natasha’s gonna kill you when she finds you two” you grimace, almost feeling sorry for them. They truly don’t know what’s coming.

“No offense, but I think a Maggia family will be more than safe from…”

“The Black Widow?” you say, with a smug smile.

“Bullshit” Beatrice snaps, pulling you by the hair. “Stop the nonesense and help us out. Or we’ll send you home to your loving wife in a body bag”

There’s a loud crash outside of the warehouse, and a widow bite is shot close to Beatrice’s foot as a warning.

“Hands off my girl” Natasha says, gun raised and pointing at Alessandro. “You ok, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Sorry for missing dinner”

“It’s fine. We’ll heat it up when we get home” Natasha jokes. With a nod, you throw yourself to the floor, shattering the chair. Beatrice throws a couple of punches, and she’s quite the fighter.

While Natasha is engaged in battle with Alessandro, the woman escapes and you’re following close behind. The drug is still in your system, and you can tell by the way your steps are a little clumsy.

Beatrice leads you to the edge of the river and you catch up to her out of breath.

“It’s over” you say, hearing Natasha step right behind you.

“Cap’s got the other one. Let’s bring this one in” she says, walking past you. She fails to see the gun that Beatrice is hiding, and you push Natasha out of the way. The bullet passes between you both and you launch your body against Beatrice, knocking her down.

Still, your diziness makes you lose your footing and you fall to the river.

“Rogers, Hill!” Natasha calls over comms, borderline hysterical. “Someone come in”

“I’m here, Romanoff” Tony says, flying over the redhead.

“What the hell took you so long?”

Tony’s suit scans the river and finds you.

“She’s ok, I’m getting her out now. Handcuff our suspect there”

Natasha turns to glare at Beatrice, punching her so hard she’s knocked out.

“Bitch” Natasha says, handcuffing her.

Maria approaches to make sure Natasha doesn’t kill Beatrice, while the redhead sprints towards the spot where Tony drops you off.

“Are you ok? What hurts?”

“J-just cold” you mutter, holding on to her hands.

“Let’s take her to the Medbay. Romanoff, stay so you can lead the rest of the mission” Steve says.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Natasha screams so loud that every agent on the scene turns to look at her. “I’m going with her to the hospital, I don’t give a crap about your mission, Rogers”

“Tasha, I’m fine” you insist, but enjoy the way she pulls you against her, her hands on your lower back. Natasha kisses the top of your head, leading you to a car that will drive you to SHIELD’s medical facility.

Fury turns to look at Hill, amused.

“Remember our little bet?”

Maria rolls her eyes, annoyed. She pulls out a twenty dollar bill and reluctantly hands it to her boss.

“So not fair”

—

Bruised ribs, a potential cold from your night swim and a minor concussion. All things considered, it could have been a hell of a lot worse.

Natasha seems to disagree, which is why she pushes to postpone the mission debriefing.

“You need to rest” is all she says.

Back in your old room, you shower, enjoying the hot water and clean clothes. Natasha is still sitting on your bed when you walk out of the bathroom.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep without you” she confesses shyly, which makes you smile.

“Me neither”

“I thought I lost you”

“I got lucky. Those two idiots actually thought I was an art dealer” you chuckle.

“You’re a very convincing art nerd” Natasha teases, and you want to pull back but she grabs you by the waist. “I wish I still had two more weeks”

“It doesn’t have to be just two weeks” you say, running your hand through her hair. “I don’t want to pretend to be with you, Natasha. I want to be with you, for real”

“Yeah?” she looks up at you, a guarded expression on her face.

Instead of answering, you lean forward, kissing her softly until she pulls you to straddle her lap.

“You know, we never consumated our marriage”

“Seems like we should get on with it” you laugh as she flips you over, making you lie on your back.

“Just as long as you don’t fake an orgasm” she jokes, kissing every inch of your body.

“Promise I won’t”

Your reality turns out better than any undercover mission could ever be.

[hoseoksluna]

TIME | knj

pairing: fiancé!namjoon x oc 

genre: smut

word count: 13.0k

summary: namjoon makes your dream come true in a much better way than you ever wanted.

pinterest board: divine | playlist: time | taglist: join

warnings: basic relationship fears, oc is heartbroken in the beginning, fight, minor violence, oc has daddy issues (like the writer), namjoon and oc smoke (like the writer as well <3), family sickness, punishment, spanking, choking, hair pulling, a mention of throat fucking and squirting, namjoon has an obsession with oc's boobies, dirty talk, use of a blindfold during intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, raw sex, namjoon talks her through it, praise kink

note: i will cherish this work until the day i die. i will carry it in my heart and never, ever forget it. this might be my best piece and i don't think i'll ever write anything as good as this. i love namjoon with all my heart and i want to thank him for inspiring me to write this. if he weren't such an amazing person, such a dear person to me and if he never released cbtm, this work wouldn't be here and i wouldn't brim with so many warm emotions. i gotta tell you guys—while writing the smut, this was the first time i wasn't affected by it in a way that i normally am because i found so much beauty in their relationship. enjoy this, my loves. let me know what you think. i love you. <3

The orange light in the hotel room causes bile to rise in your throat. It exudes a zephyr of mockery, such profound air of scorn, and you feel it thumping upon its reflection on the bare skin of your arms. You want to pinch it—make it hurt somehow, cause it the same agony that’s poisoning your system through and through because in all truth, that’s all you’re left to do. 

The Eiffel tower out beyond your window, blanketed in a soft layer of snow, has begun to twinkle. The perception of how long you’ve waited for your fiancé to come back that even such a monumental structure, your dream, has descended to its sleep full of blinding light beckons gooseflesh to mar your skin and it doesn’t go away. Not when your sight blurs, unfocuses, and the stars that have latched themselves to the tower enlarge into bulbs with softened edges, a myriad of bokeh that seem to have a slither of pity for you, lessening their grandness as the falling snow thickens. Not when both of your waterlines become rivulets of tears that heat your cold cheeks, despite the burning bushes of fury that incinerate your lungs. 

Just one more hour and the twigs of flames will perforate the chambers of your heart and sweep it clean of any emotions, any feelings, any understanding for the man that took you to Paris and left you all alone in the hotel room he paid for. You thought he took you here to give you the experience of seeing something new as you’ve never been to Europe and you’ve shared with him on several occasions that it’s always been your dream to see the Eiffel tower. Especially at night when it glimmers with such pretty, pretty stars. But considering he brought you here under the pretense of doing business, you carry nothing but contempt for the strange iron structure. So much for dreaming, so much for putting trust in a man. 

There will always be the other woman. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the form of a female, of alcohol, of ignorance. In this case, the mistress is Namjoon’s company and you should’ve known you’ll have her haunting your back for the rest of the trajectory of your secret relationship with him, with Mr. President. 

You should’ve seen it coming the moment she created a realm for you to soften, privately, in and fall in love with him until your ears turned red, the petals of roses. A realm between an ordinary employee and her boss. Between the walls of unknowing people—the way he would lean in to hear you talk because in comparison to his large stature and broad proportions, made even more prominent by his short hair, you were a mere stone on the ground, an ametrine—split in half with a tendril of yellow—but a stone regardless, fearing the tip of his lacquered dress shoes stomping on you until you’re left crumbled in the dying grass, the jagged pieces of you consoled by the ruthless wind.

You were terribly afraid of him. Briefly, but ardently. A true personification of desire, whenever you had to look up into his eyes. Whenever a whiff of his oriental cologne tickled your nostrils. Whenever the allure of secrecy between you two heightened. All because he was a powerful man, on the cusp of saving you from the lowest of the dirt. Saving you and digging you back inside, left to your own decay. 

Left to. That’s the wisp of tendency in your relationship. The wisp of force that drove you to give your yes to him. The wisp of the engagement ring encased around the fourth finger on your left hand. Left to—because you’d been single for so long and your mother pined after grandchildren and Namjoon was there, a knight in shining armor, dressed in suit and tie underneath, at the very age and position to settle down. Left to—because the special attention he gave you grazed your fear of him, gently, and helped it blossom into a bush of hyacinths growing in your lungs.

It’s how you found out you were in a severe destitute of a fatherly figure in your life.

Because Namjoon paid your bills. Put food on your mother’s table. In the form of a generous paycheck, overtime pay—even though you always clocked out at five, and odd bonuses that rose in monetary value the more he spent time with you. You’ve told him to stop, asked for fairness among his employees, even though nobody liked you there and would do quite the opposite if they ever happened to be in your shoes. But Namjoon never agreed to your offer. No, he stroked your hair and told you to save that money for your mother. And because you never heard that come out of man’s mouth, you nodded, meekly. Listened. The fear of him stroking the violet petals of hyacinths in you because as of now, he owned you. Owned your life. Owned the comfort of your mother. 

All because you made the faux pas and took off your heels when you thought your presentation was done and nobody answered when you asked if anyone had any questions left. Except for that one employee who didn’t have, evidently, a sense of decency and suddenly remembered he had a groundbreaking question to ask you in regards to the matter of your presentation, when everyone else, including Namjoon, was gathering their possessions and rising to their feet. 

He had noticed your nylon-clad feet, your swollen little toes, the way you rolled the ball of your foot on the carpet to alleviate yourself of the pain. And he changed the decades-old policy of dress code the next day. Forbade all women to wear high heels. Flat shoes only—loafers, ballet shoes. Incorporated bonuses that appeared in their bank accounts that very day, demanding an instant payment. 

He paid for every woman’s shoes in his company, including you. 

You never had to go through the torment of wearing heels again, no matter how pretty they seemed to you.

And then it was easy—languid and smooth, the innocent eye contact from across the room, the constant attention, the brushing of hands when walking past each other. And then you ran into him everywhere. He was always alone, which caused you to suspect he was single, so you smiled a little more and found it the easiest thing in the world, conversing with him about everything and nothing. Put a lot more care into the clothes you wore and the daily choice of your perfumes. Not forcing yourself and not being in control of it at the same time, something in the very middle. Something so natural that allowed you to turn your brain off for a moment and let yourself be led by your instincts. 

Then, your mother got sick and you lost your smile. Spent all your free time with her, taking care of her and you never ran into Namjoon again. 

Which is why he began to call you into his office behind the pretense that he needs something from you. And perhaps he did. He needed to be a friend for you. And you needed it just the same. 

He helped you cope with the gravity of a burden regarding a sickly parent and you became his.

And you gave more of yourself to him with every fleeting touch, every secret invitation to his office in broad daylight when he had meetings to attend to but wanted to get to know you instead, get to know your dreams because he has the money and the power to make them come true. Tenderly, despite the potency, the violence of his instrument. And tenderly, he always treated you. Tenderly, he held you steady as you made it a regular thing between you and him to sit on his lap. Not straddling him, but sideways—like a little girl sitting on the lap of her father. Tenderly, he led you through new parts of your life with poetic advice and viewpoints, meeting you outside of work, intertwining his fingers with yours and reassuring you. And tenderly, he became the stable male figure you invariably needed and never knew you did. 

And tenderness is what you need right now. In this shadowed hotel room, with only your arms to wrap around your torso and a ring on your left fourth finger, a ghost of his presence, ever so lingering, but not quite here. And you clutch at your dress, scrape your fingernails along the side of your ribs, etching the words that he said to your slowly awakening form in the late afternoon before he left. 

“I won’t be long. I just have some business to attend to. I’ll be back in an hour.”

It has been more than an hour and you wonder if he’s going to miss the twinkling of the tower. It’s your first night here. You had dinner after you landed, napped, didn’t even walk around the poetry-woven city and Namjoon chose his work. You showered for him, wore the long black dress you saved up the little of your last two paychecks for and he’s not here to see it. 

You feel so betrayed. He found work in your spare time, the time saved only for you both, the time that should’ve been saved for the romance part of your relationship. All he knows is work and so do you—as the entirety of your hours spent together have been solely work-related. This vacation should have been anything but. 

You sigh, hand ready at the zipper at the back of your dress. Once he comes home, he’ll be tired. Too tired to take a walk and immerse himself in the European beauty, so you should save this dress for a better occasion, one which he’s present for. Whenever that is. If that ever comes, at all. 

The squeak of the zipper going down is interrupted when you hear the lock make a sing-song melody, a signal that someone is coming in. Your breath quivers. A twist of events you didn’t expect, but you don’t get your hopes up. You know your fiancé well enough not to expect him to be full of life and elation after a work meeting. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but you let it slide past every time, aware that if he didn’t work so hard, your mother wouldn’t have the comfort she has. And neither would you. 

That doesn’t mean you’ll let it slide past this time. Not when he reserved his special time for you, for you both. 

Namjoon emerges out of the soft-toned yellow hall with a hand behind his back. You rise from the bed, facing him. Notice his sagged, broad shoulders, the sweat that lines his forehead and the narrow thin line that his lips are pursed in. A petulant, gray aura swathes him, despite the vibrancy of the colors of the hotel room and when he comes in, it’s almost like he absorbs them. His brows quirk at the sight of you, nearly relieved to see you dressed and waiting for him, but that expression falters once he takes in the mirror of you. The same wrinkle on your forehead stamps itself onto his and the sag of his coat-clad shoulders deepens. He stops at the edge of the bed, in front of you. Remains silent. And when you give him a few more seconds to speak and he doesn’t, your fists clench at your sides, against the linen puffiness of your dress. 

“An hour, huh?” 

He sighs and lowers his gaze. But not onto the ground. No, he lowers it onto your dress, swallowing dryly at the accentuation of your waist and the bunched up fabric at the hips cascading down, clothing you in the prosaic night of Paris, not the poetic, not the lively. He missed it. 

“You look so beautiful in this dress,” Namjoon comments and you scoff. If that’s his way of apologizing for leaving you for almost four hours, you don’t really understand it. It merely adds fuel to the flames of the indignation underneath that fucking dress. 

“Do you know what time it is?” you bite, your fingers instinctively grabbing onto the fabric of your garment for some kind of stability as your blood boils. Abruptly, his eyes flick to the window and when you follow his gaze, you discover the tower dressed similarly as you. Shrouded, entirely, in the night, clouds drifting past in place of the twinkles. Your blood is scorching hot and even though you didn’t expect him to take you to it, your stomach still drops at the disappointment that you missed the thing you looked forward to for weeks, knowing it won’t be the same tomorrow or the day after that. Your eyes prick with tears and you hate them. Don’t want to cry. Don’t want to be a spoiled brat, in fact. Not when you grew up the way you did—dreamless, poor and independent. But you can’t stop the words from rushing out. “I can see you wearing that watch that costs more than the house I grew up in and I know your habit of checking the time often, so tell me. Why didn’t you text me? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why did you bring me here in the first place if you knew you had business?” 

Mouth ends rounding ever so slightly, at last he shows what he’s been hiding behind his back. A bouquet of fresh, violet chrysanthemums and baby’s breath of the same muted tones. A symbol of thoughtfulness and care. The oxymoron makes you seethe and you grit your teeth. 

“I ran around the city trying to find one flower shop that was still open. I bought the first flowers that reminded me of you.” He pushes them your way, trying to get you to take them and you do, the wrapper rustling as your hands touch and electricity zaps you. Damn it. “Purple, your favorite color.” 

The audacity this man has, walking over that one word of apology, avoiding it. He takes your anger to another level and the fact that it seems to be endless makes you even angrier. Enough to want to hit him with the flowers. 

And you do. 

The flowers hover in the air in slow motion before their petals scatter around his troubled shoulders and the ruffled bed, where you sat so restlessly. Namjoon raises his arms in defense and you don’t stop, not until he grabs your arms and stills you. 

He calls you by your name, his hold on you deathly, and he shakes you, just once, in effort to bring some sense into you. “Calm down.” 

The stems from the chrysanthemums lay crooked on the floor between your bare feet and his black dress shoes. Ruined, devastated. Just like your dream. Some snapped in half, never to be whole again. Just like your heart. 

“You think some flowers are gonna bring my dream back, huh?” you snap, raising your voice, quivering in his grasp. You push at his chest, trying to get out of his clutches, but to no avail. You remain firm and unmoving in his hold. He doesn’t even budge. And once again you feel like a stone—an amethyst this time. Bigger, stronger, yet it still pales in comparison to the mountain that Namjoon is. You give very little fuck about that, however. “You knew it was my dream to see the Eiffel Tower at night. You brought me here knowing that, so I’m asking you once again why. Why did you bring me here when you knew you weren’t gonna make that dream come true for me?” 

He sucks in a breath and it looks as though he’s hanging by the edge of his composure. A thick vein bulges on his forehead and he clenches his jaw, his mouth a small button on his face. Anger. A mirror of you. But it’s not directed towards you—not at all. 

Namjoon withdraws and steps away, taking off his coat and his jacket, slinging his outerwear onto the edge of the bed. And as you simmer in the middle of the tense silence, he casually rolls his sleeves upwards, focusing his gaze, momentarily, on the action before he bores it into yours. The other sleeve gets the same treatment meanwhile he keeps the boiling temperature of your fury at a fixed degree with that stare. You want to boil over and so does he, but he doesn’t let that happen. 

The tiniest wisp of lust curls in your bloodstream, steamed by the heat, creating something dangerous. Oh, he’s playing with fire and he shouldn’t. 

All forest fires end catastrophically. The ruined flowers are enough proof of that, and yet it’s just the beginning. 

Namjoon loosens his tie a little bit, tipping his chin, and you can’t help but to ogle the slender material, his long fingers as they hook over the knot and pull it down. They way he’s asserting his dominance—the way he’s making you wait, making you tremble all fucking over by the silence and the slowness of his motions, by his stance and the clenched jaw. You hate the way it’s working; hate, with all your crumbling, stony being the pressure of your craving to get on your knees. 

Your tremor causes your fallen strap to tickle your arm and it snaps you out of the indecent daze, head swiveling to it, hand fixing it right away. You tug your dress down so it doesn’t slip down again, your plunging sweetheart neckline exposing your full breasts. 

“Why don’t you ask me what the business was about?” Namjoon challenges and it causes your head to swivel back to him, facing him. He’s sunk his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants, anticipation and tension hanging heavily in the stuffed air. 

You raise your brows. Fuck if you care about it. “Do I look like I give a fuck? I don’t wanna hear it.” 

Namjoon drops his gaze onto the ground, the clench of his jaw tightening enough that a dimple appears on the side of his cheek. For some reason you can’t really explain it aches and you don’t want to look at him anymore. You edge around him, the soles of your feet stepping on the violet petals and when you’re side by side, he stops you with one hand. 

“You’re gonna want to hear this,” he murmurs, his hold on you softening once your movement is halted. 

You roll your eyes, untangling your arm from it. “Too bad I don’t.” 

Namjoon sighs, deeply. “I’m telling you this one last time. You’re gonna sit on this fucking bed like the nice girl I know you are and you’re gonna listen to me.” 

A pulse sneaks to your sensitive parts and you furrow your brows, not liking the words he chose, not liking the way they made you feel. A half of you is torn, though. A half of you forces your body to do as he says, liking it very much. Too fucking much. “You don’t get to talk to me like this. It’s unfair.” 

“Sit.” 

That half of you wins. That easily. 

You sit on the bed and cross your leg over the knee, obnoxiously dangling your shin back and forth. The hem of your dress flutters, gains momentum when Namjoon opens the balcony door, letting the winter air in. Then, he moves over to stand a foot away from you, the stems crunching beneath his feet, his hand fishing out his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, popping it into his mouth. Yellow, almost brownish butt. Golden Marlboros. Typical. 

Your own parts in dismay. “You’re gonna set the fire alarm off.” 

“You’re gonna get rained on, then. Look pretty in that soaking dress with the petals and all.” He lights up his addiction and the flow of your fire changes its course. Burns differently now. Burns lustfully. “You think I didn’t tell them to turn it off when we arrived? You were too sleepy. Barely knew where we were.” 

Flying while drifting through dreamland does that to you. Why it is a surprise to you that Mr. President made such a demand is beyond you. What’s more, it annoys you. His power, his influence. While it once sparked fear, you’re glad it’s lukewarm to you now. 

Sucking deeply, he puffs out the smoke, its tendrils curling around his eyes that he narrows to protect them from the sting. Your fingers, instinctively, play with your engagement ring. You’ve always loved the way he smoked. Especially in his office. Especially the way it never smelled. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness perpetually mesmerized you. You wonder where it’s gone at the cusp of the realization of your dream. 

“I fought tooth and nail to get a deal. To make a connection. For you.” 

You scowl at him, pull your wandering fingers away from your engagement ring. What the fuck does he mean by that? 

“For me?” 

“Yes, for you. For your mother.” 

You grip the edge of the mattress at the mention of your mother, left behind on her sick bed while you’re fussy about your mindless dream. A jolt of guilt runs down your body and your scowl smoothens. You don’t think the madness disappears from your eyes. Not entirely. 

“I risked having some very powerful people knowing about us because I wanted you to have a stable place here. There’s a five star hotel that has shares in Korea. I wanted to become their partner. Get you in there. Get you another source of income. Get you a house here. For your mother. For our children. Have you commute here whenever you’d like,” Namjoon breathes out, moving his busy hand with each word, the smoke clouding the air. He takes a drag, holding the cigarette. “Come to think of it, you’d get to see this.” He points behind himself at the Eiffel Tower with his thumb. “For a week straight if you’d like. Splurge on dresses, shoes and croissants and whatnot. Have not one care in the world. You make the call and we fly.” 

From Korea to Paris. Whenever you’d like. Namjoon is the CEO of a five star hotel he built with his own hands. You’re the marketing manager, but you oversee almost everything you find time for. From banquets to room beddings, only because you enjoy it. It’s the main reason why you’re so disliked. You’re favored. And if there’s conflict of interest, there’s only one person who wins in the eyes and the final say of the CEO.

Namjoon’s hidden thoughtfulness opens in the shadows of the room and you’re stupefied. 

He wanted to partner with another five star hotel in Paris. 

For you. For your mother. For your future. For your comfort. 

For your dream. 

For your children. 

Your mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. 

How would you possibly handle having your job times two? You already have enough on your plate. Have wished, multiple times, that there was more of you cloned, who could do each job that you have to do each day. Doing that twice would be difficult, agonizingly so, but knowing your own work ethic, you’d make it manageable. You’d make do. Not for yourself, per say—but for your mother and your future children. 

Your heart constricts. Constricts so tightly that you let out a pained breath, overcome by his plan for the future, by the actions he’s willing to do for it. By the very raw fact that he spent three hours trying to make that happen—make that come true for you. 

“Namjoon, I—”

“They said no, though. No matter how hard I pushed, no matter what I was willing to risk, to sacrifice. They said no. So I made a quick phone call and forbade them from ever entering our hotel.” 

Our hotel. 

You almost sob, touched by him, but a gust of the icy breath of winter seizes you and you visibly shudder. Namjoon takes a last drag of his addiction and, putting it out on the ashtray on the confined balcony, he closes its door. But the freshness grazes you still, grazes you with the allure of this too-good-to-be-true fantasy and while it feels nice momentarily—the futile, brand new dream—you settle on the contentment that it will never come true. 

And that’s okay. You were brought up having nothing. Having someone like Namjoon intertwined with your future doesn’t change it. You don’t need to have everything. It’s enough that you’re in Paris just for the prolonged weekend, even though you didn’t get to see the sparkling Eiffel Tower up close on your first night here. That was the only dream you ever had and you can die peacefully now. Knowing the reason behind his late arrival, it doesn’t disappoint you anymore that your dream was altered. As a matter of fact, you don’t consider it ruined any longer. Not when Namjoon tried his hardest to create a beautiful future for you and your closest. You regret being mad at him, regret hitting him with the flowers and you brim with the wish to gather them, fix them, and put the little what’s left of them in a vase. Cherish them like he cherishes you. Cherish him. 

Namjoon crouches at your feet, cradling your ankle. “Your mom would’ve had a house right next to ours. Our kids would visit her everyday and vice versa. The air would’ve done her good here. The change of scenery. It would’ve prolonged her life. She’d be happy.” 

You nod, believing him, your heart untouched by the weakening fire, tender, squeezing. A mist of liquid emotion pools at your eyes. “You spent three hours trying to make that become a reality.” 

It’s not a question, but rather an expression of your procession of his goodness. Of his selflessness. And all over again, you’re reminded of the way you grew close in your relation because of your poor mother, of the way you bonded. And in place of the fire, it’s love that blooms those hyacinths in your lungs back to life. 

Your mother would’ve loved Paris. Because you know how much she loved listening to you talk about your dream when she was healthy and you were a young schoolgirl, you’re certain she would’ve fallen in love with the stark difference that lines these history-wrought streets. 

Namjoon focuses his gaze on your bare foot, fondling his thumbs over your silky skin. Your declaration of his actions loosened the heft on his shoulders and he relaxes, leaning his temple against your knee, fleetingly. When he speaks, he looks up at you. A certain light, covered in pity, flickers in his eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just took that long and I had no idea. And when I checked the time once it was over, I googled when they turn off the lights. Knew I had some time to spare, so to fix my mistake for taking so long, I ran through these streets, trying to make it up to you. I thought I’d make it in time, but you let out your frustration on me, which is understandable. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.” 

The coolness of the growing flower buds in you fills you with such gentleness that it’s not relief that you feel upon hearing his explanation and apology. It’s love. A profound, sinking capacity of love for the man beneath you taking on the likeness of the stone that certain energies and events of life invariably minimalized you into. 

He’s the stone and you’re the mountain. 

And when you bolster his face in your hands, Namjoon releases a breath at the touch and you find that relief streaming in him, seeping color back into his cheeks. You’ll paint them redder. Feel obligated to do so. 

“I’m sorry for hitting you. You left me alone for so long and I had so many bad thoughts,” you say, internally cringing at your neediness and you would regret uttering your admission had he not rubbed your legs in such a reassuring manner that it revitalizes your body, guiding briskness into your veins. 

“I’m sorry that I missed it,” Namjoon says, subduedly, his hands warm like the fire that burned in you, giving you back your heat that you’re lacking. He kisses the top of your knee and your breath is but a vine of poison ivy inside your throat. Such tenderness, such healing gentleness, such pity that permeates your skin. He truly is regretful that he messed up and you want to weep. He doesn’t have to be, not anymore. “What kinda bad thoughts?” 

You feel your heart rotate on its axis and you stifle back your tears, taking a deep breath to be able to talk. “I thought you chose work over me. Thought your business had nothing to do with me. Thought you left me here all alone for selfish reasons.” 

Namjoon coos, a softened emotion screwing his face—eyes enlarging and a slight pout forming on his face. A leeway for your tears to spurt onto your cheeks, unabashedly, with nothing holding them back any longer. He cups your face, like you did, and he sweeps back that rivulet with his thumb. “I didn’t, baby. I didn’t. And I’m here. I’m here with you.” 

You nod and it’s all that you’re left to do because it’s the truth. He’s here. He’s come back. And he’s sorrowful that he let those thoughts plague your brain with such a small mistake. 

“Don’t go anywhere again,” you beg, hushedly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry you worked so hard for nothing.” 

It’s the last straw for Namjoon because he straightens his form, guides you to stand up and he sets you down on his lap, pushing your legs onto the bed—holding you as if he were holding a child. 

And that’s precisely what you need at the moment. 

“It’s not over. Pick a place and we’ll go there. Start over. With you present this time. What are you dreaming of these days?” 

Your heart swells. Nothing has been flooding your dreamland as much as Paris was. Even that seemed unrealistic, let alone a much different place. It overcomes you and, peculiarly, stops you from crying. You feel like a spoiled girl getting what she wanted after she had a meltdown and, internally, you blame Namjoon for it. He spoils you. Exudes such overtones of fatherliness that makes a way for it to happen. Most naturally. 

“Paris has always been my dream. No other city,” you say and Namjoon clicks his tongue. A smile widens your mouth, liking the way he senses your custom of modesty, liking the way he dislikes it. You laugh, softly, through your nose. “I’ll think of something.” 

“That’s my nice girl.” 

Taken aback, you clutch the side of his neck. Namjoon is bathed in the orange light and it no longer causes bile to lodge in your esophagus. No, it sparks up something else. Something very rapid, spreading throughout your body. The energy shifts and it’s you who clicks their tongue. “What did I tell you about talking to me like that?” 

You move your hand to the middle of his throat, tightening your hold around his Adam’s apple, tipping his chin. Namjoon grins, hums, wraps his fingers around your wrist. 

“What did I tell you about choking me, hm?” 

A flashback flickers across your vision. One of the last time you were intimate in bed and he was rocking your shit in missionary, using your throat as a leverage. You mirrored him, as you usually do in these endeavors, and choked the air out of him, making him come prematurely. Namjoon scolded you until your ears turned red and refused to make you come. You had to bring yourself over that edge and you managed to squirt your love and your enjoyment of fucking with him all over his body. Namjoon made sure to feed you your elated essence, but he also made it very hard for you to swallow, telling you to hold it as he drilled your throat, making it trickle down the corners of your mouth. 

The memory effortlessly brings back the pulse in your sensitive parts and you begin to crave the repetition of that filthy rendezvous. Badly. 

And so you squeeze his throat. 

Namjoon squeaks your name. You laugh, ferally. 

That is until he pins you down. Hand on your throat this time, the other holding down both of your wrist, the petals sticking to the silk of his pants-clad knees on either side of you. You didn’t even catch the movement as he did it, his strength overbearing and so incomparable to yours. But you don’t feel like the amethyst. No, you feel like a mountain connected to another, to him. Two peaks staring at each other, grinning, your laughter unfaltering, even though it’s you who’s squeaking now. 

Elated, giddy, aroused, equal, your tears sunk deeply within your skin, giving life to your rhapsody, giving it the body it needs in order to come out. 

You love it when he’s like this. And you love that he’s come back to you. 

Of course you have the means to prolong it, to tease it out of him.

“I don’t really care when it turns me on this much,” you rasp, your smile glinting in the dimmed light, arching your back until your chest kisses his. Just once. “When it turns you on this much.” 

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. The corners of your mouth widen, all over again. 

You can’t help it. 

Namjoon cocks a brow, his mouth ends following the same directions, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. “Oh, so you don’t need to be reminded?” He mimics your intonation, angling his head.

You shake yours, eyes dipping to his clefts, teeth instinctively finding your bottom lip, biting down. You feel the heaviness of his stare and it urges you to bite down harder, the tension quickening your blood circulation. And it isn’t until you meet his adoring gaze that it stops, for a mere second, scattering tingles down every vein. And Namjoon resumes the flow by pressing a chaste kiss down onto your lips, lingering there. 

“I know you’re a nice girl and that you didn’t mean it, but I have to spank you for it, anyway. Do you understand?” He whispers against those pillows, each movement of his mouth brushing against yours, making you needy for more. 

You make a face. “But I did mean it. Meant it with everything in me.” 

Namjoon laughs, endearingly. “No, you didn’t, baby. Not when you know what I’m capable of doing to you. Or not doing to you.” 

You smirk, catching onto his game. He’ll disagree until you grow so frustrated that you burst, disobeying him to the point that he has to tame you. He wants to get you to the lowest point, because the lower you dig, the bigger treasure you find—the more you stimulate the brain, the chemistry, the bigger the pleasure. Namjoon is an intelligent man; knows what the fuck he’s doing and you’re so transfixed by it that you’ll let yourself be led into his little trap that he watches over. Just to please him because ultimately, you’ll be pleased beyond measure. 

You tip your chin and trace his lips with your own. “No, I did, because I love how whiny you get. Makes me wanna bruise my knees for you, take all of you down my throat until it hurts to speak.” 

Namjoon is so awestruck by your words that his mouth parts as he gawks down at you and he moans. There it is. That’s precisely what you wanted. 

“You know,” he starts, pausing to swallow. “I had different plans with you in terms of this. Good fucking plans. But you just ruined them.” 

The precipice of what that could be hangs over your clavicles and suddenly you brim with the need to know what it was. What his smart, business brain came up with. And not only that—you want it to happen, your curiosity piqued, blaming the choice of words he used, the work-tinged colors he splattered them with. 

“What plans?” 

He straightens, setting your hands free. “Take off your dress.” 

You’re taken aback. “Namjoon.” You stress his name. “What plans?” 

“No, I’m not telling you. You’re gonna take off this dress and you’re gonna take what I give you.” 

You frown. Your curiosity won’t let up. “Namjoon, please.” 

The pretty word curls his mouth. Perhaps, you’ve softened his stubbornness. You surely hope so, but to no avail. 

He gets on his feet and swivels you onto your stomach, fingers finding your zipper and dragging it down. Being manhandled like this causes butterflies to swarm not just in your tummy, but over your arms and legs as well, fluttering all over, making your head spin and again, you can’t help the smile blossoming. In the middle of winter, spring opens in you at the touch of his dominance. 

Spreading his hands over your back, sinking his warmth beneath the skin, he leans in, mouth at your ear. “What word do you use when you say please?” 

You know what he wants you to say, but, peculiarly, you’re in such a good mood that you crave to disobey. Just for the fun of it. Just for the pain of it. 

“Pretty please?” you chirp, pursing your lips to hide the slyness of your smile. Delighted, excited. 

Namjoon pulls your hair, causing your head to tip, harshly, pain shooting up your scalp. Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, moaning almost soundlessly, only to realize that he can see you. Your pleasure wasn’t private. Not at all. Never is when he’s involved. 

You flick your eyes up at him, meeting his darkened stare, and you flutter your lashes at him, playing the stupid girl when you’re well educated by him in reality. 

Maybe you do need to be reminded, after all. Again, for the fun of it. For the pain of it. 

To distract him from his failure. Help him forget. You know how it gets to him. Deem he deserves it; deem it’s a duty of your fiancée privileges. 

“Pretty please is an addition. Something to help me have a sliver of pity for you. You seem to have forgotten who I am to you.” 

Oh, he’s a myriad of things. 

Mountain. Stability. Dependability. A most grand picture of beauty. Of intelligence. The sun and the moon, his brain cells the planets in the universe. The second heart you’ve grown over the trajectory of your relationship. The pulse of your emotions, especially the one between your legs.

He’s everything in your life while you remain your own person.

And only Namjoon would have achieved something like that. 

“No, I haven’t. You’re my husband,” you say, allure dripping in your tone, wiggling your hips, causing the fabric of your dress to ripple over your bum. 

Namjoon coos, quite pleased with the title, and he pats your behind before he grabs you by your waist and pulls you to your feet—flush against his body and the rock solid situation in his pants. You sway your hips, the gasp that slips out of your mouth goes almost unnoticed by you as you’re entirely focused on his hardness. You look down to follow the movement of his hands like a cat. They drift upwards—from your ribs, over the swell of your breasts until his long fingers reach the straps of your dress and drag them down, exposing you, exposing your arousal evident on your stiffened nipples. You could blame the cool temperature hanging in the room for it, but both of you know that would be a lie. A fat lie that your husband doesn’t deserve, not when he’s so dominant, so strict and so fucking provocative, spreading tendrils of heated life in you with each subtle touch. 

Subtle? Oh, Namjoon gropes your tits, rolling your nubs between his slender fingers, softly moaning behind you. And then he pinches them, coaxing your squeaks out and you feel that familiar, wet warmth pooling in your core, mingling with the throbbing sensation that intoxicates you. Enough for you to clasp your hands over his and tighten his hold, squirming against him, loving—loving terribly the sparks of pleasure coursing down your figure. Loving the feeling of dampness against your panties that’s nothing but evidence of the way your body savors his special attention. 

“Husband, that’s right. Your fucking husband,” Namjoon murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, causing your head to knock back against his chest and make space for him, inviting him to continue—and he does. Places tiny little kisses down to your shoulder, where he licks the skin before he sucks it into his mouth. “But there’s something else you call me when I treat you this good. What is it? Think.” 

Those kisses and his command for the wheels in your mind to quicken alone make you give in, make you submit to his craving to call you by that filthy, rightful title. Even more so when he pinches your nipples again. You whine, feeling your neediness for more taking greater highs in your system, feeling your own body yearning to scream out that name. 

“Daddy,” you cry out, desperately, awfully. How well it fits him, how well he deserves to be called by something like that—how gratified you sense your body to be right now. No poetic string of verses could ever manage to do it justice. 

Namjoon hums, his pleasure deepening. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. I love it when you use that brain of yours.” 

You blush. A tableau unseen by Namjoon yet, for he busies himself with undressing you. Your garment gets plopped onto the mattress, your underwear along with it. A silky strip that hardly covers anything. You’re bare while he remains fully dressed and something about that turns you wild. The silkiness of his slacks, the cotton of his white shirt against your skin—such softness, such balminess, such caress for the undomesticated freedom that you profoundly feel within. You sigh at the sensation, your lingering curiosity bubbling in you, slowly rising to the tip of your tongue. 

“Will you tell me now? What you planned?” 

Namjoon chuckles, humorlessly. “You think you’ve earned it? No, baby.” He runs his hand down your ribs and your tummy, halting at your mound. His middle finger can nearly reach your swollenness and you quiver in response. “You’ve got spanks to take first. Maybe then I’ll tell you.” 

You whine, softly, and Namjoon grabs your chin and turns your head so you can look at him. A mad, mad smile adorns his shadowed, taut face and you realize there’s pent-up frustration still swirling in him. One you will do anything to help him steam off. 

Anything. 

Anything for your husband. 

And so, by your own whim, you lay down onto the bed, anticipating the pleasure of pain. Namjoon lets out a sound of approval and you sense the vibrations of his nearness as he props a knee on the bedding, flattening down a violet petal. He fixes your position, lifts your bum in the air, and he kisses your bare cheek with all the world’s affection, sucking the skin, nibbling on it before smoothing the pain with a swipe of his tongue. 

“You’re my nice girl, aren’t you?” Namjoon questions and you nod, but that’s not good enough of an answer for him. He spanks you, harshly, coaxing a hiss out of you before the pleasure draws in and you let out a breath, turning your head, so you can have a perfect view of him. Namjoon gives you another chance to fix your mistake. “Aren’t you?”

Licking your lips, you make it your focal point to be good for him. “I’m your nice girl.” 

Humming, he caresses your back to praise you. Spanks you with the same tenderness, rubbing the flesh to alleviate the faint sting. The love you carry for him grows with each brush of his calloused hand and you stifle back your needy sounds, your little whines and sobs of a small girl very seldom loved by an even smaller number of male figures in her life. 

Most strangely, it heightens the experience. 

“You’re my wife, aren’t you?” Namjoon purrs, his fingers sneaking to the place that yearns for him more than anywhere else, finding you bedewed, dripping as he rubs your folds—just touching you there without giving you any friction. 

The touch is so nice that you can’t help but mewl most happily. 

“Yes, I’m your wife, Daddy.” 

Namjoon moans, the pads of his fingers sneaking over to your clit and stroking it. You arch your back, your noises rising in volume—the wetness, the pleasure in tandem. Your body begins to shudder in reaction, mimicking his motions, the pressure coiling in the lowest of your tummy. 

“Good, good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my good little wife, but you were bad, weren’t you? You were a bad little wife?” 

He quickens his speed, testing your focus and your mind spins again as the pressure deepens. From his words, from the very gravity of the title ‘wife’, from the very pleasure stemming from the principle of being bad, and you stutter a few times before you’re able to get out the full sentence in a perfect flow. 

“I was your bad little wife.” 

Namjoon growls, liking it just the same. “And what did you do?” 

He slows down, stalling your climax, keeping you halfway from the edge, right where he wants—the pressure of his touch light and gentle. Letting you work your brain. 

You smile up at him, from the clouds of shadows and petals you’re surrounded by. Namjoon deepens the eye contact, returning the smile. Your heart thuds in your chest. 

“I choked you.” 

Clefts of dimples—you, yourself, choke out a breath. Another one, too, when Namjoon spanks you hard, his fingers wet and sticky on your skin, the pain tingling all over your body, beckoning out more of your slick for him. 

“That’s right, you choked me, even though I punished you for it quite severely the last time,” he rasps and spanks you again, again and again. You hiss and flatten your lips to stifle it back, grasping the bed sheets to overcome that burn—and overcome your craving for more. 

You’re at a crossroad. You find yourself wanting to be bad in order to get spanked again, but at the same time you want to be good, so he tells you what he planned for you. Your fucked out brain can’t decide which side is better, but when Namjoon spanks you again—he reminds you that it doesn’t matter at all. You’re getting punished either way while the goal is to tell you. 

Such a good, intelligent husband. And you tell him. 

“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper, your knuckles white as you’re grasping the sheets with all your might. “I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for choking you, but I love it when you spank me.” 

Namjoon chuckles, warmly, spanking your clit once in affection, drawing out your squeaks. 

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. All over again. 

Close to your ear now, he kisses your cheek, his body heat enveloping you in an embrace. “My naughty little wifey loves it when Daddy punishes her. Loves to do the bad things Daddy doesn’t like just so he spanks her. That’s it, isn’t it?” 

You moan out, puckering your lips against the sheets and Namjoon half-kisses your pout, humming against you. He lifts you up onto your knees with your torso upright and he cradles your face. Waits for your answer. 

You’re more than happy to douse yourself in that truth. 

“Yeah, I love it. I love being bad for you.” 

He descends one hand to your bum while the other wraps around your waist and pulls you flush to the hardness of his body. And as he expresses to you how much he liked your words with guttural moans, he spanks you. Again and again, your head tipped back, eyes wandering in the darkened maze of his, where you lose count of how many you’ve taken. 

“But you do realize that’s a big no-no, don’t you?” 

You nod. “I do, Daddy.” 

A hum. “Will you do it again?” 

You whisk your irises up, thinking about it while already knowing the answer in your heart. “Probably.” 

Namjoon laughs and kisses you, feverishly. Moves his mouth against yours, parts it, so he can slip his tongue inside. Plays a game of chase while both of your noises and his interlock and create a music that echoes around the hotel room. He adds a high-pitched tone into the song, yours, as he spanks you again, playfully this time, grabbing the flesh of your bum with both of his hands now, kneading it, drawing it closer until you feel his aroused length against your tummy. 

Moans, squeaks, skin slapping and lip smacking. A song of beauty that will resonate within your body, mind and soul for days to come. 

And another thing. 

“God, I love you so much,” Namjoon whispers, bringing his hands to your ribs until his thumbs brush across your nipples. 

That, too, will ring in your veins. 

You melt. Become nothing but liquid devotion in his hands. And as he begins to focus on your neck, you roll your eyes back and resound your love back to him. 

“I love you, Namjoon.” 

He sighs against your collarbone, mutedly. “You love me?” 

You sink your fingers into his short hair, kissing his temple. “I love you so fucking much.” 

When he emerges with puffy, reddened lips, you can see it on his face that he did it again. Made you say the words he wanted to hear. And so you say it again, again and again. Each time with more intensity, with more verve, embedding it into his lips, his cheeks, jawline, his chin and his neck. All skin you can reach until you stumble upon the cotton of his shirt, at which you frown. 

“Take this off. Now.” 

And he listens. Loosens his tie, places it upon the petals on the bedding. Begins to unbutton his shirt. All while staring you down. And all you can do is watch him in awe, licking your lips, hungry for him, hungry for the intelligent plan he’s keeping from you. 

Once he bends at the waist to get his arms out of the sleeves, you press on the matter. 

“Tell me,” you say, softly, despite the tension of your curiosity. “Tell me what you planned.” 

Namjoon tilts his head and light flickers across his eyes, fires of stars—the ones that twinkled on the Eiffel Tower before his arrival. You spent your entire life dreaming about seeing it when it stands right in front of you, half naked. Has been standing before your eyes for years. 

Your mouth parts at the tenderness of it all and emotion bubbles within you. 

Sizzles, ferociously, when Namjoon reveals his secret. 

“Speeding down the road to this hotel, I saw it before my eyes. What I was going to do to you,” he starts, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off the loops. Your heart thumps, violently, against your ribcage, longing to jump onto his big palms. He pauses his motions to concentrate on his words. “I was going to apologize. Tell you what happened. And then I was going to make it up to you. Undress you, keep only the shoes on you were going to wear.” He looks over to the side, where your black YSL heels have been waiting for hours to be worn. Before he even asks if those were the ones, you nod your head and Namjoon fetches them and puts them on your feet. “I was going to have these digging into my back while I ate you out. While I would transfer us to the park before the Eiffel Tower with my words.” Securing the straps, he straightens, knees on either side of yours, and grabs his tie, smoothing it out with his thumbs. “I was going to blindfold you. Make you imagine you were there with me. No one else but us. On a blanket. Describe to you in great detail what we were doing as I’d be balls deep in you. Here but there at the same time.” 

Your throat dries as you take in his words and there’s only a few words you’re capable of saying. Your eyes flick to the tie, then back up to his dark chocolate irises, wet with a glint of deep arousal, one that you feel pulsing in you just as well. You hook your arms on his hips and nod at the slender fabric in his grasp.

A man of the world’s intelligence. How attractive, how alluring. Your shadowed cloud swathes you tighter and you spill with the need to be fucked. Fucked with that smartness. That capability. All wrapped around that big cock of his. 

You need it. Won’t live if he doesn’t ruin you with it. 

“Do it,” you choke out, swallowing with great difficulty. “Please.” 

Fingers curling around his belt loops, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his manhood twitches in the tight confines of his slacks and the sound you let out at the sight would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so endeared by it, caressing your face with his thumb, lifting it so you pay attention to what he wants to say to you. 

“Are you comfortable with me blindfolding you? We’ve never done that before.” 

Even though your trust wavered merely an hour ago, it happened so it would get strengthened at this very moment. You don’t detect any no’s echoing within you, any worries or fears, anything that would cause you to stand in the way of this endeavor unfolding. It excites you, the newness, the principle of placing not just your trust, but your control, your senses and your safety in his hands. Allowing him to proceed with his would solely mean that you deepen what you already practice in your sex life, take it to another level. And these things are of great importance to Namjoon. He never disappointed you—never failed, never missed. 

He takes care of you. Through and through. From the beginning to the end. Until you close your eyes, only to take it from the top the following morning. 

Your trust in terms of that could never waver. It’s impossible. It’s so strong, so held steadily that it would never come across your mind, even. 

And so you give him your consent. 

“Yes, I am. I’m excited to do this. I want this.” 

Namjoon strokes your hair, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “All right, my love, but remember that we can stop anytime. I’ll take it off as soon as you say the word. Tell me you understand.” 

And along with your consent, you give him a big smile. “I understand, baby.” 

He kisses you, stealing a thousand tiny kisses more in the same lip lock. “That’s a good girl. So smart. Are you thirsty?” 

You fold your hands on your lap and nod your head. The tie slung over his broad shoulder, Namjoon walks over to the mini bar, fishes out a bottle of ice cold water and opens it for you, tipping it to your mouth, encouraging you to drink.

The coldness streaming down your stomach only enlivens your arousal and it seems as though the matter is naked to the eye as Namjoon bites his lip at the sight of you, screwing the bottle shut and placing it on the bedside table. You tug at the tie, your eyes crinkling as your smile simply can’t leave your mouth alone and Namjoon hums out a laugh at your excitement. 

“Ready?” 

Your whole figure is fluttering, of course you’re ready—and you tell him. “Born ready.” 

It prolongs his expression of lighthearted endearment. “Good. Remember to stop me when it gets too much. Close your eyes.” Obeying, the softness of the silk grazes, fondly, your eyelids as pitch-blackness encompasses you. Namjoon ties the thick wisp at the back of your head, careful not to intermingle any strands of your hair into the knot, attentive enough not to pull it too tight and not too loose either, causing you to ache for him so badly that you almost want to scream. “How does it feel?” 

Uncanny. You hear his voice and, peculiarly, it’s louder in your ears, although he’s speaking in the same volume as he was before he blindfolded you. You sense something missing from you—and it’s a feeling that you detect in the pit of your stomach and at the ends of your abruptly numb fingertips. 

You clench those digits, but the sensation remains. It is only when you raise them and bump into the sturdiness of his chest that you perceive what it truly is. 

Groundedness is what you’re missing. 

The softness of his skin brings back a sense of realness back to you. When you drift your palms up to his shoulders and hold onto them, you feel real; you feel like a person that has limbs, that has someone right there with them to look out for them because aloneness is what comes with the darkness of the sight and that is absolutely terrifying. 

You cling to his neck, causing him to stumble into you, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of his weight. He goes to lift himself up, but you stop him—tightening your headlock, pressing the side of your face against his, eating that realness as you trace your lips against his cheek, run your hand across the back of his head. 

He’s here with you and he’s not going anywhere. With that stability, you can walk further in this rendezvous because you’re not alone at all, despite the fact it’s what your eyesight is telling you. 

“It feels really strange. I need you close. I need to feel you. To know I’m not by myself,” you whisper, sensing your chest to become lighter once the truth is out. Your naivety and excitement didn’t expect this to happen, but you’re comfortable with trying this out and feel where it takes you.

“Do you want to stop?” Namjoon asks and you can identify where he roots that question on your body. Right there upon your left collarbone, where his breath seems warmer than ever before and where he begins to scatter tiny kisses. 

That thrills you—the identification of where he is, the loudness of his voice, the depth of his touch and the unusually scorching body heat he radiates as all of your other senses are heightened and you want more of it. You crave to know what it would feel like to have his tongue on your sensitive parts like this. What it would feel like to have him drilling you. 

That alone makes you shiver with something beyond excitement. With something feral and undomesticated, again. 

Another thing for him to tame. 

Your body sings to him. To the stars. To the tower. And Namjoon can hear it, incorporating his tongue into his not so chaste kisses in response. 

“No, I don’t want to stop. I want you to keep going,” you say at last, caressing the wholeness of his back, reveling in the discovery of his muscles, his shoulder blades. It feels so new, so different. You quake all over. 

Namjoon pulls himself upwards, nudges his nose against yours and you smile. “Okay, baby. I’m right here.” He kisses both of your eyelids, the right one first before the left one. You feel at one with your heart as it palpitates; feel as though you were inside your body. “Fuck, your eyelashes are so long that I can see them curled around the tie. You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

You blush, the heat of your cheeks akin to a blanket pulled to your nose. Such coziness. You hum and try to find his lips, but he’s out of reach. You crane your neck until it hurts, giving up with a huff. 

“God, don’t do that to me. That was so cute,” Namjoon husks and moans when you pull him down and kiss him at last. 

It’s at this moment that you thank the God that he mentioned for writing into the Book of Life that Namjoon was to be late and miss your dream because this kiss does more than make up for it. This kiss creates new dreams that begin to swirl within you. Dreams of the Mediterranean sea, the sand and sun rays so hot that they bronze your skin. Dreams of sultry nights, black dresses and flats for all the roads you shall walk upon while following the starlight, hand in hand with Namjoon dressed in linen of the same color. 

Dreams of Asia, but not where you first opened your eyes in as a newborn. The western side of Asia, the one you’ve never seen and never dreamed of until now. 

Your heart enlarges and you overspill with so many emotions that they trickle out of your hidden tear ducts. Newness, possibilities—for both you and Namjoon, but mainly for him. For his happiness. 

He calls your name, fearfully, but you shake your head. “What’s wrong?” 

You feel his fingers sneaking over to the knot of the tie, but you stop him. “I know where we’re going next time.” 

His breath of relief becomes the new cloud you rest upon. “You scared me. Don’t cry, baby.” 

You fondle his wrist. “Namjoon, we’re going to Turkey.” 

Silence. Then, a kiss. “Is that where you want to go?” 

A nod. That’s where your soul will escape to once you lay down to sleep. “That’s the place I’m dreaming of.” 

A kiss on your neck. A hum. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.” A stripe of his tongue down to your collarbones—you feel your slick drip down onto the bedding. “Do you remember where we are right now?” 

An inhale of breath. “Paris.” 

Namjoon sucks the supple skin above your nipple. “That’s right. We’re at the park in front of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of summer. You’re sat on my lap like this.” He manhandles you to the position he describes and you gasp, not expecting it. “My back is facing it while you have a perfect view of the twinkling lights. Can you see them?” If your memory serves you well, he’s painting a picture of reality as well and you’re so touched by it that another, secret tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Yes, they’re shining so brightly. They’re so pretty, too. You’re making my dream come true. Thank you.” 

Wetness against your sternum. Namjoon must be crying as well and the realization makes you sob. Makes you find his lips again and kiss him. 

“I love you,” Namjoon croaks out and you break, holding onto him so tightly that you clench all of your muscles. 

“I love you, Namjoon.” 

A final kiss before the continuation of his depiction of the dream. 

“Nobody is around. They’ve all gone to sleep. It’s just us, the Tower and the moon. You’re so beautiful, so lost in the pleasure as I’m kissing you like this.” He shows you by resuming leaving kisses along your breasts. “And when I do this—” He licks over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. You whimper, flexing your eyelids at the sensation swarming in your core. “You make pretty sounds just like that, but I tell you to be quiet. We don’t wanna wake up those people and ruin the fun. And you’re so good that you listen, taking the pleasure so well.” 

He sets you down onto the bed, moves down to your tummy, placing the rest of his kisses there. 

“Then, I lay you down on the blanket. You’re naked for my eyes only and I spread your legs.” His hands follow his words, lifting your thighs and pinning them down. “I blow on your needy little pussy and you shiver so beautifully for me. I can see you shining for me, shining brighter than the lights and I give it to you.” 

There you feel it. The lick of his tongue on your clit and you shudder, moan so loudly that it reverberates down your body, the pleasure unlike any other you ever had the grace to experience. You roll your body into his mouth and Namjoon moans in tandem with you, even more so when your heel digs into his shoulder blade like he dreamed of.

“I lick your clit in circles and I feel you come alive on my tongue, so I pick up the pace.” 

You chase the movement as he does, reveling in it to the point that you curl your body, rising yourself to your elbows and grasping the nape of his neck, knocking your head back once he prods a finger into your heat. 

“I need more of it. I need to feel you around my fingers, so I stretch you out.” 

He adds another digit, fucking you diligently, and you whine out his name, squeezing his neck, your thumb pressing the spot above his Adam’s apple. 

“But my baby is doing something she knows is making my cock needy for her. She’s choking me, making me so fucking hard for her, so I pin her hands down.” 

He rips your hand from his neck and pushes it down onto the bedding, holding it in place with his forearm as he rounds an arm around your tummy, fingers spreading your folds apart from this angle, leaning his weight on it, freeing up space for his other hand to fuck you harder. 

You plop down onto the bedding, unable to resist him. And with your submission comes your orgasm, the rope uncoiling right at the place where the pulse on his wrist thumps. 

And your dreams explode across the blackness of your vision. 

“And you come like this. On my tongue. Around my fingers and I go fucking crazy for you, lick up everything you gave me. So fucking crazy that I turn you around and take you like this.” 

You’re glad for the way he worded this part because you don’t jump when he does swivel you and licks over the red marks over your bum. He prepared you. The coolness of the petals on your skin causes you to whimper and you move your hand in effort to grab one of them. Namjoon settles between the sides of your thighs and when he sees what you’ve found, he chuckles, taking it from you, turning you halfway and brushing it against your cheek. 

You gasp, liking the heightened softness, and you purr. Seeing your reaction, Namjoon drifts it down your neck, your collarbone until he reaches the peak of your breast. And when he circles that stiffened nub—an endeavor just between you, outside of the dream—your whimpers have so much tension and opulent seductiveness to them that you feel his bare manhood twitch against the line of your bum. 

It drives you to thrash your hand until you find him, too, and you wrap your hand around his thick manhood, pumping him as he stimulates your nipple like this, your position—halfway on your side, with your leg crossed, propped on the bedding, brings friction to your clit as your body moves where the pleasure wants it. 

Namjoon breathes hard, groaning gutturally, and you could almost come like this. 

“Fuck, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whine and it causes Namjoon to turn you fully onto your back and take that petal down to your wet clit. “Oh, my God.” 

Faint, yet so nice. You tremble, feeling the petal drifting over your folds, your lips, gathering your slick over your heat. And when Namjoon rubs circles on your clit with it, the membrane of the petal so fucking slippery now that it’s coated with your wetness, his title falls from your lips like the rain that keeps those flowers alive out there in Paris. 

“Keep fucking me with your wrist,” Namjoon rasps and you moan, loving to be ordered around, loving being told what to do. 

You fix your mistake of neglecting him while lost in the new delight, concentrating on his equally wet tip as you tighten your hold, pumping him swiftly, his foreskin closing around him in tandem with your movement coaxing his growls out that envelop you in firelight, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt. 

Even gripping him you perceive to be different and as that firelight flickers vastly across the night you see, splattering it with makeshift stars that Namjoon calls to creation with each of his deep sounds, your orgasm comes as an explosion that brings color to his art. 

Purples, yellows, reds and pinks. Stars that brim with colors. Such paintwork of beauty that Namjoon strums to life on your clit and your scream gets muffled by the sheets as he turns you back onto your tummy without withdrawing his hand. 

He begins to kiss your shoulder, knowing you need a minute before he can fill you up. 

“My pretty girl, my wife,” he moans against your skin, marking you there. “I’m gonna fuck you with that petal on your clit. With the rest of them clinging to your beautiful body like that. Gonna fuck you nice and hard against them.” You whimper your vulgarities, so out of it—so intoxicated by the picture, looking forward to it. “You came so well on my fingers. With the petal. Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you just for that. And for the way you made me forget where we were.” 

You laugh and your stomach flips, love hormones coursing in your veins like the strongest drug. And you laugh even harder when it dawns on you that you’ve also forgotten. 

“I don’t remember either,” you sputter between your giggles, contagious as Namjoon laughs as well, brushing your hair back to one side to kiss your cheek. 

“How are you feeling? Has it gotten too much, hm?” 

He takes the time to check up on you, instead of picking up where he left off and, fuck, you dissolve, becoming one with the petals—no edges to you, only liquid affection. 

You’ve gotten used to the darkness. No traces of fear or uneasiness can be found trickling in your system—as a matter of fact, you can’t wait to be fucked, can’t wait to find out how it’ll feel once he’s inside you. The way he’s talking to you, constantly touching you and making it known to you that he’s present with you doesn’t let the previous disturbing feeling to sidle up to you and you’re terribly, terribly grateful. 

“I feel great. I want you inside me, baby. I’m ready.” 

Namjoon growls, biting into the skin of your shoulder until you whimper, kissing the pain away. Rubs his petal-clad fingers on your clit, prolonging your noises. The pleasure begins to build up, the colors you’ve seen stacking back on top of each other and you sigh, nuzzling your face into the sheets, most comfortable. 

He cradles your jaw, though. Makes you look forward. Augments the dream, resuming. 

“You’re looking at the Tower and I’m holding you like this so your neck doesn’t cramp up. I’m inside you, just like you wanted.” 

Namjoon merges the reality into the retelling, creating something more expanse than this world can bear and you’re awestruck. He sinks himself into your wonder, knees on either side of you as you lay flat on your tummy, your bum lifted a little, heels dangling off of the bed. 

Your eyes flutter beneath the tie as his girth stretches you and the colors you see are adjacent to the picture he paints. They blossom into shapes, swirly edges that grow into flowers and cling to the Tower like the violet petals cling to your body. Namjoon pulls out and gives you a long stroke and more flowers bloom, hanging by the lights. You lose your breath, the vibrancy of the pleasure so heavenly that you lose track of time, day and space as well, floating in that dream that the reality you thought about ripped away from you once he bottoms out. 

You can’t even hear yourself. Can only hear him as your senses wrap around him. 

“I’m not choking you. I’m not giving you a taste of your own delicious poison; I’m just holding you like this, helping you see your dream alive in front of your eyes. I look at you and I can’t help it. You’re illuminated by those lights, yet shining brighter. Kissed by the moon so much that I get jealous. Can you see that fucker up above?” 

As if he drew the planet with his finger, it appears in your vision as soon as he pulls out again and fills you in all entirety in one swift, but hard motion. And it’s now that you hear yourself scream as your clit rubs against his fingers flat against it with that collision. 

“Fuck, Namjoon, I—I can’t take it. It’s too good.” 

“I didn’t ask you if you could take it. I asked you something else,” he husks, moving his mouth against your neck. You feel your eyes rolling back underneath your closed eyelids and you moan, his hips picking up the speed. “You can take it and you will. Tell me, baby. Can you imagine that moon in your vision?” 

It’s right there, beaming at you, but you can’t focus, not when you can feel his cock in your throat. He huffs against you, overcome just the same, resuming his circles on your clit and you’re dead. 

“You’re so deep, Daddy,” you utter in one breath. “So good, fuck.” 

Soaked flowers. Stars flickering more quicker. White dots joining in, along with hot flashes. You’re face to face with your orgasm. 

“Focus, baby,” Namjoon scolds, voice straining nearing you closer, falling in step with you the more you clench your walls against him. 

“Can’t. Gonna come.” 

“Come, then,” he encourages, drilling you harder into the mattress, your clit yet again rubbing against his flat fingers. “Let go and give it to me like the nice girl you are. Come for me, baby.” 

Fireworks shoot through that picture and you cling to it as you come around him. Namjoon praises you through it all, darkening those flowers that surround it and your orgasm convulses through you, lasting as long as the flying colors bursting through the night-tinged sky. And white gushes in as he loses himself in your climax, his own triggered and he stuffs you with it, fucking you through it until the bed makes such terrible sounds that he stills, letting you milk it out of him. 

Panting, Namjoon swivels you halfway around while still buried inside you. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold now. Keep your eyes closed, baby.” 

You listen and he flings it off, kissing you, ravagedly, whimpering into your mouth. Exhaustion seeps so deeply inside you that you can barely reciprocate the energy of the movement of his mouth and with one last peck, he lets you breathe. 

When you open your eyes, it’s not the light that stings your pupils, but the exhilarated, flushed and content sight of Namjoon, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You blink a few times to get used to the beauty, touching him all over, spreading your love for him everywhere you can. 

“That was so perfect,” you whisper, sleepily. “Thank you. Thank you for making my dream come true. For making it better than I ever dreamed of. I love you, Joonie.” 

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles—with bruised, puffy, reddened lips that make you weak. 

“I love you.” 

You lay like this for quite some time, stroking each other’s skin, enjoying the rest and the silence. Namjoon takes off your heels then, massaging your feet as if they were in pain and you smile down at him, fondly. 

“Like hell, I’d let you wear these to the park.” 

You laugh through your nose, your love for him blooming, and he carries you in the shower. 

You join him on the balcony later, sharing a cigarette with him, wearing matching, thick and warm hotel bathrobes to protect you from winter’s cold. You look up at the moon as you take a drag and send your thank you to God for the contended joy that clothes your heart. Namjoon pulls you in, kissing the top of your head. 

“So, Turkey next time?” he asks, inhaling your vanilla scent from your body wash that you brought along. 

You sigh and life overflows from you. “In the summer. No business, just vacation. Just us. And if business does find you there, it’ll find me, too. It’ll be different this time.” 

Namjoon presses his mouth against your forehead, sinks his words there. “I’d marry you right now if I could.” 

Tears prick at your waterline, your throat aching. “If I pray hard enough, she’ll get better by spring,” you say, voice wobbling, speaking of your poor mother. You couldn’t get married without her—it’s the sole reason why your wedding is left in the hands of fate. 

“We’ll bring her to Turkey, then. I’ll make sure to tell her to pack her hanbok and I’ll marry you there. What do you say?” 

Rivulets of tears stream down your face and you look up at him, catching the same liquid lining his eyes. You nod, your mouth rounding in a pout. 

“Perfect,” you whisper. 

Namjoon gives you the last kiss of the night, sealing that plan shut and you believe, with everything in you, that he will bring it into reality. 

You trust him. 

Forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[ceesimz]

Daydream

You go on vacation with Alexia, Mapi, and Ingrid. (Autistic reader)

Set after Wilted, which covers the journey to the UCL final. Other parts of Reverie can be found here. This is a very long but fun one!

Contrary to popular belief, travelling was something you adored - flying especially. Being 36,000ft up in the air, literally having the best view in the world with absolutely zero responsibilities or expectations? Heaven. Working in an industry that took you not only around Europe, but around the world too, really was a dream come true. And it just so happened to be that the Champion’s League Final you would hopefully be playing in, another dream come true, was hosted in one of the few countries you were yet to visit.

Portugal. It had been high on your travel list for a while, and the moment Mapi had suggested a couples’ vacation in said country after the biggest game of your life, there was no way you could say no. 

Initially, you had your doubts though. Going on vacation straight after such a high-profile game, the most important one of the season, might not be the best idea. You had faith in your team, just not in yourself. And with so much at stake, it was difficult not to worry anyway. If you lost, you’d most likely want to lock yourself in your apartment for a week before the utter embarrassment wore off. But at the same time, if you did win, the whole experience would probably be so overwhelming – in a good way, of course – that after endless celebrations, you’d most likely just want to recharge your social battery in bed. 

However, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity that you simply couldn’t pass up on. Recovering from a harsh loss on some of the most gorgeous beaches in Europe sounded like bliss, or exploring a whole new country after winning the most prestigious tournament in the footballing world might be the best reward possible. 

So, after some in-depth discussions with both Alexia and Ingrid, the vacation was booked. The first couple days after the final would be spent in Lisbon, two of the best rooms booked at a five-star hotel that allowed for plenty of time of rest and recovery after god knows how many celebrations. Then, from there, the four of you would make your way to the astounding island of Madeira, the main place that attracted you about the country. 

And when it came to the long awaited day, the dream scenario occurred: not only did you play in the Champion’s League final, you scored in the Champion’s League final. It was the winning goal too.

Football didn't really get much better than that. 

The feeling was euphoric to the highest degree, something you hadn't experienced before. You were addicted to it, wishing you could ride the adrenaline wave forever. This was why you played football, why you got out of bed in the morning, and why you chose to live even when it was difficult to want to.

To top it all off, you were surrounded by the best people whilst achieving your dream. In the changing rooms, a medal around your neck and champagne being passed around the room whilst people danced arm in arm to the music blasting from a speaker, you looked around and let it sink in that these people were your family now. They knew you, truly knew you, and even with all that knowledge they carried on loving you anyway.

You looked back on all your memories so far, when it was so terrifying to be stood in the same building as these football giants, nevermind the same room. But, nearly a year down the line, they were family. You stood in their presence, adorning the same iconic crest and the same gold medal as them all, feeling like you belonged.

That realisation winded you a bit, because it was something you had struggled with all your life. For so long, deep down, you worried that if you did achieve your dream, you still wouldn't feel worthy of it. Yet, that feeling was long gone. There was no negativity dragging you down, no voices pulling you from the moment and suffocating you in anxiety. All that was there was complete and utter joy.

So, when that sunk in, you sat down in your cubby and slumped back against the wall. The festivities continued around you, but you wanted to take a moment to capture it and live in the present. You could enjoy it later, for now you wanted to see it from the outside before you got lost in the celebrations.

You just wished one person was beside you, rather than being stuck with media commitments down the corridor.

"You okay?" Esmee had come over to sit next to you at some point, having noticed you were a little subdued.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm okay. It's... it's crazy, isn't it? To be here, with this team, this medal. I'm just taking it all in." You explained, watching everybody lose themselves in the glory high.

"It is crazy. I remember feeling overwhelmed the first time I won it here. It's amazing but a lot to take in. Don't feel... embarrassed, or something, if you need to step out. I can come with you if you'd like." The Dutch girl told you, suggesting an idea that sounded like something you could do with at that moment.

"I think I will. I'm going to go see what Ale is up to, see if she's finishing up anytime soon. Thanks though, Esmee. I appreciate you a lot." You stated sincerely, pulling her in for a brief hug.

"You too, MVP." She grinned, giving you a gentle shove as you stood up and walked away.

Just as you turned the corner out of the locker room, you bumped into the one person you were looking for.

"Oh, engel, is everything okay?" Alexia asked, her hand holding onto your hip to steady you.

"I'm okay, just getting a bit much in there. Esmee said it best, I think I'm getting a little overwhelmed so I was just going to..." You trailed off, unsure what you were actually going to do next. You didn't know the stadium well enough, nor did you know where you were actually allowed to go.

“We can find somewhere to go. Come.” Alexia took your hand in an instant. 

Little things like this, Alexia saying ‘we’ and opting out of celebrating yet another trophy with her team in favour of helping you, they weren’t little. They meant the world to you.

She led you through a few corridors, smiling and waving at a few people she walked by that lit up at the sight of her. But you were more important to her. A few polite rejections later, and you had made it to a more secluded side of the stadium where the only people there were workers. The midfielder spotted what looked like an empty office, sparsely decorated apart from a desk and some chairs. 

“Are we allowed in here?” You wondered as Alexia ushered you in and closed the door behind her. She shrugged and smiled at you when you sat on the edge of the desk. “How was the media stuff?”

“Same as always.” Alexia answered, taking a seat in the chair opposite you, shuffling it close enough that you could rest your feet on the edge of it. “How does your leg feel?” 

“It aches a bit but it’s okay.” You told her, smiling bashfully when she leaned forward and started gently massaging the underside of your thigh, the one that you injured a couple months ago and had only recently come back from. “Thank you for taking me here.”

“No problem, mi amor. It does get a little crazy sometimes for me too. I’m more than happy to be here with you. You just won your first Champion’s League.” Alexia stated with a proud grin, unable to stop herself from laughing with you when you giggled at the ridiculousness of her statement.

“You just won your fourth.” You reminded her with a shake of your head only for the woman across from you to shrug again.

“Winning it with you, it feels like my first all over again.” She said simply, as if the sentence wasn’t one of the sweetest things you had ever heard. “Did I tell you how amazing your goal was? I’m pretty sure I had the best view in the whole stadium. It was really incredible, engel.”

That compliment didn’t just mean a lot to you because it came from your girlfriend, but because it came from the world’s best footballer. Two time Ballon d’Or winner, two time FIFA Women’s World Player, and so many other awards that would take too long to name, was gushing about how good of a player you were. She complimented you all the time, but this particular moment tugged at your heartstrings so much you felt like tearing up.

“I love you.” You replied, because those three words seemed like the only ones in the world to convey your gratitude as intensely as you felt it.

For some time, the pair of you sat in that room together, in the stadium where your wildest dreams had come together to exist in one space, and relished in the present. Some minutes were spent talking, about everything and nothing, whilst others were spent in silence, simply enjoying the other’s company and coming down from the adrenaline rush that the day had been.

The only downside was that you couldn’t spend forever in an empty office, which you were reminded of when some rushed Spanish caught Alexia’s attention down the hallway outside. It sounded awfully like some of your teammates, and your girlfriend took that as your sign to leave. She told you just as much, though as she got up and headed to the door, you were glued to the wood underneath you.

One thing about falling in love with Alexia is that, over time, it’s become so much harder to hide things from her. Your resolve collapsed so quickly around her. And you were beginning to realise that you loved it. Not only did it make your life quite a bit easier, but you loved that you had a person so dedicated to you that you could be completely yourself around her, that you had a safe place for the bad to go in hand with the good. You hadn’t ever experienced that before like this.

She took one look at you and saw straight through the flat expression you wore when something was plaguing you.

“Cariño.” Alexia hummed quietly, catching your attention properly as she stood by the door with her hands on her hips. “There is something on your mind. What’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t know.” You mumbled with a shrug. Alexia moved then, coming to stand in front of where you still sat on the desk. “I guess…  I am worried about the vacation.”

“Why?” She wondered, and you sighed. It sounded silly to say that, considering you had just achieved your dream yet there you were worrying about your vacation. Luckily for you, Alexia always knew what to say exactly when you needed it.

“I have been on vacation with Ingrid, multiple times. I’ve never been on vacation with you or Mapi before. So… I’m scared, I think, of what you both might, um… think of me. Seeing me in a different light, a different environment, for two weeks straight. That’s a long time.”

Of all things, Alexia couldn’t ever have guessed it was that which was making you so anxious. 

A frown quickly formed on her face, hating that even after months of being together, you still had doubts when it came to your own relationship. If she could take them all away and carry them for herself, she would. She hoped that, one day, you would be able to understand the depths of her unconditional love and realise there was nothing about you that would drive her away.

She delicately cupped both your cheeks and tilted your head up as she towered over you, before she leaned in to firmly but tenderly kiss your forehead. A combination of physical touch and words of affirmation, your two favourite love languages, would have to do for now. 

“I mean it when I say I love all of you. I promise you don’t have to worry about Mapi and I judging you. I have been so, so excited for this vacation because I get to spend time with you away from our busy lives. Away from the pressure and the stress. We can be just us on vacation, we’re not footballers or ‘celebrities’.” Alexia said that word with such distaste, a slither of an amused smile formed on your face. “I normally find it difficult to fully switch off and relax on vacation during the summer break. But I have a feeling that it will be easy this time, because you help me relax. Did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t.” You admitted. Alexia smiled and ran her thumbs along your cheekbones.

“It’s true. When I am around you, it is like all my thoughts disappear. All I can think about is you and how… calm I feel when you are around, like everything is as it should be. How happy you are, how carefree you can be, I love it so much. I’m so excited to wake up with you every morning, to go to sleep every night with you, to spend every day with you. You are my favourite thing in this world, engel, nothing could change that.” 

Her voice was so soft and sincere, it left no room for any more of your doubts. All you could think about after she finished talking was the adoration in her voice when she spoke about you. 

“I’m excited to spend every day with you too.” You whispered shyly, a sheepish smile on your face. 

Alexia beamed with a smile then, and her hands dropped from your face as she sat back down in the chair from before. With confusion etched all over your face, Alexia chuckled before she carefully slid you off of the desk and onto her lap, sitting you sideways and turning your head to face her with one hand under your chin. The other arm wrapped around your waist to keep you secure in the position, and when she knew you were comfy, she leaned in and kissed you. It didn’t last too long simply because of the smiles on your faces.

The blonde rolled her eyes as you laughed quietly, a grin full of unbridled joy on Alexia’s face as you rested your elbow on her shoulder and started combing through her hair in a soothing gesture. You hoped the minor action would communicate how grateful you were for Alexia and how she always knew exactly what you needed to hear, even if your words couldn’t get that point across.

“We will have the best two weeks ever.” Alexia sighed in contentment, her eyes falling shut as her forehead fell forward to rest on your cheek.

“If I carry on doing this, you’ll fall asleep, won’t you?” You teased after a moment of quiet, shaking your head when Alexia hummed noncommittally.

“No, because I am thinking about how I get to see you in a bikini everyday for two whole we- why did you stop?”

“I can’t believe after the conversation we just had that you would say that.”

“It’s the truth, I can’t wait to- ow! Don’t pinch me like that, cariño!”

—

A day as monumental as the Champion’s League final where you were running on adrenaline the whole time, it either led to an energy dump where you slept for twelve hours, or to a night where you didn't sleep at all. 

On this occasion, it was the latter. There were so many feelings coursing through your veins and, not even Lisbon’s top hotel with the comfiest bed you’d ever seen with your girlfriend beside you could lull you to sleep.

Sleep was something you'd always struggled with, even since you were a baby, so you were well versed in dealing with it. When it hit 7am the day after the final, despite the fact you and Alexia had only reached your hotel room after 2am, you got ready for the day and headed out on a walk.

The previous night of celebrations was the cherry on the cake of the biggest win of your life. Most of your teammates were so drunk, you'd be surprised if they even remembered their own names when they woke up, but you remained sober the whole time. It allowed you to take everything in, to bottle up the experience of winning the one title you had dreamed of all along so that you could remember the feeling forever. 

So you walked mindlessly around the city of Lisbon, looking around in awe at the sights and scenery around you, until you found yourself along the coastline. You found a bench and sat with the beautiful view and your thoughts. With the city waking up behind you as the waves lapped against the cliffs below, it was then that everything sunk in. You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, deep inside a daydream about how far you’d come. 

You thought about your time in Norway and all the challenges you had faced there. You thought about Germany and everything you overcame even when it seemed impossible. You thought about Spain and how much you’d achieved but not in terms of football, even though a quadruple was pretty damn impressive. Instead, you just smiled, because all you could think about was the fact that yes, you’d had meltdowns and days where you couldn’t physically bring yourself to get out of bed, but those were things that would happen no matter what. What was different was how open you were, how you allowed people in even when your brain tried to reject the vulnerability you desperately wanted. Those things and many others had enabled you to perform better than you ever have before, as well as letting you get close to your team in ways you never had in the past… literally.

It was only when you heard a certain Spaniard calling your name that you realised you had been sat there, watching the world go by for god knows how long, paying no mind to your actual life instead of the endless stream of daydreams going through your head.

“Hola, preciosa! What are you doing here?” Mapi slid into the space beside you with a cheerful grin, a pair of sunglasses seated on her nose with the string you always teased her for around her neck.

“I went for a walk, couldn’t sleep.” You told her with a smile, watching as she nodded before averting her eyes to the view in front.

“No, I didn’t sleep much either.” She hummed distantly, a hint of a smirk on her face that had you scoffing.

“I think I can imagine why.” You muttered, shaking your head at how her smirk only deepened.

“Sí, they have really great champagne at our hotel, you know? Makes for a fun night.” With a roll of your eyes, you elbowed the defender in the side and grinned at the yelp of pain she let out. “You are just jealous.”

“Sure. The only thing I’m jealous of is the fact that Alexia is back at the room sleeping still.” You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. Mapi’s excitement faltered a little then, a small frown forming on her face as she slung an arm around your shoulders.

“You did not sleep at all?” She wondered in concern.

“No. Not for a second.” You sighed, leaning into Mapi when she pulled you closer to her side.

“That is what vacation is for- staying in bed the whole time.” She said, before pausing. “Ay, I did not mean for that to sound… dirty.”

You rolled your eyes yet again, though you smiled regardless. You really valued your friendship with Mapi. She didn't have to be your friend just because you knew her girlfriend, but she chose to anyway. That wasn't something you took for granted.

“How'd you know I was here anyway?” You asked out of curiosity because really you had no idea where you were.

“I was going to get some coffee for me and Ingrid from a place a few streets away from here, then I saw your location so I came to check on you.” She replied simply, a sweet smile on her face that emphasised the kindness embedded in her words. “So, how are you?”

“I'm tired but okay. I'll live.” 

The defender to your right nodded in understanding, though the two of you fell silent after that. All that could be heard was the coastal city waking up behind you and the waves hitting the rocks below. It was peaceful, perfectly serene, and exactly what you needed after such an intense day. In fact, the landscape around helped to ground you. Not everyone has the chance to experience playing football in front of tens of thousands people packed into one stadium, which also means not everyone understands how strange it is to go from that company to this silence, save for the sound of the passing world. Those two contrasted each other so heavily, even after being in this career for over a decade, it was still hard to get your head around it. That was one of the reasons why you eventually decided that this vacation would do wonders for you.

It served as a perfect, necessary reminder of what your life actually was away from the football pitch when you were getting so wrapped up in the intensity for it. If you basked in that intensity for too long, it would do more damage than good. So yes, the vacation was a tremendous idea, because being sat there with one of your closest friends and taking in all of the calmness that the earth had to offer was so important to you and your mental health.

“What about how you feel after winning your first Champion’s League?” Mapi turned back to you and asked a question she hoped she would hear a positive answer to. Ingrid and Alexia had both been aware of your struggles with impostor syndrome and feeling like you belonged, so the query was a bit of a loaded one. She couldn’t have been happier for you when she heard your response.

“I feel good. I’m overwhelmed, but not… not in a bad way? Like, I don’t feel anxious at all, which is new. I just feel happy. It’s all sunk in this morning and I don’t feel like I’m drowning under all the new emotions I feel. I’m… happy. My chest doesn't feel suffocated like it does when I feel anxious, it feels light because I know I'm happy. And I'm proud of myself.” 

You were proud of yourself. 

That was a statement you had probably never made and meant it until that moment. But you were proud. You made this life for yourself and you allowed yourself to reap the benefits and thrive, anxiety-free. This might be the peak of your career and you weren’t even afraid of that fact, it didn’t fill you with fear or doubt. It filled you with pride.

“You should be so proud of yourself. I am so proud, Ingrid I know is so proud she could cry. She did cry actually, when we were walking back to the defence after you scored yesterday, I looked at her and she had tears in her eyes.” Both her arms came to wrap around you as she squeezed you tight, somehow resting her chin on top of your head despite being the shorter one.

“She's gonna be mad that you outed her like that.” You said, but there was love swelling in your chest at the thought of your best friend being so happy for you, she basically cried. That was unfathomable to you.

“Hm, well, she's done worse to me. She will forget about it when I bring back coffee and breakfast in bed to her. You want to come with me, get something for Ale? It is easy girlfriend points.” She grinned at you and it was easy to give in, not that it would have taken much convincing anyway. 

“Sure. You have to lead the way though, I have no idea where I'm going.” 

Mapi did lead the way, taking you to a café hidden away in a side street that had the most amazing pastries on display in the window. Even hours later, Alexia hadn’t called yet, which you knew she would when she woke up, so you took that as a sign that the blonde was still asleep. She’d had a few drinks at the party but not much, though you figured she would still wake up feeling a little rough. As you waited for Mapi to order, stood in the queue behind her, you smiled at the thought of Alexia still snoozing away back at the hotel. And as ridiculous as it was, you couldn't wait to get back to her.

A while later, you let yourself back into the hotel room, a cardboard drinks tray in one hand and a paper bag in the other. The door shut too heavily for your liking behind you, and you grimaced at the disgruntled huff that came from the bed in the main room. Though, you couldn’t help but laugh quietly at it as you padded your way over to where the sound came from. After placing everything down on the bedside table, you slipped your shoes off and clambered onto the bed. Alexia lay on her stomach, her arms crossed under her pillow as she hid her face to block out the light.

“Alexia.” You hummed, lying beside her and leaning up on one elbow whilst your other hand softly ran up and down her bare back, save for the sports bra she wore. “Wake up, Ale.”

“No.” She grunted, not moving an inch. You laughed again at her, to her annoyance, and she turned her head in your direction to glare at you with one eye. 

“It's ten in the morning, lazy bones.” You whispered, shifting down the bed and copying her position, your faces now right in front of each other.

“Shh. No hables.” She grumbled, closing her eye again and letting out another huff. “Sleep.”

“I can’t sleep, sleep is boring. Waking up to make your girlfriend happy is so much better.” You couldn’t see her mouth, but you saw the way the corner of her eye creased, a sign that she was secretly smiling. She unfolded one of her arms from under her and slung it across your back, pulling you a little closer.

“You did not sleep?”

“No.” You responded dejectedly a few seconds later. Alexia could hear the frustration in your voice, even in her tired state. “I went for a walk instead. And I got breakfast too.”

“Hm, what did you get?” She opened her eyes properly then, and you smiled at how sleepy and peaceful she looked, more than all the times you had seen her in the mornings beforehand combined. If this was the version of her you got everyday for the next two weeks, you weren’t sure you could let it go.

“Coffee for you, and some food. You can decide what you would prefer though it might be the end of us if you choose wrong.” The midfielder hummed and smiled over at you, her hand moving to cup your cheek and stroke the skin there with her thumb.

“You brought breakfast.” She murmured, looking at you so earnestly soft, you didn't know what to do with yourself under her gaze.

“And coffee. For my amazing, lazy girlfriend.” 

The blonde didn't even retaliate to your claim this time, she was too wrapped up in you. And as you turned over and sat up to reach over to the bedside table to grab the food and drink, a strong arm pulled you back by your waist.

“Good morning, campeona.”

She smiled lazily before surging up to slowly, tenderly kiss you. It distracted you, pulled every thought from your mind, and you gladly indulged in it, because you could. Because you were on vacation, and you had all the time in the world to kiss your girlfriend as much as you wanted for the next two weeks, just like she had promised. 

“What did you get?” She wondered when she broke it off, not a hair out of place meanwhile you were breathless and a little mindless at her actions.

“Um…” You breathed out. “I-I got you a coffee, and then some pastries and a smoothie bowl. Your choice what to have.”

“I think I remember you saying you will break up with me if I have the pastries so I will choose the smoothie.” She smirked, though rather than sitting up she simply just laid back down again. “But I would prefer to lay with you for a bit because I think it is unfair that you left me before I woke up.”

“Unfair? I got bre-” You were cut off by two hands carefully pulling you further down the bed and a body landing heavily on top of you. “Ale, what about breakfast?”

“Breakfast can wait. I want to cuddle with you.”

There was a part of you that knew these next two weeks could quite possibly be the best of your life.

—

The couple days in Lisbon were exactly what you hoped for them to be. A lot of time was spent relaxing, whether that be beside the pool or in the spa or in your hotel room. On the final night, the team held a celebratory dinner at a nearby restaurant that was as chaotic as anyone would expect. All of them went out afterwards to some bar or club, but you decided to slip away quietly with nothing more than a simple text to the group chat and another to Alexia. However, just as you rounded the street corner to get back to the hotel, a hand grabbed your arm and scared the life out of you.

When you turned around, there Alexia was. 

“You didn’t tell me you were leaving?” Alexia frowned, a little breathless from running as she came to stand in front of you.

“Those things aren’t really my scene. I thought you would have wanted to stay and celebrate with the team.” You said shyly, crossing your arms over your chest and looking anywhere but at her eyes. If you had been looking at her then, you would have seen the utter confusion on her face as she frowned impossibly more. 

“No, amor, I want to celebrate with you.” She stated firmly, gently pulling you into a tight hug and kissing your cheek. “You are part of the team, you are my family. I am pretty sure you are my soulmate, so of course I want to celebrate with you. There’s no fun going to a bar and watching them all get drunk when I know I could be with you. You are always my first choice.”

You couldn’t help the bashful smile that forced its way onto your face where you rested your forehead on her shoulder, and you unfolded your arms from between you both to wrap loosely around her waist. Despite the guilt you felt at dragging her away from your teammates, you couldn’t help but revel in the fact she had chosen to stay with you instead. Even if it was just another evening spent in the hotel room, neither of you could deny that it was so much better than being surrounded by twenty-something drunk people, especially with a flight to Madeira the next morning. 

Said flight was painful for a certain Spaniard, and it wasn't your girlfriend. You and Alexia arrived bright and early at the airport, checking your bags in before heading for breakfast at one of the restaurants they had there. About half an hour after you arrived, Ingrid showed up with an amused look on her face, which was initially confusing before a rough looking Mapi rounded the corner. She had sunglasses on, headphones, a hat, and her travel pillow around her neck. You and Alexia couldn't help but laugh.

“Don't annoy her. She's threatened to cancel the villa booking since it's in her name.” Ingrid murmured, sliding into a chair beside you as the defender slowly made her way over. 

“Oh, she wouldn't dare.” Alexia grinned, and you could tell by the glint in her eyes that she was about to fully take advantage of the situation approaching her. That situation being a very grumpy, very hungover Mapi León.

As soon as the shorter woman sat down, Alexia patted her on her back in ‘greeting’ before slinging her arm around her shoulders and yanking her headphones off. It only got worse from there. 

The seats for the flights were in pairs, two in one row and another two behind them. Rather than sitting with you, Alexia quickly side-stepped Ingrid and took her seat next to Mapi. This side of her was something you didn't see often, but you couldn't lie and say you weren't loving it. She had turned into a menace towards her best friend, there was no other way to describe it, and if Mapi wasn't so annoying like Alexia was now all the time, you and Ingrid might have felt bad. But you didn't.

In fact, the in-flight entertainment provided by your captain was better than any movie you could have watched. You knew Mapi would get Alexia back when she wasn't feeling like she'd been run over by a truck, but you kept your mouth shut for your own selfish wishes to see them both bicker it out for two weeks. Ingrid barely blinked an eye at the two’s behaviour, she had seen it for the past four years she'd been at Barça, whereas it was still a novelty to you and you thought it might always be.

“I’m not sure those two will make it out of this vacation alive, nevermind as friends.” Ingrid commented, making you laugh as you heard Mapi scold Alexia once more whilst your girlfriend pleaded her non-existent innocence. 

You both watched the pair of them for a little longer before you dived off into conversation of your own, leaving those two fools to their own accord. It was a fairly short flight, so a little over two hours since you found your seat, you were heading down the steps with Alexia behind you as Mapi stormed off ahead. 

Not that you were entirely surprised, the taxi ride to the villa was mostly silent, even when you arrived outside the beautiful house that had been rented for your time here. The shorter defender gave a very brief, mumbled explanation of the layout before trudging away to the bedroom she had apparently designated for her and Ingrid. The door slammed shut behind them, and you had a feeling they, or Mapi at least, wouldn’t resurface until the evening. That left you and Alexia to your own accord.

Your girlfriend was glancing around the room still as you looked over at her with a shyly excited smile, your hands fidgeting with the straps of the rucksack on your back like a child on their first day of school. Alexia took in your silence and sensed your gaze, so turned to look at you, a grin of her own forming.

“I think it’s about time we did some sunbathing, hm?” You suggested, noticing the glint to her eye much the same as the one back at the airport and giggling as she nodded emphatically. 

“And I think you should let me choose which bikini you wear.” She murmured, reaching out to link your fingers together and nodding her head for you to lead the way to the bedroom. 

It was beautifully decorated, exactly as you pictured a Mediterranean AirB&B to look like, and the view outside was even better. There were some sliding doors leading directly out into the backyard, where there was an outdoor kitchen you could already imagine Alexia and Mapi fighting over who was the chef, as well as a pool and some garden furniture you wouldn’t mind having in your future home one day. Hopefully with Alexia. And maybe even in Barcelona, permanently.

A small amount of unpacking was done, but you both were honestly too eager to transition into vacation mode to focus on boring details like that. As promised, you let Alexia choose which swimsuit to wear and she ushered you into the ensuite to change whilst she picked out one for herself. You finished up before her, so you opened the door to find her staring out the glass at the view of the ocean beyond the garden whilst she finished tying the last knot of her bikini bottoms. She hadn’t heard you, as far as you were aware, so you quietly padded through the room to come up behind her.

Gently, without spooking her, you wrapped your arms around her bare torso and settled against her back, sighing contently. Your hands sat on her hips where there was only a small string separating you from her soft skin, and her larger hands covered yours when she moved them. Neither of you spoke, both more than happy to indulge in the silence and the company of the other. 

This, you could quite confidently say, was bliss in all its entirety.

Hundreds of miles away from home with nothing planned but to spend time with your girlfriend and two of your closest friends. Doesn’t get much better.

—

“Alexia, for the last time, hurry up!” You groaned whilst pounding your fist on your shared bedroom door. 

You, Alexia, Mapi, and Ingrid were all set to go for dinner on the third night, finally deciding to actually spend time as a four rather than staying in separate sickeningly-sweet loved up bubbles as couples. However, Alexia had kicked you out of the room as she finished getting ready, leaving you stuck in the lounge with two women that could hardly bear tearing their eyes away from the other.

“What is she doing in there?” Mapi asked in amusement, a smirk to her face that only added to your frustration.

“I have no idea but she is going to make us late.” You sighed, slumping down on one of the sofas. 

Still, a few more minutes passed by and there was no sign of Alexia. The three of you could hear her in the other room, yet you were left alone with two women that looked like they wanted to jump each other’s bones everytime they caught the other’s eyes.

“Can’t you guys stop eyefucking each other for more than five seconds?! God.” You scoffed, shaking your head as Ingrid blushed and Mapi grinned manically. 

“I cannot help it. Look at her!” The defender argued, only for the bedroom door to open as she was talking.

“Look at who?” Alexia wondered, trying to hide her smile when everyone in the room turned to her, especially you. “We can go now.”

“Finally.” Ingrid grumbled, grabbing Mapi’s hand and leading her outside where the taxi was waiting. 

Meanwhile, you were still hung up on the sight of Alexia. More specifically, the dress she was wearing. There hadn’t been many other occasions for her to wear something like she was now, considering you had gotten together in the Winter and had been busy with the tail end of the season… until now. Maybe your behaviour was a little objectifying but you knew she wanted that reaction out of you. Well, she had gotten it.

“Engel?” She hummed, trying to avert your attention back to her eyes. “Oye.”

“Hm?” You blinked up at her, rather gormlessly. Then you snapped back into reality and out of your… daydreams. “Sorry! You just… ugh.”

“I guess that is a good reaction?” She smirked when you dropped your head into your hands. 

“When the hell did you buy that?!” You exclaimed as you abruptly stood up, eyes almost bugging out of your head.

“After the Madrid game! You were in bed next to me when I was ordering online!” Alexia laughed at the situation she found herself in; deep down, a tiny part of her was weirdly proud of herself for guessing that you'd react like this. She was learning, something she worried about. Even if this occasion was unrelated to it all, and only about your… attraction. To her.

“Well, I- it's ridiculous! Ridiculous that you are dressed like that! And I thi- this is unfair! Taking advantage!” Safe to say, your mind was in overdrive. 

“I'm taking advantage? I had to tell you to look at my face!” This back and forth, it was addictive. It wasn't arguing, it was a love language.

“Because you look too fucking good for me to react normally!” You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath, attempting to regain some composure. All it took was one look back at Alexia for it to fly straight out the window. “Okay, we have to leave, like, right now.”

At that, you turned on your heel and started marching towards the door. Only, there were footsteps following behind you that sounded awfully faster than your own. That thought became a fact when a hand grabbed yours and stopped you in place by the front door. Before you knew it, a body was in front of you and two hands were on your face, tilting your head up as lips crashed against your own.

It was the kind of kiss that melted your mind completely, your mouths moving together in a perfectly rehearsed harmony, charged with hunger. You didn't have time to think as Alexia controlled it, deepening it and suppressing her grin when you whimpered desperately. Dinner was the last thing on your mind at that moment, but the same couldn't be said for your girlfriend, who pulled away just as you had caught up. 

“Come on. Let's go.” She said simply, using her thumb to wipe away a bit of smudged lipstick before turning to open the door. You were frozen on the spot still, since your world had stopped turning when the blonde had kissed you and it was taking a little while to start spinning again. 

“You… kiss me like that again and we'll never get anything done, ever.” You replied breathlessly, staring up at her like she was the only person that existed apart from you.

“No, I can think of many things I would do.” Alexia shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching with her stupid smirk.

“The universe hates me.” You grumbled, pushing her out of the way to open the door and storm out.

And it was just your luck that you opened the door to the taxi and the last seat available in the back was next to Mapi. Alexia had already taken up the front seat beside the driver.

“Can't you guys stop eyefucking each other for five seconds.” The shorter defender mocked in a high pitched voice under her breath, yelping and almost scaring the driver when you elbowed her sharply in the side.

After that incident, the four of you made it to the beach-side restaurant thankfully unharmed. When you arrived, the sun had just begun to set, turning the sky a hazy orange colour that perfectly matched the beautiful set-up of the restaurant. 

Your table was right beside where the golden sands of the beach began, trailing off into the distance where the calming ebb and flow of the waves began. You knew, as you took your seat so that the view was on your left, you would most likely spend more time gazing off into the horizon than partaking in the dinner conversations. What was even better, though, was the fact that none of the three you were with expected anything less, yet they still chose your company time and time again. Alexia sat beside you to your right, and once the starters of the meal had been decided, your eyes immediately averted to the left. It didn’t take long before a hand settled on your thigh, palm facing upwards for you to hold with one of your own whilst the other took turns fidgeting with her rings, her bracelet, or just mindlessly tracing shapes across her already tanned skin.

There was something so comforting about being in a group of people that were your closest friends, knowing that the rest of them would happily take up slack of the conversation whilst you sat and listened. It was weirdly relaxing, being surrounded by people you love, and who loved you enough to let you unmask and bask in their company in whatever way you wanted to that day. Turns out, you were in a quiet and content mindset, having let go of the inhibitions that held you back in most other settings and being whole-heartedly yourself. Not for a second did Ingrid, Mapi, or Alexia shy away from that, and whether you were in a mood where you could talk for the whole of Europe, or you just wanted to mindfully enjoy the setting you were in with the presence of your favourite people in the world, they were happy because you were happy. 

Shortly after the dinner orders were placed, the starters came and went, the other three passing their dishes around for each other to try them whilst you were more than content with your own… even if Mapi did try and steal some off your plate. It was then that one of the waiters came over and said the main meal might be a little longer due to it being a busy evening, something that didn’t bother any of you, not much could in such an incredible location. But, you decided to come up with an idea to pass the time after seeing others scattered up and down the beach doing the same thing.

“Ingrid, come with me to take some photos on the beach. The lighting is perfect.” You suggested, your best friend nodding eagerly and immediately standing whilst reaching for her own.

Before Alexia and Mapi could get a word in, you and Ingrid were already out on the beach, shoes slipped off and left behind as you walked closer to the sea. The two Spaniards allowed the silence to sit between them as they both watched the women they loved, separate soft smiles on their faces that held the same meaning. They let it be for a while, occasionally sipping from their wine and laughing at something you and Ingrid did, until Mapi spoke whilst her eyes stayed glued to her girlfriend.

“Those two are something, no?” She commented, Alexia humming in agreement as her smile grew wider, cheeks starting to ache. Mapi turned to look at her then, though there were no teasing tones to her voice, only sincere honesty. “I heard a movie director say something once. He said that time goes on but friendship doesn’t age. When you have known someone from when you were younger, no matter how old you turn, when you’re together again you instantly revert back to being the ages you were when you met. Those two met when they were teenagers, and when they’re both in this mood together, it’s like they’re sixteen all over again.”

Alexia looked at her friend, her eyebrows raised a little, not expecting the defender to say something… quite so profound. She’d hit the nail on the head with it though, because when she turned back to her two favourite Norwegians, all she could see was a joy that wasn’t quite childlike, but something strangely akin to it. The realisation made her heart ache, unknowingly raising a hand to rest over the organ that had been unnoticeable to her before you came along. You had stoked the fire and made it come alive, she believed, even if that made no sense at all.

“Since your girl moved here, I have seen a different side to Ingrid. I feel like I have fallen in love with her even more because of it.” All Alexia could do was nod, because she was truly speechless. Anything she could say in that moment wouldn’t live up to the pricelessness of the conversation.

Meanwhile, some hundred metres away, you and Ingrid were none the wiser.

“What is happening over there?” You said to Ingrid, distracted by the two left back at the table as they… stared at each other? 

Ingrid, behind the camera as she photographed you in front of the ocean and the setting sun, stood up straight and turned around. She huffed in amusement at it and shook her head, turning back to her phone to look at the photos so far.

“They’re probably in some kind of stand-off. Idioter.” You smiled at the Norwegian term directed at them both, but it didn’t exactly seem like they were arguing.

“No, it looks like they’re both in some American movie, like they’re about to stand up and dramatically hug the life out of each other. Like it’s the first time they’ve seen each other since coming back from the war or something. So dramatic. I’m weirded out, and a little scared to go back over there.” Ingrid laughed and you did too, laughing at the ridiculousness of your words and whatever was happening back at the restaurant. 

You joined them not so long after, the Spanish pair seemingly have gotten over whatever it was that was happening and brushing it off. You figured that it didn’t matter and forgot about it as soon as your dinner was placed in front of you later, though Alexia had pulled your chair a little closer when you had sat down, something that had you blushing unnecessarily, which Alexia didn’t miss. 

However, Mapi’s words had sparked something in Alexia, adding fuel to the fire of a thought she'd had for a while already. You could tell there was something on her mind throughout dinner, when you weren't distracted by the scenery around, but you decided to leave it until you got back to the villa later. 

The thing is, from the moment Alexia realised that she might actually have a chance to love you, she was worried that she wouldn’t be the right partner for you. So she made an oath to be the best version of herself, the most selfless and dedicated and caring partner she could be. It had worked out so far, though she was only human after all. The doubts still crept in, sometimes keeping her up at night, anxious that she didn’t know enough or that she wasn’t trying hard enough. She worried, overall, that she wasn’t enough. If only she knew.

“Alright, what’s up with you? What’s on your mind?” You hopped up on the bathroom counter later that night as Alexia stood in front of the mirror to take off her makeup. 

“Nothing, why?” She brushed it off, saying the one word that meant the exact opposite to what it tried to convey.

“You have been oddly quiet since dinner, Ale, I wanna know you’re okay.” You told her, watching the tiny frown that tugged at her lips at how she’d been caught out. 

She washed her face quickly, drying it afterwards on the towel before sighing and turning to lean back against the countertop as she figured out what she wanted to say. Opening up about months worth of anxiety wasn’t what she planned for vacation, she had spent so long shoving them down and hiding them, she never really… planned for them to become a shared thing. Just a burden she didn’t want to drop upon anyone else. 

“You don’t need to hear it, it’s nothing, really.” She shrugged. You saw right through her, like always.

“No, what I need is for you to be okay, and not encumbered by thoughts that would be much easier on you when you can tell me. A sorrow shared is a sorrow halved.” You told her, smiling softly when she turned her head to look at you. She nodded then, and you didn’t miss the gulp when she averted her eyes away again.

“I make you happy, right? I… am I a good girlfriend?” Her voice, even in the quiet of the bathroom, could hardly be heard. But you heard it all, from the vulnerability and fear in her tone to the gravity of her words.

“Come here. Stand in front of me.” Even though she was confused, she did as you said and stood between your legs, unable to stop herself from leaning into your touch when your hands settled on her cheeks. “I can’t fathom that you have these thoughts, Alexia, because loving you and being loved by you is the best thing to ever happen to me. Nobody makes me feel the way that you make me feel. Nobody makes me feel more seen, and… normal. Like I’m more than the label I got stuck with. You don’t make me feel like I’m childish for needing more help with things than most people my age, you don’t make me feel stupid for not being able to cope with certain environments, and you definitely don’t make my meltdowns seem so scary when… I know you’re there to help me pick the pieces back up. You make me the happiest I have ever been, and, to me, you are the best person in the world.”

Alexia didn’t quite know what to do with herself, under your gaze as you spoke the most meaningful words she thought anyone had ever said to her. Her eyes burned with the threat of tears, and to hide that, she turned her head to quickly peck your palm before moving forward and wrapping her arms tightly around you. She carefully slid you closer to her on the counter, so you crossed your ankles behind her back and returned her heartfelt embrace, knowing it was the one thing she could do in that moment to try and express her gratitude.

One conversation wasn’t enough to entirely dispel her doubts, you both knew that, but Alexia was caught off-guard at the effect your words had on her. Then again, she was always happy to be surprised by you and each unravelling of your character, because like Mapi had said earlier that evening, she just fell more and more in love with you.

“What would I do without you?” She breathed out into your neck, smiling when she felt goosebumps rise on your skin. 

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t be a four-time UCL winner, so that’s one thing.” You couldn’t help yourself, and it was worth it when the blonde lifted her head up and laughed. “But, really, please don’t hide these things from me. I can handle it, all I want to do is help, and I don’t like the thought of you going through stuff like this alone.”

“I know you can handle it, engel, I don’t doubt that you can. Sometimes, being open like that doesn’t come so easy to me. I’m not really… used to it.” She looked down as she spoke, her hands on your thighs messing with the hem on each leg of the shorts you wore.

“I know. And I don’t take it for granted when you are, it means a lot to me. I just want to help you and care for you in the same way you do for me.” The midfielder glanced back up at you and smiled, her thumbs tracing light circles on your sun-kissed skin.

“You do. You really do. I love you.” Alexia stated with a glint in her eyes that told you exactly how she was feeling… as did the fingertips that slowly started making their way higher up your thighs.

“Te amo, Ale.” You hummed against her lips as you linked your arms behind her neck and quickly pecked the corner of her mouth. When you went to move back, there was a hand under your chin that gently pinched your cheeks together and pulled you in for a mind-numbing kiss like the one earlier. You weren’t quite so willing this time. “You taste like garlic.”

“Qué?” Alexia breathed out, eyebrows furrowed as she looked at you in confusion. You just shook your head which Alexia responded to by trying to kiss you again, only for you to cover her mouth with your hand. The blonde tugged it away by your wrist and you had to stifle your laughter at the outraged look on her face. “I can’t kiss you now?”

“Absolutely not. I hate garlic and that’s all I can taste. Disgusting. Brush your teeth please.”

“I have to brush my teeth to kiss my girlfriend!?” She exclaimed, huffing and cursing under her breath as you finally laughed at her.

“If you want to have sex tonight, then yes.” You grinned cheekily at her whilst she glared at you, eyes wide with nostrils flared and all. At that, you hopped off of the counter and scurried away back into the bedroom, leaving a somewhat frustrated but mostly amused Alexia in the ensuite.

—

With this vacation, there were perhaps two things you didn’t think about. The second thing settled a little heavy in your chest as the vacation neared its end, but the other was a welcome distraction. That being that Mapi didn’t really think before she acted sometimes, a trait that was funny… most of the time.

“Wake up, wake up! You will make us late for this hike, and I will not b-” As soon as she was one foot in the room, she cut herself off with a sharp gasp, slapping a hand over her mouth before laughing giddily.

“Fuera! Fuera ahora mismo!” Alexia shouted, clutching the covers tightly against you both so that Mapi didn’t have to see anything else she really didn’t need to see.

“Vale, vale! Lo siento, por favor! Mis ojos, dios.” The defender quickly backed out of the room, shutting the door with a heavy slam. “Get out of bed and get ready!” 

You and Alexia stayed silent as the footsteps ran away from outside your room, until you knew the coast was clear. When you knew it was, Alexia slowly pulled the sheets away a little and looked down at you, grins on both your faces that quickly turned into full-blown belly-laughing. Your cheeks were red, completely and utterly embarrassed by what had just happened, whilst Alexia ducked her head into your neck where her lips had been before the interruption. It wasn’t your proudest moment, being caught by Mapi then of all times, but that was long forgotten when Alexia’s mouth resumed her ministrations, only she began moving lower this time.

Another example of Mapi’s spontaneity was when she was so bored out of her mind, seemingly having had enough of R&R, that it meant that nobody else could have an ounce of peace until she was entertained. Really, the three of you should have realised this before the inevitable happened. The previous day had been a long one, the hike was much more difficult than any of you expected, probably as a result of the burning hot Portuguese sun. It had been decided that the day after it was solely designated for recovering, since each of you had aching legs and a healthy side of sun stroke too. Mapi wasn’t best pleased at that decision.

One moment, you were heading inside to get bottles of water for everyone, the next, you were in the water. You had stepped out of the open doors that led into the backyard and thrown two bottles over to Ingrid who was on one side of the pool, a magazine in front of her that she was flicking through, and another two to your girlfriend. She was on the other side, laying on a sun lounger, the one beside her empty where you once sat. The grin on Mapi’s face should have been enough warning for what was about to happen.

Alexia watched the scene before her with a quiet laugh, knowing you would try to fight for her to be on your side, whilst Ingrid barely blinked an eye at it all. Meanwhile, you resurfaced from having been pushed into the pool, gasping for oxygen that promptly left your lungs before being plunged into the warm water unexpectedly. 

“Mapi!” You shouted, pushing your hair out of your face and glaring at the shorter woman who was keeled over, laughing so hard she was completely silent apart from the sharp breaths in every so often. “I’m gonna kill you! Why?!” 

She ignored you still, so whilst she was thoroughly pleased with herself and distracted by her own hilarious joke, you got out of the pool and gave her the exact same treatment. You heard Alexia laugh behind you too, making you grin whilst Mapi flailed around in the water in the same way you had. Ingrid, unhappy with the commotion now and the splashes that had been sent her way twice already, closed her magazine and glared over at the two of you.

“Children. Honestly.” She grumbled, moving further down the sofa in the hopes of escaping the chaos and trying to stay dry. She had only washed her hair the day before, she refused to get it wet. If only.

“Wait, fuck, look at that over there, is that smoke?” You gasped, pointing off in the distance, immediately averting Mapi’s attention away like the toddler she was. With her focus elsewhere, you turned to wink at Alexia quickly before diving into the pool beside Mapi, a cannonball that sent water everywhere. 

Your girlfriend’s approval in the form of some of the loudest laughter you’d heard from her was well worth it, even when Mapi forced you back under by pressing on your shoulders. This back and forth of utterly childish fighting went on for only a minute, in which probably about a quarter of the water was thrown out because of it, and one person eventually had had enough. 

The sound of feet slapping against stone could be heard as Ingrid stormed off inside with a huff, Mapi noticing and immediately turning to look in that direction.

“Ingrid, princesa, where are you going?” She asked whilst you and Alexia shared an amused glance.

“To shower, because you two are so annoying.” All it took was two words for Mapi to shoot off after her girlfriend, leaving the two of you outside on your own as they slammed the doors shut behind them.

“Alexia.” You hummed, moving to the edge of the pool and crossing your arms on it. “Get in with me.”

Alexia thought she might have never been happier than she was in that moment, after diving in in the same way you had a minute prior and getting to hear the giggle you let out as she did so. Seeing you so carefree as your true self, not afraid of what anyone thinks, is something she cherished and hoped to witness for the rest of her life. 

The third and final instalment of Mapi’s behaviour was her delight in bickering with your captain. In any setting, any scene, she will find a way to push her buttons, and it never got old for you. 

On one of the last days of the vacation, when it was a particularly warm evening, it was decided that the outdoor kitchen would finally get used. Yourself and Alexia had gone shopping together to get everything for the night, and Alexia had been chosen as the cook. Something Mapi was not best pleased with. 

Throughout the whole duration of the night, you and Ingrid sat on the sofa outside and watched them fight over who did what. It quickly turned into a competition, of what kind you weren’t exactly sure, but it was enough cause for concern for you and Ingrid to come up with a plan that the Spaniards would probably get angry at. 

When the smell of burning slowly overtook your senses, you knew it was the right idea. 

“Why is there someone at the front door?” Mapi scrunched her nose up in confusion after hearing the doorbell go, meanwhile you jumped off out of your seat and ran inside to get it.

“You two are probably getting told off by the neighbours for being so loud all the time.” Ingrid told her, kicking off yet another argument between them, each one saying they weren't loud and that it was the other's fault. It was like a broken record was playing over and over, every time they spoke.

They went silent the second you stepped outside with two boxes of pizza in your arms.

“Here you go, Ingrid.” You beamed, heading over to the taller woman and handing her one of the boxes. Alexia and Mapi stared at the two of you like you'd just committed a truly awful crime. 

“La audacia.” Mapi gasped quietly, Alexia putting her bottle of beer on the countertop with a rather loud clunk. 

“No lo creo. Increíble!” Alexia exclaimed, shaking her head whilst you and Ingrid pretended to ignore them. 

“Why have you done this to us?!” Mapi shouted, her eyebrows so high on her forehead you wondered how they hadn’t shot off yet.

“María, open that grill. Now.” Ingrid said. Her girlfriend looked at her sceptically before doing precisely that. A not so healthy amount of smoke flowed out immediately. “You spent so long arguing that you burnt everyone’s food. I don’t know about you two, but we are not going hungry tonight.”

“And no, I am not sharing my pizza with anyone. Every man for themselves.” You smirked, purposefully meeting Alexia’s eye as you took a bite and groaned at the taste.

“I am never going on vacation with you again, Mapi.” Alexia grumbled, dramatically slamming down the dish towel that had been on her shoulder onto the counter, beside her beer, and walking away from her shorter friend. She came over to you and went to snatch a slice, only to have her hand slapped away and the lid of the box slammed closed before she could even try again. “Engel, this is not fair!”

“Hm, well, you guys should have thought about that before having an ego-off.” 

Mapi and Ingrid were left to their own devices as you deflated a little, watching Alexia roll her eyes and walk away back into the house. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, worrying you had perhaps taken it a step too far this time. Apparently Ingrid wasn’t so happy with your lack of determination to make a point.

“Hey, don’t go in after her, they have to learn!” She argued, but you shook your head and stood up.

“I have to do damage control, I’m sorry! My relationship is still fairly new, you two are like an old married couple! Ale doesn’t mind me being autistic but maybe she draws the line when it comes to food, who knows?” You rambled, only making Ingrid and Mapi laugh as they watched you run after Alexia.

The blonde was in the kitchen, grumbling under her breath and staring into the fridge like her anger was enough to kickstart a miracle in the form of a plate of food magically appearing in front of her. There was a small seed of anxiety beginning to grow, genuinely concerned you had annoyed her, but fortunately for you the solution for that was already planned.

“You are evil. You had no faith in me. Evil.” Alexia complained, closing the fridge and turning to you with an especially grumpy face. 

“Well, no, you don’t have any faith in me.” She scoffed at your smug face, though her attitude changed instantly when you reached into the microwave and pulled at a takeout container. You looked at her with a grin and passed it over to her, watching her reaction closely as she took the lid off and breathed out sharply.

“You got my favourite pasta? Even though Mapi and I were acting like stupid teenage boys?” She wondered, a shy smile on her face, seemingly having realised how ridiculous she had acted.

“I did, because my superstar footballer girlfriend can’t go unfed even if she did burn the food I bought.” You grinned. There was a pause, only briefly, until Alexia placed her food down and stepped over to you. Her arms were around you in an instant, sweeping you off the ground and hugging you way too tightly for what was just a serving of pasta. 

“So I found someone that finally puts up with my stupidity?” She murmured into your shoulder, nuzzling her nose in the juncture between your neck and collarbone. 

“You put up with a lot more than I do, so I should probably put a limit to my teasing at some point.” All she could do was chuckle into the thin material of your shirt and smile, because she was so overwhelmed with complete contentment that her mind was too high on that joy to do anything more complex than that. 

Yet, it was that point for you when you realised the second thing you didn’t think about before booking this vacation. The days passed by way too fast for your liking, and a thought you had never had in your life slowly became more and more prevalent.

 You didn’t want to go home. It wasn’t feasible in the slightest, but you wanted to stay here forever. 

That might not be strange to most people – it was to you. Every vacation you’d ever had, there was always a point where you started feeling a little homesick and burnt out. That couldn’t be further from the truth in this case. 

When you got back to Barcelona, you had two days before Alexia was off to international camp before the summer’s tournament, which meant you’d be stuck at home alone with nothing to do but get up and go to pre-season training everyday. Otherwise known as your least favourite time of the year. It was always a challenge to get through, and even though you had Mapi and a few others in training, it would still be lonely. And undoubtedly difficult. 

Normally, knowing that you always had football to go back to no matter what brought a great amount of comfort to you. However, on your last day in Madeira as you packed your stuff back into your suitcase, all you felt was a healthy mix of dread and anxiety. The sight Alexia walked in on after doing an emergency shop ruin exemplified that perfectly.

“Min engel, what is happening here?”

Packing for a vacation was something you perhaps weren’t so skilled in, especially when you were feeling how you were. The way you did it, it was an art form. It was a completely and utterly confusing thing for everyone on the outside of your mind, and Alexia received the full brunt of that when she walked in on a scene that could only be described as the aftermath of some kind of natural disaster, or a run-in with the Tasmanian Devil. 

You were sat on the floor of the bedroom, with what looked like every single item of clothing you had brought strewn around the room. Not to mention your suitcase, a new one borrowed from Alexia, was in front of you but completely empty. Why, Alexia wasn’t sure. 

“I am packing.” You mumbled dejectedly, which was enough for Alexia to feel alarmed.

“This does not look like it is going successfully.” Alexia commented lightly, regretting the words as soon as they left her tongue.

“You think?” You muttered, dropping your phone to the floor and bringing your knees up to your chest, crossing your arms atop them and resting your chin there.

“It’s okay, I can help.” She moved beside you then, glancing around at the chaos and quickly coming up with a plan to get this done as quickly and pain-free as possible. “We can do this, amor. One bit at a time. Do you have your list on your phone?” 

“Mhm.” You replied, though didn’t show any intention to pick it back up again.

“I’ll find everything if you just read things out to me, then we’ll figure out getting it all to fit. One step at a time.”

With her years of experience when it came to packing, a not so fun perk of her job, Alexia helped to get the job done in much less time than it would have taken had you done it on your own. You didn’t really do much, too clouded by the swirling cycle of thoughts running rampant through your mind, but Alexia didn’t mind. She never did.

“Bueno! It is closed, finally.” She let out a breath as she set your suitcase upright after taking a while to get it closed. You were sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes averted downwards to where your hands fidgeted with a thread on the cuff of your girlfriend’s joggers that you had stolen from her. 

“Good.” You glanced up at her briefly and smiled for a second, before going back to what you were doing a moment ago. Now that the main task was out of the way, Alexia could finally focus all her attention on you. 

A quiet sigh escaped her as she sat next in front of you on top of the white sheets, her hand reaching for yours and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Are you sad to be leaving?” She asked tentatively, and it surprised you a little that she seemed to already know what was disturbing you.

“Yeah, basically.” You mumbled, closing your eyes momentarily when her other hand gently tipped your chin up to meet her gaze. When you opened them again, you saw her sad smile, one that always managed to entice the words out of you, no matter how much you didn’t want to.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” The midfielder whispered. It was like clock-work; your thoughts came pouring out then.

“We’re going back to Barcelona, and we’ll have two days together before you go away for god knows how long. And it’s for football, so I’m excited for you, but I’m… I’m sad. I don’t want to be without you for the summer. It’s kind of stupid how much I’ve come to rely on you but I hate pre-season and when I get home I’ll be burnt out from this vacation even though it was perfect – like honestly perfect – and I’ll be alone and stressed and out of routine, and I just- I’m scared. I don’t want to do it.”

You were rambling, and there was a shakiness to your voice that wholly encapsulated just how anxious you were about it all. When you were finished, you let out a sharp breath and shook your head slightly, biting your lower lip to hide how it trembled. Alexia’s thumb carefully tugged it down to stop you from doing that, before stroking along the skin of your jawline. 

“You won’t be alone. I won’t be there in person, but I promise that you can text or call me whenever you need it. No matter when or what it’s about, just call me. And it’s not stupid that you ‘rely’ on me, that’s just what relationships are. I adore you too much to think you rely on me too much or that you’re clingy or whatever, I’ll happily take all that I can get of you because I ‘rely’ on you just as much.” She admitted, a comforting smile on her face now. “We’ll get through this summer, we’ll learn how to cope with the change, together, and then I’ll be back before you know it. Before I go, I will do anything you need me to do to help you adjust back into your routine at home, okay? Not only that, but the team will help you with pre-season too. As will Mapi and Pina and everyone else that will be there with you. You won’t be alone, engel, that I can promise too.”

You knew a lot of your anxieties were irrational, that was one of your most prominent traits. You’d dealt with them all your life, yet they still got under your skin every once in a while. This was one of those occasions, and thankfully it was the type where getting them off your chest lessened the burden of them. Alexia’s words were the bandaid you needed, a temporary fix for now, and some of the tension in your body left with the sigh you let out. 

Everybody needed a reminder, every once in a while, that the challenges that faced them weren’t quite as daunting as they seemed at first glance. That’s exactly what Alexia had done for you, and you had a certain feeling she always would. The love she provided you with was second to none, it was the greatest treasure you had come across. Being loved by her truly was an honour, just like you had told her when she was the one with doubts. She made you feel like her equal, like you meant something, which most people did the opposite of for your whole life. That wasn’t something you would forget anytime soon. 

There was one thing, however, that your doubts couldn’t dispel:  your humour, and for that, Alexia was glad.

“If you’re leaving me for so long, you better win the damn thing.” 

—

feel bad that this doesn't exactly have a strict plot point like all my other stories do, since this is just 12k of fluff and that's not my usual style (?) but i wanted to write it anyway so why not post it if it's being written regardless. it's definitely way too long than it needed to be and im not expecting it to be so well loved but i had fun writing it and it brought me a lot of comfort during two very awful weeks. a very self-indulgent one but i hope there's some people that enjoy it :)

[theemporium]

“Hello?”

“Fuck, I needed to hear your voice.”

The triple header had been hard. A lot harder than either of you anticipated. You would’ve thought that after spending the whole summer break together, three weeks apart would have been fine and doable—but it was proving to be otherwise. 

It hadn’t even been two weeks since you last saw each other and Lando genuinely thought he was losing his mind. Maybe he was clingy. Maybe he had separation issues. Maybe he just really missed having his girlfriend by his side after being spoiled with such for four weeks straight. 

He wasn’t sure which one it was, but he missed you in a way that made his chest feel tight and a little part of him ache whenever he remembered you weren’t waiting for him whenever he got out the car. 

And even with you being back in the UK and him being around Europe, the time difference wasn’t enough for him to be completely isolated from talking to you. But it didn’t make him feel much better being away from you. 

You snorted, biting back a yawn. “We spoke this morning.”

“No, you sent me a voice note this morning,” he corrected, settling back against the headboard like he could finally relax. “There’s a difference.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s in the rulebook,” he answered nonchalantly. “Can’t argue with the rulebook, baby.”

“I am not awake enough to decode your weird messages,” you mumbled, your words interrupted by the yawn you were desperately trying to hold back.

His brows furrowed together as he pulled his phone back to look at the time. “Were you asleep? Baby, it’s only five.”

“It was a nap,” you defended. 

“You won’t sleep properly tonight,” he retorted, a little light-hearted and teasing because if anyone was more likely to sleep anywhere at any time regardless of the circumstances, it was you.

“I already can’t sleep without you here,” you confessed in a muttered response, and the tightness in his chest returned. 

He could imagine it so clearly. You would be buried under the duvet, laying on his side of the bed like you usually did when he was gone. Your face would be nuzzled into his pillow, basking in the lingering scent of him. The house would be too hot and you were probably prancing around in just a pair of panties and one of his hoodies, because wearing them comforted you like he was right there hugging you.

And he could just imagine slipping into the bed behind you, pressing up against you and enjoying the lazy kisses you would exchange because you were half awake but needy for his touch. Fuck, he missed how needy you were for him. 

The pathetic whines you’d let out when his hands would explore your skin. The choked out gasp when his palm cupped your pussy, the heel of his hand pressed against your sensitive clit. The soft moan you would let out when he finally slid inside you, feeling the way you clenched around his cock. And the little high-pitched whimpers you would let out just before you—

“Lando?”

He blinked, his cheeks burning at just how quickly his mind ran south before he even realised. But you did that to him. You were nothing but a slippery slope for him and his dirty thoughts.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat, shaking his head a little as he focused on your voice on the other side of the phone. “What were you saying?”

“You seemed lost in thought,” you murmured, your voice a little lower and rougher, like the sleepiness was still clinging onto you. “What’s on your mind?”

You.

You were on his mind. The fact he knew the exact fucking state you were laying on his bed in, in his clothes. The fact your voice was a little husky as you spoke into his ear. The fact it had been almost two weeks since he had touched you and he was starting to lose his goddamn mind. And the fact he just couldn’t help himself anymore. 

“Nothing,” he breathed out as his hand slid over the bulge forming in his sweatpants. “Just…stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Fuck, it was like you knew what he was doing.

“It’s not that interesting,” he blurted out quickly, his head falling back against the headboard as he squeezed his length through the fabric of his sweatpants. “Tell me about your day.” 

He just wanted to hear your voice. He needed to hear your voice. He just needed to pretend that you were sitting beside him, that you were actually there with him and your voice in his ear. Maybe he could even pretend his hand was yours, that it was you stroking and teasing him right now whilst you spoke.

“Baby,” you murmured before letting out a slightly breathless laugh. “Do you not think I know what you’re doing?”

He froze. “What?” 

“You’re practically panting in my ear,” you said to him, and for a second Lando wondered if it freaked you out. If you were going to call him out on the fact it was a little perverted that he was teasing himself to the sound of your voice without telling you. 

“Babe—” he started, his hand still moulded around his hardening cock, the outline now prominent and obvious. 

“My poor baby just wishes I was there to make him feel good, huh?” 

He swallowed harshly. “So fucking bad.”

“Yeah?” You hummed, and he could just imagine the mischievous smile on your face. “Like I did on the boat on holiday? You loved that. Maybe a bit too much.”

“Shit,” Lando hissed, his free hand pushing the waistband of his sweatpants down until they were pooled above his knees. His cock bounced free, hard and tip-swollen and so desperate for you. Always for you. 

“I think about that day a lot,” you continued as you let out a wistful sigh. “I think about how pretty you looked when you were begging for me to touch you. You sounded so pretty, baby, it made me so wet.”

Lando let out a pathetic whimper, his eyes fluttering shut as his thumb teased the head of his cock, just like you had done that day on the boat. All of your shared friends on the other side of the boat and there you were, on your knees as you teased and taunted him until he blew a load all over your tits. 

He imagined he was back there, sun beating down on him and his hands tangled in his own curls as he tried—and failed—to bite back his moans. The way you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, sucking and licking him until he was bucking up into you. The way you took him so well, letting him hit the back of your throat until he was a babbling mess underneath you. 

Fuck, what he would give to have you with him now to recreate that day.

“I just wish we had enough time for more that day, baby,” you confessed in a breathy whisper. He imagined the duvet was pushed off your body, that you had pushed your panties to the side as you ran your fingers along your soaking cunt. “I wish we had enough time for you to fill me up, Lando, just wanted to feel you come inside me.”

“Oh fuck,” he whined as his tempo increared, dribbles of precum running down his cock as he listened to your breathy moans and filthy words through the phone.

“I wish I was there right now, let you fill me up all nice and good, baby,” you whimpered into the phone, your breathing a little heavier as you approached your release. “Fuck, I wanna feel you inside me, Lando. I need to feel you deep inside me.”

Lando let out a mixed sound of pain and pleasure as he came, his vision dotted with white spots as he felt the pleasure and ecstasy run through his body. He came in short spurts, his release now all over his thighs and stomach, and something in his chest tightened at the sight. If you were there, he could almost imagine the way you’d tease him before leaning down to clean up the mess with your tongue. 

“I miss you,” he choked out, his chest heaving with the strength of his own orgasm as he tried to battle the immense desire he had to have you in his arms at that very moment. “I miss you so fucking much.”

“I miss you too, baby,” you murmured, your voice sounding as sleepy as it did earlier. “Just one and a half more weeks. Soon.”

“Soon,” he repeated with a sad smile on his face, unaware of the plane ticket in your possession that would get you in his arms in less than twenty-four hours.

.

[foldingfittedsheets]

So I went to Geek Girl Con this year and the best panel we attended was one where Librarians recommend your next spicy romance read and since they provided a list I figured I'd share the list because why the hell not? I don’t know how long they will leave the link up sorry All synopsis will be what I remembered from the panel without any research into the title so buckle up! I feel like it's pretty obvious which ones I was more interested in based on what I remember.

Triple Sec - Spice Level 2 Queer/Fiction

This is a poly plot wherein a cynical bartender gets swept up in a new romance with a lady in an open marriage and then sparks start between all three.

Band Sinister - Spice Level 4 Queer/Period

A period romance between two guys, the local playboy and our leading lad who meets the local playboy when his sister gets into an accident on the guy’s property. He finds a lovely community very different than the rake's reputation suggested and gets drawn into a romance against his better judgement.

Here We Go Again - Spice Level 2 Queer/Fiction

A wlw romance between two girls with a history who need to go on a roadtrip together and reconnect on the drive. Childhood friends I think?

Payback's a Witch - Spice Level 2 Queer/Fantasy

A wlw romance between Emmy and Talia (I'm cheating I've read this one before and liked it). Emmy left her hometown and magic behind after an embarrassing rejection from the most powerful magical family's scion. She comes back into town and finds her best friend and the stunning Talia have both now been wronged by the same guy. They convince Emmy to join a pact to get back at him together and Emmy and Talia grow closer through the power of revenge.

Act Your Age Eve Brown - Spice Level 2 Het/Fiction

A chaotic autistic female lead runs into a by the book boy after one of them gets hit by the others car and she ends up staying with him. They form a very sweet bond and the representation was lauded as being very precious.

Merry Inkmas - Spice Level 4 Het/Fiction

A cool alternative barista gets fired in front of her crush for giving a homeless man a free coffee and her crush hires her on the spot to work for him instead. They start up a relationship that he warns has an expiration date which suits her fine- or does it? Hijinks ensue.

D'Vaughn and Kris Plan a Wedding - Spice Level 4 Queer/Fiction

A wlw romance under false pretenses, they agree to get married for a reality TV show. There's an influencer and a shy one can’t remember who’s who, the shy one decided national television is a good way to come out to her family. As the competition continues real feelings start to rear their head between the two.

The Prospects - Spice Level 4 Queer/Fiction

Uhhhh baseball boys? The boys play baseball... mlm romance. Baseball.

Something Wild and Wonderful - Spice Level 3 Queer/Fiction

Two guys are both hiking a grueling trail from Mexico to Canada. After running into each other repeatedly they strike up a connection and eventually a relationship. One of the guys is still spiritual despite rejection from the church and it's healing for the other guy.

Prince and Assassin - Spice Level 4 Queer/Fantasy

An assassin is sent on a mission to take out a prince. While waiting for his orders to pull the dagger the two men grow closer and the assassin realizes he may not be able to kill off the prince as he learns more about him- but his sister's life is forfeit if he fails. Dramaaaaa

After Hours on Milagro Street - Spice Level 5 Het/Fiction

I cheated and had to refresh my memory as I fully forgot the plot. A bar is entrusted to new management in the form of a tattooed tough lady. A child of the family who's always run it takes issue with her management and sparks fly as they learn to compromise.

The Pairing - Spice Level Queer/Fiction

A couple breaks up before taking an amazing food tour across Europe and neither goes. With their tickets to the tour about to expire both decide to say screw it and go anyway, presuming that they couldn't possibly run into each other. They do. They they proceed to try to out slut each other while eating delicious food to prove how over each other they are. They aren't.

Hunt the Stars - Spice Level 3 Het/Sci fi

Human/alien pairing I think? As a bounty hunting crew takes a dangerous job and in the midst of peril find undeniable chemistry despite some fraught history between the two species.

A Holly Jolly Ever After - Spice Level 5 Het/Fiction

A previous child actor has found herself in a loveless marriage. She finally breaks free of her husband and takes a huge hit to her public image. She takes a job on a Hallmark style Christmas movie with another previous child star boyband. He has always had a crush on her and while paired as romantic leads on the film she admits to him she's never had an orgasm. We can see where this is going.

Morning Glory Milking Farm - Spice Level 5 Het/Fantasy

Stay with me. Minotaur. Milking. Farms. But it's not milk, guys. So a down on her luck girl takes a great paying job on a farm which I think is like phone sex? and makes a connection with one of the beefy boys get it. Genuinely tactful conversations around consent despite the goofy premise. Monster fuckers will enjoy.

Hate to Want You - Spice Level 5 Het/Fiction

Romeo and Juliet style warring families who hate each other because of grocery stores, I think. A boy and girl get together once a year and hate fuck each other about it but things get hard when she moves back into town for real and they keep bumping into each other.

Consort of Fire - Spice Level 5 Queer/Fantasy

A princess and knight go to take down a dragon but wind up falling for him instead? I feel like that's enough said. Poly dynamic and dragons, that's all it took for me to put in a hold.

Dating Dr. Dil - Spice Level 3 Het/Fiction

Fake dating a hot doctor to get her family off her back. 'Nough said.

Satisfaction Guaranteed - Spice Level 2 Queer/Fiction

A lady inherits a sex toy shop and drops her job to try to save it. The store manager doesn't think much of her and they both have to work together to get the shop back on its feet.

Role Playing - Spice Level 3 Het/Fiction

A forties lady joins a message board for gaming and strikes up a conversation with someone she assumes is a teenager. The guy thinks he's talking to a grandma. They meet and realize they're in the same age bracket and have a lot in common.

[rose24207]

Family Business

Summary: An evening where Lando and his wife recognise themselves in their children.

Genre: Mafia!Dad!Lando, fluff

TW: None

A/N: I have like so many stories in my drafts and just post them because why not? English is not my first language! I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Should I make a series out of this?

Masterlist

The grand villa was alive with laughter and warmth, an unusual sight for a house belonging to one of the most feared mafia families in Europe.

Lando Norris, heir to the Norris empire, sat at the head of the massive dining table, a glass of red wine in hand. The glow of the chandelier above reflected in his sharp eyes, but there was a softness to him tonight.

To his left sat you, his wife, the polar opposite of his ruthless world.

Where he ruled with strategy and precision, you led with compassion and kindness. You had a unique ability to bring light to the dark corners of his life, and tonight was no exception.

You were serving dessert yourself, much to the dismay of the staff.

“Madam, please,” Maria, the head of the kitchen, protested. “This is our job.”

“Oh, nonsense,” you said with a warm smile, placing a plate of chocolate cake in front of one of the guards. “You all work so hard. Let me treat you for once.”

Lando watched you with a mixture of amusement and adoration. The hardened men who feared his orders like gospel melted under your kindness, mumbling grateful thanks as you handed out plates.

Across the table, your children were mid-debate.

“No, no, you don’t get it,” Amelia, your ten-year-old daughter, argued, her small hands slamming the table for emphasis. “Papa’s the coolest. He’s strong, and smart, and everyone listens to him. I’m gonna be just like him!”

Lando smirked at that, leaning back in his chair. “Is that so, Amelia?”

“Yup!” She nodded confidently, her dark curls bouncing. “I’ll run the family business one day. Better than you, even.”

“Ambitious,” Lando said, raising his glass in mock salute. “I like it.”

Your eight-year-old son, Jacob, rolled his eyes. “You’re all so dramatic. Mama’s the best. She’s nice to everyone, and she doesn’t yell like Papa.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “I don’t yell.”

“You yelled at Uncle Carlos last week,” Jacob pointed out.

“That was a strategic discussion,” Lando replied, struggling to keep a straight face.

You laughed, shaking your head as you returned to your seat. “Jacob’s right. You do yell.”

Amelia crossed her arms, glaring at her brother. “You’re too soft, Jacob. How are you supposed to run the business if you can’t even scare anyone?”

“I don’t want to run the business,” Jacob said matter-of-factly, stabbing his fork into his cake. “I’m going to be a veterinarian.”

“A vet?” Amelia wrinkled her nose. “That’s boring.”

“Amelia,” you chided gently. “It’s not boring if it’s what Jacob wants. Besides, being kind is just as important as being strong.”

Amelia huffed, but your words sank in.

Lando observed the exchange quietly, marveling at the balance you brought to their lives.

Later that evening, after the kids had gone to bed, you and Lando sat on the terrace overlooking the gardens. The night air was cool, and the stars were scattered across the sky like diamonds.

“She’s got your fire, that one,” you said, leaning against Lando’s shoulder.

“And he’s got your heart,” Lando replied, lacing his fingers with yours. “We’re raising a mini us, you know.”

You laughed softly. “Is that a good thing?”

Lando kissed the top of your head. “The best thing.”

For a moment, the world outside the villa—his world of deals, betrayals, and shadows—felt far away.

Here, with you, with his children, he was simply Lando. A man who had everything he’d ever wanted, and more than he thought he deserved.

As the staff cleared the dining room below, they whispered among themselves, as they always did.

About how Mr. Norris was terrifying, yes, but also fiercely devoted to his wife.

About how Madam Norris made their lives better with her warmth and generosity.

About how the children were growing into reflections of their parents—Amelia, bold and determined, and Jacob, gentle and kind.

It wasn’t a typical mafia family, no. But it was theirs. And that was more than enough.

Thank you for reading!

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Hedy Lamarr (Samson and Delilah, Ziegfeld Girl)—Look. I'm sure someone has already submitted Hedy Lamarr because she was spectacularly beautiful, and a very strong lady too: she fled both an abusive marriage AND nazi persecution at a very young age and rebuilt a life for herself pursuing her love for acting all on her own!! Her career as an actress was stellar; while she began acting outside of Hollywood (her very first movie, Ecstasy, won a prize at the Venice Film Festival), she conquered American hearts very quickly with her first movie in the US, Algiers, and then just kept getting better and better. If all this isn't enough, she was also an inventor: her invention of the frequency-hopping spread spectrum radio transmission technique forms the base of bluetooth and has a lot of applications in all kinds of communication technologies. I think that deserves a prize, don't you?

Anna May Wong (The Thief of Bagdad, Shanghai Express)—Wong was the first Chinese American movie star, arguably the first Asian woman to make it big in American films. Though the racism of the time often forced her into stereotypical roles, awarded Asian leading roles to white actors in yellowface, and prohibited on-screen romance between actors of different races, she delivered powerful and memorable performances. When Hollywood bigotry got to be too much, she made movies in Europe. Wong was intellectually curious, a fashion icon, and a strong advocate for authentic Asian representation in cinema. And, notably for the purposes of this tournament, absolutely gorgeous.

We are in the quarterfinals of the Hot & Vintage Movie Women Tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Propaganda is not my own and is on a submission basis. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Hedy Lamarr:

The only person you can find both on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and in the Inventor's Hall of Fame--her radio-frequency-hopping technology forms the basis for cordless phones, wi-fi, and a dozen other aspects of modern life. She was also passionate in her efforts to aid the Allies in WWII (unsurprising for a Jewish-Austrian Emigree to America), and her name served as the backbone for one of the best running jokes in what is possibly Mel Brooks' best movie. Look, Louis B. Mayer apparently believed he could plausibly promote her as "The world's most beautiful woman". Is an entire website full of people going to be less audacious than one Louis B. Mayer? I didn't think so!

Described as "Hedy has the most incredible personal sophistication. She knows the peculiarly European art of being womanly; she knows what men want in a beautiful woman, what attracts them, and she forces herself to be these things. She has magnetism with warmth, something that neither Dietrich nor Garbo has managed to achieve" by Howard Sharpe, she managed to escape her controlling husband (and Nazi Germany) by a) Disguising as her maid and fleeing to Paris or b) Convincing the husband to let her wear all of her jewelry to a dinner, only to disappear afterwards. Also she was particularly clever and helped develop Frequency-Hopping Spread Spectrum (I can't really explain it but anyway...)

Her depiction of Delilah and Samson and Delilah just lives rent free in my head. The woman was gorgeous.

One of the most beautiful women ever in film, spoken by many critics and fans. Beautiful shapely figure, deeper seductive voice, and often played femme fatale roles. She was also brilliant and an inventor. Mainly self-taught, she invested her spare time, including on set between takes, in designing and drafting inventions, which included an improved traffic stoplight and a tablet that would dissolve in water to create a flavored carbonated drink, and much more.

Gorgeous and brilliant pioneer of modern technology and the middle part.

Anna May Wong propaganda:

"She so so gorgeous!! Due to Hollywood racism she was pretty limited in the roles she got to play but even despite that she’s so captivating and deserves to be known as a leading lady in her own right!! When she’s on screen in Shanghai Express I can’t look away, which is saying something because Marlene Dietrich is also in that film."

"SHE IS ON THE BACK OF QUARTERS also she was very smart and able to speak multiple languages and is a fashion icon on top of the acting/singing"

"Paved the way for Asian American actresses AND TOTAL HOTTIE!!! She broke boundaries and made it her mission to smash stereotypes of Asian women in western film (at the time, they were either protrayed them as delicate and demure or scheming and evil). In 1951, she made history with her television show The Gallery of Madame Liu-Tsong, the first-ever U.S. television show starring an Asian-American series lead (paraphrased from Wikipedia). Also, never married and rumor has it that she had an affair with Marlene Dietrich. We love a Controversial Queen!"

"She's got that Silent Era smoulder™ that I think transcends the very stereotypical roles in which she was typically cast. Also looks very hot smouldering opposite Marlene Dietrich in "Shanghai Express"; there's kiss energy there."

"Hot as hell and chronically overlooked in her time, she's truly phenomenal and absolutely stunning"

"A story of stardom unavoidably marred by Hollywood racism; Wong's early-career hype was significantly derailed by the higher-up's reluctance to have an Asian lead, and things only got worse when the Hayes code came down and she suddenly *couldn't* be shown kissing a white man--even if that white man was in yellowface. After being shoved into the Dragon Lady role one too many times, she took her career to other continents for many years. Still, she came back to America eventually, being more selective in her roles, speaking out against Asian stereotypes, and in the midst of all of this finding the time to be awarded both the title of "World's Best Dressed Woman" by Mayfair Mannequin Society of New York and an honorary doctorate by Peking University."

"Incredible beauty, incredible actress, incredible story."

"-flapper fashion ICON. look up her fits please <3 -rumors of lesbianism due to her Close Friendships with marlene dietrich & cecil cunningham, among others -leveraged her star power to criticize the racist depictions of Chinese and Asian characters in Hollywood, as well as raise money and popular support for China & Chinese refugees in the 1930s and 40s. -face card REFUSED to decline"

[sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog]

Hi. I've started writing a semi-weekly TB Newsletter, if you're interested in that kind of thing. Here's the second letter--about public-private partnerships, leprosy, and my forthcoming big announcement about expanding access to tuberculosis care. You'll hear more about that on Thursday. Anyway, here's the newsletter. You can sign up here.

---

In advance of the Big Announcement this Thursday, I made a vlogbrothers video today on how we end TB–with the comprehensive care plan often known as S-T-P, which is short for “Search, Treat, and Prevent.” But one thing I didn’t discuss in that video is the downstream benefits of comprehensive TB care.

Once you’ve hired community health workers to screen for TB, it becomes much easier to screen for other illnesses like diabetes, high blood pressure, and non-TB lung issues (especially lung cancer). TB is notoriously a disease of vicious cycles–a disease of malnutrition that makes malnutrition worse, a disease of poverty that makes poverty worse, and so on–but addressing TB can be a story of virtuous cycles: TB survivors become TB advocates, as I’ve seen with my friend Henry in Sierra Leone. More effective TB treatment leads to less stigmatization of the disease, as communities come to see the disease as curable and survivable rather than terrifying and deadly. And better access to TB care leads to a stronger overall healthcare system, because more community health workers are better connected to more primary healthcare clinics, which allows communities to better address all kinds of health problems.

—

Mycobacterium tuberculosis is not the only bacteria of its family that causes a lot of human suffering; there is a closely related species called mycobacterium leprae that causes the disease known as Hansen's Disease, or more commonly leprosy. There are still around 200,000 cases of leprosy diagnosed each year around the world, and while the disease is curable, it also remains–especially if not caught and treated early–a significant driver of suffering and disability in our world. 

There are many connections between TB and leprosy: Not only are the bacteria that cause these illnesses very similar, but patients have often expressed similarities in experience. TB patients who were encouraged or forced to live in sanitariums often compared themselves to lepers. One disheartening parallel between the diseases is that in both cases, those living with these illnesses are often abandoned by their families and must make new social connections within the new community of “leper” or “consumptive.” Also, both Hansen’s Disease and TB continue to exist largely because of systemic failures rather than due to a lack of knowledge or technology.

—

I really recommend Dr. Salmaan Keshavjee’s TED talk about how we ended TB in the U.S., and how we can end it using the same strategy around the world.

—

Last link from me today: I’ve been thinking a lot about the complex intersection between public and private investment (for reasons that will be clear on Thursday!) and I keep coming back to one infographic in an excellent paper (https://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0256883) about the public money that was poured into the creation of the GeneXpert Machine, which can quickly and accurately test for TB. The GeneXpert machine has created a lot of profit for Danaher’s shareholders, and it has also created some societal benefit, but it could create a lot more societal benefit if it created less profit for Danaher’s shareholders. This tension seems to me one of the defining features of 21st century life. Anyway, here is the infographic:

That’s the money–over $250,000,000 of it–that came from taxpayers (mostly in the U.S. and Europe) to fund the creation of the GeneXpert Machine. And yet, this tech largely funded by the public is controlled entirely by private enterprise. I’m troubled by that model of value allocation, even if I still believe that private money and private enterprise have important roles to play in fueling innovation. But taking a quarter billion dollars of public money and then claiming total ownership over a technology, and using that ownership to deny the technology to the world’s poorest people, seems like a deeply flawed system of resource distribution to me.

I’ll see you on Thursday. I’m nervous and excited.

DFTBA,

John

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PROVE IT ───

jackson rippner ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “You think you are possessing me / But I've got my teeth in you.” — ‘Unicorn’, Angela Carter

pairing. jackson rippner x reader

summary. after breaking up with your boyfriend. you meet a handsome stranger at a bar. you tell him your cunt’s better than the girl’s your boyfriend cheated on you with; he tells you to prove it.

warnings. swearing, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, porn with some plot, impact play, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 3.6k

a/n. i seriously doubt i wrote jackson’s character accurately in this so please comment anything i can improve on LOL🙏

It’s not often you spill your entire life story to a stranger at the bar, but this one, this stranger with his watery blue eyes and plush lips, is oddly inviting; charismatic to a fault. It makes you want to give him everything, and absently, in your alcohol riddled mind, you think he’d make a good scammer. 

Or, serial killer, whichever he prefers really.

But it's not entirely his fault; you’re stress drinking, downing too many shots in too little a time frame, and the alcohol’s already hit your system ten-fold. 

You’re there because you’d broken up with your boyfriend the night before. You’d been dating just short of a year. He was required to travel a lot, mostly in Europe, as per his job, and you let him go each time without qualms - love them, let them go, right? 

Wrong. He’d been cheating on you since he went to Copenhagen — four months, now — with a pretty little Dane that wanted to marry. 

You were furious when he told you, of course, it’s fucking insanity for him to marry someone he’s known for four months, but you began seeing all the differences between you and the woman he cheated on you with: she, a perfect homemaker, you, a distressed professional he saw maybe once a month. 

“Hey, hey, don’t beat yourself up,” the stranger across from you said softly, breaking you out of your nostalgic stupor and back into reality. “‘cause he’s a right asshole. For cheating on you like that.”

The man had entered the bar hours after you did, housing a simple drink or two and absently watching the softball game on the bar TV, before you drunkenly inched closer to him, desperate to rant your dilemma to just about anyone who’d listen. He bit, and here you were now.  

You peered up at the man, inspecting him. He’s gorgeous, definitely, but you can’t tell if you actually think that, or your foggy, not-been-fucked-for-months mind just wants him to rail you into next week. 

No matter, you thought, downing another shot. It burned the back of your throat sweetly, fire trailing down your insides. “M’not beating myself up,” you protested weakly, “jus’ — m’just… wondering if her cunt was - so much better than mine,” 

He laughed, boisterously, the kind of laugh you hear rumble out from a close friend while you detail every wrongdoing or shameful memory in your life: he’s comfortable right now, as are you.

“Well,” he inched closer, large hand sitting itself on your thigh and slowly inching upwards, “if it bothers you that much, why not prove it? That your pussy’s as good as you think.” 

This wasn’t the first of his attempts to flirt with you: firstly he’d tucked a stray hair away from your face, later he swiped a drop of drink off your lip, then he’d clutched you by the waist, pulling you close to him when someone squeezed past you in the crowded bar. His brisk touch wasn’t unfamiliar by any means, but it did suggest more than the other ones, especially coupled with the lustful words he was purring in your ear. 

Then, there’s a gap in your memory. One too many shots, a stranger toying with the hem of the skirt you donned for the bar, and his sweet voice in your ear was too much for your dizzy head, and the only thing you remember is this: one moment, he’s getting braver, rough fingers ghosting the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and the next, you’re pressed against a bathroom stall wall, the handsome stranger’s knee pushing your quivering legs apart. 

You’re trading wet, messy kisses, and his hands are sneakily climbing up your shirt till they reach your chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath from him: “Fuck, sweetheart, no bra? You really were looking for someone to prove you right,” he cooed, touching your breasts needily. 

He’s kneading you artfully, fingers pawing at your flesh like he’s never felt something so soft, so plump. Your back arches as he does this; you’re practically putty in his hands. 

It doesn’t slip past you that you’re being felt up in a bar bathroom by a gorgeous stranger whom you don’t know the name of, but you don’t care. “Please,” you beg, his name coming up completely blank on your tongue, “please.”

“‘Please’ what, honey?” The stranger says huskily, one of his hands moving from your breasts up to your jaw, pushing it to the side to gain access to your neck. “Please kiss me? Finger me? Fuck me?”

You’re too drunk - and fucking horny - to deal with his theatrics, so you whine instead of answering, your weak fingers carding through his brown locks. 

“God,” he says, “How long has it been since you’ve been properly fucked? Just some touching and you’re already too fucking dumb to speak.”

His words make your cheeks burn with shame, but it also makes your core throb. The oh-so sweet stranger who listened to your problems all night telling you you’re just a dumb horny bitch is such a juxtaposition it's got you all hot and bothered. 

“Please,” you beg again, more desperate than before, “I need you.” 

The man let out an incredulous chuckle, head cocking back. “Baby, don’t tell me you like it like that. God, you’re such a fucking whore,” he said, before undoing his belt buckle and fly. 

He had noticed how your legs clenched around his knee, how your breathing got sharper as soon as the words “dumb” and “whore” slipped out of his pretty mouth, how your fingers trailed his back needily, desperate for any kind of touch. 

You bit your lip, watching the stranger through bleary, hooded eyes. He’d pulled his pants down just enough for his boxer shorts to be visible, before he grabbed you by the waist and turned you to press your face against the wall. 

One of his arms then draped across your shoulders, pinning you down and arching your back, hard, making your ass press flush against the large tent in his underwear. You let out a small gasp at the feeling, and you could practically see the smirk curling slyly on his face. 

He can’t be that big, right? It was just your drunk mind, making him feel bigger than you thought through his shorts. Plus, you hadn’t been fucked in over a month — you were probably just not used to it. 

Because, that’d be totally unfair - he’s beautiful, charming, an amazing kisser, and has a huge cock? No fucking way — if he was all that, he’s definitely a secret terrorist, or something. 

However, these days, you’ve learned that you don't have the best intuition. First, with your boyfriend, then again, with the man who just pulled out his thick cock, stroking it gently. 

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed, head straining to look at him behind you. Unconsciously, you shyly closed your legs at the sight of him. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” the man crooned, his other hand sliding between your legs and spreading them apart once more. “No take backs, honey. You did say you wanted me, did you not?”

The two of you were flush against each other, and you could feel his hard length resting between your legs. Just that, just him between you, already had you trembling in anticipation. 

“Then fuck me already,” you bit back, feigning confidence. In actuality, you were thinking: how was all that supposed to fit? And, of all people, you, who hadn’t been stretched out to fit any cock at all, not since last month, when your boyfriend made his routine visit. You were a loyal girl, alright, and your fingers never went as deep as any cock could.

But the moment for you to reveal your worries passed, and he simpered. “So fucking eager.” 

Then, his large hands smoothed down the swell of your ass, following the curve, before he lifted his hand up and came down on your cheek, making a loud noise reverberate throughout the empty bathroom. 

Your breath caught in your throat, a choked gasp mixed with a tense moan coming out instead, and you flushed. Thank god you were pressed against the cold bathroom stall wall, for it provided a miniscule relief to your burning face. 

He’d spanked you, and you fucking moaned. 

“So you do like it dirty.” he cooed, fingers returning and hooking into the waistband of your panties. 

“I bet,” he said, dragging the thin fabric down extremely slow, “that you didn’t come to the bar tonight to just drink,” he pressed closer against you, your folds now sitting right above his thick length, “you came, with no bra and a slutty skirt on, looking to get fucked senseless, didn’t you?”

He slowly slid in and out against your folds, his cock just barely grazing your clit, and you swore you could have screamed. The way he was teasing you was absolutely delectable and, in the same vein, incredibly torturous. 

“Answer me, honey.” he hummed, free hand rubbing circles on the skin of your hip. 

You let out an exasperated groan. “I - I came here tonight, to - ah!” you squeaked when the fat tip of the man’s cock poked your tight hole. 

“You came here tonight to… what?” He said, nonchalant, as if he wasn’t slowly driving his large dick into you. 

“I came here to…” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ground your thoughts, and squarely not think about how mouthwateringly good the handsome strangers cock felt, “to get—“

Then, the loudest keen you’d ever heard tore out of you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, when he suddenly shoved all of his length into your soaking cunt. 

He bottomed out with a breathy laugh, watching your knees buckle and your mouth hang wide open. Then, once more, his calloused hand came down on your ass, a large crack sounding out within the bathroom. 

“Shut the fuck up, whore. Someone’ll hear.” The stranger said, as if he hadn’t just made a loud noise spanking you like that. 

But the way he insulted, complemented, mocked and teased all in a few sentences had you shuddering; never in your life did you think such dirty words could make you so wet. 

You barely kept in another whine, waves of pleasure ebbing throughout your body. The burning pain of the spank in combination to how your walls squeezed around his cock had you barely coherent, your face taut with pleasure. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping all over my cock,” he whispered, leaning down for you to hear. As he did so, however, his dick pressed further into you, and another helpless groan rolled off your tongue. 

“But you’re too goddamn loud.” The stranger growled, and the arm of the hand that was pressing you against the wall shifted, now covering your mouth. 

Before you could protest, he slid out, then snapped into you. Immediately, you saw stars, and a muffled mewl slipped past your lips. 

“Jesus christ,” he murmured, “your little fuckhole’s taking me so well.” He began to slide in and out at a fast, rhythmic pace, so fast you could barely comprehend the ecstacy you were feeling. 

“Oh my god,” you barely stuttered out past his large hand. He was pounding in and out of you relentlessly, selfishly, no regard for your moans or helpless whines, merely focussed on thrusting his fat cock into your sweet cunt. 

Then, the both of you heard the bathroom door open, and you froze. The handsome stranger moved quickly, grabbing you by the waist and planting you on his lap as he sat down on the toilet. His other hand, still trained on your mouth, gripped tighter than ever when he felt the groan bubble up from your throat: this new position of you on his lap had his long length pressed right against your cervix.

“Now you really gotta be quiet, honey,” he whispered, pressing his face into your neck. You shut your eyes helplessly, a dejected whimper exiting your mouth. 

“Just be fucking quiet. You don’t want everyone in this bar to know what a dirty slut you are, spreading your legs for a fucking stranger in the bathroom, right?” He said, words foul and like poison, but actions completely stark to it: he was pressing sweet, chaste kisses on your shoulder, laying his head on your back. 

The man in the other stall was taking so fucking long to finish, and, despite the stranger’s words, he began to slowly rut into you, his large hands coming to rest on your hips and help you slide up and down on his cock.

Your eyes widened. “What are- ah, wh— what are you doing?” you said, a stuttered, hesitant moan leaving  your mouth, but you were completely without the motivation to actually stop him: the pleasure you felt earlier had increased immensely in this slower, riskier pace he took on. 

“Shh,” was all you saw him say, as you strained your neck to look at him. He looked the epitome of smug, lips curled, cheeks flushed attractively, strands of hair falling down onto his forehead.

Without his hand to muffle your groans, you muffled them yourself, biting down on your tongue. One hand of yours gripped onto the stranger's thigh to keep your balance, and your other hand sneakily traveled down to your wet, hot mound, fingers beginning to rub at your clit. 

He noticed this, however, hand gripping at your wrist and pulling you back to pin your arm behind you. “Only I get to touch you,” he snarled, “because this fuckin’ pussy’s all mine. Gonna be all mine.”

You let out a shaky exhale at his words, but you found your cunt more flexible than before, the soft slapping of your skin between each other sounding easier, wetter. Jesus, did you really get more turned on by what he’d said?

Finally, the person who had wandered in and entered the stall beside you exited the bathroom entirely, and you belted out a sharp moan with how the stranger swiftly picked you up and pressed you against the wall once more, this time facing him. 

He plunged his big cock into you like nothing before, animalistically, nails digging so hard into your hips you swore he drew blood. His pace was stuttered, desperate, like nothing could distract him from pounding into you, not even a fucking meteor. 

You, on the other hand, were arching, the pleasure taking your body over completely. Your hands carded through his brown hair, tugging when he hit that particularly spongy spot into you. He groaned, a rough and stuttered thing, feeling himself brush against that spot every time. 

Your tight cunt was stretching and contracting around his dick, like you were made with his fat length in mind, and it drove you up the fucking wall: the pain in your hip, the cold linoleum wall, his cock thrusting in and out — it was all so much, and your orgasm began to spill out from under you. It was slow, like water coming out of an overfilled glass.

“You — god, you’re fucking coming, aren’t you,” the stranger said knowingly. Your cunt had gotten tenser, stickier, trying to grip at him like you were afraid he’d never come back to you. 

You nodded rapidly, opting to do so in fear an unintelligible string of groans would come out instead of your words. 

He grinned, and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, allowing his cock deeper access into you. Your toes curled, the new angle like being impaled, his dick easily slipping past your slick folds. 

One of his hands lifted off your hip and trailed across your lower stomach, “Can you feel that, honey? Its my fucking cock, so deep m’gonna shoot my come right in your womb,” he purred, pressing the bulge. 

Both of you were affected, a breathy grunt slipping past his lips, and you a feverish mewl. You couldn’t believe how big he was, large enough for him to be fucking visible on you from the outside. 

Suddenly, you remembered the man’s name: he’d said it, offhand, to the bartender before you dragged him to the bathroom. He asked the bartender to put your drinks on his tab, under the name Jackson. 

You face grew taut, your orgasm suddenly switching from a slow, sneaky drip to a hard smack, right across your face. “Jackson! Jackson, please,” you moaned at last, his name sounding right at home on your tongue. 

“Fuck, honey, you remembered? God, that’s so hot,” He whispered sweetly, then dragged you through your orgasm, thick cock pounding in and out of your throbbing core. 

It was like all the pleasure had steadily built up within your insides, all up into a big ball, then had suddenly burst, flowing throughout your entire body like you weren’t already being fucked relentlessly. 

“Such a - fuck - tight and pretty pussy,” he said, leaning into rest his head against your chest. You were weak, sensitively riding out your high, but you knew Jackson wasn’t quite as close. 

His thrusts began getting sloppier, harsher and focussed merely on feeling your walls against every inch of him. Your head rested beside his own, your eyes practically crossing with the overstimulation. 

Despite your orgasm, your cunt was still soaking, definitely dripping and marking a wet patch on both your skirt and his pants. It made you tremble, thinking of you two tiredly exiting the bathroom, disheveled and having to cover the other up. 

At this point, you didn’t know what kind of filthy fucking noises were exiting your mouth, with Jackson’s grunts and groans covering up your whines completely.

“M’gonna come,” he said a few long moments later, almost inaudible. “Say my name, say who owns this tight fucking pussy.”

“You do! Jackson does!” You exclaimed, his cock ripping in and out of you quicker and more jolted. “Jackson owns this pussy!”

Jackson grinned weakly, and with one final, harried thrust, he let go deep within you. He clenched his jaw, piercing blue eyes shutting tight and losing himself within the warm and wet feeling of your cunt squeezing him for every drop. 

You were so fucking full, and even when Jackson pulled his softening cock out of you — which, was still huge despite its idleness — you felt stuffed to the brim. 

His come dripped down your leg, and he promptly pulled your panties up, patting your worn out cunt as he did so. “You’re taking all my fucking come, so good honey.” he said, pressing a hungry kiss to your neck. “You were right: this cunt’s better than whoever your shit ex cheated on you with.”

“Told you so.” You gazed up at him through heavy-lidded, gleeful eyes. He was an absolute darling sweetheart, it seemed, switching from degradingly fucking you to romantically praising you. “Are you… up for round two?” you said, as he slipped his hand within your own, clasping tightly. You didn’t really mean round two - though, you wouldn’t protest it, especially with his delectable way of fucking you - you actually just wanted to go home with him… see where this relationship could lead you.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to ask. You’re comin’ home with me tonight,” he saw through you cheekily, pulling you close to him. 

So, you did go home with him, and in the morning you laid beside him in the ruffled white sheets, counting the freckles on his face.

His eyes fluttered open when you shuffled. “Were you watching me?” he said, voice low and sleepy. 

You nodded silently, your hand coming up to pet his skin comfortingly. After a beat passed, you asked the question that was bothering you all morning. “Jackson, you wanted to fuck me first, right?”

He blinked, tense for a moment, before smoothing out his expression. “What?” he opted on saying instead, sounding every bit clueless and entirely convincing.

Not convincing enough for you, however. “Baby, you think I didn’t notice the shots you were calling over and inching toward me? I was drunk, not stupid.”

“Are you saying I took advantage of you?” He said darkly, a side of him otherwise unknown to you ‘till now. 

You raised a judging brow. “No need to be offended. I wanted to see where it was going to go: ‘did the handsome stranger want to fuck me, or did he want to kill me?’.”

He pulled you close to him, his arm snaking around your hips. “So, what are you saying?” he said, pressing a patronizing kiss to your forehead. 

“Hm. Well, I jus’ wanna know if this is a one nightstand.”

“And you don’t care about the - drinks, the “taking advantage” part?”

You let out a laugh. “I was confident, darling; I keep pepper spray and a pocket knife in my purse. Even if you did - which you didn’t - I’d make it out alive.”

Jackson bit his lip, looking up at you. This had meant to be a one night stand, considering the job he had, but you were looking at him so sweetly, so accepting, like you secretly knew what he did for a living and wanted him despite it. 

“Not a one night stand,” he murmured, leaning into your touch. 

You beamed, and, later, when you did find out what he did for a living, you merely cocked your head. Thought about it… outweighed the pros, the cons, (and the fact you were completely right: he was perfect, but also a fucking sociopath), and merely shrugged. 

“Honey, you’ll never do anything to me. Why should I care what you do for a living? Just don’t,” you warned, staring at him like you could and would fucking kill him, “cheat on me.” 

You didn’t have the best intuition. And, as it turned out, a great moral compass, either.